><(((;>

...You know you love him...

nakalibang si budoy...

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Thank Him Right Now

This lifted my spirits considerably. Thanks Iris.

Dear Father God:

I want to thank you for what you have already done.

I am not going to wait until I see results or receive rewards, I am thanking You right now.

I am not going to wait until I feel better or things look better, I am thanking You right now.

I am not going to wait until people say they are sorry or until they stop talking about me, I am thanking You right now.

I am not going to wait until the pain in my body disappears, I am thanking You right now.

I am not going to wait until my financial situation improves, I am going to thank You right now.

I am not going to wait until my family is asleep and the house is safe, I am going to thank You right now.

I am not going to wait until I get promoted at work or until I get a job, I am going to thank You right now.

I am not going to wait until I understand every experience in my life that has caused me pain or grief, I am going thank you right now.

I am not going to wait until the journey gets easier or the challenges are removed. I am thanking You right now.

I am thanking You because I am alive.

I am thanking You because I made it through the day's difficulties.

I am thanking You because I have walked around the obstacles.

I am thanking you because I have the ability and the opportunity to do more and do better.

I am thanking You because You have not given up on me.

In Jesus' name, AMEN

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The Lord of the Rings Trilogy

The Lord of the Rings

Honestly, LOTR has never really captured my fancy. I didn't plan on watching it in the moviehouses, didn't peruse my favorite pirated CD/VCD and now DVD vendors for it. Didn't even borrow the books. But then, faced with long boring Saturdays at home, and with Bernadette (my personal pirated DVD public library) having bought all three of the LOTR movies, I just have to borrow.

And then, two weeks ago, I was on the verge of starting the Trilogy, I realized that I didn't have a freaking idea as to which of the three came first. I have to text Bernadette, Iris and Christian, all devout LOTR fanatics for the correct sequence.

And last night, I have finished the Trilogy, amidst countless requests to switch to Marina (Faith's) and incessant phone rings (not mine, NEVER mine).

And all I could say was, awesome. The films are nicely made, VERY, to the point that you'd believe that there is a Middle Earth, and you'd want to travel there someday, maybe on your way to Hawaii (by the way, the whole lot was filmed in New Zealand). I honestly couldn't find anything in the production that is worth nitpicking about, nor anything flawed. Even Orlando Bloom, whom I first saw in Troy, wasn't as irritating when he did the stoic Legolas as he was as Paris.

I love my DVD player. I love my JVC mini-compo. The sound effects of the LOTR Trilogy is superb. The walls in the house was shaking :)

The battle scenes are satisfying, the visual effects are astounding. I mean where else could you have eagles biting heads off Nazguls (pteodactyl-looking creatures), and Nazguls stomping on humans, and orcs, mutated orcs, mutated elephants, and short short men, and old geezers, all of them fighting. They even have the dead, which uncannily looked like a very low hanging and green aurora borealis, fighting orcs. WOW.

The story was exceptional. I don't have plans of borrowing somebody's books soon, but I might.

The cast is ok. Except for Elijah Wood, who looked constipated for most of his close-ups. There are only three facial expressions that Elijah could muster for Frodo Baggins: Diarrhea, Clueless, and Blank.

I am Smeagol, by the way. We knows us. :)

And oooh, the four hobbits ARE gay, aren't they? I mean, the producers have to insert that wedding thing at the end of Return of the King, to pacify homophobics? It's so Bernardo Bernardo marrying Barbara Perez!

Beef: What's this thing about the Dead (Men of the Mountains) coming to the rescue of Aragorn and Gondor? It is soooo Regal Film's Shake Rattle and Roll, Episode III, where a cute and prepubescent and pre-genderbending, Aiza, trapped by all these kapres, enlists the help of her long-dead Lola (played invariably by Mona Lisa or Anita Linda) who appears in a flowing white, glowing and translucent night gown and banishes all the kapres with powers the film never explained she got in the first place (the Lola almost always dies while knitting or cross-stitching).

Beef II: Where does Legolas get his arrows? They never seem to run out, I mean, is it elven magic that his arrows go back to his uh, carrying case, when the enemy dies? Wouldn't that be dangerous for Legolas? I mean, what if he suddenly turns around? He'd get punctured by his own returning arrow.

Beef III: That Christopher Lee character, you know, the evil wizard? should have been given a lot more to do in the third film. It is soooo unfair that he has to be erased off the face of Middle Earth by a bunch of really stupid walking and talking trees. No. I think Christopher Lee is delightfully and interestingly evil. It must be because I was so traumatized by his portrayal of various Count Draculas when I was younger.

