the trees are bare

an image, a location from the recent past.

voices, actors, visuals

Waiting for Godot is a play that deals with such quaint refrain. Without seeming to be aware of the manipulations behind the scenes, the characters reprise their actions over and over, in what literally like an eternity. Two old, homeless men Waiting for Godot from day in and out. It’s a boring piece of work in these times of reality television, with the screaming arguments and all the swearing. But a stage play could never feel contrived, imprisoned maybe in a stagnant, routinary basis. Nevertheless, for the actors who seek a not so hollowed cave. It’s more fulfilling, more substantial a medium for both the performers and the audience.

As part of the gallery, and this refer to all the plays I have seen in general, I pinch myself once in a while to keep awake. I could drift off but still inhale the voices , the accents, the words, the dialogues, the monologues. Three hours or more of silence in my part. It’s all worth the drill.

spurs fashion

browsing

Charles Bridge, Prague, Czech Republic

eyestrain at dawn

in the face of uncertain writing, the pages are bare. the strokes are meandering. and it's almost three am. yawn, yawn, yawn.

slippers display

the game room

architectural digest
march 2010

wednesday post

There’s no reprieve from the cold. Time and again, we welcome back the snap. Yesterday I wore too little clothes and shivered my way to a party. The downpours are unforgiving. But hey, it’s holy week and we’re not in RP basking in the downtime of the summer heat. Someday the sun will shine and soothe the stressors of the week. The forecast of the hottest summer ever is yet come, it’s not even spring.

I find it extremely difficult to relax when it’s nippy. The warm weather not only brightens my disposition but manages to slow down the formation of cortisol in my system. The aim is to remain cool and serene amid the tempest.

nurserye ritual

The hubby, ever chastising, enthuses, " so you like Habang May Bahay more than Ysabella? Is that why half of the Ysabella DVDs I bought you are still in their plastic wraps?"

True, I couldnt care less for the Ysabella ending. Killing Ryan Agoncillo character twice? What was that all about? Albert (Ryan) as a character had a deeper dimension. The Mito (Derek Ramsay) faction weren't happy either. If Albert had lived, Ysay would have surely chosen him. But that was two years ago, this is now. Ryan and Juday had tied the knot and expecting a baby. While Derek's career is surging into the stratosphere with acting jobs and endorsements.

Derek is now the lead love interest in Habang May Buhay. However, in the acting department, I find the other guys more impressive. Those penetrating eyes of Joem Bascon for instance, you just know he had internalized the character. Even Will Devaughn's Tagalog is commendable. A few more fine tuning and he could give the top guys competition. But what do I know about the pop idols these days? I only get to watch a Filipino show when Juday is on tv.

I've been through Judy Ann's whole gamut of work. But I can say that with the exception of Krystala, Habang May Buhay's plot is better than her previous soaps. I'm kept on the edge and the casting is great, especially the senior stars who have been in the industry for decades -- Gina Alajar, John Arcilla, Rio Locsin, Tetchie Agbayani, Gladys Reyes. They could spew their lines with passion and intensity. If only the Philippine movie business is as alive today as the 80's, when the actors have more work and not dependent on soap operas to attain star power, there would be more choices for the majority of viewers.

post vancouver skating

i totally missed the world figure skating championships in turin. who would have thought that kim yu na is fallible? i thought she was this world beater who don't make mistakes. but you win some, you lose some. she got the big one anyway, the olympic gold medal.

but congratulations to mao asada (above). japan is taking skating by storm. while evan lysacek is sparkling in hollywood lights, competing in dancing with the stars, daisuke takahashi took the top prize.

bess

in the documentaries, elizabeth the first is always depicted as the fervid ginger, a great ruler who ruled england with great conviction. she has never married and described by history writers as "handsome." during her reign the virgin queen has drawn up the punishment for high treason : to be hanged, drawn and quartered. mary queen of scots, elizabeth's niece, cousin once removed was one such recipient of the elizabethan brand of execution. reports showed she wasn't quartered, just beheaded. a threat to queen bess's throne, mary is described as one of the most beautiful and statuesque women of her period. but she was a bit kooky, who fell in and out of love, imprisoned and decollated. a sad fate for such a pretty girl. queen bess grieved mary's death, but both were just products of an era when the penalty for high treason was decapitation, blood relations or not.

