I spent about an hour in front of my computer thinking of something... anything... to blog about. A blogging dry spell. Everything I started only lasted a couple of sentences before the backspace button got a "woodpeckering" from my index finger. So, instead of forcing an entry out of my head, I spent two hours making the images that follow.

Why induce a migraine squeezing out a blog idea when one can play...


Wheel...

of...

Blogging Ideas!!!



Pat Sajak: Good Evening everyone! Our defending champion blogger struggling with something to blog about is here tonight hoping to eke an entry. Alternati, please spin the wheel.

Alternati: Thanks Pat. (Bends down and spins the wheel anxiously)... Big money! (clap clap clap)

PS: Watch out for the "Hiatus"...

PS: Quite an icebreaker... Alternati, Weather?

A: The weather here in Baguio has been extraordinarily erratic. An indecisive La Nina is upon us. Mornings are usually bright and sunny... the sun can practically drag any nocturnal out of bed. Noons are excruciatingly hot. By 3 pm, like clockwork, the sky turns gray in a matter of minutes. Fog = Zero visibility, Rain = Zero dry spots on your pants. Mother Nature has gone psychotic.

PS: Indeed she has. Spin it again... (motioning to the wheel)

A: Duh... (gives the wheel a small nudge while muttering "Do I look retarded")

PS: Movies!

A: Thanks Pat, I can read... I did a Woody Allen marathon yesternight.

Appetizer: Play It Again, Sam
A movie inspired by Casablanca. I loved it when Allan Felix (Allen's character) talks to an imaginary Bogart.

Main Course: Manhattan
Every single frame of this movie is art. I have a thing for black and white movies.

Dessert: Mighty Aphrodite
(A rewatch) This one is inspired by the story of Oedipus. One of my favorite elements in this movie is the Greek chorus that does lines between chapters.

Woody Allen's movies never fail to inspire me. The typical themes of insecurity, marriage, divorce and failure are divulged in witty screenplays dripping with subtle humor and in many cases a tablespoon of Diane Keaton.


PS: I guess Mighty Aphrodite was autobiographical, no?

A: Really? ~Oh Pray, do tell~...

PS: You mentioned Oedipus. Wasn't he the Greek character who killed his dad and married his mom?

A: Yeah... (rolling eyes)

PS: Woody Allen and Mia Farrow were an item who adopted Soon-yi. And except for the killing part, Soon-yi did marry Allen... a 35 year age difference...

A: Can I just spin the wheel now?

A: I just started reading a Woody Allen biography I bought from a thrift book store months ago. This one was written by Eric Lax and published in 1992.

PS: Do you have a thing for ancient directors with receding hairlines and thick glasses?

A: Maybe... (gnarling at the emcee)

PS: On that note! A word from our sponsors...



PS: Hahaha! The bunny and the... were... Hahaha...

A: Oh grow up Pat.

PS: Touchy. touchy. *ahem* Please, spin the wheel.

PS: I bet you wouldn't have a hard time with this one huh Alternati?

A: (throws tacky name tag at the emcee)
The wheel disparages me.

PS: Care to elaborate?

A: (creates an "L" with thumb and index finger and places it on forehead)
Care to elaborate? (mocking the emcee's voice)

PS: Nice... very mature. Just spin the wheel.

PS: ... and spin it again...

A: Since we've become such ~Greeaaattt~ friends Pat, can I give a shout out first?

PS: If it can thaw your iciness... go right ahead.

A: (Looks directly at camera 2) Thanks Chase! I just got the snus. I really appreciate it. (Smiles and waves at the camera hoping this show is aired in Bergen)

PS: Awwwww... You are capable of sentiment.

A: I am equally capable of homicide (giving the emcee an icy stare)

PS: Brrrrrrr... Spin the wheel Jadis.

A: A Narnia reference... you are capable of literacy (reaching down to spin the wheel)

PS: Brace yourself audience, (mock whispering) This one can make your ears bleed with talk of TV.

**Recorded audience laughter**

A: (mock whispering) That one can make your ears bleed just by speaking.

**Crickets**

A: Anyhoo... I just started watching Brothers & Sisters and Weeds. And I am obsessing over them already. I'll save them for another post so I won't "bore" (making quotation marks with fingers) you guys.

PS: Awwwww... So considerate. A commercial break!

**Recorded audience applause**



PS: The ad was speaking to you Alternati.

A: Shut up and do what "emcees" (making quotation marks with fingers) are supposed to do.

PS: Welcome back to the Bonus Round! Our category for today... THING. We bring up our usual letters: R, S, T, L, N and E. And Alternati, give us three consonants.

A: C, B and P

PS: ... and one vowel..

A: I

PS: You have 15 seconds to solve the puzzle... go!


A: Pent...
Rent... Rental?
Genital... Genital Black?
Dent... Dental Black... Dental Block?

