f4 4evr!
I don't know what's up with people last week. They kept asking me very weird questions.
tekstongbopis: did u evr dream of becoming a flight stewardess, even as a kid?
kantogirl: uhm, no, never. i think u've bn watching 2 much gwyneth paltrow. sup wid dat?
tekstongbopis: dnt knw. checking student papers, n ders a preponderance of them hu said dey wantd dat.
kantogirl: if u tink abt it, if i wer a bit taller, and wid nicer teeth...maybe...nah!
-----
blockmate arlyn: U nvr alam hu cares syo til ur buong world gets dilim. if ikaw fol n2 pcs, luk sa syd mo. sum1 s der reachng out sa kamay mo. jst kuha it..it's sa akin.
kantogirl: ikaw ha, ur becoming an annoying conyo girl. im going 2 make sapok u.
-----
mechajol [upon learning of angas get together]: Block asmbly b? O kasama ang mga xtnded blckmates- bxxxxgirl, nonblockmate arlene, etc?
kantogirl: ikaw, u want 2 invite dem? sabihin ko miss mo na sila, yihee!
mechajol: leche ka. ako na nga ang concerned gaganyanin mo pa ako.
kantogirl: yihee! hehehe.
------
And finally this takes the cake:
astrid: hey, u know ung name nung pinaka-popular na guy sa f4?
kantogirl: uhm, si jerry yan aka dao ming si? bakit, sup?
astrid: kilala mo b kung cno dao ming si ng phil lit?
kantogirl: what da f?! sino si jol? is this what they're teaching u in cw now?
astrid: nope. di si jol. pero close na. si charlson ong daw.
kantogirl: eh?! how d hell did he earn dat nick? di naman cia long hair.
astrid: kc chinese siya.
kantogirl: hahaha. so un na ba ang uso ngayon?
astrid: ya. bored yata silang lahat. si krip yuson pauso nun. gusto niya may mag-bansag din sa knya.
kantogirl: hmm...so u mean 2 say may shan cai ng phil lit?
astrid: si carla pacis daw. sabi ni wendell eh.
kantogirl: ayoko na. this is becoming too weird for me.
So apparently that's the new thing in writing circles now. They give each other nicknames. The Dorian Gray of Phil Lit. The Keannu Reeves of Phil Lit. And it has dwindled down to the beloved loveteam of Shan Cai and Dao Ming Si. Lecheng chinovela yan, cultural imperialism my foot!
The height, or the lowest point--depending on your opinion--was when last Friday, I met up with the AngasBoyz in Powerbooks last Friday. The Music One side was crowded with all things F4. And there was this huge poster right inside the shop. Dennis kept on insisting that Jol was everywhere, and pointed out the uncanny resemblance between Jerry Yan and Jol Ong. Ahahaha! Asar talo!
That was back in the days when Jol had anime hair. He got rid of the hair now. He doesn't want to get lynched by teenage girls in the malls. It felt weird walking with them guys. All we needed was another guy to complete the, uhm, fantasy. Si Jol kasi eh. Bati na kayo ni Lei. Wehehehe.
Sunday, July 27
kudeta state of mind
I was exchanging text messages earlier with the writer from the anti-soap Kung Mawawala Ka. He sent me his usual Sunday message, and I ranted at him: If this whole kudeta thing ends up in a military junta, the way the fictional Pilipinas ruled by Leandro Montemayor was captured and ran by Air Force general Gonzalo, that would be it. A weird and really horrendous case of life-imitates-art.
At the time KMK was running, they were at a fix. What makes a successful putch? Historically, all their consultants said, all the late 80s attempted kudetas bullheaded by Gringo Honasan and the RAM did not succeed. They did not get the support of the Air Force block. The Armed Forces was not united towards the goal of a military junta. So in soap country, they made the coup leader Gonzalo the leader of the Air Force. So from thereon, all events in KMK was, in their terms, fictional and futurustic. Because it's never happened before. No historical basis to draw from.
I read in an interview about how the Mafia was portrayed in Hollywood and American television. The Italian underground families didn't actually behave like the Corleones with backyard party massacres and waking up to find severed horse heads between the sheets. But that was how it was in The Godfather series. So they started behaving accordingly, with the low voices, light-and-dark silhouettes, the cigars, spewing, "Spaghetti, all we eat is spaghetti." [Actually, that was from a spinoff tomato sauce commercial.] Anyway, the point is, even the real-life mafiosis became influenced by the media portrayal of themselves. After watching the Corleones, Tony Soprano, and reading Elmore Leonard novels, they started to believe the manufactured media images.
Now that another coup was brewing, I just hope those military guys didn't actually watch KMK and told themselves, hey we can do that.
Not really related but makes an interesting read: Rina Jimenez David on what she's learned from soap operas.
I was exchanging text messages earlier with the writer from the anti-soap Kung Mawawala Ka. He sent me his usual Sunday message, and I ranted at him: If this whole kudeta thing ends up in a military junta, the way the fictional Pilipinas ruled by Leandro Montemayor was captured and ran by Air Force general Gonzalo, that would be it. A weird and really horrendous case of life-imitates-art.
At the time KMK was running, they were at a fix. What makes a successful putch? Historically, all their consultants said, all the late 80s attempted kudetas bullheaded by Gringo Honasan and the RAM did not succeed. They did not get the support of the Air Force block. The Armed Forces was not united towards the goal of a military junta. So in soap country, they made the coup leader Gonzalo the leader of the Air Force. So from thereon, all events in KMK was, in their terms, fictional and futurustic. Because it's never happened before. No historical basis to draw from.