Beef IV: This is not original material, it was written by Schmaltz, a totally ruthless movie critic, but I couldn't have put it in a more exact manner:

I don't mind that the battles go on for so long, but when the good guys finally start to win, the CLIMACTIC MOMENT of triumph, it cuts away to Frodo and Pippin having this totally sappy, heartwarming conversation about heroism and flowers and what makes a good story and bullshit. Like, even if the conversation wasn't total schmaltz, it's still not a good idea to cut away from the FUCKING CLIMAX of the movie to a conversation, and then, like go back to the FUCKING CLIMAX with sappy, schmaltzy music and a voice over, as if the FUCKING CLIMAX were by this time a foregone conclusion. I mean, imagine if the death star were about to explode and it cut to Yoda looking romantically into Luke's eyes, and pan pipes were playing. What kind of bullshit is this??? ... I don't mind the implied homosexuality between the hobbits. But -really- if you wanted to cut back and forth between the FUCKING CLIMAX of the battle scenes and the hobbits, the only way to make it work is to have some ANAL ACTION going on so that the hobbits also have A FUCKING CLIMAX at the same time. THEN you'd have a worthwhile montage.

But then again, all that visuals and prolonged battle scenes and the chopped heads, impaled bodies, and gore more than makes up for all these. I mean the LOTR Trilogy is not perfect, but it's an imperfection worth watching. :) I give it 4.3.

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You are histrionic, narcissistic and avoidant!

I took one of those online psychological tests, and surprisingly, I have few psychological disorders than most people perceive I do. Didn't lie on any question, I swear.

Disorder Rating
-------- ------
Paranoid: Low
Schizoid: Low
Schizotypal: Moderate
Antisocial: Moderate
Borderline: Low
Histrionic: High
Narcissistic: High
Avoidant: High
Dependent: Low
Obsessive-Compulsive: Low

See? You're crazier than I am.

For non-psycho majors out there, here's what I am:

People with histrionic personality disorder are constant attention seekers. They need to be the center of attention all the time, often interrupting others in order to dominate the conversation. They use grandiose language to discribe everyday events and seek constant praise. They may dress provacatively or exaggerate illnesses in order to gain attention. They also tend to exaggerate friendships and relationships, believing that everyone loves them. They are often manipulative.

Narcissistic personality disorder is characterized by self-centeredness. Like histrionic disorder, people with this disorder seek attention and praise. They exaggerate their achievements, expecting others to recongize them as being superior. They tend to be choosy about picking friends, since they believe that not just anyone is worthy of being their friend. They tend to make good first impressions, yet have difficulty maintaining long-lasting relationships. They are generally uninterested in the feelings of others and may take advantage of them.

Avoidant personality disorder is characterized by extreme social anxiety. People with this disorder often feel inadequate, avoid social situations, and seek out jobs with little contact with others. They are fearful of being rejected and worry about embarassing themselves in front of others. They exaggerate the potential difficulties of new situations to rationalize avoiding them. Often, they will create fantasy worlds to substitute for the real one. Unlike schizoid personality disorder, avoidant people yearn for social relations yet feel they are unable to obtain them. They are frequently depressed and have low self-confidence.

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Bodily functions in the office email

I work in this place where apparently somebody needs to be potty trained.

----- Original Message -----
From: sharon
To:
Sent: Saturday, June 19, 2004 9:19 AM
Subject: Comfort Rooms

Helllllooooooooooooooooo,

When we came in this morning , we were greeted by urine spots scattered on the toilet seat and the back of the toilet cover in the ladies' CR. It's so frustrating that there are some of us here who are so irresponsible. I suspect that the culprit is a guy for the reason that I can't think of a way that a lady can urinate facing the water tank. Please, please, please if you can't clean the comfort room after every use, bring your yaya along with you. It's about time that you should learn how to exercise cleanliness and good sanitation. otherwise you should be ashamed of yourself.

And if you think that's the end of that, see what came into my email inbox this morning...

----- Original Message -----
From: Sharon
To:
Sent: Friday, July 02, 2004 9:08 AM
Subject: Disgusting

Hello ,

There's really no need for me to elaborate what happened inside the CR this morning cause almost everybody is talking about it. Whoever you are, you should be ashamed of yourself....why because you left your disgusting _ _ _ _ . Wala man gali ka kalimpyo sa imong hugaw, unsa na kaha ang gibati sa naglimpyo. A physically and mentally well person is not capable of doing such irresponsible act. Pardon my words but this is really too much.

A piece of advise just in case you will be doing a major transaction inside the CR and you're not successful in flushing your waste, please use the black plunger beside the ladies' toilet bowl, it's heavy duty and very effective.

From urine to uh, you know... This doesn't include the undocumented case of the sanitary napkin, used and wrappings found the men's CR. I mean what's next? A condom filled with uh, you know, or perhaps a bloody fetus?

