i'm not really used to traversing outside my personalised nook and write a blog. factors connive to make the typing action an extra-difficult task -- the noises in the background; the airport keys that my arthritic fingers are struggling with, on the so-called cafe pc; the train fare; the cold; the wind. nothing beats being inside the house really. but my internet service provider is so efficient that they haven't fixed our connection for almost two months. there's no comfort in this dilemma. i'm submerged in my home-made sauce.
life without blogging goes by fast. there are tons of stuff i want to download from you tube but can't. so i'm limited to watching friends on dvd, dipping into the never-ending chores of washing and ironing, reading and reflecting about every tiny dessicated tidbits on racism. my other half said the triumvirate of BB celebs were too thick to be racists. but despite sprinkling the fiery words of JG with a splash of sugar. the world has not changed. to kill a mockingbird is still a relevant piece of literature.
my workplace is a hubbub of different cultures. it's like living in the anthropological world of margaret mead. different colors magically appear before one's eyes. as if we can subdivide the human race into a red or a blue or fuchsia. the most hardworking aren't necessarily the likes of britney. the likes of whitney however are loud and aggressive, or quiet and pushy? but good breeding seeps through despite wealth or color. i've met the moody pinoy and it's not pleasant.
