filler blog

i'm in listening intently to pearl jam's backspacer and it's good but i'm an embarrassment when it comes to music themes and lyrics recall unless its air supply or barry manilow ( save me!). while my husband can sing along with death metal bands or dizzee rascal.

so here i am loading this blog with 2009's four season's pics:

winter 2009 (thicker snow for london)


autumn 2009 - falling leaves while i was strolling along a posh street

spring 2009 in hampstead

summer in bedford (31st may 2009)

fireworks

worn down by the non-stop activities of the week, i have no choice but to rest and snooze. not my choice of welcoming the new year. nonetheless, i've got to go work on the first day of the year. but for all those who are in the party mode, have a happy new year! the fireworks are great at trafalgar square (although the one above was from a bacolod starry, starry night).

rotund

To eat or not to eat, that is my not so very original question. The second half of the noughties saw me gain twenty pounds leading to a radical change in my wardrobe contents to accommodate the increasing dress size and misshapen physique. In this highly cruel, antagonistic world of bitchiness, becoming a tubby conundrum is not cool. It’s the diet of saturated fats, gripped on rice, rice and even more rice, of excess carbohydrates turning into fats, on subsisting on desserts and the what nots. I don’t eat tomatoes ever. Try as I might with the daily 30-minute workout, it still remains a wistful dream. Alas, I write consistently about this topic. All I want is to stop all the grating rants and get to work.

glossy sentiment

during the lull after christmas, in between work days when the twilight was in its overpowering form, i decided to view one of the simmering films kept in the sky plus cupboard. i've always been intrigued by ingrid bergman, she was not only a quintessential swedish beauty who conquered hollywood but the most international of actresses who spoke five languages and acted in each of the languages in various stages. she's well known for the film that i haven't seen yet in its entirety, Casablanca (1942). not to mention she's the fourth greatest female star of American cinema in the AFI's list.

of course, only the foolish has not seen Casablanca (1942). but i'm finding my way through the backlogs. Anastasia (1956) is her comeback hollywood film after years of living and acting in Italy with her second husband Roberto Rosselini and in which she won her second Academy Award for Best Actress. directed by Ukrainian-born Anatole Litvak, it looks like a romantic melodrama at the outset but due to Bergman's depth and skills, it turned out to be a cinematic acting achievement, a masterpiece of range and emotions. it's a story of an amnesiac claiming to be the Grand Duchess Anastasia, the youngest daughter of the murdered Romanov family. Yul Brynner plays Bounine, the emigre' general who wants to stake a claim for the 10 million pound inheritance. Helen Hayes is the dowager empress. the film is part fact and fiction. the recent findings have the remains of the four grand duchesses accounted for including anastasia. but to some of us who are such suckers for fairy tales coming true, this is one fairy tale that proves that great actresses always rise above froth and puerility, that talent prevails despite the platitudes.

twenty fifth, twenty sixth

It has been a divine two days of bingeing and exchanging sweet nothings. Christmas is like Valentine’s Day, full of kisses and surprises. It’s totally corny. Now it’s time to chill and get ready for work. The headache is no longer a bother to my subconscious.

I’ve finished the book I was reading for months, learned a lot from its well-travelled author and his subject. It’s time to commence on an even thicker novel by a highly-celebrated young writer. It’s too bulky to carry around my backpack. But despite the inconvenience of its weight, it’s going to be well worth it. The previous book offered sharp enjoyment, fascinating vistas of the old world. This thicker one is from a younger perspective, a different upbringing, but shares an Oxbridge connection.

Been to Craven Cottage today. I enjoyed the atmosphere immensely. I was swearing left and right. I swear left and right on a daily rate anyway. This is just another day. All hail Gomes, Modric.

modern fairytale

It was christmas eve babe
In the drunk tank
An old man said to me: won't see another one
And then they sang a song
The rare old mountain dew
I turned my face away and dreamed about you
Got on a lucky one
Came in eighteen to one
I´ve got a feeling
This year´s for me and you
So happy christmas
I love you baby
I can see a better time
Where all our dreams come true.

They got cars big as bars
They got rivers of gold
But the wind goes right through you
It´s no place for the old
When you first took my hand on a cold christmas eve
You promised me broadway was waiting for me
You were handsome you were pretty
Queen of new york city when the band finished playing they yelled out for more
Sinatra was swinging all the drunks they were singing
We kissed on a corner
Then danced through the night.

And the boys from the NYPD choir were singing Galway Bay
And the bells were ringing out for christmas day.

You´re a bum you´re a punk
You´re an old slut on junk
Lying there almost dead on a drip in that bed
You scumbag you maggot
You cheap lousy faggot
Happy christmas your arse I pray god it´s our last.

And the boys of the NYPD choir's still singing Galway Bay
And the bells were ringing out
For christmas day.

I could have been someone
Well so could anyone
You took my dreams from me
When I first found you
I kept them with me babe
I put them with my own
Can´t make it out alone
I´ve built my dreams around you

And the boys of the NYPD choir's still singing Galway Bay
And the bells are ringing out
For christmas day.

i was humming away with Shane McGowan and Kristy McColl.
a christmas treat

pics of the season

merry christmas to each and every one.

cheers to one and all

bing crosby playing the piano --- sweet


I'm dreaming of a white christmas,
just like the ones I used to know
Where the treetops glisten and children listen
to hear sleigh bells in the snow

I'm dreaming of a white christmas,
just like the ones I used to know
Where the treetops glisten and children listen
to hear sleigh bells in the snow

I'm dreaming of a white christmas,
with every christmas card I write
May your days be merry and bright,
and may all your christmases be white

I'm dreaming of a white christmas,
just like the ones I used to know
May your days be merry and bright,
and may all your christmases be white

I'm dreaming of a white christmas,
with every christmas card I write
May your days be merry and bright,
and may all your christmases be white

May your days be merry and bright,
and may all your christmases be white

And may all your christmases be white (All your christmases be white)
And may all your christmases be white (All your christmases be white)
And may all your christmases be
(All your christmases be white)
(All your christmases be white)

tweedles

Julia Stiles' points about Twitter and my friend Joy’s blog about facebook status updates got me into pondering overdrive. Is writing 140 characters or less about our lives in a minute by minute account signify a substantial contribution to the world at large? My answer is I have no clue.