**Buzzer**

PS: Seriously?!

A: Bite Me...








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Labels: blah (3x), boredomville, i-rate

I know how Tantalus felt.


He, Tantalus, was a king in Greek mythology. In an Abraham like twist of fate, he offered his son to the gods. But unlike the biblical patriarch, no angel appeared to stop him... plus, his human sacrifice was premeditated, and that small detail that he served his son in a feast. The gods were apparently appalled by parricide and cannibalism. The boy was resurrected by Fate, the goddess, piecing his chopped body parts together like lego. Tantalus was punished.

He was made to stand for all eternity in a pool of water that reached up to his neck. Whenever he bent down to drink the water, it would recede from his mouth's reach like a sadistic automated low tide. There are also fruit trees above him. Everytime he reached up to grab the fruit, the branches would raise them away from his grasp... like sadistic ents. That was his hell, temptation without satisfaction.

Although I find this method of weight reduction tantalizing (pun 100% intended), satisfaction is something I thrive on.

I am not a fan of Hannibal Lecter-ism and I am anti- of any form of -cide (homicide, genocide, insecticide) Plus I don't ever recall stealing ambrosia from the gods.

Yet, I find myself, more and more so lately, in Tantalus' water soaked shoes. I am swimming in a pool of letter sized papers filled ad nauseam with plans, specifications, details, comments, etc. etc. et cetera. The temptations that are within reach yet unreachable are free time and 8 hours of sleep.

While working on CAD drawings, the other half on my brain is busily doing three things simultaneously; planning ways to acquire the elusive free time, planning ways to spend it, and consoling itself that it will come sooner or later.

The Devil Wears Prada lies bookmarked, 3 quarters of the way, on my bedside table. Andy, when I left her, was flirting with the delectable Christian Colinsworth (who I've visualized as a more put together version of Ben Covington from Felicity) The book lacks the New York like pace of the movie, and the book version of Miranda Priestly comes out a tad too whiny compared to the regal bitch Meryl Streep played to utter perfection. Getting sidetracked here... My point... I left, and can't wait to return to, all the drama of Runway on my bedside table. I want free time!!! Arrrrrgggghhhhhhhh!!!!!

I want free time in a box.
I want free time with a fox.
I want free time in a house.
I want free time with a mouse.
I want free time here or there.
I want free time anywhere.
I want free green eggs and ham.
I want free time, Altenati-I-am.

Something I'm ecstatic to share...
I've blogged about the Tim Tang Test and last Friday I found some free time and spent it riddling. Check this out. Alas, It shows my initials and my last name, but heck it's soooo worth it. hehe

Labels: boo-freakin-hoo, i-rate, quarterlife

Me-me-me-me-me-me-me-me-me


I am so bummed Melinda didn't make it to the American Idol finale. (Insert "but she was the obvious favorite from the onset" and "this is still a singing competition... right?" cliches here) I guess the shock value of Jordin's being 17 (really? she's 17? ahhh shut up, they've been emphasizing that ad nauseam) and the "oh, he's so original" beatboxing antics of Blake outweighed actual gritty talent. Both finalists are good (even great), but I just find not having Melinda there utterly idiotic.

Oh well... I find comfort in the Chris Daughtrys (ies?), Jennifer Hudsons and Clay Gaykens of the "I sold more albums than my winning counterpart" club. I wonder if Melinda's Death Cheater shirt was a message of some sort.




Ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-ma

That new Maroon 5 song they performed on tonight's elimination has been on my MP3 player for over a month now. And I've gone gaga over its fabulous and ultra-chic video... They should build a shrine for Adam Levine's eyebrows... and have to admit I'm a developing a thing for the substitute drummer... Matt Flynn...


I have a thing for drummers in general... they just have a certain je ne sais quois whenever they strike them tomtoms and cymbals. (Actual drummer Ryan Desick is recovering from some shoulder problems)




I am listening to the music like crazy cause when it gets as big as Maroon 5's other singles and everyone starts singing it in public, it becomes lame.

"I still don't have the reason... and you don't have the time..." (yeah baby)




Mi-mi-mi-mi-mi-mi-mi-mi-mi

First of all, I TOO wanted to be like Grace Kelly. I've always believed I was some obscure monarch from Monaco. I just had to get that off my chest.

I love Mika.


He has such a great voice reminiscent of Freddie Mercury and he is the ultimate falsettist, he can make Prince and that Robin Thicke newcomer ponder going all Farinelli Il Castrato just to contend with Mika. His musical style is very much like Beck... eclectic, idiosynchratic, experimental. Most of his songs are sarcastically perky (even campy) and very fitting to his debut album Life in Cartoon Motion... these include his first single Grace Kelly which basically delves into the notion of changing oneself to fit the mold of the popular idea of popular.