the missing piece

been blogging about tinimbang ka ngunit kulang the whole day in boredomesphere and the piece got lost in the touch screen. all the work gone, hidden somewhere in the hazy lines of convoluted technology. i wouldn't be able to retrieve the paragraphs, but I will create new ones, maybe later, maybe tomorrow.

requiem

tomorrow is the start of the holy week. a huge event for christians around the world. we pray, we ask forgiveness for our shortcomings, we try to become nicer, kinder souls. i've never been sanctimonious and the sermons of my prelapsarian period always points out to easter being bigger than good friday. but i could never decipher the place of the eggs and bunnies in the christian festivity.

drizzles and sense

since i'm trapped in the confines of the job most of this week, i shouldn't moan too much about the weather, composed abundantly of drizzles and draft. or so i thought, there were a few downpours during the unholy hours when i hurry home from work and the foreboding heavy clouds may have cloaked the city. where's the sunshine if i may ask?

the report of the hottest summer may still be pure speculation. of course when it's hot, a few people scream for air conditioning and when it's wintry cold, the A/W collection of the fashion world beholds our wooden heart with grace and beauty.

the summer would once again witness a sartorial exfoliation. skirts and shorts would abound, no matter how kadaku the kurikong as my mom used to say.

i have no arguments with women flaunting their lovely assets, as long as it's done with style. i just find it weird that the pale folks equates tanned skin with wealth while my people are besotted with skin-whitening creams.

cheerless

Up in the Air is a jolt in the subconscious. The pervading theme of the film is more about a documentary on the tenuous economic times rather than a magnified vicissitudes on frequent flyer miles. Less of a salesman but more of a purveyor of gloom, Ryan Bingham (George Clooney) travels from places to places, cities to cities across America to fire people whose bosses don't have the balls to do the jobs themselves. It's a grim snapshot of life. Bingham thrives in the regurgitated air, in the virtues of travelling light and savouring the comforts and discounts of opulent travel. Shouldn't the travel miles be billed to the company rather than the individual?

As a candidate for Mr. Bingham's affection Vera Farmiga oozes an exquisite screen presence. She's so beautiful. As the perky, go-getting new kid on the block, Anna Kendrick hits the spot. Their characters are so well-written, that they are the wonderful foil to the charms of George Clooney. Bingham doesn't much have of a dilemma. He has a motivational speaking career on the side. He doesn't want to get married. He lives in his suitcase. His flat in Omaha, his company's headquarters, where he stays 43 days a year is bare, like a hotel room. But still, you talk about running away from commitments then boom, you fall for some girl. Then boom, there lies the alluvial sediments of a desolate journey. He's just as melancholic as the people he fires.

surreal but real

when bells are ringing

whew! there are stuff in this beaten path that run counter to my beliefs -- fawning to get ahead, walking too slow, hiding behind the curtains. a few are worse than others. some levitate in the cocoon of crassness. the sense of contrition is not bestowed on the chosen ones.

pulp

It's a choice between the fruit juice and the cola drink, between sense and nonsense, whether to blog or go straight to bed. The plans are in motion, the void is filled but let's await tomorrow. Wafting whimsically about all the nice things would be such a joy.

blank screen

I'm in awe of the cursor. It seems like a blatant reminder of my flimsy undertakings. However I've been immersed in daily chores rendering the capacity for creativity futile.

Free time is such a rare gem. All day heavy reading and writing would be a pleasant change. Rather than run errands, lose the temper and get exasperated with the routines. But the economy is still in the doldrums. Work no matter how menial, how exhausting, should be embraced with impunity.

And it's springtime, I call it the mood brightening season. It makes me more cordial, definitely less angry.

shlep along

Just like I did with Falcon Crest, I’ve reached my saturation point with Dynasty. These didn’t happen more than two decades ago, these are very recent events. I was trying to make sense of what I was watching and what I was reading as a kid and I got a snapshot of a soap plot that seemed incredulous. As my husband says, “it’s what you call drama.” But drama or not, it makes one feel empty. There are loopholes in the storyline. I felt the same way with Desperate Housewives where I got tired of the characters’ shenanigans and the ever evolving cast that I decided to drop the show altogether from my list.

