Wednesday, June 30

Bill Clinton has a blog

Bill Clinton has a blog

And it's mostly about his recently released book, the tour, signing sessions. I wonder if it's genuine though. Anyone who's a Clinton stalker can do that.

Tuesday, June 29

Bring in the zombies

Michiko Kakutani reviews Alex Garland's "The Coma" in the NYTimes.
In a nutshell: "Though "The Tesseract" and to a lesser degree "The Beach" were also concerned with large, philosophical themes and narrative innovations, their fast and furious plots gave those ambitions much needed ballast. "The Coma" is all ideas and technique with too little character or plot to keep these grander notions grounded."

So I guess that doesn't mean it's too good. I still think maybe I should have that copy of The Tesseract last week. Oh well.

Previous Garland-gushing here. Find out who Michiko Kakutani is here.
Between a sniffle and the devil in the deep blue sea.

In times like these, you throw me a bone and I'll be very happy. Makes me less guilty for having to skip class and stay at home, too.
tapos yung next subject ay creative writing (CW10). haLos maLigaw ako kasi Lumipat paLa siLa ng ro0m sa kabiLa.. gRrR.. hehe! pero masaya yung CW sobra.. maganda pa yung teacher at angganda ng accent niya kapag nagsasaLita.
Grabe ang babaw ko. I hate viruses. I hate the weather. Give me my voice back.

Tuesday, June 22

I have no konsensya

I have no konsensiya.

Just wanted to note that the previous konsensya post is long delayed. I tried out Blogger's new email-to-blog feature last Saturday, and it only showed up today. Super late. It already appeared in the other blog because I couldn't wait anymore.

Hail, hail the gang's all there.

Hail, hail the gang's all there.

At the Team Angas headquarters, that is. The Diva has joined the good ole block, and for starters clears up the very touchy issue of why he doesn't want to be called The Diva.

Please also welcome Tamadita. She's tamad and she has only one blog post to her name.

All we need is for Father Nudas to show up and give us corny Biblical fart jokes.

kantogirl, ito ang iyong konsensya.

kantogirl, ito ang iyong konsensya.

Magblog ka naman. Take full advantage of Booger's new email-to-blog potential. Kahit na tungkol lang sa men's
, and how men also now suffer bulimia because all the evil glossies make them nervous that they don't measure up to the perfect man. Pain is beauty, beauty is pain di ba?

Kaya if not that, then drag all the bile caused by rejection letters kasi editors are evil, tulad nitong isang ito:
This is just to say
we have taken some plums
we found in our mailbox.
You were hoping they would be
yours. Forgive us,
others seemed
or colder
more bold
or whatever.
Ingat lang kasi baka may mag-react. Remember,
slushkillers are people also.

Monday, June 21

Big Mac Economy

Here's further proof that even if the world currency is switched to burgers, the Philippines is still hanging tough at the bottom rung:
The Big Mac PPP is the exchange rate that would leave a burger in any country costing the same as in America. The first column of our table converts the local price of a Big Mac into dollars at current exchange rates. The average price of a Big Mac in four American cities is $2.90 (including tax). The cheapest shown in the table is in the Philippines ($1.23), the most expensive in Switzerland ($4.90). In other words, the Philippine peso is the world's most undervalued currency, the Swiss franc its most overvalued.
We're the world's favorite whipping burgers. Or, as some people would say, the politician with the least fault may cast the first cheeseburger.From The Economist's Big Mac Index, via rebecca blood

Sunday, June 20


Allow me to park my brain out on the doorstep while I gush and savor my fangirl mode.