Quite insightful.

I can’t do twitter on the basis that I’m already on a few social networking sites and it takes too much of my downtime. I very seldom update my status in facebook because I don't log-in daily or several times a day. Plus mobile internet is not part of my phone contract. I’m aware I need a massive phone upgrade.

Facebook interfaces differ from phone to computer. The pages are different when I'm bored out of my wits amongst snobs and I'm tweaking the hubby's phone for comfort. I was once checking my facebook page last summer in the pub when a high-falluting brunette spinned it into the word networking. “So you’re networking,” she muttered with raised eyebrows. I don’t like that word, networking. It sounds blase and trivial. She was not even acknowledging my existence in that table. Me, being brown skinned, flat nose and all. I have no idea why she’s a facebook “friend, ” at any rate. She could be one of those people who would not give one a chance because she does not speak like Keira Knightley or Jude Law. But I keep her amongst my “ friends.” She might have the information to the dead language of ancient civilizations.

Of course, when I surf the internet, I get lost in the black hole. I start with updates from Tito Alfie and read the news from home to the broadsheets and tabloids from way back since adolescence. I won’t be able to find my way for hours. I read the interesting blogs. Sometimes I don’t get to find the time to update my blog because I’ve got to run the diurnal errands and fill the stockings with tokens. Like right now. But I was able to type this blog first. There’s my breakthrough.

december solstice

the winter solstice is here.
a little bit of light will suffice.

two sharps 2

It’s almost Christmas Day, the date to remember in sharing the love and goodwill, exchanging presents and feasting on the sumptuous dinner. All the celebrations and revelry are on the 25th itself . There's no such thing as noche buena to the English. I’ll contribute my share in the kitchen. I could hardly wait. It has been a joy wrapping the presents.

All the eating is harmful to my health. I 've gained a lot of weight. The recent buzz has been the issue of consuming meat being bad for the environment. I've never evolved into a herbivore. The debilitating cough that was discussed earlier in the blog still weakens my resolve. The combination of snow and rain make it atrocious, especially with the long hours at work and the litter that perpetually awaits. I need some profoundly deep breathing.

meryl, meryl

i was glossing over AFI'S top women screen legends the other day and i compared and contrasted their careers and their films that i want to see. audrey hepburn is high up the list and it left me bewildered, marilyn monroe is even included and got ranked higher than liz taylor and joan crawford. hype is huge when it comes to these rankings, so i took a glance at their lovelives and saw a few wrecks. with the exception of grace kelly, i concluded, yes, none of them is like meryl streep.

one of the things about ms. streep that is enviable is her rock solid marriage. she also graduated from yale drama. she could switch from comedy to drama to musical without hardly a sweat. she collars an academy award nominations by just doing a film. she's simply great for the entertainment industry. she was already 45 when she did bridges of madison county which was replete in pinoy censorhip contorversies back in the day. but here she is, at 60, as viable as ever, with nominations from both the Golden Globes and the SAG Awards, critically-lauded as usual.

noms

It’s more fun hearing the Golden Globe nominations from the stars --- John Krasinski, Dianne Kruger, Justin Timberlake. I haven’t seen the Golden Globe Awards for quite a while and if ever I will be fortunate enough to receive a live feed or not be working on the day, it would be an astounding personal coup. There are a few surprising motion picture nominees, mostly in comedy or musical categories. Daniel Day-Lewis and Hugh Laurie are both nominated. I will probably catch Nine, mixed reviews and all, somehow, somewhere.

following the trend

february snow

spin

One thing about December that makes me really excited is that the twenty-first is just a few days away. After the longest night is the countdown to summer and that would be my cue to smile again. It’s frosty tonight. If it snows heavily, public transportation in the UK would be audibly affected. Our household is not huge on carbon emissions as its denizens rely mainly on oyster and travel cards to get from point A to B. London charges highly exorbitant fees when it comes to sustaining or driving cars. Or in all vehemence, the thought of driving, does not stimulate my senses. I’ve been properly recycling as well in the last few months. I’ve become more anal than before which makes me breathe comfortably in my couch potato seclusion. I’ve not seen The Inconvenient Truth or the gospel of Leonardo. But all of a sudden I’m reading about climate change. Typhoon Undoy got to me more than any other typhoons of yore. To think of this lovely home being drenched in the floods. Perhaps not having a vehicle and not accumulating flyer miles may be a description of a skint person. Nevertheless, I’m becoming more conscientious as the pages are turned. I reckon it’s a good thing.

season's cheers

from ES magazine

it's merely a week before christmas and i'm still under the weather. a few bits and bobs would certainly complete the decor under the white tree. first, i have to crawl out of the cave.

star blog

happening upon julia stiles blog has been the highlight of my week. it's a great site with beautifully written paragraphs. certainly a requisite read.

movable walls

It has been discussed in a few occasions, probably in this blog why Gone With The Wind is one of my favorite movies. It’s an extremely long film and for a chick flick, Rhett Butler surely knows how to break hearts. But the alluring charm and beauty of Vivien Leigh as Scarlett O’Hara endures through generations. Despite all the accolades that came with success in both motion pictures and the stage, she was a wreck psychologically, stricken with bipolar disorder that she suffered in private for most of her life. Her other Academy Award winning role is her performance as Blanche Dubois in Tennesse Williams’ A Streetcar Named Desire (1951) directed by Elia Kazan and co-starring Marlon Brando as Stanley Kowalski.

