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.