catoptric

had this risotto in Milan, such heavenly delight. i've gained like one kilogram over the past week. i blame that on the pandan cake i've been gorging for the last few days. still searching for a great deal of motivation to at least eat proper food and work out daily. but my brain receptors are quite inactive. my recent photographic reflections should be enough to incite more discipline. fine, let's start with removing creases from clothing and maybe go dancing.

going to the gig

replenishing the page.

trapped in the cocoon

it's the morning after the royal wedding, it's actually nearly afternoon and i have to type this blog pretty quickly. i wasn't in the crowds in the abbey or the palace. there was work and the people who had to be at work and me asking their opinions about the dress. the couple looks grand, bestowed the title her royal highnesses duke and duchess of cambridge. the onlookers, the press can still call her kate. her official title is not a princess not until prince william becomes the prince of wales. do titles define existence? it's convenient to have the money and the appeal of a grand tradition. but one's wedding day is merely one day while a marriage is sometimes torture and sacrifice. the romance part though is the joyous aspect of life.

i'll probably remember to re-visit buckingham palace probably next week and go to the abbey with my friend joy in june. i always wanted to enter westminster abbey despite the £16 entry fee. when did the £1 mark-up commence? it was only 10 quid in 2007 and much cheaper in previous decades.

since i have appointment today, i got to go. hope my phone works so that i can blog.

royal i do's

been using this oyster card for a week, the only memorabilia for a state occasion, a necessity due to the previous card that refused to work.

i couldn't wait before all these wedding coverage is over. having lived in london for years, now knowing the difference between posh, middle-class, chavs, non-classes and all other terminologies, the one redeeming factor of this kate/wills saturation is the extra day off.

the couple have been together for eight years, this is merely formality. being into all things diana of the previous generation, i couldn't relate to this event.

kate or princess catherine by the afternoon appears to be unattainable, i couldn't feel her common touch. maybe that's just my tiredness talking. probably after she becomes a princess she'll evoke that magic, the kind that would draw my affection, cause as of this moment, i feel nothing.

escape from here

the deeper premise of cemetery junction is really quite simple to embrace. do we stay in our small town, live in our childhood house with our parents until the age of 23 or until we get married or stay there forever? would leaving school at 14 bodes well for the future? for the young men of cemetery junction - bruce, freddie, paul/snork - the landscape appears bleak. but comparing and contrasting their escapades to the youth of my upbringing, their predicaments and prospects are not too bad. whereas not finishing high school in the RP is tantamount to poverty, especially if one is not born with a collection of silver spoons in the kitchen cupboard.

nonetheless, this film should have yielded more accolades or at least a worldwide distribution. but the dilemma of whether to choose being a salesman or to travel the world bereft of pocket money, is not avatar or the twilight movies although Christian Cooke could easily give Robert Pattinson some serious competition.

while waiting

forgot my internet stick on my way to the husband's five-a-side. i'm so pissed due to the fact that i brought along my netbook and i couldn't turn back to retrieve it due to time constraints. however it turned out i don't need it at all. can't take my eyes away from the lads' changing bags for a second. the bar is full dodgy-looking blokes. how can a deco-turf football facility be this petrifying for a thumbelina like me? all i can surmise is that the melting-pot community is far from cordial. seldom see chivalry in these shores. we're so the same, yet so different.

to be a wanna be

drinking glasses of soda as usual. wouldn't be able to go down to my ideal body weight in a week, in a month. probably in a year, two years, or never. my dream to sport the sticky figure of the late audrey hepburn remains that, a dream, an unattainable illusion, because i'm nonchalant, lackadaisical. maybe tomorrow, i'll start to be more disciplined, not dance until i drop or do yoga but to wake up earlier on a free day and stay awake because there are errands, obligations, hoovering to be done.

and i wanna write more, to dig deep in the subliminal aptitudes, to observe and describe profoundly the most valuable aspects of themes and thesis. let's find time.

oh Loewe

was going over some pictures of dresses a few days ago and realised that tali lennox was wearing a simple-looking piece of clothing that cost more than £6,000. i earn less than that in like three months. why are some merchandise highly overpriced? the hubby has this quip:

"it's made by rich people for rich people to make rich people even richer and poor people to remain poor and to ensure the flow of social apartheid."

oh yeah, social apartheid. but there is such a thing as rags to riches, people who are able to break the barrier in the power and financial structure. i don't have any inner gokongwei or the tiger blood of those ultra-rich Chinese billionaires. anyway, it's just basic fashion, even it's by Loewe by LVMH.