Leigh as Blanche is riveting. Originating the role at West End’s stage production which was directed by Laurence Olivier, her transformation of the character into film accommodates a more vivid picture of Blanche’s nuances and expressions. It’s an extremely challenging role, requiring elements of haunting depth to convey the profound distress of a declining southern belle. Gifted with expressive eyes, exquisitely formed visage and a pliant spirit, Leigh’s Blanche is the benchmark for all past and present Blanches whether on stage and television. Brando as Kowalski is all the more brutal and remorseless as it was brought to life by a young Brando himself. The other actors in the film with Kim Hunter as Stella and Karl Malden as Mitch channel the sleazy and graphic components of the New Orleans slum.

I usually have trouble interpreting shadows and gradations in black and white, but the film is all the more intense and resplendent with the gray interpretation of squalor, penury and breakdown.

thy discern

Peter Aliss, the BBC golf commentator is wrong. Tiger Woods is bigger than golf. Why else would his minor accident in his gated community be front page of The Sun when there are wars going on in the world? So since sports’ larger than life pariah is taking an indefinite leave from competition, I am as well having a breather from watching golf. Do I even follow golf when Tiger Woods is not in contention? No. I don’t waste my time with the Padraig Harringtons or the Colin Montgomeries. It’s my glory-hunting persona. In 1997, Tiger’s ascent was in conjunction with tennis’ Martina Hingis. CNN at that time thought Tiger’s age of 21 compared to Hingis’ 16 was ancient in comparison. Almost thirteen years later, the likes of Hingis has gone and been featured in Strictly Come Dancing but Tiger is still top news.

Top news for all the negative reasons, if I may surmise. Sponsors pay top dollar for squeaky-clean representations. Infidelities. Transgressions. Indiscretions. Those are not the words associated with sports’ number one asset. Sports is a brand. It’s only understandable for the sponsors to back out. It’s all about image. The world of reality and superficiality are intertwined. Wasn’t Tiger himself who said and I paraphrase that prize money in golf are what matters and the list of endorsements only affirms your agent’s ability?

I agree, of all people John Daly, would you believe? Phrases, such as he should go on Oprah, or they should not stay together for the sake of the kids, they should stay together because they love each other reverberate for this shout out. It has never been Tiger’s style to talk about his personal life. It’s there for the world to see and speculate, his idea for a girlfriend or a wife. He is a family man now and in a highly-conservative society, he should be judged harshly. As for those girls, they’re making hay at the moment, enjoying their time in the spotlight. Maybe a few would be in one or two reality shows. I don’t get it, Tiger’s wife is a blonde knockout, former bikini model. It doesn’t bode well for women in general who may not be as pretty to feel secure in conjugal bliss.

Hopefully Tiger would be be back in time for the majors -- there’s the Masters in April. The US Open is in Pebble Beach, the British Open is in St. Andrew’s. I know the PGA Championship at Whistling Straits does not chime with broad familiarity as the rest, but it’s a major and should resonate. Time is a great healer. Tiger should learn a lesson from this experience and remember as a public face, the press especially the tabloids are a powerful tool to make or break a commodity.

monologue about slebs

would you come to my Hello wedding?
that's a superb line. reality shows are a vacuous enterprise.
there was a time when talent shows were not drawn in the
same category. but the addition of people who were never
good singers or composers as judges but with acerbic tongues made
for good tv, thus rendering the process, just that, good tv.

on that note, i watch some of E! reality shows as a filler to my day.
i'm totally bored with some , but totally enraptured by one or two.

addendum : march 2011
as for the speech in the clip, very well said mr. gervais.
our dealings should have more substance than flair.
like the thought of katie price should never enter our subconscious.
but like all other tabloid fodders, they are the ones indulging in comfort and joy, laughing at us for being such suckers.

thrills

it's great to see the lighter side of dominic west. although his mcnulty is quite hilarious whenever i get a glimpse. his prince segismundo meanwhile administered the chuckles when he threw one of the characters off the balcony. i reckon i should view mona lisa smile again on dvd, just for a different look of his dastardly dreamboat to julia roberts and company.

trimmings

it's december, the time of the year when newspapers and magazines render pages upon pages of gift suggestions. i like the bookworm page obviously, even the kitchen stuff. the techie page from ES mag (above) is not too bad either. i've done my wrappings save for one.

'tis the season.

attenuated strain

i was just very rude to the former mrs. richie, the artist who sang like a virgin. her name came up in passing when she was name-dropped by her high-brow damsel friend in an article. my rudeness is probably due to my perpetual cough. i'm still feverishly suffering from the remnants of rain and my claws are in their deadliest. going back to the artist' high-brow friend, she's not the salt of the earth type. she's more like maris crane, only with children.

the game though is occupying the hours. it's also eating up valuable time and power. i've decided to stick with my nintendo tetris. that's it. and i have to go back to bed, i'm feeling enfeebled by just getting out of the room.

lavish love

As a child, my mom talked incessantly about Giant (1956) the film. Directed by George Stevens and starring Liz Taylor, Rock Hudson and James Dean, it’s a sprawling epic of Texas, its beautiful people; the ranchers and billionaires, the nouveau riche of the early 20th century that shape up the vast and unadulterated landscape of cattle, horses and oil. It’s also 190 minutes long, not only three hours of precious screen time but also three hours that should be allocated to the pursuit of the daily grind. If you like James Dean, then it’s worth it, as this is his final screen appearance. He was killed in a car accident before the film was released. He made only three films but had two academy award nominations with each role as surly and as stroppy as the other.