With lyrics like "I tried to be like Grace Kelly, but all her looks were too sad. So I tried a little Freddie, I've gone identity mad". This single is pretty much what triggered his international career and widespread rumors about his sexuality. My gaydar does go crazy when I see him, but he refuses to confirm or deny the rumors (ala Clay Gayken), which I respect, everyone entitled to hisher privacy. It is suicide to do so early in his career. The animated/ shake-your-groove-thing side of his music is also evident in other tracks like Lollipop, Love Today, Billy Brown (which sounds like an 80's sitcom jingle) and Big Girl (You are Beautiful) - a personal fave. He is equally great in his other tracks which are more mellow... I could describe it as music DeVotchka might have done in collaboration with Queen... but that would only be partially accurate.




Mo-mo-mo-mo-mo-mo-mo-mo-mo

This is an Italian manufacturer of steering wheels. I have as much knowledge about car parts as I do the mating habits of european tree frogs... I just saw such a steering wheel in a friend's car.




Mu-mu-mu-mu-mu-mu-mu-muu-muu

Remember that episode when Homer decidedly gained weight in order to qualify for disability and in so doing be able to work at home?


I am so feeling like Homer like now. Burn-out! I wonder if there are any muumuu franchises in the country...




(I have to admit that the mo- and mu- parts are lame... I just felt the compulsion to complete the M+vowel list)







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Labels: blah (3x), i-rate, music

I have been intentionally leaving my window open for the past days just to practice my backhand. I am currently establishing my own ATP Tour (not Adenosine Triphosphate dummy... it's Alternati Torturing Pests)

I personally believe that THE most useless, not to mention annoying, creature in the entire known universe is the mosquito (and I am saying this with finality AND an awareness of the existence of such creatures as the howling monkey and the idiotic lemmings) Pesky blood sucking creatures. And did you know only the females of the species bite humans? Apparently they need the protein to produce eggs. Damn male mosquitoes aren't getting off scot free... Sure, their mouths are incapable of sucking blood, but their peckers have been propagating the species for 170 million gazillion years.

I am re-evaluating a previous statement I made that the paint roller is the best human invention... I haven't encountered this yet during the time...


This is the Portable Bug Zapper 3000... a.k.a. My Racket. My Dad brought it home a week ago and it has drastically improved my forehand and my footwork. I just imagine every mosquito I whack has Federer's face on it. Juan Carlos Ferrero would make an excellent spokesperson for the product don't cha think? Aside from the Spanish good looks, his court nick name is hilariously appropriate.

The actual name of the product stenciled on it's plastic handle is "Electronic Mosquito Bat", I guess the chinese translators got baseball and tennis a little mixed up. It works like your typical suspended bug zapper, like so...


Basically electrocuting the damn winged Dengue carriers. The actual sound of the death of a mosquito when it touches the charged inner wire mesh of the racket is one of the most delightful sounds I will ever come to know (insert maniacal laugh here)



I truly detest mosquitoes, so much so that I've contemplated owning a bat, or several bats. Not the baseball thingamajig dummy, the actual nocturnal "flying rodent". Cleaning up guano is a small price to pay for a mosquito free household. I've read online that "a single bat can eat 3,000 mosquitoes and other insects in a single evening"... marvelous creatures. Maybe I can build my own subterrenean cave and have West Coast Customs pimp me a chartreuse bat mobile... hmmmm...

Pre-portable bug zapper, instead of lighting katols, I lit incense and/or cigarettes.

I also came across this article which explains (well... touches on, the researcher had some pending patents so all the useful info had been editted out) why some people (i.e. me) attract mosquitoes more than other people. It has something to do with the chemicals in our sweat.

Back in highschool, we had an electronics class. We had to etch circuit boards and weld in resistors... yaddah yaddah... (I made a two-tone door bell that worked... hah!) Anyways, I remember a classmate making this sonic mosquito deterrent. He said the device emitted a below humanly audible sound which female mosquitoes couldn't stand... I tried looking for a write-up of the device online but only came up with this (It is a similar device but works in reverse... a deterrent for humans using a high pitched mosquito sound) My electronics classmate could have made the whole thing up... I think he got an A in the subject.


The average life span of a mosquito is 3 weeks to several months... in my room, it's a little over a nanosecond plus the amount of time I need to reach for my zapper.







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Labels: blah (3x), boo-freakin-hoo, i-rate, sports (yeah right)

Guess who came back unscathed from the torturing heat of sauna-esque Manila...

I had a blast at the 33rd Annual United Architects of the Philippines Convention (Link warning: shield your eyes from the tacky twinkling headline) Everything was fabulous... well maybe except for the fact that we were treated like meat. Meat, in a sense that we were moved (No I Know What You Did Last Summer meat hooks involved) from one huge freezer to another transported using mobile refrigerators known as "air-conditioned vehicles". I am all for the movement against global warming but I don't think I could have survived 10 minutes in Manila without air conditioning... I have hyperactive sweat glands, we Baguio folk just ain't cut out for hot-humid lowland weather y'all.

