rush, rush

an empty canvass.
a blank page.
a powerful vacuum.
not altogether stress free.

when it's not raining

the sky is blue, with a little cloud formation.

oyster, space

What Ekoto says is true. Players are mostly motivated by money. Players come and go, but the team stays, go into administration or disband altogether. A player’s career is short-lived. Forty is not that old yet most athletes retire in their thirties whilst professional golfers do not even retire at 50. After golf's main Tour there’s the Senior Tour. What’s next after retirement? Well, retirement per se. Hibernation. For other athletes, just not going through the Antoine Walker route would be a start.

I’m intrigued with the Oyster Card reference. In the Tube or any where else, my celebrity radar is very poor. I might be standing next to Ricky Gervais in Hampstead, I wouldn’t even know or bother. Or I could be sitting next to Ian McKellen in the Tube and still wouldn’t be able to detect it. You have your space, I have mine, it doesn’t really matter whether you were Gandalf in Lord of the Rings or Magneto in X-Men. I wouldn’t be able to decipher it’s you. I could bump into Gwyneth Paltrow dashing out of Starbuck’s while I'm rushing to go home after a hard day’s work and I would be oblivious to the Hollywood air of Mrs. Martin. The nice thing about living in London is the space. Every one has their thing, no one bothers with the buzz, even those included in the inner circle.

ideas1

There is more to the daily routine than drifting off to dreamland. I felt rejuvenated after a calming sojourn to the bookstore. The temperatures aren’t exactly in the twenties since that bit of sun last week but it’s summer and one couldn’t tell the difference between three pm and six pm. I tried inhaling the scents of words and poetry. I didn’t particularly buy anything substantial, merely brushing my fingers on the works of the existentialists; Nietzsche, Kafka, Jean Paul-Sartre. I wouldn’t have the time at the moment to delve deeper into Dostoyevsky or Simone de Beauvoir. I changed my mind in picking up a copy of Proust’s In Search of Lost Time. I barely have the time to engage in my diurnal itinerary which sometimes doesn’t include reading fiction. All around cleaning and folding clothes overpower the literary pursuits, including blogging my heart out which barely resembles anything savvy or erudite. One day I’ll finish the tome I’m reading at hand. It’s just not going to be with this week.

can't read

getting up to speed with lady gaga and her music is a lot of hard work. as my musical vocabulary is quite sparse, i was thinking of tuning into the MTV channels, but their telecasts were mostly reality shows. i opted for the resident ipod's potions, i knew there might be some sort of lady gaga there somewhere, i was in luck, her debut album, the fame was part of the list. i only wanted to listen to poker face, prepping up for an interpretation in glee. the song is not matter of fact, very much a double entendre. it took a while to register. very silly.

beside lady gaga, i dip my fingers in the pop goodness of little boots, la roux, florence and the machine, jay-z's rap music. in the next few days i will try to listen to Plan B with his second album, the defamation of strickland banks.

setting

coins

looking at the exchange rate, the weak pound, the economy, the state of personal finances is still in the doldrums. it's even worse than a year ago. it shatters the notion of grand vacations, niche purchases, feeding the entire neighborhood. to subsist on very little is not a new concept, it has always been the focal point of those who toil and toil hard.

alone time

loving solitude to a point, rather than being with other people is the bane of my routine. oversleeping is de rigeur while the hours after waking up are spent trawling rubbish in the internet or keeping glued to Glee recordings. in socializing or shopping, at least i'd be walking, it becomes my cardio. but basking in the alone time is my joy. stress is virtually non-existent. what ruins the moment is the amount of housework involved in staying home and that sucks. if it's only myself, i'm fine. but i have to pick up the slack for the hubby, obsessive- compulsive, annoying me.