Liz Taylor’s role as Leslie Benedict is the one I consider as the backbone of this classic, a beauty from a rich family in Maryland who is as smart and strong-willed as she is beautiful. Rock Hudson plays Jordan “Bick” Benedict, Leslie’s rancher husband who owns 595,000 acre spread called Reata. James Dean is the ranch handyman Jett Rink, who strikes it rich when his plot of inherited land (from Bick’s sister Luz) gushed oil. The story on most part illuminates on Jett’s personal vendetta against the Benedicts. There are also storylines revolving the Benedict children and their reluctance to run the family business. There is a minor subplot on racism towards the Mexicans who served as ranch hands and helpers in the film.

The film dazzles in every respect. It’s a story of an enduring marriage that is rich in scale and dimension. In Bick and Leslie, we see the crux in blending their two worlds. Prior to marriage, Bick was the lord and master of Reata, together with the subtle touch of a liberal-minded wife, the social conscience is thoroughly realized after three hours, but it's actually more than a quarter century and two grandchildren later.

just when i thought

Just when I thought all the coughing is gone. It merely lurks behind the shadows when I’m about to talk or sleep. Cough, cough, cough. That has been my bane the last few days. My voice is cracked up to bits. I could hardly speak but I guess the voice is improving with the series of bed rest administered to sooth the strain of existence. Hardly becoming an agoraphobic, I simply couldn’t expose myself to the rigors of the blustery season. For now.

But tomorrow or the next is another day. I will rise and shine in no time.

making of an album

Pearl Jam --- Making of Backspacer

fluffy

westfield london

two sharps

as we're about to venture into another decade, i'm deciphering other people's book archives. i can't even remember if i have finished reading a novel this year. i haven't absorbed a few literary gems in all its glory in '09. i might have, but basically not enough to construct an archive.

being just a nice person, just won't do isn't it? the better-than-most clique call that timidity. timid is not a flattering word to use to describe a person. as the most redundant of cliches utters, silent water runs deep. idle gossips and all-around bitchiness bollocks are debilitating to peaceful coexistence. it's more prudent to just read and talk about martial law in maguindanao.

game

austere

Still down in the dumps nursing a cold, my schedule is in its usual frazzled mode. I'm aware I need a few days in bed to recuperate and probably get some writing done. But some cleaning needs to be accrued in order to have to create those holiday moments. My recycling collection is in a damn fine mess. I’m stuck into The Christmas Clause starring Lea Thompson, a TV movie I reckon from the powers that be that decide good old Christmas card flicks would make the day of any poor old soul. The happy ending never fail to enlighten although I’m still reflecting on my friend’s fascination with a lovely Hermes bag. I’d rather be cuddly with my chap than have all the Chanel products combined. But the nice and really expensive items make other people happy. I’m just grateful for what I have.

if you like flimsy

I haven’t seen The Women (1939) yet, the film that starred Norma Shearer and Joan Crawford. But its remake The Women (2008) starring the likes of Meg Ryan. Annette Benning, Debra Messing, Jada Pinkett-Smith and Eva Mendes, I was able to view recently on Sky Movies. It’s pretty hollow flick. Men in nature shouldn’t be polygamous. They just shouldn’t. Both The Women films have no male characters appearing on the screen, although their failures and peccadilloes are mostly the main topic in the discussions and repartee. It’s also quite unthinkable for Joan Crawford as a saleslady behind the counter waiting for a man to drape her in jewellery. I always picture her as a toughie and independent. As for Eva Mendes as the mistress and a cosmetics salesgirl, well. Meg Ryan shouldn’t had those facial surgeries that made her a shadow of her former It Girl glory.

gim-ang

I’m feverish at the moment, no thanks to the weather. I easily get affected by seasonal darkness with rain. It’s not time to be jolly. I don’t mind the extremes of temperatures but the rain is getting on my nerves specially after a hard day’s work. The twilight express ( a pun with no relation to books or movies) hits me hard, really hard. kagim-ang.

For those on the other side of the globe,
I envy your shining luminescence.

beetlebum

a song about drug addiction. how i wish blur would get together again.

affiliation

vanity fair may 2001
there are covers and there are covers.

of sports and men

In Sport mag list of the wealthiest sportsmen, Tiger Woods is number one while Manny Pacquiao at sixth, quite remarkable for a Filipino. It also comes as no surprise that both men are now deemed controversial through rumours of extra-marital affairs. Well, some women want to bask in luxury and experience the privilege of living the grand existence. Going back to the list, there are only two footballers in the honor roll aside from the David Beckham who is at number three. The fabled club though does not include Cristiano Ronaldo but Ronaldinho and Lionel Messi, two South Americans now on the opposite levels of playing firepowers. Yes, Beckham is the only English footballer with the dream marketability. Just to show the profitability of basketball as a sport, there are more NBA players on the roster than any other sports. LeBron James is just outside the top three at number four, while Kobe could only manage 15th, lower than Yao Ming at 13, Kevin Garnett at 14 and Shaq who is joint ninth with Formula One’s Fernando Alonzo and the truly magical Valentino Rossi.