I am not a spell-freak, heck I don't even proof read my blog entries. But upon registering, I couldn't help my inner editor from cringing when I saw the convention ID.


Did you notice the unfortunate typo? And it's in all IDs... tsk tsk.

Our three day weekend of debauchery was beyond my comprehension. I found an inner source of stamina I never knew I had. Just when I thought I couldn't possibly get dressed and go out anymore, a sponsored night out had me picking clothes from my trunk... I never refuse free booze... from friends and paint manufacturers alike.


Me, Dona and Tine in one of Malate's bars... Bars are Malate's mushrooms, they spring up everywhere regardless of the availability of sunlight or parking space. Smoking beside a gas dispenser was a first. I'd post more pics but they're pretty much predictable not to mention redundant. (Us eating a Cabalen's... Us eating at Rai Rai Ken... Us getting liquored up in Dencio's... Us getting plastered in Tropezz... Us getting smashed in a friend's condo... etc. etc... The dionysian life baby) We always found ourselves checking into our hotel rooms by 4 in the morning... like clockwork.

Our days, or what's left of them, were spent at World Trade Center attending (okay, sitting idly) seminars. Most of them appeared interesting on paper but between the inaudible sound system and the newspaper textured catered food, they didn't hold our interest very long. So the CONEX 2007 (Convention Exhibits) were a perfect diversion/ way to spend the remainder of the day. It is here we are introduced to new or improved construction materials and technology (and freebies to boot!) One particular exhibit that caused a stir was a stall that showed a 3d printer. I have seen the technology on TV but never in person... I was starstruck. Here's a "print-out" of a prototype rubber shoe sole.


It uses powdered plaster and a solvent of some sort to bind the powder. It costs helluvalot but I want one!

Our early evenings were spent at the Manila Hotel. I couldn't help but strut like Sydney Bristow on a black ops heist whenever I walked the hotel's plush carpets, especially after I go through the metal detector. Being in a lobby of people clad in suits and sayas has that effect on me.


The last night in the Manila Hotel was particularly memorable. First, we saw a handful of distinguished architects wearing superhero costumes (a contest) They went all out with unflattering white leotards and red spandex. There was a flash and a "mini-me" flash, a mutated wolverine that looked like Winnie the pooh, and several incarnations of Lastikman. Second, Boysen (a major sponsor) showed this TV ad for a new antibacterial paint they were marketing. It's an interesting product, but the ad was frickin hilarious! It was a beyond miserable adaption of House, MD. The main character is a pompous dufus named Dr. Home. That alone had me going stark laughing mad, add the ridiculous one-liners and the background music and I was sure I had lost my sanity.

Lastly came the raffle. I have the worst luck with these things as I've previously blogged about. The grand prize was some something inch LCD TV, which someone from another chapter got. The first set of prizes they handed out were file cabinets. YES, File Cabinets!!! We were laughing our asses off when we heard about the prize. The instant communal image in our heads were those huge clunky metal file cabinets we all grew to detest. That was the first raffle I've ever participated in where everyone, in our table at least, prayed not to win. A couple of my friends kept saying "Mananalo ka! Promise!!!" (You will win) I just crossed my fingers went to my happy place. The raffle drawer announced that third one to win the prize came from our chapter, we were pointing at each other like deranged witch hunters... dramatic pause waiting for a drum roll... and irony of ironies... my name resounded from the speakers. My instant thought was "Fuck!"... and my second thought became "Fuck it!". I am not one to bow down to the humiliating powers of a file cabinet. So I rose with as much grace as I could muster and walked gingerly toward the stage to claim my prize. It wasn't the clunky metal file cabinet we thought it would be... It's a whole lot smaller and is made of plastic. It has found a home in my room now... a tangible manifestation of my abhorrence for raffles.



And that was how I spent my weekend.

FYI, my camel made it back to Baguio safe and sound as well.










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Labels: architecture, blah (3x), i-rate, nyt-out, travels

I'm in a rut... an emotional downward spiral, a depressive vortex, a putrid pothole of my own devise... whatever you wanna call it... I'm in one. It's just one of those phases I go through sporadically that not even Jon Stewart or Conan O'Brien or a Chris Farley movie can get me out of.

Anyways, talking about it only makes it worse. Enough bout me. How have you been? I hope the weather is fairer on your side of the moodsphere.

I got my passport renewed last week and I was flabbergasted by this stamp on page 2 of my green pasaporte...