Item # 1: Here's an interview with ChuckP over at bookslut. He talks about writers and research, viz:
Some writers research in order to write. I write in order to research topics that interest me. Especially if I can meet with other people, in forums from illness support groups to phone-sex hotlines, and learn what other people know best. Every character (really, person) sees the world through a framework of education and experience that they're proud experts about. To write a character, find out what they know best, and THEN you'll know how they'll describe a "hot day." Or a "pretty girl." Plus, when you're talking to someone about their field of expertise (really, just listening) whether it's physics or mythology or finding risky sex, you'll notice how people really SHINE when they talk about what they know well. Being around that shine is reward enough.
If you did your research, you might as well determine what sort of language your character will use, i.e., building his/her vocabulary:
It's not so much about "playing dumb" as about creating a wardrobe of phrases and words specific to each character. Me, myself, I almost always start a new topic by saying: "It's funny..." that's my private "bumper music" to seize the listener's attention. It's a throw-away phrase to enroll the listener before you say the important part of your sentence. Most people have a small collection of relative clauses they use to get attention or to manipulate a conversation. For each character, you must find those and stay true to them. Beyond using simple, accurate language, you can use fancy-pants words -- but only to demonstrate what the character knows BEST. The overall language of a story should never swamp the story. Also, with bland words, you get more the "timing" effect of a pause, not sub-vocalized by the reader, a quiet pause that makes what follows more powerful.
Also, an accompanying author picture right here: I say not bad, not bad at all. If you want more ChuckP, join his cult and his online workshop here.

Item # 2: Meanwhile, Alex Garland comes out with a novella which uses sleep and dream, with woodcuts by his dad, who insists on calling him "Alexander."

Woodcuts by Nicholas Garland.

We've been told in writing class that it's very bad form to end a story with "..and then I woke up and it was all a dream," but Alex Garland starts The Coma with this same ruse. I wonder how this one turns out. It's taken him a while to come up with a follow up book, not that he was idle. He wrote the screenplay to the lean mean zombie movie 28 Days Later, which I liked and which is not related at all to the Sandra Bullock movie. I was in Booksale this afternoon and saw a hardbound copy of The Tesseract, his sophomore effort which was set in the Philippines, btw. But it was so damn expensive, I didn't pick it up anymore. To be consistent with the gushing, here's a very broody "Alexander," who doesn't like to have his picture taken:

Yummy. Too bad he's got a wife and a kid, git.

Item # 3: Lastly, J.K. Rowling quits and abruptly ends the Harry Potter series because she's discovered boys. I. Am. Not. Kidding.

Iligtas mo kami sa lahat ng mga chaka

Little Bombers 2:
Lord Save Us from Kachakahan

I don't know if it's something in the air or in the water, but really, everything is just so dreary right now. Fellow dungeon dweller B and I agreed about that, since he elected to just stay home with a recently unearthed half a bottle of vodka. Dreary, I tell you. Since I got hit by tamaditis (Do I blame Ka Pete?) I didn't have the energy to trudge all the way to Libis for the Fete. Malate was out of the question, and going to Mega for the Pink thing just wasn't worth it. So hung around in Greenbelt and learned that the French Film Festival moved to Greenbelt 1 and that Sex is Comedy was showing last night. So that's where we went. I don't know why the French are so fond of that French ending (like duh, di ba?) S(ex)I(s)C(omedy) is like that, but it's not funny at all, it only has its moments. We liked the part with the fake dong. It must be the only bright spot of that movie. Yes, yes, I know it's a philosophical blah with ruminations on the self and how difficult it is to shoot a sex scene. Oh hell so sue me. But it wasn't all that bad. Managed to score this:

yey i'm a fangirl na naman!

Chuck P's Fugitives and Refugees from the bargain bins. Hardcover too. This is from the book's description:
Want to know where Chuck Palahniuk’s tonsils currently reside?
Been looking for a naked mannequin to hide in your kitchen cabinets?
Curious about Chuck’s debut in an MTV music video?
What goes on at the Scum Center?
How do you get to the Apocalypse Café?
I will have to content myself with this because when I went to Powerbooks Live!, the trade paperback edition of Lullaby was just so damn expensive. Now I have to find Geek Love, since he refers to it quite a lot.

Back to the sludge report, I suspect that things turned a downward spiral since the event of the girl reading from the Corinthians in that Living Out Loud gig. For chrissakes hasn't she learned from Mandy Moore? Mag-"love is patient, love is kind" ba? Dapat yun binasahan nito. Then there was that guy who almost burned the entire area with a reading of Uniberso with matching jumping up and down. When somebody brought in the flowers and the birds, we knew it was time to step out.