warm embrace

june is almost here and with that comes the household birthdays. my mom in law gave us the earliest birthday presents which is kind of sweet because i have to remind my brothers to send me cards. when my mother was still alive, ever thoughtful, she never failed to courier her greeting where ever i may be in the world. there has been a vacuum for the past two birthdays. i miss her poignant observations, intelligence and down to earth nature. she had a charming appeal that made her friends loyal. there's a dearth of people in the world who could converse in a variety of subjects other than the importance of their significance and their hollow, material possessions. but i will always be grateful for my mother for instilling the good hard values and the right manners.

lavish chic

today Sex and the City 2 opens in the UK. as i look back during the last decade and two years, i, therefore conclude, i don't care much about the SATC movie franchise. how do we distinguish sarah jessica parker from carrie bradshaw? all the glamour only entails massive promotional campaigns, from nail polishes to eyeliners attaching themselves to the SATC brand. the earlier reviews for the sequel may be less than flattering, but it has a demographic that totally embrace the allure of fantasy.

but i love the television series. although, i didn't really adore the entire sixth season. the earlier ones however, are gems. my favorite episode ever is perhaps critical condition, episode 72, number six of season five. seeing samantha babysit miranda's baby is something to behold. samantha as mary poppins, trying to make a baby stop crying, priceless. ever since, all the scenes are about carrie, or carrie with the girls, or carrie walking along downtown new york with either charlotte, miranda or samantha. when do we see the other girls together in a scene sans carrie? the charlotte brother episode with samantha earlier in the series, did not really count. miranda and charlotte in the same frame together for the first time without the ubiquitous carrie, was season four, in episode 59, coulda, woulda, shoulda. season four.

my other favorite episode is number 64, number 11 of the fourth season. aidan left carrie and she was going to be evicted if she cannot buy back her apartment from aidan. carrie got rejected for a loan, then miranda and samantha offered to loan her the money and she utters something like, "what no one else, shoe shops?" it was charlotte who came to the rescue in the end by presenting carrie with her engagement ring to trey. i like watching the vulnerable hard-up carrie, it's much more based on reality rather than the reverie of the manolo blahniks or christian loboutins, or all other fashionable namedrops and references. these days, as we follow her story in part two of the flick, carrie, would be far from hard up, married to Big, described as the next donald trump in the pilot, living in their laxurious penthouse ghetto. (photo-- stylist magazine)

upbeat

Committing a grave faux pas during a sleeping day is not recommended for pensive souls. What is one short walk for a few stickers, when it would make the rest of the late twilight more resplendent? But I categorically drifted off to dreamlike state and forgot one simple errand that would brighten up the rest of the evening. It's a bitchy world, prone to catfights and sarcasms. Screw the diet, I'm having rice pudding for dessert.

drinks

salad days

was trying to take solace in the folders of old photographs, aahh those skinny days when I wasn't so tired after an all-nighter. now all I want is press the snooze button.

from timid to feisty

read an article about olivia de havilland this week and i've always been enraptured by her beauty. her timid melanie was the perfect foil to the feisty scarlett in gone with the wind. by chance, i was able to record one of her classic portrayals in my tiny telly, the heiress (1949), an adaptation of a play of the same title based on henry james novel, washington square, with montgomery clift as the dashing morris townsend. the movie is nothing half-hearted nor flimsy like the heaven and earth plots of romnick-sheryl offerings of my youth. it's a clash of ideas, profused with several layers of emotions, with catherine (miss de havilland) and her father (dr. austin sloper) on collision course about her ardent suitor. catherine's dad thought townsend is only after her money, she thought differently. paraphrasing my favorite lines in the film below, dr. sloper words stung, but it was the 1840's new york when women dresses in ball gowns and rides in horse carriages.

