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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.

the ultimate chick flick

another product of my movie surfing recently was an afternoon gazing into the deep friendship drama of beaches (1988). oh such a tearful story. bette midler's renditions of some classic hits were my bait. grand.

noonday surf

Indulging myself in irresistible banoffee, I'm channel surfing movies ten minutes past midday. Channel 301 is showing High School Musical 3, I’m too old watching the adolescent antics of Zac and Vanessa. Channel 303 is providing the laughs with Mr. Woodstock and Sean William Scott in the lead role. Ok, not really my cup of tea, or a glass of sweet guyabano juice. Unforgettable on 304 has Ray Liotta framed for his wife’s murder. Dr. Seuss Horton Hears a Who on 305 is for family and kids. The Neighbor (2008) on 306 starring Matthew Modine in a romantic role sparked my interest. I’m a sucker for love stories. The 1962 version of Phantom of the Opera is on 307. Paint Your Wagon (1970) on 308 features Clint Eastwood and Lee Marvin attempting to strike it rich in the California gold rush. Die Hard (the first one) on 309 do not need a detailed description. Lenny on 310(1974) Dustin Hoffman playing Lenny Bruce in an Oscar nominated role in a porous biopic of Bob Fosse. For a second Sean William Scott flick , I need not look no further than American Pie on 311 followed by American Pie 2. I always wonder why Chris Klein was absent in the second sequel American Pie: The Wedding. 311 is offering Star Wars in animation, Star Wars: The Clone Wars. The third cartoon movie in this list is Only Yesterday, Hiyao Miyazaki and Isao Takahata’s animation for grown ups, with subtitles. Stalking Moon (1969) on TCM starsGregory Peck as an army scout retiring in Mexico. So many choices, nothing delectable, I think I’ll stick with another viewing of Without a Trace.

composure

Wed 11pm

The blank page, the blinking cursor, two elements of an empty page. I’m typing debilitated, with few ideas percolating in the gray matter. Writing on tenterhooks, about the rubbish of the minds. At this point I’ll sign off and have a nap.

Thu 10am

After back to back viewings of Without a Trace, I got in tune to the laid back atmosphere of the wisecracking comedies. Then I still have to trim the untouched wilderness of the outer façade. The endless and mind-boggling chirping with my friend yesterday enlightened my eyes to the psychology of desire for possessions. Not having the luxurious niceties in life could sometimes brought forth relationship chaos and complications. At least it was while growing up with only one television in our four-kid household. A Louis Vuitton handbag could lead to a Chanel leather coup any day, designer bags and shoes to satisfy the cravings of the soul. Not too shabby but kind of pricey. Others like to stroke their egos through their kids. But my favourite is the traveller. The colleague who delivers a cascade of chuckles and circumnavigates the world. While I just want to develop a keen eye for creativity. Good luck to that.

ration

As I'm getting accustomed to the cooler temperatures of autumn, I’ve never been in this kind of a rush. You know the blitz to perform all the intended task before the gathering twilight? The prolonged dusk makes me tired. I eat and eat and relegated my salsa exercises at the backburner. Despite my predilections to moan and rant, I’m flicking the right buttons marvelously well. I’m just reading books in a much slower pace than I intended to be when I was in my teens. Although I’m not writing anything deep and profound, there are still the promises of creativity. My grind is quite circumspect at this juncture. The job is to concentrate on the improvised list created as the blueprint for futuristic sheer refuge.

lattice

when jenson button was winning every race during the early part of the recently concluded formula one season, this piece never strayed from my reckoning. even since his rookie year with the williams team, i could never figure out the attraction. but we all succumb to good looks like love sick puppies. now that he's not all good looks anymore, his stocks are rising and he commands the stage. ah.

as for my lakers fix, i just might tune into that premium sports channel or maybe not. digging another hole in the pocket seems like a bright idea.

saving drafts

Ever since skimming through the picture pages of Mommie Dearest as a child, I kind of become fond of Joan Crawford. In fairness, I only looked at the pictures and by the time I was old enough to read the whole thing I couldn’t locate the book anymore. Her great rival Bette Davis may have had two more Oscars but I’m taking the side of the shoulder pads all the way. Both actresses had those expressive eyes and a body of work that was the envy of many a starlet. Still I couldn’t bring myself to sit through a Bette Davis movie. However I wouldn’t mind watching another Gable-Crawford starrer or the final act of Mildred Pierce.