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Victim

It finally happened to me. My cousin, Luwell, and I were held up outside our village last night. Ironically, I go through the "scariest" and the most snatcher-filled places in Cebu -- Colon, Pasil, Carbon, Uptown, Fatima Duljo, Hi-way Mandaue -- and I had to become a victim in my own backyard.

It happened quickly enough. Luwell and I talking outside this sari-sari store each holding a bottle of Sparkle cola. They came towards us, and uttered the same word over and again, "Cellphone, cellphone, cellphone..." in rapid succession it sounded like a mantra. One guy held his gun trained on my stomach area, the other trained his gun on Luwell's stomach.

I went blank.

When Luwell's frantic admonitions for me to give my phone over to them came through the mist, I saw myself flinging my left hand (the one holding the phone) wildly in circles. The gun was still trained on my abdominal area, and the snatcher had a hard time following where I was going with my hand.

My other hand still held the Sparkle bottle, he had a gun, this is so unfair. I was prepared to conk him out with the bottle, but when I was about to raise it up, this image of me standing there with lots of blood on my shirt flashed. Then there was this voice telling me that it was a wrong move.

No bravado there. No heroics on my part. I just went blank, and instinct took over. Unfortunately, instinct made me look like I was fighting back. Instinct for me was to protect what's mine. Fortunately, instinct took a backseat to reason, at apparently the right time.

In a last ditch effort to get my phone away, I was able to fling my phone over the sari-sari store counter where I would hope it would drop to the other side, way out of reach of anybody.

But it didn't. The other snatcher saw my phone on the counter top and made a grab for it. The one I was struggling with stepped back and trained the gun still on my abdominal area. He stood there looking at me looking at the gun. At the back of my mind, I knew he could have fired anytime he wanted. I was hoping he wouldn't, even debated whether to beg him not to shoot. And then he took a step backwards, and then another, and then ran for this motorcycle waiting for them across the street.

It was the longest moment of my life.

I am thankful for a lot of things. I am thankful that I am here writing and talking and joking about the whole thing, and not lying on some operating table with a team of doctors working to take some bullet out of my body. Or worse, I could be lying on a morgue slab.

I am thankful that Luwell and I were not hurt. Except from extremely obvious nervousness, I was pretty calm about it. Although I would admit that the sound of a motorcycle would probably make me turn my head and check if there are three riders on it now.

I am thankful that they didn't frisk me, or else they would have found my wallet, complete with half of last month's paycheck in it. In cold hard cash.

I am thankful that I have had the presence of mind not to have hurt anybody. Imagine if I had in the process of defending myself, killed the snatcher. I wouldn't be able to sleep knowing that, even if he deserved it.

Luwell got off with almost no damage. He left his cellphone at home, and had nothing on him but the money to buy Sparkle. But he was visibly shaken by the experience, I think more than I was.

Lesson: It is a humbling experience feeling that your life is in someone else's hand. And somebody evil at that. To be sure, the whole thing was scary. But the scariest part of it all was the look of that kid who had his gun pointed at me. His eyes were wide and wild, but I could see clarity in it. He was clearly debating with himself whether to shoot me, and this was after he got the phone. I just stood there, alternately making eye contact, and looking down at the gun and panting. Finally, I was just looking at the gun, and then thankfully, he ran away. I'd hate to be in that situation again. No criminal has the right to make you feel like you owe them your life, but it is a scary fact that they do have that power to end your breath.

Lesson: Do not fight back. Apparently, it is your instinct to protect your belongings, but when you get your bearings back, you'd find that what you did was scary. It would only put you in greater danger if you try to outsmart these people. These evil evil evil people have guns, you don't. And they probably snatch things away everyday, while you only get to be a victim when you're in the wrong place at the wrong time doing the wrong thing. So experience-wise they have the upper hand too. Just let them have it. You could probably buy another phone in 2 weeks, but recuperating from a major surgery could take months. That is if you get to recuperate at all. Also, those things you see on movies and TV features on how to protect yourself, or karate, or getting the gun and shooting your attacker? Well, they look nice and easy when it's done by Vin Diesel, or when you know the "attacker" wouldn't really pull that trigger. In real life, the scums wouldn't think twice. Don't prolong your agony, just give it and get it over with.

Lesson: Yes, it does happen to everyone. You are not immune to this kind of violence. Yes it will happen to you, or have happened to you. But then again, it will happen at some point, no matter how careful you are, or how paranoid. The thing is, after this kind of thing happens, get back to living normally as soon as possible. There is no sense being a victim all over again, only this time it's your mind which is slaving you. Take all the rudimentary precautions, but enjoy life as it is. It is not like mumps, there are no guarantees that it won't happen again. But you cannot go through life constantly looking behind your back.