For good measure here are Sport mag’s members of the Wealthy Boys Club; 1. Tiger Woods (£59.3m) 2. Phil Mickelson (P31.6m) 3. David Beckham (£26.9m) 4. LeBron James (£25.3m) 5.Kimi Raikonen (£23.9m) 6. Manny Pacquao (£23.8m) 7. Lionel Messi (23.7m) 8. Alex Rodriguez (£23.3m) 9. Valentino Rossi (£20.9m) 9.Fernando Alonzo (20.9m) 9.Shaquille O’Neal (£20.9m) 12. Kevin Garnett (£20.7m) 13. Yao Ming (£19.7m) 14. Lewis Hamilton (£19.6m) 15. Kobe Bryant (£18.6m) 16. Roger Federer (£17.6m) 17. Allen Iverson (£17.3m) 18. Vijay Singh (£17.1m) 19. Derek Jeter (£16.9m) 20. Ronaldinho (£16.3m).

It should be noted that Manny Pacquaio’s figures do not include the recent win against Miguel Cotto. Sports is universal in its appeal and although the Americans lead the way with almost half of the names on the list with nine, it’s still a very international field in a variety of sports. Before Tiger Woods came along, golf was not a top earning sport. Through Tiger, the sport has re-branded into something cooler and spectacular. But he’s only human, he makes mistakes and he likes his blondes (his former girlfriend and his wife are) although those pictures of his recent flings in the papers were brown haired or brunettes. Is this about hair color or goes deeper than mere tabloid fanfare?

mourning borders

The news of Borders UK going into administration is harsh and brutal in these fleeting times. I always feel a connection to Borders, even in their Singapore store at Orchard Road when more than a decade ago I tried to find quiet contemplation. It’s great to see in the website that it’s still thriving wonderfully although with a new owner. The serene aura of their Oxford store (the town, not the street) was my source of enlightenment. There was of course no Borders branch in the Northeast England where I spent a year. But London is different. There are a few Borders in the grand capital. I go there during my birthdays to have my pictures taken. It has been a tradition the last few years san for the june birthday my dad passed away. The interiors are enchanting. The books are beautifully arranged. It’s my kind of surroundings.

Compared to other UK bookstores, or even supermarket chains who also sell a bunch of books, Borders is hands down my favorite. Where is the magazine section at Waterstone’s? What’s the attraction in WH Smith? Foyle’s is pleasing but there’s no branch available at Brent Cross. I can only dilly-dally that much grocery shopping at Tesco and Asda and the books in store are mostly mass-marketed capers. Borders is not doing well in the States either. They have to close a few outlets. Amazon offers competitive prices but nothing compares to the high of impulse purchases after luxuriating in a room full of picturesque book covers.

I grew up without the National Bookstore litanies of the Manila born and bred colleagues. It was a good thing my mom collected books and my lola Nellie sending us boxes of old titles from her base in Burbank. Plus there was the book club of my youth where we pay to rent books. I can no longer recall when I first set foot in a National Bookstore outlet. Was it in Manila or Cebu? I might have been already in my twenties. Then and now, spending time at any National Bookstore branches is oddly fascinating because the salespersons would merely provide a blank affect if you mention an author. I couldn’t help but wonder how did Ivy bring me the precise copies one fine day during one of her homecomings last year.

Reading books or any reading for that matter hardly concerns most people in my hemisphere. So does the wider public in RP or in the UK. But from my viewpoint, the people who read and write widely are tops in my list.

tumult

reports about the maguindanao massacre are very disheartening occurences in the the struggle for peace and order in the time of politics and elections overload. is this all about winning the elections? what's the thrill in acting like beasts in the wild? the death toll includes lawyers, journalists, passers-by's. in this highly- volatile world, the rich and powerful have their private armies. tempers flare up, hatred percolates. they have the weapons. they gor for the kill.

the philippines is not a lawless state. the elections are supposed to be part of the democratic process. we toil the earth. we gather the harvests. we feed our soul. it's not to act violent and curtial innocent lives and descend to the forces of wrath and evil.

10 feet from McNulty

Life is a Dream, the latest production at the Donmar Warehouse, based on the work of Spanish poet Pedro Calderon dela Barca, was a gorgeous experience. Dominic West and the rest of the cast were marvellous. I was maybe drifting off during the long-winded monologues, but staring at West up close in the flesh for paragraphs and paragraphs of lines was beyond surreal. West of course, starred in The Wire for five seasons, which is the best piece of television I’ve seen ever and that includes The Sopranos. West as Segismundo was mesmeric in Life is a Dream. He evolved from a wild prisoner to a tyrannical prince then back to being incarcerated to becoming a revolutionary until his rightful birthright as heir to the throne of Poland, all the while waxing philosophically about the stages in his life. The austere production design and the exceptional lighting bode well with the play’s theme. I get startled by the sounds, but that’s only me acting all wide-eyed and amateurish as part of the audience.

I’m always amazed by the delicacy of theatre as an entertainment commodity. There are no rooms, nor leeways, for mistakes. I wonder if the actors have earpieces for someone to whisper to them just in case they forget a line or their minds go totally blank. There was a time in high school that I was tapped as a stage whisperer. I was like a shadow feeding the actors words. Very lowly. But I guess having a free meal after the performances were well worth the drudgery. Oh, how simple gestures have such lovely appeals in our youth.

calming permeation

It was a major disappointment when I and the other half missed the first time Muse performed at the new Wembley. It coincided with the kind of sadness that resonates in our lives forever. In the US, Muse is the front act to bands like U2. But in the UK, it’s the main draw, filling huge stadiums to the rafters. Muse produces some fine tunes and their lyrics are not too shabby in the scheme of the good and the beautiful. Their latest album, The Resistance, does not disillusion their ardent fans. Although the homage to Queen is palpable in a few tracks, the overall effect still rises above the fray of tabloid and paparazzi pop. Undisclosed Desires may not be a creatively titled paean to love but its melody is quite catchy and soothing to the ears. There’s a rich tapestry overall despite the political perspectives of The United States of Eurasia. Politics is a serious and sensitive subject. Great musicians are great activists, taking the lead in making a difference through their songs. I’d prefer them to brighten the world with their music. But the pull to make our opinions heard on important issues is hard to resist and Muse is no exception.

ping-pong

table tennis was a physical education subject in college. it's a fun sport. i enjoy watching it. it's dominated by one nation in men's singles, doubles and women's singles, doubles and mixed doubles. it's their number one sport and they're the best in the world.