So Iraq doesn't really enter the list of "places I wanna visit before I die", so this is just odd. It's like getting denied a job you didn't want in the first place. However slightly appealing visiting the cradle of civilization was, now, it just became pointless A.D. (after discovery of this stamp) Now, I look at Mesopotamia as just a piece of land shaped like a deformed crescent moon surrounded by two rivers. This blogger won't be drowning in the Tigris and Euphrates... I'm gonna pick a more dramatic body of water. Red Sea? It may be the only lake I'll float in. The Niagara Falls? too predictable. Pasig River? ick. A drum acting as an impluvium in our backyard? Perfect! Nothing like collected rain water in your lungs when they do my autopsy. Dried leaves optional.

Anyways, the stamp prompted me to make this mental list:

1. Don't come knocking on my door offering me an all expense trip to Iraq because some beloved shah is in need of a (insert donatable(?) organ here) transplant, and I, considering the billions of people in the world, am the only viable candidate. Please honey... keep on walking.
   
2. What? They discovered a prehistoric animal hide with my name printed legibly on it? And they say its the key to fully understanding the Mesopotamians? Let them wallow in their questions and their unquenchable curiousity... I ain't talking unless you bring the hide to the third world.
3. Say, the son of some personality there collects Marvel trading cards... He is only missing a single card, say a Cable card from the '94 Fleer Ultra Set (which I happen to have)... he can offer me 5 barrels of oil and what will I say... all together now... buhbye...
4. I have the only remaining Marlboro gold stick in the whole wide world and the shah wants a puff... let's just say I'd rather see it soak in a cup of coffee than let him have it.
5. [Rrrriinnng]... Hello?... Who's this?... Will you stop calling me about the animal hide with my name on it?... It's for me to know and you to stop harassing me with your silly questions... [click]
   

Ok, I am not totally deluded. I think I am aware why I'm not, what's the word... yes, valid, to go to Iraq. I feel like a maxed out credit card. I didn't know "valid" applied to people in this day and age.

Oh well, I still have 192 countries I'm "valid" to go to.
Stick that up yours Iraq.

(It's the rut talkin' I tell ya)

Labels: blah (3x), i-rate

O lord of taxis, why do you forsake me.

There are only a few civilian activities more ruthless than a taxi war.

I froze my ass off waiting for a taxi. I spent an hour flailing my right arm, alternating between the open palm signal for "stop" and the international index finger signal for "I'm an antsy passnger, take me to my destination... NOW!"

On a regular day, It usually takes me as long as a microsecond to hail a cab ride in a city teeming with metered FX's and Kias. Tonight, It took me a freakin lightyear. The drizzle didn't help, nor did the rush hour. Everyone wanted a cab. I did the whole taxi cha-cha with fellow hailers... you know, moving a few meters ahead of some people to catch vacant taxis first, only to find the same people moving in front of you a few meters a couple of minutes later. Cha-cha-cha. It not only not works... but eyebrows rise beyond anatomical limits.

Contrary to popular belief, that whole leg thing they do in movies doesn't work.

I tried the Ped Xing Maneuver, waiting half a car length from a crossing so that the cab hailed by someone ahead of you (preferably on a pedestrian crossing) stops right infront of you. It didn't work. There were no vacant taxis in sight... Correction, there were a few vacant cabs but for some reason unbeknownst to me or my fellow hailers, they just sped right by us paying no heed to our desperate-for-the-warmth-of-home faces.

I also tried the Right Blinker Method, something a friend of mine taught me. This is only as effective as your legs are fast. You disregard all visual distractions... people, parked cars, oncoming traffic, UFOs, flying horses, Everything! The only thing you narrow your eyes on are the right blinkers of taxi cabs. The moment you see a flashing one, run along side that taxi until it stops. It wouldn't hurt to open the door for alighting passengers so you can have that cab for your own. This method doesn't work effectively if you wait by street corners. Even this tried and tested method didn't work. It seems my friend has been passing around this knowledge to other people. I had to use my calves more tonight than I did the whole week and even when I got to the taxi, elbowing and clawing my way through the crowd, some middle-aged woman with groceries beat me to it. If this isn't a call for working out, i dunno what is.

I was ready to throw in the towel. I was cold, hungry and my arms and legs are aching like I just finished a decathlon (or at least that's how I think it must have felt like, one sport is hard enough, 10 would be suicide) It's times like this that I question my unfounded fear of driving alone and my laziness to get a license. My brother already picked up his phone, and I've already expressed my urgent need to be fetched when a taxi stopped serendipitously infront of me... the two male passengers got off and the moment my freezing ass felt the taxi's still warm (ullkk) corduroy seats, I told my brother I got a ride and hung up. Oh fortuitous joy!

(I take back my first statement, o munificient lord of taxis)


Painting from: www.klaudiamarrgallery.com




On a brighter note,
I'm doing my blogroll and in vince's blog, I found out that last December 1 was World Aid's Day. I'm wearing my virtual red ribbon in support of WAD 2006.