Lesson: It feels gratifying, and it brings consolation to think bad bad bad bad thoughts happening to these evil evil evil evil people. Do not ever feel guilty about imagining them lying on some ditch somewhere, one of them holding YOUR phone between his larynx and pharynx, with bits and pieces of the LCD screen lodged in his lungs. Another has broken all the bones in his hands into a million pieces, while the other had his kneecap busted so much so that when he raises his legs, his feet become a pair of involuntary pendulums. And then shrug it off and place it in God's hands.

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Central Station

Meet Dora. She writes letters for illiterate Brazilians in Rio de Janiero's busiest train stop. Think Quiapo. Think Divisoria. Think Carbon. Well, you have to be imaginative and include trains. Dora is not a stone-hearted woman, she has just seen it all that it's hard for her to feel anything anymore. She writes mails which she never sends out. Then she meets Anna and her son, Josue. Turns out that Josue is looking for his father, and that Anna wants him back. Then by some twist of fate, Anna dies, leaving Josue with nothing and no one. Dora feeling pity for the boy decides to help.

This is how Dora and Josue's friendship started. It's not a smooth start, and it turns rockier along the way, but it was inevitable. Both feels the emptiness and loneliness of being alone in the world. Both are vulnerable. An old, albeit a streetwise, woman, and a young, but headstrong boy.

Central Station is set apart from other films of its genre by it's neo-realist way of telling the story. No hysterics here, nothing melodramatic, no emotional blackmails disguised as plots. The people behind the film seems to be saying "This is what happens in the world out there, in case you haven't noticed." But then again, it is hard not to notice. These are the stories that are told over and again by us Filipinos. I can imagine Regal and Star Cinema doing Monumento Station with Gloria Romero and Jiro Manio in the leads.

It has tons of lessons, but ultimately it tells of how you should let go -- self-sacrificing and unselfishly. Even if the thing or person you're letting go of is the only thing or person you have.

Fernanda Montenegro is a great actress. I have yet to see her body of work, but believe me, she is as believe when she is nasty as when she is in despair. And that boy, Vinicius Oliviera or something, is quite good. He could easily wipe the floor with any of the Star Circle Quest kids with his natural acting and his subtlety. Like Montenegro, his range and flexibility enabled him to go from bratty to vulnerable to impish within a bat of an eyelash. And to think he used to be a shoeshine boy.

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Big ><(((;>

Big Fish stars Ewan McGregor, Albert Finney, Jessica Lange, Helena Bonham Carter and Billy Crudup. Now, I don't follow Ally McBeal that much, but one of the things I like about Ally are those surreal comedic skits that comes out of the show once in a while to provide as a surrealist thought bubble. Big Fish is one big surreal experience. It tells of Edward Bloom (McGregor and Finney -- younger and senior) who is very fond of telling tall tales about his life. The recurring theme of the film is that, would you rather stick to the truth, and bore the hell out of your audience, or would you rather embellish it with details that would make it more memorable? I see this movie as a metaphor for achieving success in real life. To put it succintly, the movie also tells of how a goldfish, when put in a small aquarium stays small, but when left in a pond or river grows bigger. The stories of Bloom's life inevitably contains different truth nuggets about life and living and loving. The only thing is, Edward Bloom has told such tales all his life that his own son has trouble discerning which is true and which is not. As a result, William the son, feels that he doesn't know his father at all. And so, in typical American angst-y whine and pout, this creates tension between father and son, and the two doesn't talk until the father stops chemotherapy and starts dying. What follows is the full narrative, told in true Burton-esque style. Watch out for those nuggets of wisdom, it really hits the mark. Soundbites like "...most things you consider evil or wicked are simply lonely, and lacking in the social niceties." Or, "They say, when you meet the love of your life, time stops, and that's true. What they don't tell you is that when it starts again, it moves extra fast to catch up." Or, "There comes a point when any reasonable man will swallow his pride and admit he made a mistake. The truth is... I was never a reasonable man." Or, "Sometimes, the only way to catch and uncatchable woman is to offer her a wedding ring." Or, "Dad, you're like Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny combined... you're just as charming, and just as fake." Or, "You were a big fish in a small pond, but this here is the ocean and your drownin'. Take my advice, go back to puddleville, you'll be happy there."

"You become what you always were - a very big fish." I specially loved this one. It was told by Will on Ed's deathbed, after conjuring up a tall tale of his own as to how Ed would die. It just confirms that all those stories he told in his life immortalized him. In life, what we do, no matter how small it is, or how trivial, as long as it endears us to the people around us makes us what we are, big fishes. To top it all off, Will goes: "A man tells so many stories, that he becomes the stories. They live on after him, and in that way he becomes immortal."