Nevertheless, we've been haunted by the spectre of Chinchin Gutierrez. While repairing to the Breton after the SIC movie, she was all there in the weekend papers, with news that her Uyayi album is now being played in French radio stations. There really must be something in the water.

Saturday, June 19

Boredom alert

Drink and savor me to the very last drop.

How to make a kantogirlblues

1 part pride

5 parts self-sufficiency

1 part ego
Blend at a low speed for 30 seconds. Top it off with a sprinkle of fitness and enjoy!


Personality cocktail

Gah. Am so freaking bored. And it's humid. I got hit by tamaditis so I don't think I can do the Fete this year. Everything is just boring boring boring. You can't even depend on film festivals anymore.
Juan dela Blog

Time Magazine throws its gaze (yet again) to the direction of the blogospere, and still not getting it quite right. So Meet Joe Blog. Hm. So should we now have a Juan dela Blog? If so, how will it go?
Hunyo 19
Huy blogging from a century hence. Birthday kasi ni Rizal ngayon. Php5.50 na ang pamasahe sa jeep. Wala pa rin kaming presidente. Tapos gusto pa nilang i-tax ang pagte-text. Paano na lang ang mga text mates ko? Wala na yatang pag-asa. Dapat na sigurong tapunan ng lampara ang gas depot sa may...wag ko na nga ituloy, baka ma-Minority Report pa ako o baka magdeclare ng war against terror chuvaloo pa ako.

Friday, June 18

Little Bombers

I watched Friends and Lovers (aka Lover's Concerto) on opening day. There were a dozen people inside the Glorietta 1 theater we watched it in, and it was the last full show. My friend and I had the entire downstairs area to ourselves. It was cold down there. The film was dubbed in Tagalog, and there were moments wherein we knew they were just cashing in on the his My Sassy Girl persona. Of course he should carry a drunk girl on his back, of course there had to be a scene where there's a single tree on that hillside. The dubbing sucks. The movie sucks. I don't know why I wanted to watch it.

Speaking of little bombers, I rushed home Monday night to catch the Marinara premiere. And it was raining, and it was a really bad day to go off rushing home with the rest of humanity. When I finally sat in front of the tv to watch it, all I could think of was "This is why I'm home right now? Chrissakes I could have stayed in Sarah's and had a better time instead." For a premiere, it sure was uneventful. That's all I'm going to say.

I was at PowerBooks Live! last night and something on the cashier counter caught my eye. It was the announcement to the "book which changed your life promo." They didn't even put what books the winners talked about. Wala lang, some people won.

The guards at the LRT2 are pretty strict these days. They wanted to know if I concealed a bomb in my kikay kit. Sadly, all they found was a lonely tube of Clinique mascara which I don't wear anymore, my lipbalm and my allergy meds. All this because a bomb went off in Katipunan the other night. The angas girls and I were on the way home Tuesday after dinner at Chiggy's (and they seem to have a grudge against us, those waiters who don't want to serve) and we saw news vans from all the major networks parked at the corner near Mini-Stop. We conned Tita Arlyn to ask a light from the Yosi Man so we could ask what happened. Some people got hit, and another one blinded. Many bombs going off around the city at the same time, and we still dose off in our trains. Trouble trouble...

Sunday, June 13

That Guy

Who's that French Guy?

I kept asking myself that while I watched Mercredi Folle Journee yesterday. Some people wouldn't exactly call Martin Socoa a good dad. He was a police officer but would do off track bets, is neck deep in debt, can't keep a relationship with a woman going for too long, and would even ask his daughter to the lie to the court so he could get off paying alimony to a previous wife. It doesn't help that the film felt very truncated at times. You can't help feeling lost, and most of the characters are little kids getting lost. Apparently, Wednesdays in France are dedicated to kids. They don't go to school and get to do things that they like. How come we don't have that here?