As a topic amongst friends and colleagues, the filmography of Davis and Crawford are kind of like arcane, useless trivia. People are just mostly interested in the brewing competition amongst the clique. Money, jobs, education, children, children’s parties, houses, cars are the major bullet points in the meeting room and in facebook walls. Not altogether vacuous. Certainly not something to blow our pretty exhausted brains out. In the bigger picture we’re all unique. Some dwell on stuff that makes them happy like work, work and work, and teleserye storylines. While I linger in my potato couch comfort and excoriate the lovely strokes in the diary.

side street

bed rest

It’s hardly sublunary. Or let’s say I’m just taking a crack at reading John Donne and ripping his poetic words apart. But having the full range of telly channels is a tremendous boost to my routine. There’s wisdom in watching a daily dose of Frasier. It was urbanely funny before Niles and Daphne got together. While Everybody Loves Raymond chronicles the traps of marriage and familial dysfunction in all its hysterical and annoying glories. With the old box gone, I lost an archive of recordings dating back to that documentary about consumerism in Japan. I have to track down another Friends THS and all the other Friends nostalgic narratives. However despite the bleakness of the forthcoming digital bill, there’s a rejuvenating package to the conforming inclinations, like an uninterrupted access to the History channel and its endearing features like the Six Wives of Henry VIII.

Of course, the loss of a favorite multiply channel is the perfidy of the week. Squealing has been perfected into an art form by some holier than thou contingent. Thus the cancellation of one website that bring forth wonders. Now I’ve got to do some trimmings in this blog and think hard and deep whether to avail of TFC now.

harmonics

I love to see Aaron Eckhart in just about everything. He was my magnetic draw in Erin Brockovich. The uninterrupted glimpse of his chin dimple in Molly lights up the room while in The Dark Knight, I wanted him to be Batman. So if I’m Jennifer Aniston, a person with money but only has dogs for company, I would not hesitate to jump the bridge with him. Never mind if the love story is merely the glossy add-on to the main theme of overcoming grief. Euphony is a given in the sappy world. As someone who has been through loss and sadness you can never imagine, I could empathize with Burke Ryan (Eckhart) and Walter, the contractor who lost his son at his job site. Moving on is very hard to do. All the laughter are actually tears. Some people are even so insensitive enough in mutilating your fragile spirits by merely talking about what you’re missing in your existence. Eloise (Aniston) makes Burke sparkle with her alluring ways and propensity to doodle with highly-obscured words in tiny graffiti behind the paintings in the hotel's walls. Darn, if I can only remember those lexemes. The downside of a darkened cinema is the lack of a pause button.

happy anniversary, babe!

i got a smiley face card from happy earth.

glow

In my attempt to expedite my writing, I keep on bumping into objects, distracted by my inability to concentrate. I’m somehow half successful in my attempt to multi-task. The faster I finish this paragraph, the more I get to loosen the tightness in my neck. It has been an intriguing week. Aside from my per usual routine, which I almost always accomplish next to nothing, I got to unfurl the itinerary and venture into the cinema to delve into sorrow as a template of a romantic study. More about that later.