"No?" he bellows, his patience having run out. "What else then, Catherine? Your beauty? Your grace? Your charm? Your quick tongue and subtle wit?" Ah, there's one thing you do quite well, you embroider neatly.

with those words, catherine was no longer ambivalent and lacking courage, that seemingly poignant characterization that earned de havilland her second academy award. morris townsend meanwhile, despite the appeal and flatteries, had no spine. ahh, montgomery clift, totally gorgeous even in black and white. he simply made me forgot warren beatty in splendor in the grass.

oven stroll

to walk, the walk.
pining for ice lollies.
indulge the light.

sunny may

I know it's painfully hot. I took a long walk under the unforgiving sun at one pm. But I don't moan about days like these. It happens like a tiny portion of 365 days. Most of the time it's almost freezing. I couldn't use an umbrella, the populace would stare. I use heavy-duty sunscreen instead and hope my supply of melanin would work its wonders. Also the itinerary is full today -- doctor's appointment, paying for prescription, praying, chores and more chores. Want to blog some more but I have to tidy up my mess and read about Zanzibar.

barbecue

I have to wear a powerful sunscreen but this has been a gorgeous afternoon. When I was coming out of work this morning I felt chilly and after a tube ride, the sun was lethal. But the highlight of the day was the early evening sumptuous barbecue, I have to clean up the mess tomorrow after work but the essence of the process, the lovely presentation makes it all worth it.

updating, clicking

After the housework leaves me exhausted and bewildered, I rue not being able to blog, when it's just so handy to check on the state of my Facebook affairs. I don't do status updates, for I reckon dropping a one liner or two about the glorious upheavals of my consciousness is nothing that exciting. Ditto with Twitter. I know it's kind of selfish on my part since I bump into a few celebrity Twits. But mostly it's a vacuous state of trance. Most people I like including slebs do not twit. But the status updates actually helps, because most of the time it's my only portal for glimpses of the life and times of actual friends and family.

I know I can't reciprocate at present, the same way I do not have the time to tinker with Farmville or Mafia Wars. But who knows if I change my mind in the future. At this moment though, this blog will do.

copious tears

Habang May Buhay was fascinating. It was smooth-sailing with its plot until the last fortnight of its telecast when Clarissa (Gladys Reyes) pushed the boundaries of her miniature frame and took on a killing spree, as if she was one of the characters in the X-men. But screw my very limited comics vocabulary. There's a difference between innovated and totally screwed up storyline. The last episode reminded me of the film Imortal (1990) starring Vilma Santos and Christopher De Leon. I've never seen a Judy Ann Santos character withering in the catacombs. I've not yet seen Kulam (2008). She's a star and her characters are supposed to laze in happily ever afters. But the writers decided to go off-beat and came up with Mary Jane looking exactly like her mother. Great.
(pictures from star studio magazine february 2008)

peri peri

I like Nando’s. Having been reared in the savoury taste of Bacolod’s chicken inasal, my taste buds are automatically in tuned with peri-peri chicken. As implied in the article, the fine dining class describe the Nando’s connoisseurs as uncouth, as it’s sometimes unavoidable not to use the bare hands in picking the chickens apart. That means those of us who hail from Bacolod and consume our unlimited rice and inasal in Manukan Country and other restaurants using the aformentioned extremities are considered uncouth in our manner of dining? Not using utensils while gorging food in a public space could never be endearing to the posh toffs who are obsessed with all manners of cutleries and all things potato. However, just like all the chicken houses of my youth, Nando’s is a lifestyle, a place of basking in the unfortunate extra calories, where I can satiate my hunger without creating such a dent monetarily. To hell with the one star.

not in a rush

The two-day leeway, as it is aptly called, is here. My two-day leeway, for the fun of word games. This year while others wilted through the bane of the work rituals, I hardly miss my cues. And it's debilitating. But for a few relaxing hours this week, I get to breathe, read, write and revel upon my fascination with Glee. As well as the tiny glare from the northern hemispheric sun, the injection of color in the landscape and despite a bit of a ripple of ash cloud, it's going to be a fascinating couple of weekdays.

backreading

it breaks my heart that i don't have enough time for all the readings i should be doing, and that every day seems like a workday or the day to catch up on sleep or prepare for another 15 hours of not exactly pen pushing.

still managing a smile.

stew

it's laswa for the ages.

glimmer

Style. Travel. People. Ideas. Beauty. Movies. Books. Essays. Sports. Television. Weather. Music. Theatre. Art.