Anyway, Martin Socoa seemed so familiar but I couldn't place him. If he were in a police line, he'd look vaguely familiar but not enough to do an ID. So even if I'd seen him in movies, unless it's something really spectacular I wouldn't really stick the name with the face. Well it turns out he was in that other French film I saw a few days back, the more amusing one with the judge and the girl who steals expensive shoes. Vague Guy's name is Vincent Lindon, and he is married to the actress who played the judge.

One thing I've realized: this is the first year where I didn't really feel too bad if I didn't watch all the movies, and that I voluntarily skipped screenings so I could go off and watch Singles* (again, NOT the Cameron Crowe one) and Azkaban. The ones I did see (Filles Unique, Mademoiselle and Mercredi Folle Journee) were not really that spectacular. I feel a bit bad (but not that bad) about missing Tout Va Bien, On S'en Va, but only because it's about a missing father. Then again, it probably wouldn't kill me. But I'm waiting for one film though, Catherine Breillat's Sex is Comedy. I missed the only screen time for that like 2 weekend's ago, because it was raining real hard, and hopefully I'll get to catch the UP screening. Another thing, I miss the director's chair poster. This year's poster seems too kalat for me.

*What I did watch was Singles by Mac Alejandre. It has those subheadings like in Crowe's portrait of dating in the 90s, and it's trying too hard to be Sex and the City, and it ultimately trips on its own shoelaces and falls flat on the floor. I watched it on a Saturday night and the theater wasn't full. (And yeah, it's relegated to the backwater theater of Florietta 1 in its first weekend, while that only other Pinoy film playing, All My Life, has a bit more life coming into its Glorietta 4 cinema.) You'd laugh in some parts, but it doesn't really make you care. In other words, and this is so cliche, isa siyang pelikulang walang puso. Also, you can really see they're scrimping on the locations. Kailangan bang sulitin ang shooting sa Eastwood? And we're wondering now: Why is Jay Manalo in every single Regal Films movie? He's in all the Mano Po movies, in I Will Survive (again, another one of those films which you don't make you feel anything strongly) and here again. Is his presence a constitutional requirement of their corporation laws or something? Anyway, back to Singles, after you trudge your way out of the theater, you just go out and glad that it's time to go home and perhaps wishing you should have asked for more ketchup for your fries. You don't want to boo the film for being spectacularly bad, but it's not really good good either.
Brokeback Mountain

So some time back, (like at the start of summer classes) fellow dungeon dweller B threw me this anthology of Wild West stories edited by Larry McMurty. He wanted me to read this story about two cowboys getting it on while the sheep are looking. It was bleak and you could see why they would get drawn to each other.

So the other day I was prowling the net and learned that Ang Lee started production on a film that has Jake Glyenhaal and Heath Ledger as cowboys in love while they're shepherding sheep in some bleak countryside, and it's called called Brokeback Mountain. Sounded so family. Learned it from this blog, and I suspect this is based on that story by Annie Proulx, and I don't know how to pronounce her name. I'm now bitching myself to death because I've had that book on loan since summer and I haven't even browsed it yet.

**Update: And that same story is in my spanking new Scribner Anthology of Contemporary Short Fiction (meaning everything is written after 1970, and meaning I'm now poorer because of that blasted book) so I have no excuse not to read it. Then again I was told it's from an entire novel so blast it, more reading. Or maybe I'll just wait until 2005, when the film is due. But Ang Lee reportedly took out all the love scenes so what's the point eh? What's the point?

Thursday, June 10

All the wackos

All the wackos of Friendster

have been trained to send me a message. For the past couple of days now, people I've never even heard off, including some girl who is possibly a porn star, have been asking if they could be my friend. What, is there a post it on my picture that says "Befriend this loser here."

FHM for Breakfast

Weird Breakfast Moment with Mum, #350578

I was having taho and champorado earlier, and I was sipping my coffee while browsing my mother's Insider magazine. She went in and saw me and announced, "Dapat bibili din ako ng FHM na si Aleck Bovick yung cover eh." Then she walked into the bathroom and I sat there blinking and thinking did my mum really just volunteer to get the household some FHM?