Labels: i-rate, taxis

Manny Pacquiao won. Whoopee... (roll eyes here) The rich get richer. Show the slightest bit of non-support for the boxer and you are labeled "unpatriotic". When did nationalism become an issue of which Everlast boxing glove wearing pugilist you root for? I am not pro-Morales... just anti-Pacquiao.

He is one cocky midget vertically challenged person. If I hear him telling Dianne Castillejo another one of his ridiculous sound clips, I swear I'm gonna start sparring just to be the one to knock him out. Teach me to box Mr. Eastwood, manage me Mr. King.

He's got endorsement contracts with every possible product. If they could write him into a mosquito repellant lotion commercial, he'd probably do one. Don't let mosquitoes get you down, fight back! (Play boxing sound here as Manny squishes the Dengue carriers)

He sings. I'm not even gonna expound on this. Why can't boxers just be boxers like the good old days sans Mike Tyson's carnivorous craving for human ear.

Why I dislike him is not entirely his fault. Media presents him as a Bayani (National Hero) Barf bucket please. He wins millions in prize money and endorsements AND we they call him a Bayani? Some people CAN have it all. I'd like to think he is only an athlete whose timing for fame is perfect. With numerous awful things happening, he is the perfect distraction... hopeful, you could actually project yourself in his Burlington socks and imagine the cash flowing in like Niagara Falls... the bills are almost tangible.

The moment he kills Magellan, writes a novel rip-off of Dumas' The Count of Monte Cristo, gets shot in the back at Luneta, organizes a revolution with red hankies tied around their necks... then... I could possibly call him a Bayani. Right now, He is just a great boxer who sings awful meant-for-karaoke songs and hauls millions. Anything beyond that is wishful thinking or media distortion. Boxers are prizefighters people!

They have a term for what I'm thinking... Something mentality... hmmm... I think it's a type of crustacean.



Useless info: I watch boxing matches only if I can't avoid them. Even without the lions, the lances and shields, the armor, the screaming audience from the tiers of the Colosseum... It is still Roman Gladiators with foamed gloves and a referee. I always turn to the cinema for things I dunno. Enter Rocky, Million Dollar Baby, Girlfight, Cinderella Man, etc. etc.

Labels: blah (3x), filipinowledge, i-rate

I just finished watching the simultaneous Midterm Midtacular special of The Daily Show with Jon Stewart and The Colbert Report (I still utter the "t's") With a freshly lit Marlboro Light between my fingers, I slumped on my bed intending to blog about Voltron (Defender of the Universe), I recently rewatched the first four episodes, Pidge is so gay... Anyways... The moment my butt touched my mattress, a familiar tune resonated from my bed. This is a silly prank me and my brother pull on each other.

My dad gave my niece a toy phone. It plays a number of dreadful tunes (I could not even make myself call them songs) whenever you press one of its "astronomical" buttons. One of the tunes is a remix/mutation of what I think is an Aqua song. This is the group that did the anti-Grammy hit, "Barbie". The phone plays a bubblier, Alvin and the Chipmunkish version of the song... as if the original one wasn't bubbly and chipmunkish enough.

My niece and nephew pressed the phone's buttons alot when they first got it, much to the exasperation of my brother and me. Listening to the sounds from that toy phone is a lot like being one of those martians in Mars Attacks when they played Slim's Whitman's Indian Love Call in the movie. A neural implosion was inevitable, so I hid that phone whenever I could and never divulged it's whereabouts until one of the kids asks for it... crying.

I lifted my mattress to see the toy phone placed intentionally with it's buttons up so that the slightest pressure would trigger this push-you-over-the-edge audio device.

This reminds me alot about the time when we, SV2G, lived in an apartelle. We were preparing material for an architecture exhibit we were organizing. (We made a +/- 8 foot tall replica of the Eiffel Tower) On one of the mornings we spent there, we planned to wake up early to do some "jogging". To me, "Jogging" = walking with a cigarette. I bolted right out from my sleep/bed when an alarm clock with it's volume at maximum resonated in the loft we slept in. Still half asleep and fully irate I overturned sheets, pillows and beds to find the drasted alarm clock. Bert placed it under my bed. The Doppler Effect doesn't work at 5 in the morning. Well, it could have been worse... Bert once left the same alarm clock, volume at max and with a new AA battery, in his locked drawer in the apartment he lived in during college. While he was happily enjoying his Sembreak, his roommate who stayed behind suffered the wrath of that alarm clock for 5 minutes everyday at 5 am... and again at 5 pm... until the battery died, which was close to the length of the Sembreak.

And so, while I am posting this entry... the toy phone is lying snug under my brother's pillow, awaiting for the weight of his head. Mwahahahaha... Revenge is best served cold... at 1230 in the morning... Mwahahahahaha!

Labels: flashback music please, i-rate, idiot box, kids-r-i

I personally go for the two step method, stepping on a balloon with my left foot then popping the now bulbous part of the balloon with my right. Sir Rodel went for the car key method poking at a rate of 1 balloon per second. Ma'am Marie and Tine went for age-old method of sitting on baloons. So why were we popping balloons? Let me trackback...