There are more engaging topics to talk about during brunch. Discussing about politics kind of ruins the appetite. Is politics more about popularity or platform? Or is it about the pursuit of power and the accumulation of wealth? Or does the role of church and religion affect the economy of a nation?

Despite certain observations, unbridled optimism is key, that somehow those elected would make a positive mark in making the world a better place to live.

daylight

It's cold in the mornings. Albeit the stinging wind is not that ferocious, it calms down as the day surges towards a delayed twilight. May is glorious for the stretched shimmer and illuminance, the vibrancy of the lushed leaves and the proliferation of colors in the surroundings.

It helps my mood a bit. I become less bitchy and temperamental. I don't throw heavy objects at random individuals. I'm as docile as a stuff doll. This would be me at my most productive. Sounds so good in theory. But in reality, I'm as enraged as ever.

surreal

Amongst the ladies of Sex and the City , Kim Cattrall and the character she portrays Samantha Jones are my favourites. Except probably for Miranda, I’m exhausted with all the Carrie and Charlotte storylines. Both Samantha and Kim have shown that the way to cool and happiness is not always about the picket fences and the little nippers. Damn those writers who gave Samantha the cancer and escape to LA to be with Smith as TV star plots. Okay, most guys call Samantha Jones slutty, because of her bed choices and prospects. While men who sleep around are called playboys (as Jeanette reminded me yesterday). Well, as I’ve beamed and beholded over the years, men and gossip-mongering women are obsessed with the good girls, the quiet type who sits by the corner, goes to church and reads the bible. But what lurks beneath the good girl images are the sharp tongues of judgments. They bite more than the figure-hugging sound bites.

Anyhow, Kim Cattrall’s forays in the West End are wonderful gigs to all of us fans. Her latest, playing a role at least twenty years younger opposite an actor 18 years her junior is something only the beautiful and highly-talented Ms Cattrall could muster in such elegant fashion. Private Lives, a 1930s comedy of manners by Noel Coward, focuses on a divorced couple reigniting their passion while honeymooning in the same hotel with their new spouses. It’s a completely hilarious play replete with beautiful set decorations. Cattrall’s posh English accent is so credible that I was trying to recall her authentic speaking voice all throughout the hours I was glued in the stalls of Vaudeville Theater. But unlike the movies, where you can watch replays on the movie channels, being part of an audience in a play is like a surreal flash, absorb the performance and the moment, as this is it, the next night’s interpretation wouldn’t be the same ( if we have the money and the time).

spurs

It was a very good year, not even dented by the fact that Spurs lost to Burnley away in the last game of the season. There would be an additional Champion's League playoffs, in additon to the league, the Cup ties, that makes us long for the surge of belonging and camaraderie sports fans feel just by watching and discussing the beautiful game.

collage

jubilation!

still not glory-hunting, but i'm simply in awe.

mall

Malls did not exist when I was a kid. But they came in very handy when I needed distraction in my Twenties. Those were the younger days. If I can turn back time, I wouldn't have eaten my way to a double digit clothes size.

Okay, let's shop.

What did my husband say last night?
"It doesn't mean because you shop at Gucci, you automatically become a designer."

I know she's a bitch and all but I like Victoria Beckham's designs.

crackles

As the bank holiday weekend drew to a close recently, I couldn't help but ponder, why when one is on a day off from the day job, the hours seem to swift by quickly? Why time drags annoyingly slow when one is at work? Of course, these might be only mutterings of a person exasperated with stress.

Nevertheless, there are ways to make the routines fun. A few colleagues meanwhile function without days off, kowtow to the demands of the proud and the loudmouths and the refined and the humble. I'd love to have their energy and dedication. But I reckon the life of a couch potato isn't a bad thing. Reading and writing, watching addictive tv, contemplating the past, present and future may not accumulate the dough. But it's a great conversation piece.