COYS

the winning margin is brilliant. i haven't seen the full highlights yet. i was trawling at the dawn of a new day and all i came up with is lurking into the wedding video of the new Hotspur.

the world of the Spurs eye-candies just expanded.

Nico Kranjcar and his Hotspur magazine cover.

funny seth

after a midnight viewing of zack and miri make porno, which became stale at the end, i began to ruminate on the distinct voices and starrers of seth rogen. in zack and miri, the so-called love angle is not as convivial as trying to make a comical porno movie. our household just really dig seth, or kevin smith, or judd apatow. but my favorite seth rogen film is funny people. knocked-up is almost there but eric bana extolling the virtues of aussie rules footballl is simply priceless. with that, screw the box office. here comes the dvd.

and speaking of parties

a video from TMZ. brings a hearty chuckle to the dreary lives of boxing fans.

party

from Nicky Haslam's article on ES Magazine : Lord of the Dance

"Harsh lighting can be fatal to the ego, and the face. It's fun to provide dim and dusky corners for dalliance. Never be afraid to go to a party where you don't know anyone. Love can still happen to the most hard-bitten. The whole point is to talk to people you don't know. It's boring when little groups of friends stick together; they can do that on any street corner."

"The main thing is simply to invite your friends, and perhaps a few fashionable people of the moment to add spice. Parties aren't meant to sum up anything or represent a cultural moment; quite the reverse. They're about the continuity of friendship. To have the same people at one's parties over the years is wonderful."

it's actually petrifying to attend a party not knowing a soul. i play it safe most of the time. i go to gatherings where i'm practically on first name basis with almost every one. as always, feeling horribly unctuous all the way. how insipid.

cool movie

My husband classifies Commando (1985) starring Arnold Schwarzenegger as one of the best film ever. One of those it’s so bad, it’s good testosteronic bonanza. The lead star’s lines, catchphrases, expressions, invincibility border on utmost hilarity. The then former Mr. Universe and future California governor plays John Matrix, a one man killing machine, capable of gunning down a private army of hundreds. The body count in the film is so amazing, two men drop dead every second in Matrix’s attack of the dictator who kidnapped his daughter. One scene has Matrix fighting a platoon of combatants while using rose bushes as cover. Bullet-proof bushes, yeah, why not . Some of the men in villainous fatigue uniforms fall even before shots are fired. He gets shot in the arm, no signs of bleeding in the affected extremity. Then he is stabbed in the abdomen and still has no marks. He gets burned in the furnace in the final confrontation and survives the battle with barely a scratch. His daughter Jenny played by Alyssa Milano witnesses her father throw a pipe through another man into a boiler. But for all that the pretty tyke manages a smile in the ensuing close-up. Letting-off steam, indeed. Remarkably entertaining.

concert next fall

concert check, will the video survive till the event?
the countdown begins.

chant, counter-punch

gripped by the stimulating drama of manny pacquaio's love life, it's kind of cute that the boxing superstar is quite entranced by our national passion for karaoke singing. i can't sing so i thee not judge. i can't comment about pronunciation because i get tongue tied at mid air. floyd mayweather's words about his work as a fight commentator in between fights in an interview is a dig on the pambansang kamao's command of english. remember english is already pacman's third language. if the Q's and A's are conducted in cebuano (the visayan language spoken by 20 million people), he would be as fluent as anyone else. i love english as a language, but i stutter, i get stumped at mid sentence and it's horribly frustrating. nonetheless there's always a room for improvement and that goes for pacman, but with all that cash and humility, do english elocution still matter?

talking about boxing, going up to the heavyweight category from pacquaio's welterweight, let's tackle the issue of the greatest heavyweights. sport-magazine ranked joe louis higher than the former cassius clay. i did a research presentation about muhammad ali in my college english class and he transcended most sports and together with pele and michael jordan was one of the top three sportsmen of the twentieth century on most lists. he could have stayed undefeated like louis if not for the disruption over issues about 'Nam. one thing about lists though are that they are very subjective. every one has their favorites. in a few other rankings, ali is not even in the top ten. but he's surely top in mine.

tennis scoop

I’m no Agassi fan. But if the likes of Coleen Rooney, Cheryl Cole and their footballer spouses could write an account of their journey from rags to riches. Why the hell not a Tennis Hall of Famer? I don’t particularly agree with Marat Safin. Although I wasn’t really surprised by the revelations. So the rock star of tennis was not entirely squeaky clean? It was a colourful career. There was the battle with his stage father. Apparently according to a Jim Courier interview I read in ’96, the 1991 French Open champion once saw the elder Agassi threw his son’s trophy in the bin after a tournament when they were still in their early teens. There were issues with Bollettieri. There were a few critical moments about his long hair and ear piercings. There was the marriage to Brooke Shields. There was the union with Steffi Graf, who was no slouch in the game of tennis. There were the kids. He earned a lot from endorsements. Who needed the big serve when you can return serve like Andre Agassi? He could have won more titles. But who cares, he has personality, and that’s what people like.

this week, or that week

i went through my week deflated of the usual buoyancy. i was running errands for the people. i could get too condescending when it matters because i used to jostle the word nincompoop in a variety of ways. just out of exasperation i would like to cut the crap and take a breather and write. but as i was pondering the art of blogging and its reverberation, a friend brought a critical care article to critique. i forgot to ask the required number of words. i can't cerebrate at this point. i could try in essence. i need energy. i need time. the weather is nasty and my very significant other is battling the flu.