I have only one tiny complaint with Habang May Buhay. It’s actually a fixture in most Pinoy dramas as the writers are besotted beyond doubt with confrontational acting. I know the heroine should stand up for herself, ya diya, diya, diya. The other characters meanwhile, the villains, can showcase all forms of bad behavior. But the main protagonist should behave within the norms of propriety. She should not be the one to instigate a catfight. Attacking a person just because she resembles somebody from the past who may and may not have wronged you is not model demeanor. Even if it becomes a future plot for a shady lawsuit. Kids, the masses, even most of the Filipino middle to upper classes watch the primetime staples of soaps and more soaps. And seeing a heroine confronts a barely-recognizable person from 15 years ago by pulling her hair, in the case of Jane towards Ellen, the impressionable minds would reckon it’s within the norms of civilized society to behave in such a brusque and unbridled manner.

However, it’s my view that television or movie antagonistic scenes are not contributory factors to a person’s upbringing. We are products of our parental guidance and the environment in which we are raised. In watching a drama series meanwhile, we are drawn to the goody two shoes character and since I have huge issues about losing one’s temper in public, seeing a protagonist perform impetuous stunts are a bit off-putting.

dream

architectural digest march 2010 issue

landing in the GQ page

It’s a great article.

GQ, man. GQ.

It’s mostly an account about Pacquiao’s disciples. The Pambansang Kamao is like Jesus. Instead of having twelve apostles, he‘s got like three times more, who are at his beck and call, serving him food, massaging his body, tucking him to sleep. He’s got politicians kissing his ass.

For somebody who has lived under the bridge, the young Pacquiao subsisted on selling doughnuts in the streets. Poverty, going hungry is never a beauty, not so romantic. Manny Pacquiao is very Filipino is so many ways -- the karaoke singing, the esprit de corps, the religious traditions. He represents us to the world and I shouldn’t really read those debates and forums about his pugilistic appeal from a mostly western point of views of meanies and cynics.

For making the author wait in limbo, well, for the rest of us who didn’t have to venture out on our own to make a living in the mean and brutal streets of Manila, GQ may not hold that consequential an appeal. But it means Pacquiao is all humility and that’s one quality, not only an athlete should embrace but every human being.

rise, shine

who would have thought this day would ever come? the city is awashed in double-digits temperatures. the great freeze may have been overpowering to the chills of adulthood but the penetrating rays represent the unencumbered audacity of youth.

i miss those younger years when thin was just a word, when i couldn't gain weight despite chilling all day. the days when food could be nothing but a dream. oh i ate and how i ate inasal. but satiety seemed easily reached and the plate was always half empty. now these hors d'oeuvres are maybe punishing to the self- esteem but they could not totally besiege the underlying confidence.

filling spaces

night out be damned.
but looks cool in the dusk.
a picture that keeps me in a somber mood.

behind the goal

spurs vs blackburn at white hart lane
march 14, 2010
(freezejas photo)

this saturday morning

it's still nippy outside the confines of my shelter. the layers of cover have not come off. although the window displays in the clothes shops are highlighting the vibrancy of spring. the catalogues are conspicuously showing off their summer/spring collections.

i have read the last page of the book i was scanning for months. the pages on hair, hairstyles and the hair saloon business were most enlightening. its focus on religion, culture, snobbery, science, friendship and the likes may reflect the story of london calling but it offers only a tiny glimpse about tolerance. i'll deal more with the subject later.

in other developments, the pound is being pulverized to granules. it means a lot less travel, a lot less ordering take out, scrimping to maximize the currency, that's the tearful reality of the recession and the diaspora.

ano ang imo hinalung-ong?

i had a few wavering interests in my younger years. i used to collect Lovelife komiks because i liked anything that was vacuous. plus the texts and illustrations were a tiny bit of reminder of the failed romances of my imagination. then i got tired of it and moved to other asinine indulgences. i also listened to radio dramas as a hollow youth. i'm pure bred negrense so my eardrums are used to the lilting dramatic speeches, ginahigugma ko gid ikaw! ay abi, galagting nga mga dalamguhanon. so hearing my favorite language in the whole wide world in the visuals of you tube provides light to the desolate landscape.

the tatay in the clip is featured in this article , the pride of a province inundated in sweetness and calm. we speak slowly but carry a binangon. mag-andam.