Go watch it. If you're from the Creek, Bernadette has a copy, pirated DVD. Go Go GO!!!

Oh by the way, my favorite movie psycho -- Steve Buscemi -- is part of the cast. It's not really Con Air or Armaggedon material, but he's superb here. :)

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amgug, ogag jud. evil evol. actually.

You should read B's account on how her Mr. B came into her life. It is touching, and heartfelt and she revises it daily. Talk about the fickle mind of a woman in the throes of hormonal imbalance. Anyway. B writes about people and things that she cherishes. People, places, things that make a difference in her life. And then she writes about what's now. How she feels now, how she thinks now, what she's doing now.

I on the other hand strives to be a pop guru. I tend to bore people with what I saw on DVD, or what I'm reading at the moment. I rarely write anything that concerns me or how I feel. All of my journal entries that contains my fears, happiness, loneliness, sadness, nostalgia is in my other journal, one that you need a pen to write in. I still believe in keeping some part of me private, and these are entries you'd never see here. Sometimes though, for lack of blog material, I give in and cannibalize my life and actually copy some entries from my journal. These entries that end up here are some of the most shallow things.

B on the other hand speaks to you in an echo. Her voice could be heard and it comes from her very gut. She minces no words, and writes what she wants when she feels like it. And then her recount of Mr. B. The stalking, the courtship, the gratitude, the persistence, the etc. It's like Pangako Sa 'Yo and Sana'y Wala Nang Wakas, the UP Cebu version.

At 26, I have long given up on the notion that somehow, somewhere there is somebody for me. That one of these days, there would be a familiar figure standing under an acacia tree. But who am I kidding? For one, I don't see any freaking acacia tree along my way even though a jeep ride from Mandaue to Inayawan takes an hour. And besides UP-Cebu is too far away, and it is the only place where I know there's a live acacia tree for sure. If an acacia tree would be difficult for me to find, what more the "somebody-out-there-for-me" part? Day by day, it is proven to me that this person will not, won't, did not, and will never exist. I have come to accept the fact that there will never be a stalker hanging outside any library waiting for me to come out, or a chaser down molave street, or somebody who would anonymously give me something and sign it with one's initial.

I am getting too old to believe in fairy tales, and sometime soon, I would decide that I am too old to believe in love.

Shucks! Bitter ko 'no?

Nah, it's just that love is something that never happens to me. It happens to other people -- I am a testament to other people's love, and it still warms my heart to no end to see people happy with whoever they are with, to see people committing themselves to somebody. But it ends there. I have long forgotten the time when I would pine for somebody to share myself with. I feel like a spectator, the audience, and love is the movie that I only see onscreen.

Bleak? Pessimistic? Negative? Yeah.

But I am happy. I bask in the warmth of friends and family, people who know me. I have a personal relationship with a higher being, and I am happy with myself. The smile you see on my face is fake (it would be hard to fake happiness for a whole day, it drains you)

I really don't see the need for somebody to share my dreams with, somebody to affirm that I am somebody. God knows they only bring more pain than you deserve. But then again, it would be nice, wouldn't it?

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arghnowevenmyspacebarisn'tworking

I am listening to a couple of RnB remixes, reading other people's thoughts in their blogs, and generally pretending to work. My lungs are screaming at me for all those years of smoking, and my throat is itchy as hell. I go to the CR to cough out really really brown, black, and green phlegm out of my mouth. And when I go back to my seat, this freaking airconditioner is blasting foul wind onto my head. Which is good I guess, because even as it tries to freeze my brain, droplets of slimy sticky and clear mucus oozes down my nose, and sometimes trickles down to my lips. Which is why I have a tissue ready. If my brain wasn't frozen, it'd come out of my nostrils.

My eyes are ... uh... strained. Neozep no-drowse tablets do not prevent you from wanting to clear your table with one singular sweep of your arms and climb on top of it and sleep. My head is heavy, it's making the pretending to work thing a whole lot more unpleasant. Not even the witty anonymous-kuno narratives of Ms. B. can wake me. Jona hasn't been writing since the start of this month. Butch only has zodiac forecasts in his blog, and it's not even mine. Is Butch's birthday coming up? The Walrus Guy hasn't written anything to followup on the wonderfully written Kabaguis... not even the story of his bag and the heist. Nothing new for the tigress and the wife junkie also. Paulo hasn't created anything after eating the food of creation, whatever he meant by it. Freya has been unusually talkative, though.