A BFitcsh called LiWanda
Day 0: Friday Afternoon.
Our call time for all venue preparations for the 15th National Conference of Architects (NCA) was 3 pm. We were welcomed by an ongoing supermarket convention. Thanks to the event coordinator of the CAP Convention Center, Linda, we waited on the boxes we brought until 5. "Linda" apparently gave a two hour extension without informing us, her name became synonimous with a female canine through the extent of the event. So there we were, bored to death with "This Side Up" letterings nearly tattoed on our asses. It was fortunate though that we caught a waning supermarket convention eager to dispose their promos. We had coffee, cheap wine, M&M Kissables, bisected shampoos, and bars of laundry soap. All appeared edible.


Ms. "One-line"
Day 0: Friday Night.
My tasks were relatively easy compared to say erecting scaffolding or coordinating with the caterer. I had the valuable job of organizing conference kits. Whoopee! Nothing is more fulfilling than stuffing a Boysen bag with souvenirs. (Insert forced smile here) The only "danger" involved in this job is papercuts. A number of student auxiliary were assisting me (I miss my capricious college days) We were actually having fun doing this, we had about four hubs of openers, stuffers, closers, and packers. Our efficiency was superb! When we were down to our last 3 boxes, some snot-nosed student auxiliary from "Manila" entered the room we were in and with a sneer said: "Ay sayang mas mabilis sana kung one line" (Too bad, it would have been faster if you did it in one line) then left. It was a hit and run! The daft ingrate became the subject of our insults and unflattering impersonations. Fueled by our loathing for this mutant, we finished the job in no time. Nothing like a wannabe with a linear way of thinking (that looks like that 3-eyed fish in The Simpsons) to increase work output by 100%.


Exercising the other 15 muscles
Day 1: Saturday
Lately, the only time I see the sun rise is when I've stayed up all night. I was nauseous when I arose from the double deck in our inn at 5 frickin 30 in the morning. "I am sleepwalking", I kept muttering to myself. It took a warm bath, a cup of cold pineapple juice and a couple of Marlboros to jumpstart my higher brain functions. That whole morning was a daze. I was stationed in the "war room", a rectangular arsenal of nuclear office supplies and a risograph with a mind of its own. This was the Secretariat base.

Here is the dialogue I used and made my assistants use (it became our stress mantra):
Good morning (change with time of day) sir/ ma'am!!! (smile)
Can I please see your I.D.??
Thanks!!!! (smile wider)
Can I please have your conference kit stub??
Thanks!!! (you can smile wider than that!)
Here's your kit!!!
Have a wonderful day at the conference!!! and may all your wishes come true!!!!!

I dunno what's worse, having lunch at 3 pm or forcing a smile the whole day. It took me so long to get my Ally Mcbeal pout down to a tee, and now I was smiling like a chipper fastfood employee. "Here's your conference kit! Would you like to supersize it?!" Whoever said "it takes 37 muscles to frown and only 22 muscles to smile" was a sloth. Aren't we supposed to work out as much as we can? (Oooohh... look at me endorsing working-out) Exercising another 15 muscles is my work-out.
At the end of the day, I must gave gained 5 pounds with all that smiling and my face was aching.


Wake up and Smell the SNAFU
Day 2: Sunday Morning. (Not the No Doubt nor Velvet Underground nor Maroon5 song)
I slept like a baby the previous night, but my face was still swollen. We still woke early early, but we moved a tad more lackadaisical. Most of the tasks we needed to do have been done on Day 1. We hovered over our breakfast longer. We arrived at the venue sometime around 8 and we were greeted by a frantic deputy chairman. Apparently whoever locked the war room the night before was nowhere to be found. Gentlemen, draw your cellphones! 3... 2... 1... Go! It took about thirty minutes of calling and texting to find out who had the key, and another thirty for him to get to the venue. Thankfully, "Eleven" knew how to open doors with a credit card (He didn't tell me how he acquired that skill either). The War Room was opened at 0845 hours. The person with the key arrived T + 30 minutes after.


Lucky M3!
Day 2: Sunday Afternoon
I have no luck with raffles. I can not recall a single instance where I've won a prize based solely on luck. But when it comes to picking the shortest stick... I'm a shoo-in. However, a raffle solely dedicated to the OrCom (Organizing Committee) (Thanks Arch. Roldan) was atypical. Knowing my luck in these things, Tine and I went away from the venue to buy stuff for an event later in the evening. On the taxi ride home, my phone kept ringing... numerous SMS saying I won something in the raffle. I was skeptical until Arch. Jovit handed me a white MP3 Player. Yey! This will free up space on my Palm! and... Tine won a TV!
In order for me to win a raffle: lessen the number or participants vis-a-vis increasing the statistical probability of winning AND go as far away from the venue as physically possible.


