the queen, the princess

it took me months to secure a bargain dvd and after seeing the film, i'm left with befuddlement. helen mirren was marvelous. michael sheen was spot on as tony blair. with the story arc, the title could have easily been the queen and the new prime minister. or the queen and tony blair. the movie was centered on that ill-fated week after princess diana lost her life through a car crash in paris and how the queen, the head of the commonwealth reached a compromise with a freshly elected labour prime minister in handling the public mourning of one of the world's most popular and photographed celebrities.

tony blair may have described diana as a people's princess (coined by alastair campbell as shown in the film) but to the royal family she was just an "annoying" spotlight-grabber who should have forfeited her luster and prominence after her divorce from prince charles. it took several phone calls from the labour leader to convince the queen to consider an ostentatious funeral service rather than the "let the spencers decide proclivity." the production and technical aspects and performance were brilliant. prince philip the character (my, my the language), not james cromwell the actor (wasn't he too towering to play the consort?) was corrosively engaging. prince charles essayed by alex jennings, was such a weakling.

diana's sons william and harry were merely obscured backdrops at balmoral castle. we saw a populace who couldn't contain their sadness and a family who didn't even shed a single teardrop. i'm intrigued if prince charles' sobbing in paris was a cinematic setup. blair threw a tantrum at his republican staff towards the end of the reel as he accentuated the queen's devotion to service, a vow not of her own choosing.

i don't advocate a cherie blair attitude. but though quite stuffy and humdrum, the queen's routines, her duties aren't that lousy and stale. she gets to live in castles and palaces and get curtseyed by subjects. a life where you don't have to think of money. she could always abdicate but the safe haven of being queen is a great mood elevator.

as we commemorate the 10th death anniversary of princess diana, my thoughts are on camilla and her sojourn to the mediterranean. i still reminisce the beguiling diana of my childhood. how i was glued to the press releases, not the tabloid portrait. she had the charm and the people were captivated. but as my husband lays it out "so some posh bird died ten years ago, get over it."

smoulders

manchester united 1 tottenham hotspur 0
26th august 2007 at old trafford

obviously tottenham fans don't agree with the sky sports pundits
who were chanelling their glory-hunting selves.
i've seen penalties awarded for lesser infractions.

despite the not so positive result,
dimitar berbatov is stylishly good looking.
not to mention the most stylish striker in the football galaxy.


"In a world full of Uniteds,
Citys and Rovers, there is only One Hotspur"

pinoy tv

growing up in the 70's and '80's, i've come to associate pinoy showbiz star through the studio system. marciel and snooky were regal babies. sharon cuneta was an exclusive viva star. these days, tv networks have replaced movie outfits as star builders. you're either a kapuso or a kapamilya. if you want to become a star, television is the main medium. films have taken a backseat. actors find work through acting and emoting in soap operas or hosting talk and variety shows. regular tv programs sustains a star's little morsels of bread.

when i was home in bacolod recently, only one channel was visible at rolling hills. that was ABS-CBN, whose bacolod offices were nearby. my cousins from isabela in negros occidental have not heard of any kapuso stars. it's the complexity of the satellite feeds in our part of the visayas. unless you subscribe to cable tv, there was a slim chance you were privy to all the richard gutierrez adventures in his fantasy soaps. i'm only talking from the isabela perspective. it was different when we were in an island adjacent to escalante (northern negros) in october last year. captain barbell was the people's choice from that tiny enclave. i sometimes wonder if manila is the philippines. or the whole manila market is bigger than the rest of the country. why couldn't the powers that be publish the whole archipelago ratings rather than just the capital?

in my meek corner in north london, it's TFC, or ABS-CBN now. GMA has not yet penetrated the uk. but you tube is one tool to curb the yearnings of european pinoys. i'm not really keen on either network. following the shenanigans of the star magic contract talents or gma artist center matinee idols has never pierced through my thoughts. i'm too old. i'm stuck in the vilma, sharon, maricel mode or the laughter evoked by joey de leon in his shows.

i became transfixed on mara clara in '95, three years after its premiere. the diary was still in limbo that time and would continue to go on missing until rpn 9's marimar starring thalia beat tv patrol in the ratings game. mara clara had to go on primetime for its book two and laid the ground work for the great soap revival jumping the trail of flordeluna and ana liza in the early 80's. i wasn't there when fantaseryes propelled their vigor and strength. but my mom was and she liked richard gutierrez. i truly miss our tv repartees.

crybaby

a member of my high school class suggested that i watch football to at least not wallow in heartbreaking tears. it's football, the real thing (soccer for the denizens across the pond) not michael vick's football. anyone who can tell me the etymology of the term soccer is very much welcome in this page. but as the english premier league unfurled its new season, not even the dynamic tottenham strike force (who are not fulfilling their unfair promise as of this time) or the managerial drama behind the scenes can lift up the pervading torment of my solitude. television is taking a backseat. but not you tube, which also serves as a venerated reservoir of hidden gems.

i haven't actually constructed my thanks in writing to all the the people who my sibs and i in our saddest moments. you know who you are. all the first degree cousins, aunts and uncles down to all the relatives, my parents' friends, colleagues and contemporaries, our neighbors, all my brothers' friends, classmates and co-workers. ditto with mine. the hurt is intense. the tears will continue to flow, forever.