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Somebody, anybody!, stage Miss Saigon in Cebu

Martin brought his two-CD original cast recording of Miss Saigon, and I just have to listen to it. When it first opened in London in the late 80s, my dad bought the two tape version of the same cast recording, but I didn't really listen to it back then, opting only to listen to the more popular tunes like Sun and Moon and Last Night of the World and I Still Believe. I took notice of the Saigon musical when it was staged in Manila, but with the exorbitant ticket prices and the low salary I had then, I just had to miss it. The helicopter scene and the whole allure was not enough to make me shell out at least a thousand bucks to watch it at the back row of the CCP. Now that the internet has the full libretto online, I just had to find out what I missed.

And from what I've heard from the CD and from I've read in the libretto, I have indeed missed a lot. Unfortunately, there is no celluloid version of Miss Saigon, something that would take long to produce, and even longer to end up in the pirated DVD racks of Carbon Market. My only chance of seeing this musical is probably when a theatre company in Cebu would stage it (and even so, it would be sans the helicopter on stage) and that kind of wishful thinking could be just that -- wishful thinking.

Amazingly, the story is simple enough. It's something that numerous kids in Olongapo could easily relate to. The whole thing is smack of Lukso ng Dugo, that insane TV series on ABS-CBN. The movie in my mind is not of the American dream, but the whole motherhood thing. The jacket has this photo of a mother giving up her little girl so the girl could go to the States. From a bleak life in Vietnam, she would have the world at her feet, and have her dreams come true. Nevermind if the mother doesn't see her again. Nevermind if she gets nothing out of the arrangement. She is happy nonetheless.

The libretto is available online, the CD though and the Miss Saigon songs would be harder to come by. If you want to at least partially experience Miss Saigon, you can open your browser to Google.Com and search for Miss Saigon Libretto. If you want to borrow the CD, you'd have to be very very nice to Martin. You can reach him at martin@cannoncreek.com. He accepts payment, in cash and in kind (flesh).

I see Cats on Bernadette's desk... :)

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can you believe that i actually missed cannoncreek?

Engineered to be out of the office for three days. I am so proud of myself. God, Friday came and I was lazy enough to stay in bed, not to mention that my head was nearly splitting into two from lack of sleep. I am finding sleep more and more difficult to come by these days, it must be something I have taken or the coffee that keeps me awake in the office... or maybe because am reading a Grisham title and that usually keeps me up. So anyway. I called in sick and spent the day at home watching DVDs. You just gotta love neighbors who had DVD players some months ahead of you, they show you their collection and get embarassed to turn you down when you gush over a particular movie or tell them how uh, varied, their whole collection is. I finally got to watch Xmen 2, which I missed in its regular theatre run. I love it. The special effects, the powers, everything. It looked like something Regal Films would do, but only a Hollywood Studio could pull off. The film hints on a sequel, and I wish to God they'd have it soon. The story? Well, not bad. But nothing exceptional there either. I'd fast-rate it, 3.40.

And then another movie with Edward Norton, The Score. This one's good, it has Robert De Niro, Marlon Brando and Angela Bassett in it. There you have an entire cast who's either won or nominated for an Oscar. It's a nothing new heist movie, with Norton in a role that is so much like his own role in The Italian Job. But what sets this apart is the performances. These guys and girl didn't get nominated or win their Oscars because of some fluke. In their acting, you could really feel the complexities of each character, their dynamics, their motivations. The story is common enough for a heist film. It takes you inside organized crime, and it gives you a feel of people, actual human beings who pull them off. They are not really bad bad guys, they just steal for a living, just like you go inside an office for yours.

The rest of Friday afternoon found me debating whether to go to the gym or wade through Grisham's The King of Torts. I decided to stay in and read on Clay Carter's life, and that is pretty much how Friday went.

Saturday morning found me dressing up for Myra's wedding. Now Myra and I share 3 cousins, she being the paternal cousin, and me being the maternal cousin. Her family stayed with us in Manila for a month when we were kids, I think I was 9 at the time, and her dad was still alive. Anyway, 18 years later or so, her dad dying on her, me moving to Cebu, and us getting close, I found myself saying yes to becoming a groomsman in the Myra Mercadal - Eriberto Lariosa, Jr. Nuptials, something which I don't usually do. For two very good good reasons:

(1) I hate formal gatherings where I cannot sneak off anytime I want; and,

(2) I hate wearing formal clothes.

I was in a barong. Thank God for friends who lent me the black formal shoes, the black formal slacks and the rest of my attire. My entire wardrobe consists of jean, t-shirts and polos. Nothing there came close to being formal. My shoes, the only serviceable one is an Adidas rubber shoes. It's black, though.

It was nice seeing the rest of the Otadoys prancing around in one room, smiling at each other, maybe really feeling good at seeing each other again, and definitely knifing one another in the back. I just love weddings where you try to figure out if an unknown face belongs to the groom's family or the bride's or a friend of one of them.