I read in an interview about how the Mafia was portrayed in Hollywood and American television. The Italian underground families didn't actually behave like the Corleones with backyard party massacres and waking up to find severed horse heads between the sheets. But that was how it was in The Godfather series. So they started behaving accordingly, with the low voices, light-and-dark silhouettes, the cigars, spewing, "Spaghetti, all we eat is spaghetti." [Actually, that was from a spinoff tomato sauce commercial.] Anyway, the point is, even the real-life mafiosis became influenced by the media portrayal of themselves. After watching the Corleones, Tony Soprano, and reading Elmore Leonard novels, they started to believe the manufactured media images.
Now that another coup was brewing, I just hope those military guys didn't actually watch KMK and told themselves, hey we can do that.
Not really related but makes an interesting read: Rina Jimenez David on what she's learned from soap operas.
dispatch from Manila
dear tita chi and uncle jean,
the country woke up this morning to find tanks barrelling down the streets of makati. a group of disgruntled young officers have taken it upon themselves to air the grievances of the people, supposedly, against the way the government is being run.
the last time we had this sort of trouble, we had tanks and soldiers walking in the neighborhood. it lasted days i think. i can't remember it all that much. except that as a child, i remember peeking from the veranda outside and seeing tora-tora planes in the
sky. Malacanang was literally just a stone's throw away.
And now Makati. Again, if we stand at the balkonahe, we can clearly see the sharpened tips of the RCBC building. So they got oakwood suites and the hotel intercon. the analysts are predicting bad business for the philippines again. we don't know yet what's going to happen. the president has given them--the Magdalo group--until 5pm to surrender. that's when the action is going to start, my friend says.
All we can do right now is to wait. I turned on the television this morning and there was Inday Badiday,
calmly interviewing young actor Piolo Pascual about his so-called relationship with Judy Ann Santos. At the other channel, some rap group was shouting their songs to bleeding ears. How calm and ordinary it was. Of course I realize that these are canned shows. But for the moment, I want updates, I want a full frontal on what's happening. Yet the television insists on regular weekend fare.
No definite news yet. I am online to check on other developments. And the entire inq7 website has been
turned to a running update on the coup. I hope this gets resolved very quickly.
For the meantime, we are still safe. I don't know if I should still push through with going about the regular Sunday routine: groceries, errands, a coffee out and a stroll. When all this is happening. But all we can do for the meantime, is wait.
Hugs for everyone, and hoping to be safe.
dear tita chi and uncle jean,
the country woke up this morning to find tanks barrelling down the streets of makati. a group of disgruntled young officers have taken it upon themselves to air the grievances of the people, supposedly, against the way the government is being run.
the last time we had this sort of trouble, we had tanks and soldiers walking in the neighborhood. it lasted days i think. i can't remember it all that much. except that as a child, i remember peeking from the veranda outside and seeing tora-tora planes in the
sky. Malacanang was literally just a stone's throw away.
And now Makati. Again, if we stand at the balkonahe, we can clearly see the sharpened tips of the RCBC building. So they got oakwood suites and the hotel intercon. the analysts are predicting bad business for the philippines again. we don't know yet what's going to happen. the president has given them--the Magdalo group--until 5pm to surrender. that's when the action is going to start, my friend says.
All we can do right now is to wait. I turned on the television this morning and there was Inday Badiday,
calmly interviewing young actor Piolo Pascual about his so-called relationship with Judy Ann Santos. At the other channel, some rap group was shouting their songs to bleeding ears. How calm and ordinary it was. Of course I realize that these are canned shows. But for the moment, I want updates, I want a full frontal on what's happening. Yet the television insists on regular weekend fare.
No definite news yet. I am online to check on other developments. And the entire inq7 website has been
turned to a running update on the coup. I hope this gets resolved very quickly.
For the meantime, we are still safe. I don't know if I should still push through with going about the regular Sunday routine: groceries, errands, a coffee out and a stroll. When all this is happening. But all we can do for the meantime, is wait.
Hugs for everyone, and hoping to be safe.
In this last week, I've been alternating on feeling sick, nauseous, sleepy, not sleepy, hungry, no appetite. I can't really sleep until the sun's almost up. And yet I do not have the energy nor the mindset to write. Is all crap, this week. I wish it can only get better from here.
But at least I had fun with the angas pipol, if only for quite a while. I've been getting weird text messages from them.
But at least I had fun with the angas pipol, if only for quite a while. I've been getting weird text messages from them.
Thursday, July 24
I wonder how Humbert Humbert would like this incarnation. It's like Nabokov meets Lewis Carroll. Fascinating:
"An elegant Gothic Lolita, EGL or Gothic Lolita for short, is a Japanese teen or young adult who dresses in amazingly elaborate Gothic looking babydoll costumes. On the weekends these women walk the streets of Tokyo and Osaka and fill Yoyogi Park and Harajuku neighborhood where they pose for tourist’s pictures and sit around looking pretty. They are beautiful, glamorous, doll-like manifestations of their favorite Visual Rock stars.
In recent years, Japan has bred a youth culture with a passion for costume and dressing up. This is referred to as Cosplay or Costume Play and it has already made its way all across the world. (Most people Cosplay Anime characters.) Perhaps harkening back to the historic days of Kabuki, Japanese youth want to continue the tradition of escape through dress and style. The Gothic Lolita look is an amazing contrast of innocence and sexuality. The child-like physical look of young Japanese women contributes to this alluring illusion. As we all know, the Japanese have some of the most interesting fetishes and sexual habits of any culture on Earth. Female youth have long been exciting to older Japanese males and the innocence of looking like a child may appeal to these women because of the powerful sexual allure but also because it presents a way for them to escape growing up at least for the moments they are dressed in the Gothic Lolita style. The attention these women get must validate them in some way; it must make them feel special. Or it could just be that they dress this way to be closer to their idols."