struggling with a crippling cough, i lost the use my pc for eight days, something to do with computer's power supply that took me from being cryptically moody when unable to express myself through writing to the calmness i latched unto while poring over jane eyre. thanks to carol lynn for the extra room in the couch in letting me catch up with ysabella.

the messages i've read, advice i've heard were great, very well-intended. i'm grateful, even for the cliches. as i used all my pent-up energy to ignore the negative vibes. sometimes i wish my friends could read sports. i'll get over myself somehow, dip into the plot of mansfield park, pore over the biography of oscar wilde, scan through some films and music. himala will do for me. really. my longings are not automatically balderdash. as for the music, sentimentalities beware.

sore throats, grief, fever

sporting a fever and inflamed under intense body heat, i was barely walking to get my house keys from leilanie. i need some rest. my throat was holding me captive a few hours ago.

i miss my parents pretty badly and ache to be with my brothers in the philippines, to veer them to the right path under the same roof rather than from oceans away.

my mom's photographs. those family albums should be secured. her books should be protected. wasn't it only last month we were browsing through those autobiographies at the national bookstore? discussing politics on the phone? talking about the dangers and portents of al qaeda? my parents tended to be cerebral. my mom taught me how to read. my dad let me read his newsweek when i was still in grade school, nothing prodigious in that, merely a stage prior to adolescent that will pave for present preoccupations.

most of my friends still have their parents. i'm not like them anymore, however it hurts. i saw how my good friend honey moved on after the heartache of losing both. i applaud her courage in forging ahead with vitality . but my life will always be left wanting. there's no dearth of close alliances, unceasing friendships. but as my journey inclines towards the memory retreats, perusing the photographs still break me down.
(photos -- my mom's orchids as captured in june)

plain thoughts

frothing in melancholic deviations, missing both muse and pearl jam concerts held nearby at the wembley, not bothering to watch all the recorded er's on sky plus, i'm in desperate need of some soothing kicks. drawing inner strength and blighting my eyesights staring at the pc monitor, the web generates relief -- downloads and uploads, fascinating blogs. i've given up E! plus a profusion of other tv channels to wallow in tranquility.

watching golf is not a problem. the surreal links of the open heals the rift of my broken spirit. the scottish don't shout "get in the hole!" everytime a golfer (take note, not just tiger) tees off a par five unlike the cluster at the US PGA Tour. the tour de france is a colorful background amid all the chattering of advice i've been subjected to. work is therapy.

trawling the web, i've discovered a handful blog gems. nah, i'm not the only pinoy hooked on reading subtitles. my teacher's dutiful offspring is besotted as well. daniel, a subject matter in the previous blog is from the korean entertainment scene but he can't speak the native tongue of his maternal ancestors. not keen on travelling or flying intercontinental flights for that matter, i took on one of daniel's romcoms during the flight over and over and it helped a lot in rescuing me from the depths of tears.

as do pearl jam's music, i'm as enthralled on the band's lyrics as well as vedder's politics. if only i didn't miss the performance at wembley. a place so near yet so far.

ruminations

it's just relatively quiet contemplation. i've been trying to compose some poetry but it's mostly wishful ponderings. i worry more about the dusty carpet or the unwashed dishes in the sink. i have had no television except for a game and a half of the men's finals in wimbledon. i kept on downloading and downloading ysabella. JAS, in various manners, dissects my inner turmoil. i can't read a david sedaris in the new yorker as there's a father character. i did dip into a feature on e. buendia in that JAS cover and felt compelled to listen to pupil but ended up watching his "ages ago" interview on martin's show. i'll just request my bro to send me a CD or the likes. that's a better alternative to a compilation of the best of the sex bomb singers. thank goodness for you tube.

when the crowd hovering nearby says "move forward," i absorb it wholeheartedly but i still nudge back quite a lot. it's not about acceptance. when i see women parading their bumps, a mental image of painful afterthoughts flashes through the reels and i begin to bleed. there's a certain nuance on every individual. kindness and sensitivity are no ordinary traits. dousing in reticence, the preferred serenity is soothing my nerves. it's still the old me. though unruffled and hushed to reflection.

im back to old digs and bad habits and that includes trawling for korean stuff sans any tagalog dubbings. i read a lot of subtitles as part of my quirks. my mom used to read subtitles with me. dad watched all the tennis as i was hugging the tv. it's weird knowing i wouldn't be able to converse with dad. dad had his textures. his newsweek collection when i was 11 opened new vistas at odds with the preoccupation of present work associates. there's less complications in finding erudition in my school friends than the ones from the day job. there's more to life than gossips or james blunt's music. my snobbish side is in top speed when i check my site meter. i read verses from the good book as often as i could. it's kind of stinging when well-meaning acquaintances suddenly turn pious and lectures from convivial bliss or push me to bow me to the traditions of the housewife who never fails to prepare breakfast.

finishing up the docu on daniel, i can't understand a single word in the narration. daniel and his mom speaks english, so it's fine. learning a new language would require huge amount of effort.

with ikaruga on game cube in the background, it's time to tidy up the kitchen.