box eye nostalgia

Since the past week I’ve been travelling back in time of Dynasty, a very 80’s family soap and take a peek at the saga and shallow enterprise of the Carrington family. Set in Denver, the family deals in oil and lives in a mansion so enormous it almost resembles the palaces of royalty with all the trimmings and the loyal servants. They have caviar for snacks. Joan Collins as Alexis Carrington looks unbelievably young and glamorous. It’s the porcelain skin and the character’s condescension towards anybody not in her class. Whilst Krystle Carrington played by Linda Evans is the goody-goody second wife, boring and dull. Created and shown before the wide use of DNA, the plots are arrestingly vapid. The characters mostly wrestle about money, power and their delusions in their past and present. At the moment I’m tuning in for a few episodes until Fallon and Jeff are propelled to California via The Colby’s. I only saw glimpses of this show when I was a kid. It had a late Sunday evening timeslot and there was school the next day which was more exciting than any tv show. I’m still grateful for my Tita Two for the family tree explanation, there was no internet then and information about Hollywood programs are not conspicuous in the newsprints or magazines of the era. But over the years I still kind of kept track and some of the younger stars of the series took a beating with the essence of time. Joan Collins meanwhile beholds a youthful visage, I don’t think it’s merely cosmetic surgery.

monday evening oscars

Every time I stare at Jeff Bridges I could only see the Dude? It's like any moment I expect him to blurt out, I'm not Mr. Lebowski, man, I'm the Dude. One thing that I realized upon viewing the Oscars is that I have to watch the films that took my fancy; The Hurt Locker, The Blind Side, Precious Based on the Novel Push by Sapphire, Crazy Heart, Up in the Air, A Serious Man, In the Loop, Up. Janette was talking about paying Julie and Julia a visit the year before but it couldn’t capture my imagination. I’m wondering the hesitation on my part as Amy Adams has multiple Oscar nominations and I’m totally mad about Junebug. Every year Meryl Streep gets to be nominated any way. She doesn’t win but the winners never fail to refer to the stunning achievement on just being nominated with her.

The best part of the of the 2010 Oscar ceremonies was the tribute to John Hughes and I have to reconcile myself with the older version of Anthony Michael Hall. I really couldn’t, he’ll always be this teenage geek in The Breakfast Club and 16 Candles. I love those films. I still see them on occasions when I want to forget I’m nearing my scary age and my self-esteem gets battered day after day.

The awards night was a tad longer than usual. I always say that every year. Steve Martin and Alec Baldwin are Steve Martin and Alec Baldwin. In the 80’s, Steve Martin was already Steve Martin, the star of Roxanne, The Three Amigos, Parenthood and my babe’s favorite, The Man with Two Brains while Alec Baldwin was in the cast of Knots Landing, one of my juvenile cravings. He jumped into a building and I was muttering to my twelve year old self, would he be still alive in the next episode? He was such a good looking dude. Those were the years when it took like two or three seasons for an American series to be shown on Philippine shores. But now Alec Baldwin is a comic while Steve Martin is still Steve Martin, funny, especially in the ad libs, "I wrote that speech for him," that cracked me up.

I had the feeling that The Hurt Locker would win both in Best Picture and Director. It’s about time a woman should win in directing. Kathryn Bigelow is stunning at her age. Avatar is a cinematic achievement, a box office behemoth but The Hurt Locker feels real. The acting categories were all no-brainers. There are no elements of surprise like Sean Penn’s win in Milk. I was so ready for Mickey Rourke’s applause last year when boom, Madonna’s ex got to have it. Sandra Bullock’s films are romantic comedies and all that crap. She’s popular, so memorable in Demolition Man and made me forget my afflictions when I saw Legally Blonde. Personally I prefer Gabourey Sidibe, but Sandra Bullock makes me smile. As for the Meryl Streep fan clubs who are fuming, the trend was there for everyone to see. The Baftas may have gone off with patriotic choices in the lead roles but all others are into the Bullock machine. The Academy may nominate La Meryl a lot of times, another actress may take the nod every time but she is a by-word of excellence.

snarl

the transitions are mounting on the sly. the scrawls are skewing into realizations. such deep thoughts, hardly abstruse and comprehensible, drifting into the sublunary aspects of subsistence. nevertheless there is an itinerary to follow for the day : clean the fridge, clear the mess, cleanse in the impurities. there's no word sense in the composition box.

the task for today is simple : stretch the brittle muscles, expurgate the mad scramble, rise above the chaos.

finite

time zooms past when one is on holiday. my happy days are over and yet the chores are not done. while some churches were not visited. ahay, i'm still reeling from the cold snap.