That doesn't happen everyday, and I was thinking maybe she snuck into my room looking for laundry (because she's forbidden me to take stuff to the laundromat for whatever reason) and found the FHM Buffy tribute I recently scribbed from the neighborhood Booksale. Other than that, I can't think of any reason why my mother will bring up the magazine, and in the morning too, before I reached my caffeine saturation point.

Wednesday, June 9

Ramona Diaz

Ramona Diaz on Imelda!*

Ramona Diaz, who grew up in Manila and then made movies, gets charmed by the Madame in this NYTimes article. She asked for a 15 minute interview but ended up talking with her for more than four hours. Here is an accompanying review. There's also an article in today's Inquirer about the movie, which will be released in Manila come July, in time for the Madame's 75th birthday. Tony Gloria's Unitel Pictures, which produced Crying Ladies, is the distributor.

And while we're at it, in the article, Tony Gloria mentions that at the half year mark of 2004, only 20 Filipino movies would have graced the screen. That's roughly 25% of the production of what we had last year. These days, the competition is not just Hollywood, but the other Asian countries like Thailand which previously did not register a beep in our pop culture consciousness. Now the Thais are making sci-fi movies and the cheesier horror flicks. We can laugh all we want about the "I am lonely says the acacia tree," but Thailand and Korea are kicking our asses in the celluloid battles.

*Because I feel like her life should be made into a mondo musical with singing and dancing shoes and a Dahil Sa 'Yo aria.

Chip Kidd

Not about Melanie Marquez

Chip Kidd, graphic designer and book cover artist, on Peanuts and how to make someone judge a book by its cover.

A long delayed eulogy on the death of the novel (again). The suspects include several hundred creative writing programs, the rise of nonfiction, and yeah, old age:
Its work was over, its purpose had gone, it was exhausted. Gentlemen: the novel has had a long life. Cervantes, Sterne, Austen, Melville, Tolstoy, Bellow. Wonderful years when it showed people the human condition as nothing else could. But no matter how much surgery we gave it—the Nabokov triple-bypass, the De Lillo nose-job—its life wasn't infinitely renewable. Gentlemen (he says at last, and thank goodness), quite simply the novel has died of old age.'
So is that the same case for us? No Great Pinoy Novel because it's already been written around the time of the Victorians, and any other diatribe would be a retooling of an old machine, i.e.:
The hundreds of good novel-craft-workers, who have industriously and carefully learned the lessons of plotting and character, of where to be lush and when terse, are turning out modern replicas of thinking-machines developed to their full range a century ago. It is as if the internal combustion engine had been technically perfected in 1870 and all today's cars were simply Victorian models with updated styling.

Maybe the novel, like other art forms, is not forever but has a life-cycle of invention, full expression and formal decay. This has been true, after all, of the symphony, ballet, representational painting, the glazed pot. It does not mean that we can't enjoy modern symphonies, or that there are not very enjoyable representational artists still at work - the Silver Age glitters, after all. But the great work, the time of discovery, is over and done and cannot be reopened.
So what now? The novel's dead, long live the short story?

The Hero Club Sandwich


Okay, so my afternoon is jolted by the discovery that Star Circle Quest winner Hero Angeles is actually from UP *gasp* and he's from FA *coughcoughcoughchoke*

Of course some people are rooting for Sandara. What's strange with this new development is that together, Hero and Sandara could star in their own show*** and it'll look like a Korean soap or at best, something generically Asian. I've been whining before about what a pity it is we can't do regional coproductions of the Bangkok-HK-Taiwan variety because we're all so Hollywoodish and don't know any other Asian languages, and now maybe we can export them and we can import Cha Tae-hyun. He has a movie showing on the 16th, Friends and Lovers. I'm not sure if this is supposed to be Crazy First Love or Lover's Concerto. He both appears in them with that girl from Endless Love 3. Actually I'd probably be happier if we can get Seung-heon Song (aka Johnny in Endless Love)
but anyhow, the day we can do a coproduction like Bangkok Haunted with the Joi Barrios look alike in it, I'll be very very yip-yay happy.