Will you ruin me?
From "Up in Midtown," the winner of the Faux Hemingway story writing contest:
He held her hand and they sipped the martinis and he thought about her trust fund, and whether she would ruin him.
“ Will you ruin me?” he asked her.
“ Yes,” she said, “but in the good way a woman ruins a man.”
She squeezed his hand and they sat, not speaking, and Dick knew that he still had plenty of time to figure out what she meant by that.
Ahh, yes. Mimicking as the top sport of choice for creative writing majors. And the choices! Sure, let's spare Hemingway and Faulkner for now. But why anyone would want to write like [insert name of Pinoy writer from your favorite literary barkada here] still puzzles me. Why try to be someone you're not? Besides, you can't be them. They already beat you to it. As the Matrix philosophy would put it, quit contorting yourselves. There is no canon.
From "Up in Midtown," the winner of the Faux Hemingway story writing contest:
He held her hand and they sipped the martinis and he thought about her trust fund, and whether she would ruin him.
“ Will you ruin me?” he asked her.
“ Yes,” she said, “but in the good way a woman ruins a man.”
She squeezed his hand and they sat, not speaking, and Dick knew that he still had plenty of time to figure out what she meant by that.
Ahh, yes. Mimicking as the top sport of choice for creative writing majors. And the choices! Sure, let's spare Hemingway and Faulkner for now. But why anyone would want to write like [insert name of Pinoy writer from your favorite literary barkada here] still puzzles me. Why try to be someone you're not? Besides, you can't be them. They already beat you to it. As the Matrix philosophy would put it, quit contorting yourselves. There is no canon.
Wednesday, July 23
Numbers
Infinite. Invisible chasers in nightmare in last sleep attempt.
115. Electronic prepaid load for yesterday's experiment.
99. Minutes left on the phonecard I bought.
74. Emails in my account I have no wish to read.
60. Seconds needed to crash my whole world as I know it.
48.35. Money in my purse right now.
23:17. Time on my clock.
11. Electronic/Identification/Prepaid/GameCards in my bag.
9. Cups of coffee consumed.
7. Days left till judgment day.
3. Rides needed to get home.
2. Days haven't been home.
1.5 Proper meal[s] eaten.
1. Thing I really want to do.
0. Explanations needed.
Infinite. Invisible chasers in nightmare in last sleep attempt.
115. Electronic prepaid load for yesterday's experiment.
99. Minutes left on the phonecard I bought.
74. Emails in my account I have no wish to read.
60. Seconds needed to crash my whole world as I know it.
48.35. Money in my purse right now.
23:17. Time on my clock.
11. Electronic/Identification/Prepaid/GameCards in my bag.
9. Cups of coffee consumed.
7. Days left till judgment day.
3. Rides needed to get home.
2. Days haven't been home.
1.5 Proper meal[s] eaten.
1. Thing I really want to do.
0. Explanations needed.
I never learn
Lady Lazarus
I have done it again.
One year in every ten
I manage it-----
A sort of walking miracle, my skin
Bright as a Nazi lampshade,
My right foot
A paperweight,
My face a featureless, fine
Jew linen.
Peel off the napkin
O my enemy.
Do I terrify?-----
Yes, yes Herr Professor
It is I.
Can you deny
The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth?
The sour breath
Will vanish in a day.
Soon, soon the flesh
The grave cave ate will be
At home on me
And I a smiling woman.
I am only thirty.
And like the cat I have nine times to die.
This is Number Three.
What a trash
To annihilate each decade.
What a million filaments.
The peanut-crunching crowd
Shoves in to see
Them unwrap me hand and foot-----
The big strip tease.
Gentlemen, ladies
These are my hands
My knees.
I may be skin and bone, I may be Japanese,
Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.
The first time it happened I was ten.
It was an accident.
The second time I meant
To last it out and not come back at all.
I rocked shut
As a seashell.
They had to call and call
And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.
Dying
Is an art, like everything else.
I do it exceptionally well.
I do it so it feels like hell.
I do it so it feels real.
I guess you could say I've a call.
It's easy enough to do it in a cell.
It's easy enough to do it and stay put.
It's the theatrical
Comeback in broad day
To the same place, the same face, the same brute
Amused shout:
'A miracle!'
That knocks me out.
There is a charge.
For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge
For the hearing of my heart-----
It really goes.
And there is a charge, a very large charge
For a word or a touch
Or a bit of blood
Or a piece of my hair or my clothes.
So, so, Herr Doktor.
So, Herr Enemy.
I am your opus,
I am your valuable,
The pure gold baby
That melts to a shriek.
I turn and burn.
Do not think I underestimate your great concern.
Ash, ash--
You poke and stir.
Flesh, bone, there is nothing there-----
A cake of soap,
A wedding ring,
A gold filling.
Herr God, Herr Lucifer
Beware
Beware.
Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air.
Alanis Morisette, Britney Spears, Sylvia Plath--it all boils down to the same thing. I never learn. This is number Three. I wish I can say I was Lady Lazarus. I wish that I can do something else really well. This is not the sort of thing I want to become known for.
I have no words for this grief. If you wish to listen to Sylvia Plath reading this poem, go here. She renders my misery quite well.