I was able to laugh heartily today. I seldom do that in the workplace. A few blessed souls are gifted not only with the gift of gab but the magic of good humour. They’re truly wonderful individuals, makes the arduous of tasks lighter and more manageable. I’m too serious for my own good, which is not a good quality. A few precious moments when I muster a chuckle amongst the talented few is something fabulous and priceless.

intolerance

It's a dream so remote that paying an additional monthly 20 pounds to watch NBA games on the telly wouldn't sound like a bad idea. When i finally reach that dream to watch a live, regulation Laker game, hope it is all it's crapped out to be, as in the highlight films, as in the spectre of my childhood and basically my whole life. The O2 arena is so huge that even paying a fortune does not guarantee utmost view and comfort. Plus the yearly friendly or exhibition game is just like that, exhibition. The past three years, I've seen the Boston Celtics against the Minnesota Timberwolves, Miami Heat versus the New Jersey Heat. I've gazed upon a myriad of athletic skills from the likes of Dwyane Wade, Kevin Garnett, Vince Carter, Ray Allen, Luol Deng et al.

Then a few rubbish bits from my husband's forum proliferate the senses, as if evil has taken up human form for some blatant display of bigotry. The quote :

You left before the end?? Jeez .... that was a waste of time then!

If you are going to watch Silly Score Ball then you really want to wait until the Hooter sponsored by 'Buzz ball beef patties' goes off. 102-101 .....

Anyway, so .... intrigued about bball being popular in the Philippines. I know it is popular in south east europe, especially Greece, Turkey and Croatia / Serbia / Slovenia / Bosnia etc ... but they have a lot of tall people there.

In all seriousness, do they have lower baskets in the Philippines?? Otherwise Philipino players despite being 2 or 3 feet shorter than NBA stars should in theory be better shots because of the inherent disadvantage of being shorter?

Bigotry is narrow-mindedness, bias and descrimination. Ignore the comments? Our's is a petrifying universe that would never develop beyond racism.

facebook interchange

Facebook when used responsibly, is fun and quite handy in tracking and keeping up to date with friends from within our allotted circles to the cliques of our impressionable childhood and effervescent adolescent. Since I amazingly manage to inhibit my use to a minimum and invite and accept friends with some acceptable level of caution, I’m still relishing the log-in and the apps with the gusto of a dork in her natural habitat.

This article splintering the minutiae of facebook in enumeration type details emanates a cascade of enlightenment. According to the feature, the people in our facebook hood are the following : the chronic quiz taker; the jetsetter; the txt spkr; there’s the farmer, the typist, the mafia warrior; the Emo kid; the lyrics quoter; the significant other; the compulsive tagger; the chatterbox and the friend who is not exactly a friend. My friends who are part and parcel of the productivity brigade hardly fit the categories. I seldom log-in everyday only when I have the laxury of time in my favor. I don’t have the facebook app in my phones so I sporadically get to read the status updates. The favourable adjunct to facebook is that the contents of wall posts, tags and inboxes could be read in one’s personal e-mail that logging in becomes redundant. I have accumulated a lot of excess weight (as I’m being reminded by the few and merry on almost a daily basis) rendering the publication of my likeness a little bit tricky. Oh, to be thin and thin. But I’m grateful for all my friends in the network. They’re all very lively and generous. It’s still a thrilling jaunt from the sprightly past to the stirring present.

twinge

Reading news from home about the massive inundation and the catastrophic landslide induces a sense of sadness and bewilderment. Imagine the graves in one cemetery being uprooted and the bones and coffins flying around in a town in northern Luzon. It’s like a scene from a horror film. But the state of calamity is no mere movie. It’s hauntingly real. To those who have the capacity to extend help in any way possible. That would be an enormous step in nourishing the lives of those affected with a little bit of sustenance, with a little bit of comfort.

Due to on and off downpours in London for a week, I lost some of my digital signal. Not watching a few programs on the telly is not really the beginning of suffering but a sign for me to move around and extricate myself from the highly unproductive symptoms of couch potato syndrome. But I would still want to have my canned comedies back, and the movies, and the fitness channel. Alas, it takes a while for me to drool upon my visual feast. Nonetheless, there’s the music. There’s the book. There’s the internet. There’s this blog. There’s my portable tetris game. In the grand scheme of the universe, there’ s the little notebook to jot down a list and study it in detail.

litter 2

marauding through this blog, i have burrowed a few pieces from the archives talking about my clutter fancy. from this write-up, to my fussy mode, to trimming down my pet peeves, to being uncluttered and that recent chant about litter. it's overflowing with never-ending jibes. despite my best efforts i couldn't truncate the mounting maelstrom and recite good riddance to the rubbish. now i'm off to the shredder and the recycle point a few blocks away.

bifurcating ballgames

As evidenced by the cut-out from Sport mag above and the
statement from my loving chef below,
the brits don’t like basketball.