Minor celebrities abound. Like in the freshman orientation last Monday. Ate Glow was there to clarify that he's from CAL, and not MassComm as rumored. New English spokening poster girl Patricia Fernandez was also there and was interviewed in Kris Aquino mode by Isao Sugiyama. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised anymore, since there is no rule that UP people can't aspire to be artistas. To be an artista is way up on the top of the list of how to get out of poverty, along with becoming a basketball player and overseas contract worker. If you poll these kids who join the star search contests, a huge lot will say to pay off family debts or to help the family. In one of the Starstruck Kids episodes, when asked who you'd want to get voted out, some kids said it was okay if Bea got voted out "kasi mayaman naman sila." (And she did get voted out, she's not in the Final Four as of last night. I suppose I'm putting my money on Sam, not because she reminds everyone of Aiza Seguerra, but well, I like kids who can kick ass and not be too syrupy sweet.)

What can I say, we live in a society obssessed with artistas+. It doesn't matter if it's Kris Aquino, Judy Ann Santos, Sandara Park or Rainier Castillo--we're all fans.

***I hear it's going to be called Sandara's Romance. Yeah, it's going to be hinged on her, not really Hero. Oh well, the dude's a sandwich, although Gwen says he's a good kid. Phish be to everyone.

+Still at the orientation, when the college boasted to being home to nine Artistas ng Bayan, I kept thinking Ate Guy, not Nick Joaquin or Rolando Tinio. If they said "National Artist" or "Pambansang Alagad ng Sining" I would have.

Tuesday, June 8

That's the way the cookie crumbles.

After nearly three years and an hour of sulking (not directly related to the issue of whether to watch or not), I was finally prevailed upon to watch Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. Now for the last several years I have staunchly stood by my decision to not watch any of the HP movies, not because I'm a fan, but because I refuse to read or watch anything that everyone has watched. I've been this way since the Disney movies of the early 90s--Beauty and the Beast, The Little Mermaid, etc. I also missed The Bodyguard, Ghost, and all those romantic comedy movies because I refused to be infused with the spirit of Walt Disney et al.

Now as for HP, it wasn't for lack of trying. My brother had an HP phase and had copies around the house, borrowed from friends, and there's been an attack of the reruns of the movies on tv. I've had the movie playing in the kitchen the last couple of weekends while I had dinner, but it didn't really sink it. All I know is that it was bright as hell with sunshine and color and all, but nah and went on to proceed with dinner.

Then last night, after being disturbed from my foraging at Books for Les and being made to walk several blocks back to Glorietta, I sulked over my chili and refused to be consoled. Bad day and all. But there you go, prevailed upon to watch the movie, but grudgingly so. The only mtivation I had was that it was directed by Alfonso Cuaron, it couldn't be that bad.

That wasn't so bad, yeah. But really, for something that's been rated PG, it was dark and brooding and goddamn scary. Why they call this a movie for kids, I don't know. But it was a movie, it was. And yeah, there's a moment that felt so Back to the Future like. Discovery: Daniel Radcliffe is short. There was a moment in the movie that he trailed Hermione and Ron and he was short! I've always assumed Harry was taller than those two. And Emma Watson, give that girl a few more years, she's going the way of Lindsay Lohan and Keira Knightley. A few more years.

Sunday, June 6

How to know your friends are all geeks

How to know your friends are all geeks

And not bothered by it by a single bit: So you all converge at that little hole you all call The Dungeon and agree to babysit someone who wants to go to the mall. But it's rush hour and it's raining hell outside. On your way out, you run into other geeks who are armed with potato chips and convinced to wait out the crowd and the rain, but well, fat chance to have your spirits dampened--it's a chance to spend the night out.

You run out and there's a cab parking at the curb. You all pile in and say where, and immediately whip out your phone to text and gloat, but damn, the other person's phone has been stolen so you can't even gloat.

In the dry comforts of the mall, you pile past British India and your friend exclaims, "My, that's so postcolonial ha." The salesperson give you the weird eye and you cringe. Your friends are all turning CL on you.

Subway, schmubway

Subway, schmubway

This is what it's like to be in a NY subway. I just borrowed this photo, ok? Okay.