Lady Lazarus
I have done it again.
One year in every ten
I manage it-----
A sort of walking miracle, my skin
Bright as a Nazi lampshade,
My right foot
A paperweight,
My face a featureless, fine
Jew linen.
Peel off the napkin
O my enemy.
Do I terrify?-----
Yes, yes Herr Professor
It is I.
Can you deny
The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth?
The sour breath
Will vanish in a day.
Soon, soon the flesh
The grave cave ate will be
At home on me
And I a smiling woman.
I am only thirty.
And like the cat I have nine times to die.
This is Number Three.
What a trash
To annihilate each decade.
What a million filaments.
The peanut-crunching crowd
Shoves in to see
Them unwrap me hand and foot-----
The big strip tease.
Gentlemen, ladies
These are my hands
My knees.
I may be skin and bone, I may be Japanese,
Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.
The first time it happened I was ten.
It was an accident.
The second time I meant
To last it out and not come back at all.
I rocked shut
As a seashell.
They had to call and call
And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.
Dying
Is an art, like everything else.
I do it exceptionally well.
I do it so it feels like hell.
I do it so it feels real.
I guess you could say I've a call.
It's easy enough to do it in a cell.
It's easy enough to do it and stay put.
It's the theatrical
Comeback in broad day
To the same place, the same face, the same brute
Amused shout:
'A miracle!'
That knocks me out.
There is a charge.
For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge
For the hearing of my heart-----
It really goes.
And there is a charge, a very large charge
For a word or a touch
Or a bit of blood
Or a piece of my hair or my clothes.
So, so, Herr Doktor.
So, Herr Enemy.
I am your opus,
I am your valuable,
The pure gold baby
That melts to a shriek.
I turn and burn.
Do not think I underestimate your great concern.
Ash, ash--
You poke and stir.
Flesh, bone, there is nothing there-----
A cake of soap,
A wedding ring,
A gold filling.
Herr God, Herr Lucifer
Beware
Beware.
Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air.
Alanis Morisette, Britney Spears, Sylvia Plath--it all boils down to the same thing. I never learn. This is number Three. I wish I can say I was Lady Lazarus. I wish that I can do something else really well. This is not the sort of thing I want to become known for.
I have no words for this grief. If you wish to listen to Sylvia Plath reading this poem, go here. She renders my misery quite well.
Monday, July 21
follow your knees..not
Found this girl's entry about reality bites and how girls, when faced with the situation of having to choose, tend to follow their knees:
[wry grin] I felt for her. Been there, done that, got the battle scars to prove it. Every emotionally mature cell in your body tells you to go for Mr. Nice. He's wonderful. If you made a list of what you wanted in a man, Mr. Nice would have a lot of it. He's stable. He's reliable. He's safe. But he doesn't turn your knees to jelly.
Like many great heroines, this lady struggles and ends up going with her knees...Like I said, I felt for her. Even saw why the knees thing happened. But wanted to throw my popcorn at her when I saw her deciding to end up with Mr. Wrong.
It's a tough choice, though, one women go through every single day - do I follow my head or my loins?
I've got a choice for her, and for anyone out there who feels the same. Option 3. Get rid of 'em both and find someone who makes your head and your loins happy. Then worry about your heart.
Found this girl's entry about reality bites and how girls, when faced with the situation of having to choose, tend to follow their knees:
[wry grin] I felt for her. Been there, done that, got the battle scars to prove it. Every emotionally mature cell in your body tells you to go for Mr. Nice. He's wonderful. If you made a list of what you wanted in a man, Mr. Nice would have a lot of it. He's stable. He's reliable. He's safe. But he doesn't turn your knees to jelly.
Like many great heroines, this lady struggles and ends up going with her knees...Like I said, I felt for her. Even saw why the knees thing happened. But wanted to throw my popcorn at her when I saw her deciding to end up with Mr. Wrong.
It's a tough choice, though, one women go through every single day - do I follow my head or my loins?
I've got a choice for her, and for anyone out there who feels the same. Option 3. Get rid of 'em both and find someone who makes your head and your loins happy. Then worry about your heart.
Sunday, July 20
Bean Man
Richard Curtis once lived in the house with the blue door. He's also the guy behind the Mr. Bean tv series and movies. He's done mostly comedies, including Four Weddings and a Funeral, Bridget Jones, and the upcoming Love Actually. The premise as listed in Imdb is quite interesting: ten separate but intertwining tales set in London and France leading up to a big climax on Christmas Eve. Cast includes Rowan Atkinson, Liam Neeson, Keira Knightley, Shannon Elizabeth, Colin Firth and Hugh Grant (again) as the new Prime Minister of the UK. It's like casting Keannu Reeves as the President of the United States, except that in this movie, Billy Bob beat him to it.
Richard Curtis once lived in the house with the blue door. He's also the guy behind the Mr. Bean tv series and movies. He's done mostly comedies, including Four Weddings and a Funeral, Bridget Jones, and the upcoming Love Actually. The premise as listed in Imdb is quite interesting: ten separate but intertwining tales set in London and France leading up to a big climax on Christmas Eve. Cast includes Rowan Atkinson, Liam Neeson, Keira Knightley, Shannon Elizabeth, Colin Firth and Hugh Grant (again) as the new Prime Minister of the UK. It's like casting Keannu Reeves as the President of the United States, except that in this movie, Billy Bob beat him to it.
Why do you build me up?
Meanwhile, reading the script kept me glued in front of the computer until very late. So it wasn't until then that I went over to the other house to say hello to my mother. She was watching television. Then she blurted, "Ay we forgot about Buttercup! Maganda pa naman yung kasunod eh. Bakit kasi ngayon ka lang nagpunta?"