as i was reading and clicking windows, i thoroughly took pleasure in jz's blog on hillary's visit to the RP. i almost met hillary once six years ago. i missed her book signing at border's in oxford because i had to go to work. i could have blown off work, had her biog signed and met hillary face to face. but i chose to be goody two-shoes and it got me nowhere. nugon.

threadlike

midnight

The screen is flickering., my riposte to that is a big yawn. I can’t watch the show that my heart desires. I’m stuck with Southpark, my witty and cursive alternative to sleep. I also have a tetris record to break. Now, where’s the DS?

the morning after

The tenebrous atmosphere is not exactly soothing to the shattering nerves at this junction of the day. It would be more practical to illuminate the room and soak myself in the art of poring over hard copies. The state of the body after fourteen hours of gruelling pacing, walking, shivering, pleasing, toiling and cogitating is one of significant ruin and debilitation. Drifting away to the world of comfort and dreams is the way to reinvigorate. I’m seldom vertical at home. My pervading rituals had been relegated to a series of distinctive sloth-inducing actions. I’ve got to carry out the chores of the day or I’ll turn into a spastic model android for the seven deadly sins.

rob pats scrawl

Robert Pattinson is a huge movie star. His role of Edward Cullen in the Twilight film franchise, based on the series of novels written by Stephanie Meyer, catapulted the fledgling young actor from Barnes, London into undulated stardom. I read an article about him before all the hoopla. The interview was conducted prior to his flying to Portland, and shooting the first Twilight movie. Those were the days when he was still living in London and his primary claim to fame was the role of Cedric Diggory in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. I haven’t seen the fourth Harry Potter film at the time and when I did, I was gushing about this young man’s good looks. As showbusiness is mostly about looks and image first and talent second, you’ll know he’ll go places. Although luck overpowers beauty, talent or whatever skills imaginable in any job or work settings in the milky way.

In the Vanity Fair interview, the writer compares all the fanfare to Leomania, immediately post Titanic. But since I haven’t even seen Titanic through this day, I wouldn’t even know the difference. Both Leo and Rob are simply gorgeous and Leo has done a spectacular job in adding more gravitas to his acting mettle and body of work. While Rob is merely 23 and is still coming to grips into being the target of those pesky paparazzi. He’s also English. I know in the conclusion of the Vanity Fair piece, he was lauded as the next Hugh Grant. But Hugh Grant is public schoolboy, Oxford grad, a son of privilege. Rob is, I just reckon, despite the posh accent, in a more reachable class. Hopefully after all the madness comes the realizations, that talent, even in the brutal, highly-manufactured entertainment industry, should rise above good looks any time, any day.

the smiling masks

LOL
Originally uploaded by GeorgePontinoJr the Crystal Eye™

charlotte, emily, et al

there should be better use of my time than studying in-depth the literary talents of the bronte sisters, Charlotte and Emily, their younger sister Anne. i prefer jane eyre to wuthering heights, merely for my annoying fondness for happy endings. dealing with dusk and darkness is in earnest, too grim. in the course of all the downloading and ruining my eyes through dissecting letters and words, i'm coming into contact with sigmund freud and carl jung which brought me to peruse further the personalities of frasier and niles crane. i'm examining the structure of the vampire archetypes in both novels, the strong undercurrents of jungian reading.

through the film Devotion (1946), with Olivia Da Havilland in the role of Charlotte and Ida Lupino as Emily, i've come to appreciate the stories of these mesmerizing stalwarts of Victorian literature. the black and white film, although not entirely fictional, illuminate the strength and behind the scenes drama of female writers of the early to middle 19th century. most critics deems wuthering heights superior to jane eyre. but when it's between siblings, the success of one is the success of the other, and since i'm on the subject of sibling rivalry, Olivia Da Havilland's feud with her sister Joan Fontaine, also an Academy Award winner, is one that befuddles, primarily because the bond between sisters should be stronger that any feud dreamed up by the hollywood machine.

blast from home

I’m trying to make it a habit to read the local news in Bacolod City, the great fire just recently and the Masskara festival with Barangay Taculing being crowned dance parade champions. The performance is on you tube and whoever feels homesick should just press play. Barangay Taculing would always feel like home. When we first moved to our resident in the late 70‘s, it seemed miles away from civilization, now it’s a nearby abode from just about anywhere.

There weren’t any malls in the City of Smiles when I was still a student, it’s different these days. It’s been spruced up a bit in the last few years. I love malls. But I hate being caught in the debate between Westfield and Mall of Asia. I’m not a Manila kind of gal. I try to speak Tagalog. However, I’m more at home in my Bacolodnon drawl. Speaking of malls, where was National Bookstore when I had all the energy to read the penguin classics? I have easy access to books in the present but my cravings for books written by Filipino authors remain an unsatiated yearning. I’m so grateful for the internet for hooking me up with the world. When my Lola Nellie was still alive and before the web enveloped our lives she would send me clippings from LA newspapers mostly about the Lakers. My grandmother and I wrote constantly. I was such an atrocious letter writer. Confound the self-esteem dilemma of adolescent and young adulthood, the same upheavals and imperfections, in existence in my very core until this time.

do live, do travel

According to London think-tank, the Legatum Institute, the most prosperous nations in the world, in ascending order, are as follows: 20. Slovenia 19. Spain 18. Hongkong 17. France 16. Japan 15. Austria 14. Germany 13. Belgium 12. UK 11. Ireland 10. New Zealand 9. USA 8. Netherlands 7. Canada 6. Australia 5. Norway 4. Denmark 3. Switzerland 2. Sweden 1. Finland.