The whole affair was simple. It was without fuss. And it ended after lunch, at around 1pm. We took a taxi home, and thank God to the fucked up planning/non-planning of the Cebu City government for the Independence Day celebrations, and a funeral march along V. Rama, arrived home at around 3pm.

I started with my laundry at 3:15, and finished at 6pm. By then it was raining really hard, which would continue until late last night. Balot, Johnjohn and some other kids were around for dinner. They cooked, Faith paid for everything, and cheated me into buying some food. I told her I had no money left, but then again, a cheat is a cheat is a cheat. I had to promise myself not to trust Faith, albeit a cousin, with money -- EVER.

I fell asleep on the sofa reading about Clay Carter's latest misfortunes.

Sunday morning, I had to haul off my hinayhay out to where the sun was fiercely shining. Finally got to watch Talk to Her. Now this is classy. I saw the poster from a Pelikula at Lipunan filmfest before, I just didn't watch it because my movie buddy and I opted to watch A Good Lawyer's Wife, which was kinda cool also. Now this movie is about loneliness, something that am sure all of us can relate to. The thing is, here are two men, with two love stories, meeting, and then creating a bond, and then poof, the story ends. The sense of irony is not lost on you, and you finish the film with this thugging in your guts that hey, that could happen to me too. This is a Spanish film, subtitled, and non-linear. Nonetheless, it's an Almodovar film. I didn't know any of the casts, but you find yourself caring for each of the characters. Now that's filmmaking. And that's storytelling. You should see it cause am giving it a 4.56.

Sunday afternoon the heavy rain was back, so I have to run and haul back my clothes to dry safety. When it was finished, I was surprised to hear (with the heavy beating the roof was getting from the rain) nobody else but that Britney Spears predecessor, Debbie Gibson. Gawd. The neighbor with crazy kids decided to take a break from their Lupig Sila programming to pay homage to Debbie Gibson, who sang Electric Youth and Lost in Your Eyes quite a couple of times. Now, I don't know anybody now who still has their Debbie Gibson tapes. Much less have I heard of anyone playing their Debbie Gibson tapes. Now this is what made these people weird, they actually played their tapes over and again. Maybe I should tell them that the room they're now renting is the site of a grisly murder, and that the spirit of the victim could sometimes be seen by neighbors. Then again, they'd probably know that by now.

I decided to counter Debbie Gibson with Maroon 5. Then got too bored I decided to watch Jet Lee's Hero again. And then off to bed with King of Torts. It's an ok book, it must have been Grisham's work after being told that John, you have lousy endings. Grisham did put a cap on Clay Carter's life, he filed bankruptcy, which is not surprising in any way with all the misfortune he's been going through. It's not a really good Grisham read, but it provided a walk-through, a very entertaining one on mass torts, or class actions. Weird thing is, I actually understood the book. It's not for everybody though. If you're not a Grisham fan, you might want to start reading his earlier works. My suspicion is, if you start out reading King of Torts, you'd have half a heart reading another Grisham book. Not to say that KoT is a disappointment, nope, far from it, this is one story that has Grisham stamped on all it's pages. But it is by far less entertaining than say, The Chamber or The Brethren. I guess, by now Grisham has lost new material, he can only write about the law and lawyers so much. I have also read his non-lawyer outing, A Painted House, and though that was fun, it was not Grisham-esque at all. Read this, though, it's a nice thing to read sipping your thermos mug filled with black coffee with the rain pouring outside, and with your neighbors probably dancing to EEELEKTRIIIIKCUTE!

write a ganjamessage! i'd appreciate your comments!

on a night that i couldn't sleep

to be honest
i am getting tired of
all this running around

whatever happened
to the thinking adults
that we prided ourselves to be

why can't we stop the infighting
the petty oneupmanship
why can't we understand
the simple words for what they are

sometimes i face you
and find myself very much
wanting but at the same time
stopping myself

from asking who you are

where did this animosity come from
we raised a little brat
now running around our heads

and using our bodies

i don't know you anymore
sometimes i don't know myself either
there are times when it feels
like you're not there
yet am holding your hand

and there are times
when i see you smile
and then i remember why

write a ganjamessage! i'd appreciate your comments!

Weekender

Saturday night was a downer for me. Fritzie and I were left to guard the house as Luwell and Faith had commitments that night. We ended up watching SCQ Kids Grand Questors night, and then dining at Litangs in Pardo, and then halo-halo at Melton's in Pardo, and then back home to watch SCQ Teens.

Now I haven't really been in tuned with this whole SCQ thing. I caught the tail-end of the SCQ fever waaay after the magic five were announced. I think, I only got to watch and know who Joross, Hero, Melissa, Roxanne and Sandara were about mid-May.