above 24

as i optimistically search for my SPF50 sunblock, the hubby took on the barbecue chores. mostly i just slept the afternoon off, the heat hypnotised me to somnolence. i'm mostly tired, i should be more productive, earn enough extra pocket money to backpack through Europe once i get some free time. we've done a few bits of backpacking the last few months, i long to bring a suitcase with wheels but for Manchester, the backpack will fit just right.

be there

the objective for today is to kick ass in contemplation. be kind. be good. be humble. be nice. be pleasant. be forgiving. be generous.

and now the hubby is moaning about groceries, on a good friday. BRB. i passed through the artwork before the shift last night.

maundy

wasn't able to go back to sleep due to the heat. it's maundy thursday, time to embrace kindness and humility. miss the ritual of procession. miss Lola Cel and Dels. miss my parents.

at 1425

when I was waiting for the train yesterday. now I'm going back to sleep.

love thee 23

love the heat. daylight is prolonged and i'm listening to the music of adele. such stunning voice. people should be famous by virtue of talent alone. these days the 16 and pregnant girls evolved into teen moms, get knocked up again or continue with their lives right before our eyes. while the jersey shore kids earn $100 thousand an episode.

reality, reality, reality check.

now, let's snooze.

squeeze on, miss

the weather is great this week. too bad not everybody is friendly. why is that some people just don't acknowledge phones calls, miscalls, texts or e-mails? it's not proper etiquette. likewise, acting like a curmudgeon is not a good public image. but who cares about kindness to fellow human beings? man is selfish by nature.

still, we should be nice, even once in a while, because irascibility is not a pleasant word. however, my disregarded attempts for telephone contacts have taught me that we should minimise the clutter in our lives.

we simply should know who we can depend on in times of crisis, in times of need. all things considered, what is a very plain request is actually a huge deal and not just another children's party to attend.

sunday blah

my weekend sucks. i had to erase my previous post where i was talking about my diet. all the first person references was getting on my nerves. the uma thurman film motherhood in the background is not helping my mood swings. it's so damn boring with her serial complainer of a character. life is not super perfect especially without childcare help. dr. green (anthony edwards) as the beleaguered husband appears dependable.

what's with all the fuss and the existential conundrum when it comes to managing a household?

black and white beauty

Every time I watch a Montgomery Clift movie I marvel at his good looks. His on-screen aura is second to none, then and now. Unlike Rock Hudson he never really came out of the closet. He also had that horrible car accident that altered his facial features. But judging from the reels, not by much, it just added a little edge to his appeal.

In A Place in the Sun, he is good, method actor good. His character, George Eastman is a tormented social climber who is intoxicated by high society and the allure of Angela Vickers (a teenage Elizabeth Taylor). But there was also his humble co-worker Alice "Al" Tripp (Shelley Winters) who he was seeing before being pulled into the dream world of the rich and privilege. Al is pregnant and blackmailing him to marry her but George is in love with Angela. What follows is tragedy and the harshness of the American justice system, with Clift showing the depth of his range as an actor that even Brando was impressed.

It's not really much but I'm working my way to the filmography of Clift and Taylor, not only two of Hollywood's most beautiful stars but also two of the best actors of all time.

whiny bloke

romcoms as a genre might be a vacuous endeavour. but there's nothing more pretentious than the anti-romcom, whose well-meaning intentions might be to challenge the thought processes of the highly-cerebral but all it accomplishes is simply annoy the regular viewer.

i reckon that my last five girlfriends is probably one such project. it's not funny at all. the protagonist moans about his former girlfriends against the backdrop of roller coaster rides, voiceovers, talking stuffed toys, fake adverts, mindless clips and other devices that distract the flow of the story. why couldn't he find the one? because it's a movie and there should be a thing called love.

score cards

at the masters 2011. tied for fourth. (pgatour.com)

the taylor articles

the passing of dame elizabeth taylor last month produced tons and tons of tributes. my favourite is one written by camille paglia for salon.com. through all the features, writings and looking over her filmography. i couldn't help but be inquisitive, in the american film institute list of greatest actresses in 1999, why did she rank only seventh? katharine hepburn, bette davis, audrey hepburn, ingrid bergman, greta garbo and marilyn monroe were ranked higher. i don't question k. hepburn and bette davis, probably even ingrid bergman and garbo. just only audrey hepburn and marilyn monroe. taylor was a child actress and was sensational in national velvet, and unlike most child actors in the history of hollywood, she parlayed her brilliance up until adulthood. she might not have done too well after who's afraid of virginia woolf but her celebrity was greater than the sum of her movie parts.

anyway, i had this quip from my colleague juls. "she was born in hampstead." "diyan lang pala o. " (just nearby). "seven husbands, eight marriages." "sa kanya na lang lahat, kaya marami ang tumatandang dalaga." (she has all the guys, that is why other women become spinsters). juls is of course far from an old maid and very nice as a person. but when everything is said and done, i think the quip is funny.