My mother associates Saturday nights at home with me and Buttercup. Just great. How jologs can you get?
Meanwhile, reading the script kept me glued in front of the computer until very late. So it wasn't until then that I went over to the other house to say hello to my mother. She was watching television. Then she blurted, "Ay we forgot about Buttercup! Maganda pa naman yung kasunod eh. Bakit kasi ngayon ka lang nagpunta?"
My mother associates Saturday nights at home with me and Buttercup. Just great. How jologs can you get?
I'm just a girl in the world
Went download crazy yesterday and got myself mostly scripts for romantic comedies, which I'm sort of studying right now. Don't ask me why. Have got City of Angels, Only You, Pretty Woman.
I got them for different reasons. I have the almost complete Cameron Crowe Ouvre: Almost Famous, Jerry Maguire, Fast Times at Ridgemont High. I skipped my favorite movie. I got Phone Booth because it has one location and one time frame. Magnolia for its multi-layer and multi-character approach. I had a copy of the script before so this is just reloading. The Graduate so I can see the difference between the script from novel by Charles Webb. Yesterday, I was browsing Details, the one with Ethan Hawke/GenX issue. There was an article about the Broadway run of The Graduate with Jason Biggs in the role of Benjamin Braddock. Kathleen Turner was Mrs. Robinson. I'm wondering how that one turned out. The Pie and Mrs. Robinson. Lastly, I got Heathers and American Beauty.
So last night I finished the script to Notting Hill in one sitting. There's something to be said about reading the script first before the movie. All I know is that it stars Hugh Grant and Julia Roberts, and it's like ordinary guy meets most famous movie star and they fall in love, with many complications. When I came to the part where Anna Scott went to William's travel bookshop, and she wanted him back, and gave him this dialogue on the difficulty of being a celebrity, she said this:
I am just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love me back.
Then she gave him the Chagall painting with the goat in it. Because happiness isn't complete without a goat. Can you imagine that? Yes, yes, I know. It must be something in the water.
Went download crazy yesterday and got myself mostly scripts for romantic comedies, which I'm sort of studying right now. Don't ask me why. Have got City of Angels, Only You, Pretty Woman.
I got them for different reasons. I have the almost complete Cameron Crowe Ouvre: Almost Famous, Jerry Maguire, Fast Times at Ridgemont High. I skipped my favorite movie. I got Phone Booth because it has one location and one time frame. Magnolia for its multi-layer and multi-character approach. I had a copy of the script before so this is just reloading. The Graduate so I can see the difference between the script from novel by Charles Webb. Yesterday, I was browsing Details, the one with Ethan Hawke/GenX issue. There was an article about the Broadway run of The Graduate with Jason Biggs in the role of Benjamin Braddock. Kathleen Turner was Mrs. Robinson. I'm wondering how that one turned out. The Pie and Mrs. Robinson. Lastly, I got Heathers and American Beauty.
So last night I finished the script to Notting Hill in one sitting. There's something to be said about reading the script first before the movie. All I know is that it stars Hugh Grant and Julia Roberts, and it's like ordinary guy meets most famous movie star and they fall in love, with many complications. When I came to the part where Anna Scott went to William's travel bookshop, and she wanted him back, and gave him this dialogue on the difficulty of being a celebrity, she said this:
I am just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love me back.
Then she gave him the Chagall painting with the goat in it. Because happiness isn't complete without a goat. Can you imagine that? Yes, yes, I know. It must be something in the water.
Saturday, July 19
Wednesday, July 16
I really am not a poet
no one thing to me?
Are derided in life. stuff
for the new tide. I really care.
I may sound cute
to be better
in water?
Or Burger Machine.
I am DisplayCounts 105827788427245452 ;
Monday, July 14
Have you
You can then proceed to think Mark? Hehe.
no gourmet. Kahit na
chucks | chaffstealth | click mo
mukha mo! | coke addict |
cynthia, inside| my heartbeat skip
at the job, but if they
do, some reason you can only take
in the Times?! staffers
likely those
from traditional media. She
would have sucked at the
distinction of deadma.
For added sustenance: I am no more little miss
nice kantogirl canEdit = new voices on the mall
earlier this To
many, particularly young instead of
trouble. Tough times yes.
Got it from the Random Poem Generator. It's so surreal it doesn't make sense. Turn in your own crap. The one made for angas was a bit better.
no one thing to me?
Are derided in life. stuff
for the new tide. I really care.
I may sound cute
to be better
in water?
Or Burger Machine.
I am DisplayCounts 105827788427245452 ;
Monday, July 14
Have you
You can then proceed to think Mark? Hehe.
no gourmet. Kahit na
chucks | chaffstealth | click mo
mukha mo! | coke addict |
cynthia, inside| my heartbeat skip
at the job, but if they
do, some reason you can only take
in the Times?! staffers
likely those
from traditional media. She
would have sucked at the
distinction of deadma.
For added sustenance: I am no more little miss
nice kantogirl canEdit = new voices on the mall
earlier this To
many, particularly young instead of
trouble. Tough times yes.
Got it from the Random Poem Generator. It's so surreal it doesn't make sense. Turn in your own crap. The one made for angas was a bit better.
gossip folks
The cronus effect is that of a reactionary's. The parent is afraid of being overtaken by his/her children. They are afraid that the children will be better. So better to eat the young, and kill the vanguard riding on the new tide. I once felt like this:
And it's ironic because the very project I used to be in focused on young people. Of course I am not taking out the possibility that I may have sucked at it. I will not be entirely blameless. But leaving that project did sadden me. I thought I could wing it, but couldn't hack it. Hack is the keyword. I was a hack.