As you may now know, it's Hero. Now Fritzie and I were watching the whole thing on TV amidst banter about her wedding this coming December. So there was this portion where the Questors (sounds like they're hunting for spirits) romped around the stage while a pre-recorded speech played in the background. Now Hero milked Fritzie's tear glands dry when he revealed that their household got their electricity service disconnected several times, and that they had to share champorado (porridge) for noche buena. When Hero won, Fritzie was satisfied, saying that, feeling that Hero, if only because of his experience in temporary darkness, deserved the 2M grand prize. Luoy (pitiful) Fritzie kept saying.

Sigh. What's the world coming down to when you have to pity somebody with P2M. I was rooting for Joross and Roxanne, but I guess Hero winning wouldn't be as bad as Sandara winning. For the life of me, that girl has no facial expressions, and knows only Guapo, Guaping and Pogi, and Mahal ko kayo. It's sickening that she was kept on the final five because she was a consistent texter's choice awardee.

Sunday morning found me slaving over dirty laundry. Tisay, the neighborhood labandera, didn't accept my laundy because she was going to the beach the whole day. I had nothing to wear, so I had to scratch my badminton sessions with officepeople and commune with Ariel and Downy.

Lunch was served by 12:30, and I was like delirious due to lack of food from the night before and that day's breakfast. But at least the rice was hot, and the dried fish was not too salty, and the tuna was well, it was Century Tuna, so you know how that tastes like.

Afternoon, I was commuting back and forth on Zhou Yu's train. I kinda have second thoughts about the movie. I thought it was steamy and rancid with a lot of sex and bangs. But I forgot that this is Chinese cinema, under the censure of the Communist government that is still gripping Chinese media. Anyway it was an OK movie, but not exactly a good movie, most of the times I felt like I was watching a Seiko movie under Robbie Tan. It tells the story of Zhou Yu who has a lover in a far away city named Chen Ching, who is a spineless poet. Now Zhou Yu is a strong woman, definitely trouble if you pair it up with a spineless poet, right? Right. Plus the fact that Zhou Yu has to travel a day in order to get laid (so Cold Mountain, or remember, Walking Miles Just to Fuck Ada and die).

To its credit, the movie was nicely told. It is a romance, boy meets girl, girl initiates hot raunchy sex, boy fucks girl, girl gets a little too close for comfort, boy feels smothered, boy leaves, girl cannot cope and still travels to far away city and hope to find boy there and get laid, girl meets another boy, boy initiates hot raunchy sex, girl cannot get over first boy, girl die. But the director or the powers-that-be behind the film didn't present it like that. It was 21grams and Pulp Fiction for Chinese cinema. Only this time, the non-linear storytelling actually did the movie good.

Acting wise, Gong Li is Gong Li is Gong Li. I can still remember her in Raise the Red Lantern as the fifth wife, but I was more into sappy love stories then like Ghost. In Train, she has this nuance that endears her to me. She speaks with her eyes. No overly dramatic gestures, and she make subtlety her best friend. She was actually able to pull off being strong without really being butch. And here's the hardest part, how can you convey dependence and submission while at the same time convincing the audience that you're full of strength? Watch Gong Li do it.

The guys? Er, two straight men trying to get a woman into their cold beds. Where's the acting in that?

It is very difficult to brush off this film. For one it was marketed more of a sex flick, but if you're looking for sex in Zhou Yu's Train, you're in for a big derailment. Storywise, there is nothing new to this, really. It's a story of passions, unchecked, and running wild. It is a story of cowardice. And that poem? The one they used to tie together all those scenes, the one about Lake Celestial being filled? It sucked.

But then again, the shots were beautiful, the landscapes were awe-inspiring. The acting and the storytelling are exceptional. The surreal aspects of the film were telling and thought-provoking. I'd give it a 3.0.

write a ganjamessage! i'd appreciate your comments!

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Friday, February 10, 2006

pbb's new dance

Thursday, February 09, 2006

...You know you love him...

Tuesday, July 13, 2004

Thank Him Right Now

Wednesday, July 07, 2004

The Lord of the Rings Trilogy

Saturday, July 03, 2004

You are histrionic, narcissistic and avoidant!

Friday, July 02, 2004

Bodily functions in the office email

Wednesday, June 30, 2004

Victim

Monday, June 28, 2004

Central Station

Big ><(((;>

Wednesday, June 16, 2004

amgug, ogag jud. evil evol. actually.

Tuesday, June 15, 2004

arghnowevenmyspacebarisn'tworking

Somebody, anybody!, stage Miss Saigon in Cebu

Monday, June 14, 2004

can you believe that i actually missed cannoncreek?

Wednesday, June 09, 2004

on a night that i couldn't sleep

Monday, June 07, 2004

Weekender