Too many points are scored.
There are skills, dunks and things.
But you don’t get excited.
It’s a samey.

Fair enough, some Americans don’t like football either.
They call it soccer, then spew insulting paragraphs about
David Beckham and his minions in the blogs as uttered by that
paunchy panelist in Chelsea Lately.

Cricket? I enjoy a TV match once in a while.
But not enough for me to wax lyrical about the
likes of Stuart Broad and company.

torrential outburst

The catastrophic deluge of manila has made me ponder about the hostility of the natural calamities that always seem hellbent in befalling our archipelago. Falls and landslides could be man-made but the thick and abundant amount of rainfalls and the gushing, swift winds brought about by super typhoons are like a hellish curse testing the emotional strengths and reserves of a people already inundated with more than their share of basic struggles. Surviving through the eye of the tempest is a way of life. Signal number three was already petrifying. Now, I’m hearing about signal number five. The wind is getting stronger and more menacing. Hopefully there would be much improved technology in predicting weather patterns. Hopefully.

As I scan through the websites in the internet, I’ve decided to touch base with the pages of our local paper in Bacolod. Twinkling’s columns were a diurnal constant, while her sister was the very strict, eyebrows-furrowing head of the math department of my high school. There are also the other columnists, now in their much older, much wiser journey, regaling the constituency with musings about the polemics of social change. It's Masskara time in Bacolod right now, a festive time to visit the city, parades, street dancing and cultural meanderings.

candy-coated

I’ve heard a lot of good feedback about the 1989 film Say Anything, Cameron Crowe’s directorial debut. The sight of Lloyd Dobler’s iconic boom box with Peter Gabriel’s In Your Eyes roaring from the speakers remind me of harana. Apart from The Breakfast Club and Pretty in Pink, I couldn’t think of any more romcoms about teenagers that made me like the heroine. Let me reflect and pound my memory bank, Julia Stiles in 10 Things I Hate About You, Julia Stiles in Save The Last Dance. That’s it I reckon, all the others aren’t much into tapping the young ladies full potentials. Lindsay Lohan was bedazzled by the dark side, The Plastics in Mean Girls while Kirsten Dunst was only about cheerleading in Bring It On, but the choreography was astonishing.

In Say Anything, Ione Skye’s character Diane Court is the high school valedictorian who won a major fellowship to study in England, whilst the young man who pursues her affections, Lloyd (John Cusack) is just an ordinary student who’s leaning towards a career in professional kickboxing but not quite. He just doesn’t want to sell anything that’s being processed and process anything that’s being sold. Diane’s father (John Mahoney) who is against the relationship and runs a nursing home, is being investigated by the IRS. The story is heart warming enough for us to feel for Lloyd especially when Diane got confused near the end. How stirring it is to see a handsome lad pine for such a lovely and brainy lass. Perhaps seeing him make a decision towards his future career options is beyond the scope of the movie. It's a love story so saccharine, it reminds me of a more intelligent version of young love , sweet love on RPN 9.

preview october 2009

from stylebible.ph
behind the scenes photos click here.
behind the scenes video click here.

litter

Clutter is achingly my main foe in the quotidian rituals. My system is not working. Though I abandoned clearing the decks a while back. There’s also the fact that I’m running out of room. Already crammed in a major pile up so difficult to seize and one that rivals the royal mail, I’m woefully devoid of time in curtailing the chaotic reactions to free paper and a few star covers. I read ES and stuff I chance upon in bookstores and magazine stands. However, as I try to make a full stop to all the quibbling in this very short paragraph I’m aching to cull, divide and conquer.