groff, glee

couldn't particularly wait for jonathan groff's character jesse st. james return on glee. jesse compliments rachel berry vocally and his rendition of bohemian rhapsody backed up by the vocal adrenaline dancers and singers was simply grand during the last year's regionals and i'm kind of tired of the rachel-finn storyline. i mean, are they? aren't they? never will be? would he rather be with quinn? aagh!..

saw groff in the flesh during his performance in deathtrap at the west end. he was marvelous. it was a straight play, so no singing on his part. hope he comes back to london again to perform in the theatre or in concert. i wasn't able to procure a ticket for the glee tour in june. it sold out fast and the nose bleed section at the O2 is not for me. plus a glee concert is not my husband's scene. obviously.

ah, the eye and shoe

i broke my left shoe walking from seven sisters to white hart lane on our last champions league night for the season. the entire sole - insole, midsole, outsole began to separate from the vamp/upper part of the footwear midway through the walk. never been so grateful for the little shops selling all kinds of tapes and school and office supplies along the way. i'll be saying my goodbye to my favourite pair of pumps later today. but note to self, i should have worn trainers and never wear sandals to sports events.

there was no joy in our (tottenham hotspur) two-legged quarterfinal clash against nine-time european champions real madrid. one bright spot was my seat at the south upper courtesy of Tyrone who booked my ticket. after climbing all the way up to the heavens in our away seats at the San Siro in Milan and taking the escalator to watch the first leg at the Santiago de Barnebeu in Madrid, it's a welcome change to see the players a little bit clearly. the humble size of WHL allowed me to decipher christiano ronaldo from xabi alonso and be closer to the spills and tackles of sergio ramos.

the great tragedy of the first leg at the bernabeu was not the sending off of peter crouch but me not realising crouch was sent off. was someone blocking my way? i blame it on my eyesight. i need an eye test pronto.

windswept

a truly blustery week. i usually underdressed, meaning i'm cold. but it's not cold cold, just not into the tropical warmth of the far east or let's say, spain. the schedules got haywired for little kobbi's birthday. my dearest godchild turned one year old on tuesday. we don't remember our first birthday. or even our second. but a happy childhood is a happy childhood. there should be warmth and celebrations, toys, balloons, sweets, the likes. we tend to reminisce as adults and our kiddie highlights make or break our adult lives.

starving

desserts for living. at glenda's do -- victor's 3rd, lourdes lauren's christening. wasn't able to touch any of these desserts.
too slow.

futz

futz was the word of the day on friday, with terms such as idleness and simpleton as part of its meanings. there was a lack of creativity in my subliminal longings and ambitions. yeah, whatever rubbish i could muster.

i was also trying to work out the underlying motivations behind dh lawrence's women in love. the adaptation seen recently on BBC four with Rachael Stirling and Rosamund Pike as the Brangwen sisters is gripping. Pike as Gudrun is quite good. she looks definitely authentic as an artist, such a gorgeous actress with the mellifluous accent. makes me want to check out An Education with Carey Mulligan.

edd's flag in Madrid

at plaza mayor

plaza mello? it's actually plaza mayor. the twisted-tongued anglicised pronunciation had me confused. it's southeast asian weather in Spain. this is Manila alright. there are even Filipinos in the restaurant-bar's waiting staff.

it's such good weather over here. but the sun is harsh. we gripe and grumble when it's too cold, or too hot. why couldn't i use a brolly during summer in England?

seville to madrid train retrospective:

-- the only difference on hopping from England to Italy and Spain is the language. i see the infrastructures, i'm reminded of Manila. there are definitely some modern conveniences that Manila could never offer like the ultra-cozy train we're taking on the way to Madrid. similar to the one we took from Turin to Milan. but we could have done with the less expensive rustic can on the way back to Turin. however let's wait what's Madrid has to offer, i might be in for awe and surprise.

14 degrees

good weather.

free lie in

totally forgot my deadline for this blog. i assigned myself deadlines, last year, this year, any year. there's been no laxury time this week, not enough for writing, relaxing, breathing. maybe this saturday, i could write, relax, breathe.

jell--o

it's like being slaughtered into pieces, i couldn't fathom my exhaustion. definitely, there would be new forms for the bedside people. i'm talking shop here. the day job is blood and sweat, tears from the workload, paperworks, acid tongues.

aha, the acid tongues, friends of friends, cantankerous bitches of the underworld, should be ignored by lasses with pleasant dispositions, or cool boyfriends, husbands. people should give them the brush off whenever possible. because life sometimes is not the gateway to spinsterhood, or is proliferated with illegitimate brats.