What no Singapore? The investment group looked into nine key factors such as personal freedom, health, education, democratic institutions, safety and security, governance, economic fundamentals, innovation, trust and social cohesion. Except for the obvious choices from North America, Australia, New Zealand, Hong Kong and Japan, the remaining 12 countries are mostly from Europe. Damn, I haven’t travelled much. But I’m acquainted with people who have more or less circumnavigated the globe and I’m living vicariously through them.

generational flux

The film version of Amy Tan’s The Joy Luck Club (1993) is a sprawling chick flick. Divided into a series of vignettes and flashbacks, the film tackles the relationships and experiences of Chinese mothers and their American daughters. Meandering between generations could sometimes get tricky. Mother-daughter dynamics are already hard and complicated enough between the same cultures, but having the kids confront the grievances of another belief system create pressure and friction at the same time. In the film, we see June (Ming Na) and Waverly (Tamlyn Tomita) struggle for their mother’s approval and affection both as children and as adults. While Lena (Lauren Tom) and Rose’s (Rosalind Chao) passivity fuels the breakdown of their marital unions. Their mothers experiences in China somehow contributed to the irresolute formation of their daughters upbringings. Lindo (Waverly’s mother) was forced to have an arranged marriage when she was fifteen to a child-boy. An Mei draws the lessons in her life from her own mother's experiences as a lowly concubine. The perils of Suyuan and Ying-ying as young brides in China breaks the sheer will and spirit. Suyuan left her twin baby girls under a barren tree during the outbreak of war while Ying-ying accidentally killed her baby boy in her depressive state due to her husband’s extra-marital affairs.

As a film about women, the men in the stories are either portrayed as cads, controllers, womanizers and weaklings. Not much are shown about the mothers’ husbands in the States. Fair enough, the spotlight is on the women overcoming adversities. But as they inhabited in their married lives; raising children and forging careers, the men should be the significant other half. All in all, with the women wearing cheongsams with tiny waists in the China scenes which makes me drool with envy, the movie may not be altogether stirring but it’s remarkably good looking cast and their shining performances make up for all the stereotypes of migration and over-indulgence of melodrama.

the day

It’s such a bummer of a day. I accomplished absolutely nothing. Oh swell, sometimes the spirit is so frail and so weak. My surroundings are a mess with all the falling leaves and a backdrop of dusk and itinerant cold. Now I have to make my way to the kitchen to prepare the stew. I have to calm my nerves. Breathe.

asperity

I’m watching a chopper show on the Discovery Channel at the moment. Since I couldn’t find the clicker, I’m left gazing at the visuals and hearing the voiceovers. So men bitch when it comes to engines and motors? I thought it was the blondes-only clique savage attack at the brunettes in The Apprentice that makes me squirm. In my professional universe, I have lots of questions to ask. How could people who are rude and temperamental still have friends? If somebody is provoked, I could understand the same high-pitched retaliation. But a slight banter or a light nudge does not deserve disrespect. Abrasive personalities exist within our midst. There are those who sport highly-flammable façade but there lie a lovely inner core. Some others are just damn awful. They go hot and cold. You’ll never know when they’ll strike you with a deadly venom as their posse let them get away with their abrasive, barbaric personalities. They shouldn’t really. The good natured earthlings deserve better confidants than Aaron Eckhart’s character in The Dark Knight.

second november

all souls day has long been over in the philippines as of this writing. i remember the prelude to the all saints day of my childhood, my mom would read the prayers and my lola dels and lola cel would kneel and utter the benediction. the rituals of the past seem hovering by the mindset as i walk and walk the alley ways of the present, performing tasks that envelope our structure. i'm not huge on religion but going to the independent church with lola cel was embedded in my pre-pubescence life. just as the cemetery hoopla on all saints day are de rigeur in my salad days. until now, i'm still in the experimental stage with my valenciana. sadly, mom, lola dels and lola cel are no longer with us. three role models who taught me all the good manners no finishing school in switzerland or a posh boarding school in the middle of nowhere of the english countryside could ever inculcate to an impressionable waif.

add to cart

a lovely present for the gift-giving season.
from tita wan's etsy site.

backspacer cover

(backspacer, pearl jam 2009)
"you cannot buy things that we already got!"
why the hell not?

Liz 1

tudor, stuart, hanover, saxe-coburg-gotha, windsor --- i leafed through the fine print of our battered encyclopedia as a bothersome teen quidnunc. i was riveted by the royals. from all the beheadings and executions to those poor wives of henry the VIII, to the virgin queen, says who?, to queen victoria and her kids and grandkids, to william and harry. but of all the rulers, not merely queen consorts, the legend of elizabeth the first, captivates. she was the kick-ass monarch.

cups, saucers

the holiday season is upon us.
november is merely a few ticks of the minute hand.
i'm not fond of hot drinks but i would take
cups, saucers or beautifully crafted, cylindrical mugs over
stuff toys or tiny figurine symbols although draped in
striking hues would only cramp the shelf below the dart board.

off the dribble and thereafter

Maybe since it's a major sport in one of its former colonies or whatever, basketball is viewed with irascible reactions by that forum guy and others like him in these shores. So whenever I see a Magic Johnson and Larry Bird photograph in any free periodical, it turns into a time of earnest celebration. Hearing about the beef between basketball legends Magic and Isiah Thomas isn’t remarkably a sparkling development. Once the best of friends, their relationship is now strained, professional jealousy, the main factor seething in its core. How sad. Although I’ve saw him lead the Pistons to two NBA championships, I couldn’t decipher Isiah Thomas. But I know that life after the game isn’t always about that Forrest Gump crap. I'm far too subjective with this subject, a eureka moment not.