I probably still am. Now I know the distinction of doing something for the paycheck and writing something because I want to write. Digression: But come to think of it, maybe leaving the project turned out to be better in the end. I actually am happier now, and leaving it was like finally putting up "this is the end" sign on a chapter of my life. That time marked the end of a lot of things for me. I'm not afraid of younger and better people coming along. I have a right to be, actually: We all know that someday, we're going to be replaced by a younger, hipper, more daring editions of ourselves. I lived through it, and I am glad to still be alive. End Digression.
In the article, the new Times editor is sitting on the lid of a near revolution. She's young. She wasn't from "traditional media." She was a web writer. And she's the protegee of someone who just got sacked because incidentally, another young writer who caused a lot of trouble. Tough times yes. In a way I'm also afraid of that. If your mentor got sacked and people don't like you, can you actually survive in a jungle where everyone is basically a gossip folk? It's one thing to be likeable, and another to learn how to suck ass to stay in your job. Heaven forbid that that happens.
The cronus effect is that of a reactionary's. The parent is afraid of being overtaken by his/her children. They are afraid that the children will be better. So better to eat the young, and kill the vanguard riding on the new tide. I once felt like this:
To many, particularly young journalists, Kantor's hiring was inspirational, a symbol that new voices on the Web were finally being noticed by the mainstream media. A 28-year-old editor at the Times?! Fans of Kantor's work knew that she would be great at the job, but that the Old Gray Lady noticed seemed to legitimize the whole enterprise. The revolution was beginning.In which being young instead of becoming an advantage became a liability. You are hit and given a potshot because you're young and an easy target. You write for the web. You don't have a communications degree. You're from the frigging creative writing program. You're at the bottom of the food chain and easy to dispose of.
But then Jayson Blair happened, and he took down Raines and his supporters and damn near the whole paper. Much has been made of Blair's race, but if anything, what mattered more was his age: 27. It's not black reporters who are derided in the Times newsroom -- it's young ones. Particularly those who, like Kantor, started their careers on the Web.
Raines took a chance on Kantor, and with him gone, some believe her protection has eroded. So some Times staffers -- likely those from sections other than Arts and Leisure -- are taking aim.
And it's ironic because the very project I used to be in focused on young people. Of course I am not taking out the possibility that I may have sucked at it. I will not be entirely blameless. But leaving that project did sadden me. I thought I could wing it, but couldn't hack it. Hack is the keyword. I was a hack.
I probably still am. Now I know the distinction of doing something for the paycheck and writing something because I want to write. Digression: But come to think of it, maybe leaving the project turned out to be better in the end. I actually am happier now, and leaving it was like finally putting up "this is the end" sign on a chapter of my life. That time marked the end of a lot of things for me. I'm not afraid of younger and better people coming along. I have a right to be, actually: We all know that someday, we're going to be replaced by a younger, hipper, more daring editions of ourselves. I lived through it, and I am glad to still be alive. End Digression.
In the article, the new Times editor is sitting on the lid of a near revolution. She's young. She wasn't from "traditional media." She was a web writer. And she's the protegee of someone who just got sacked because incidentally, another young writer who caused a lot of trouble. Tough times yes. In a way I'm also afraid of that. If your mentor got sacked and people don't like you, can you actually survive in a jungle where everyone is basically a gossip folk? It's one thing to be likeable, and another to learn how to suck ass to stay in your job. Heaven forbid that that happens.
Tuesday, July 15
For the curious and otherwise
No, I don't have a motto in life. That's stuff for fifth grade slumbooks. I remember a friend saying, "Why are we so depressed when I used to be bubbly?" And the other friend went like: "Because life happened to you." I don't know how this fits into the "what's your motto" question, but anyhow, there you go.
No, I don't have a motto in life. That's stuff for fifth grade slumbooks. I remember a friend saying, "Why are we so depressed when I used to be bubbly?" And the other friend went like: "Because life happened to you." I don't know how this fits into the "what's your motto" question, but anyhow, there you go.
laundry list
There are days when I just shut myself inside my room and write for several hours or even days. On weekdays, there is no one else home, so if I go hungry I am forced to scrounge around for food, or whatever is left in the cupboard or from breakfast. In the last year or so, we haven't been stocking up that much food. It's either I get dressed (meaning throw on a less tattered shirt) and walk to the corner store or hike up to the nearest 7-11 or Burger Machine. I don't like walking under the noonday heat, or endure the traffic to go downtown. And you can only take in so much siopao or hotdogs or pints of ice cream.
So I thought since I was already at the mall earlier this afternoon, after my meeting. Maybe I could do some grocery shopping. Trips to the supermarket usually just entails cereal, shampoos, bags of Nesvita and Gatorade, tuna. Kanina I let myself go through the entire fresh produce section. They had frogs legs and octopus balls. I considered getting them until I realized I would have to cook them, and I am no gourmet. Kahit na ba fried octopus lang mahirap pa rin yun ha.
I got myself fruits---papaya and pears. No more papaya jokes please. They will not have an effect or if they do, keber ko pa rin. I went straight home anyway. I wanted to do ginisang ampalaya. And red eggs and tomatoes. Salad sets. Canned tuna and mackerel. Shouldn't there be a canned tuna chunks in water? Or did I just dream they existed some time ago? Hmmm. I think I've deprived myself too long from a proper kitchen cooked meal.