The New York City subway system is
considering a ban on taking pictures in the subway. That's not something new here in Manila, because the LRTA forbids any kind of pictures/videos shot within/around the vicinity of the system. That's why even if I did get myself a digicam or a phonecam, there still won't be any shots of the vistas from the train windows.

In other worlds, I also heard that Korea is banning mobile phones. Wtf is up with that? Are we all going technophobes all of a sudden? Maybe that's where we should send John Osmeña then?

What it's like

Variations on a theme.

Smitten's friend got dumped and is now soliciting the company of other miserable people. When asked what it's like to suffer (it's always a verb like "to suffer," or "to nurture," as though it's something you raise and pour water on, stir for added effect) from heartbreak, people would say it feels like being shot--the bullet hits you, but you don't feel it immediately, not at all, unless you've bit hit in the spinal column. It's still possible to walk on for a block or two hundred, and you would go on, until you realize that blood fills your shoes and is doodling patterns on the sidewalk. That's when you realize the pain is real, when you see the spot growing around you, the blood not quite the shade in your crayon box, but a very dark one.

So anyhow, pain. For T and for smitten, whose comments box is flooded by different versions of what it's like to get dumped: (1) S/he sends you a text message, (2) Your boyfriend's mother calls and greets you a happy birthday, and "btw, my son's having an affair. I just thought you should know;" (3) Immediately post coital, while you're still both naked, and in his apartment, natch; (4) your boyfriend dedicates Robert Palmer's "I Didn't Mean to Turn You On," among other things.

The person compiling the Sawi anthology would probably have a field day reading this. Pain is always a nice motivation.

Saturday, June 5

We Don't Like You. Go Away.

We Don't Like You. Go Away and other warm welcomes.

Was having lunch with my mother a while back and saw the Marinara commercial. Rufa Mae really has just one voice, but it sure seems funny. Of course some people will find this show to be awfully bland and a cop out joke, but well, that's Pinoy tv for you.

Christopher Walken cooks.

The Japanese want no sex, while American teenagers get a lot while young, as in really young, like thirteen.

Tea Day

The One Wherein the Weekend Plan Collapses Because of Heavy Rain.

After yesterday's mad dash to the finish line of the registration process. (Screw CRS, they say it's a lotto anyway.), I wanted to have a leisurely weekend preparing syllabi for the coming term, since we've been issued a memo that the goddess (for lack of a better term) wants to see our CW syllabi on Monday morning. How nice, di ba? Thus the mad plan to spend most of Saturday traipsing around bookstores in Makati, hoping to assemble something between shelves and coffee pots before hitting the cinemas for the French Film thingie, but no, it's raining, so I'm doomed here at home.

I have decided to make some tea again, since I've been powered by caffeine this registration week. My fancy new yuppie tumbler served its purpose well, and I love it. I was tempted to slip some rhum and coke in it while they weren't looking, and nobody would have known anyway. A drink is absolutely necessary if you're part of the reg staff trying to stave off a revolution of mad students who are forever petitioning the addition of more Eng 30 classes. Why they would do that, I don't know. Additional culprits for my ngarag week: pushy parents who want to exert their ageist powers over you while their darling sons and daughters, who are supposedly varsity people, sit in their vans while mommy bullies the reg assistant. Like that Peroxide Blond Mommy yesterday. We wanted to decapitate her for making our blood pressure surge.

So back to tea. Douglas Adams teaches us how to make tea. If you can't be bothered, then you can just drop by MiniStop, grab your instant coffee of choice, and then head to the hot water machine before you ride that jeep to school or work or wherever. Or you can just hide under your blankets until Monday in this sleepy blanket weather, syllabi be damned.

Tuesday, June 1

Perhaps as a corollary to Butas Na Chuck's previous post, an answer or an echo, though I've had this in my mind for a few weeks now:

The trouble is that we have a bad habit, encouraged by pedants and sophisticates, of considering happiness as something rather stupid. Only pain is intellectual, only evil interesting. This is the treason of the artist: a refusal to admit the banality of evil and the terrible boredom of pain.

Perhaps it's possible to write something that's all glib and happiness. I don't know yet if I can do it, but I think it can be done.