For added sustenance: I got some Sustagen, more Nesvita, fresh milk, orange juice, chocolate chip cookies, Berocca, energy drinks, Snickers bars and internet prepaid cards. I can then proceed to shut myself in for another couple of days.
There are days when I just shut myself inside my room and write for several hours or even days. On weekdays, there is no one else home, so if I go hungry I am forced to scrounge around for food, or whatever is left in the cupboard or from breakfast. In the last year or so, we haven't been stocking up that much food. It's either I get dressed (meaning throw on a less tattered shirt) and walk to the corner store or hike up to the nearest 7-11 or Burger Machine. I don't like walking under the noonday heat, or endure the traffic to go downtown. And you can only take in so much siopao or hotdogs or pints of ice cream.
So I thought since I was already at the mall earlier this afternoon, after my meeting. Maybe I could do some grocery shopping. Trips to the supermarket usually just entails cereal, shampoos, bags of Nesvita and Gatorade, tuna. Kanina I let myself go through the entire fresh produce section. They had frogs legs and octopus balls. I considered getting them until I realized I would have to cook them, and I am no gourmet. Kahit na ba fried octopus lang mahirap pa rin yun ha.
I got myself fruits---papaya and pears. No more papaya jokes please. They will not have an effect or if they do, keber ko pa rin. I went straight home anyway. I wanted to do ginisang ampalaya. And red eggs and tomatoes. Salad sets. Canned tuna and mackerel. Shouldn't there be a canned tuna chunks in water? Or did I just dream they existed some time ago? Hmmm. I think I've deprived myself too long from a proper kitchen cooked meal.
For added sustenance: I got some Sustagen, more Nesvita, fresh milk, orange juice, chocolate chip cookies, Berocca, energy drinks, Snickers bars and internet prepaid cards. I can then proceed to shut myself in for another couple of days.
Monday, July 14
Have you seen my claws lately?
Here's the deal: If for some reason you have managed to annoy the hell out of me, it is not advisable to call me kitty kat** or any other term of endearment which may sound cute to you. I do not respond to cuteness or cloying sweetness. It will only convince me of my right to ignore you. You will be referred to as "s/he who must not be named."*** I've said it once and I will say it again, I can be deadma. For sheer reason of survival, I will be a master in the art of deadma. You can either take that as evidence that I have a heart of stone or that I'm trying to hide behind my facade, but I really don't care. I have tons of resolve, and hell, you don't know me.
**Refer to kantogirl_logs.
***No, I am not a Harry Potter fan, and my heartbeat doesn't skip at the mention of "order of the phoenix."
Here's the deal: If for some reason you have managed to annoy the hell out of me, it is not advisable to call me kitty kat** or any other term of endearment which may sound cute to you. I do not respond to cuteness or cloying sweetness. It will only convince me of my right to ignore you. You will be referred to as "s/he who must not be named."*** I've said it once and I will say it again, I can be deadma. For sheer reason of survival, I will be a master in the art of deadma. You can either take that as evidence that I have a heart of stone or that I'm trying to hide behind my facade, but I really don't care. I have tons of resolve, and hell, you don't know me.
**Refer to kantogirl_logs.
***No, I am not a Harry Potter fan, and my heartbeat doesn't skip at the mention of "order of the phoenix."
Tuesday, July 8
[in]famous
is more like it. This always happens whenever there is a microphone, the devil and the angel, and some heartwrenching wrestling. Maybe they're just following Velma Kelly's dictum, don't you think, Mark? Hehe.
is more like it. This always happens whenever there is a microphone, the devil and the angel, and some heartwrenching wrestling. Maybe they're just following Velma Kelly's dictum, don't you think, Mark? Hehe.
Monday, July 7
Film's not dead, dammit!
A lot has been said about the so-called digital revolution. George Lucas made the pronouncement. Digital cams are getting better. But so far, the films I've seen in this medium have the grainy effect of amateur videos. While going digital is cheap. There's still have a lot to go, and a lot has to be said about film's big and glossy look. I don't think you can call it a revolution yet. A small storm brewing in a teapot, yes. Sorta like Dogme95. Stage a coup, but film is still king.
A lot has been said about the so-called digital revolution. George Lucas made the pronouncement. Digital cams are getting better. But so far, the films I've seen in this medium have the grainy effect of amateur videos. While going digital is cheap. There's still have a lot to go, and a lot has to be said about film's big and glossy look. I don't think you can call it a revolution yet. A small storm brewing in a teapot, yes. Sorta like Dogme95. Stage a coup, but film is still king.
Friday, July 4
the real tgif
I think a reason I really like weekends is that when we wake up, we can make love.
Whoa, goooood moorning! Definitely a slight notch better than bacon and eggs, and I'm not really a big morning person. Well, kung ganyan lang sana ang blog ko di ba? Happy!
link stolen from markmomukhamo!
I think a reason I really like weekends is that when we wake up, we can make love.
Whoa, goooood moorning! Definitely a slight notch better than bacon and eggs, and I'm not really a big morning person. Well, kung ganyan lang sana ang blog ko di ba? Happy!
link stolen from markmomukhamo!
Hop on the B-train
They stay late at premieres, never far away from that last, lingering paparazzo. They take a gift bag—maybe two. No discreet “We’re just friends” for them, they mate and break up with each other noisily. They dance until all hours on the banquette at Les Deux Cafés or Bungalow 8 or wherever else was cool five minutes ago. They don’t hurry along the red carpet, cosseted by handlers and bodyguards; rather, they stop and smile and answer questions. They wave and wave—some even blow kisses. They’re working hard to be on a first-name basis with the world, even if they’re not there quite yet. But they’re striving. Ardently, publicly striving. They do it because they’re B-List—and that’s why we love them.Well, because we can't all fit on the first train. As for me, deadma na lang sa hierarchy.
Why Girls Are Weird
Do you even have to ask that question? The description and short reviews from Amazon got me interested. Bored girl in a sorta dead end job learns how to configure HTML and creates an online persona and fabricates really interesting situations and imaginary lovers. Sort of a cautionary tale on blogging and the cyber life. Hm..sounds so familiar doesn't it?
Do you even have to ask that question? The description and short reviews from Amazon got me interested. Bored girl in a sorta dead end job learns how to configure HTML and creates an online persona and fabricates really interesting situations and imaginary lovers. Sort of a cautionary tale on blogging and the cyber life. Hm..sounds so familiar doesn't it?
Guyana on the 17th floor, or comedy as German philosophy
via the morning news
"We were a colony. I don't mean this in a bad way, but we were Guyana on the seventeenth floor. We didn't go out. We stayed there. It was a stalag of some sort." Rosie Shuster remembers waking up at the office and then going outside with Aykroyd, to "walk each other like dogs around 30 Rock just to get a little fresh air." On Saturdays, after the taping was finished, the cast would head downtown to a storefront that Belushi and Aykroyd had rented and dubbed the Blues Bar. It was a cheerless dive, with rats and crumbling walls and peeling paint and the filthiest toilets in all of New York. But did anyone care? "It was the end of the week and, well, you were psyched," Shuster recalls. "It was like you were buzzing, you'd get turbocharged from the intense effort of it, and then there's like adrenal burnout later. I remember sleeping at the Blues Bar, you know, as the light broke." Sometimes it went even later. "I remember rolling down the armor at the Blues Bar and closing the building at eleven o'clock Sunday morning—you know, when it was at its height—and saying good morning to the cops and firemen,"Aykroyd said. "S.N.L." was a television show, but it was also an adult fraternity house, united by bonds of drugs and sex and long hours and emotion and affection that went back years. "The only entrée to that boys club was basically by fucking somebody in the club," Anne Beatts tells Shales and Miller. "Which wasn't the reason you were fucking them necessarily. I mean, you didn't go ‘Oh, I want to get into this, I think I'll have to have sex with this person.' It was just that if you were drawn to funny people who were doing interesting things, then the only real way to get to do those things yourself was to make that connection."Interesting article about Saturday Night Live, breeding house of eccentric comedy. We are inclined to think that genuine innovators are loners, that they do not need the social reinforcement the rest of us crave. But that's not how it works, whether it's television comedy or, for that matter, the more exalted realms of art and politics and ideas. It is a colony wherein you need affirmation and rejection from your peers, a snide camaraderie. You don't really think of it as work, especially when you're having a good time. The best job is something like that.
via the morning news
Tuesday, July 1
Ambot sa imo.
I have no idea what everyone is saying around me. That's my problem. But I do get around, and that is what is important.
You know those tricycle drivers in Dumaguete are even more cruel than the taxi drivers in Manila. Late Sunday afternoon, I went candy shopping at Lee Plaza. We were leaving at dawn Monday so we could go to Sitio Avocado. Since I was already downtown, volunteered to get the candies for the kids. I got a bit carried away and ended up with two huge grocery bags of sweets. Chocolates, marshmallows, candies, wafer sticks, everything. The only thing missing was gummy bears. There are no gummy bears in Dumaguete. At least where I went shopping. And from the looks of it, there probably wasn't any. The px counter didn't carry them either. So no gummy bears for them.
What I had was still heavy, maybe 6-7 kilos of candy. Something must be wrong when a girl with two huge shopping bags can't get a ride from downtown at rush hour. Establishments downtown close at 7pm. Worst thing is, the tricycle drivers ask you where you're headed and if they don't like the place, they leave you. I kept saying, "Boulevard po." Then they would all scoot. Just shoot me please.
Finally got back to the hotel. My segment producer got shocked when he saw me. "I know you volunteered to get the candy. I didn't know you were getting this much. The kids might get diabetes or something." Wala pang gummy bears yun ha. Hehehe.
I have no idea what everyone is saying around me. That's my problem. But I do get around, and that is what is important.
You know those tricycle drivers in Dumaguete are even more cruel than the taxi drivers in Manila. Late Sunday afternoon, I went candy shopping at Lee Plaza. We were leaving at dawn Monday so we could go to Sitio Avocado. Since I was already downtown, volunteered to get the candies for the kids. I got a bit carried away and ended up with two huge grocery bags of sweets. Chocolates, marshmallows, candies, wafer sticks, everything. The only thing missing was gummy bears. There are no gummy bears in Dumaguete. At least where I went shopping. And from the looks of it, there probably wasn't any. The px counter didn't carry them either. So no gummy bears for them.
What I had was still heavy, maybe 6-7 kilos of candy. Something must be wrong when a girl with two huge shopping bags can't get a ride from downtown at rush hour. Establishments downtown close at 7pm. Worst thing is, the tricycle drivers ask you where you're headed and if they don't like the place, they leave you. I kept saying, "Boulevard po." Then they would all scoot. Just shoot me please.
Finally got back to the hotel. My segment producer got shocked when he saw me. "I know you volunteered to get the candy. I didn't know you were getting this much. The kids might get diabetes or something." Wala pang gummy bears yun ha. Hehehe.
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