Was that Scary Pretty or Pretty Scary?
Day 2: Sunday Evening
The closing ceremonies was brief and straightforward. Speeches. The OrCom were called one by one and occupied the stage. Clapping for Orcom. Speech. Clapping for speaker. Someone stood up and made a speech about how hard the Orcom worked and that they deserved "something"... He left us hanging and kept elaborating on "something" we deserved... A car ala Oprah?? N93's?? A trip to Barbados?? We were all waiting for him to get to his point, the point being that "something"... and that "something" turned out to be... a... because we deserved it... that "something" is... you wanna know what it is?... it... is... a... Standing Ovation! My initial feeling was disappointment and my intial thought was clapping doesn't pay the bills...
As it turns out, the older members of our chapter told me that that never happened in the history of the NCA before. It was bigger than I gave it credit for... but hey, I would've loved sipping pina coladas with my feet in the Caribbean Ocean more.
The Fellowship Night soon followed. It is a euphemism for Get-drunk-and-do-the- Chicken-dance night. I was busy transforming Tine into a "white lady" (a local mythical hovering female ghost with long hair wearing a white ensemble) Our chapter was entering her in the "Pretty Lady in White" contest. There was no appropriate dressing room, so we claimed the Ladies' comfort room. When we were nearly done, Ma'am Mylen, Ma'am Marie, Ma'am Joy, and Star joined us in that small comfort room to do a test run. Tine was holding a lit candle to her face, we flicked the switch... We all screamed, including Tine (the white lady), Star ran outside as the 5 of us left chuckled all the way to the backstage.
We didn't win... The criteria clearly said "no blood or faux blood", the other contestants of course had ketchup smeared all over them, brilliant! And, the thing that irked me the most was that the contestants had to be Scary Pretty... ala Cate Blanchett as Galadriel or Morticia. Again, the other contestants must've heard "Pretty Scary" instead of "Scary Pretty", cause most of them were pretty dang scary, but not in a good, halloween appropriate way. What's worse than contestants who interpret criteria as the total opposite? Judges who think the same way! Bah!


Fin
Day 2: Sunday Monday Morning
What really signalled the end of the conference for me was singing REM's The One I Love at the top of my lungs. My whole UAP chapter, young and old(er), were singing.
And so that was how we found ourselves popping red and white balloons (see picture) at 3 o'clock in the morning.


Thanks to UAP National!
Thanks to all the Student Auxiliary (sans Ms. One-Line)!!!
and, Congratulations UAP Summer Capital the youngest chapter to ever host the NCA!!!

Labels: baguio, boo-freakin-hoo, i-rate

Guess what... I'm on dial-up again. I can't be certain why the connection is down again. After trying to connect this wi-fi-less situation with the supposed misfortune Friday the thirteenth brings... I've stopped guessing. It takes a great amount of patience (which I surprisingly possess) to blog under these conditions. I know now that I am certifiably hooked to blogging.

The small changes I did with my blog layout have decreased its loading time by 0.001 seconds on dial up. Joy...

While waiting for the status bar to lengthen one micrometer per minute, here's what I did:

1. Do the daily Yahoo! crossword (for 13:49 minutes) I'm getting pretty good at this, although I always get emir, shah and imam mixed up. Just 4 wrong letters (woo hoo!)... I have no idea who 20 across is but I do know now what a 47 down is. I've always wanted to meet a crossword puzzle maker, I find their job fascinating... How they make answers fit perfectly in a symmetrical 15 x 15 box. In The Story of Us, Michelle Pfeiffer made crosswords for a living and... coincidentally also starred in a movie with the same title as today's crossword.


2. Smoke a Marlboro while waiting for 5 minutes for the printscreened image of the crossword to upload in Photobucket so that the 20 across and 47 down reference will make sense.

3. Eat a squashed fastfood peach mango pie retrieved from my now pastry smelling bag... an uneaten souvenir from dinner. AND air out bag.

4. Wrap my nephew's gift for tomorrow. (Two Tom and Jerry movies and a Justice League movie with a weird square jawed Superman) Then, place gift smack dab in the middle of the Christmas Tree, dropping a couple of ornaments in the process.

5. Replace bed sheets, moving the laptop extremely slowly making sure not to pull the phone line.

6. Stare blankly into the ceiling... thinking of an item for #6 but all you can think of are the blotches of god-knows-what on your ceiling that's shaped like the Big Dipper.

7. Marvel at the things you just bought this evening from a 3-day sale at the mall. You don't really need them... but they were on sale. Green knee-high football socks (I don't play football, I just thought they'd go well with the psychotic elf theme I'm planning to wear to a party)... Rainbow colored pony tails to coordinate with any possible outfit... etc.

8. Mentally spend the rest of your 15 day salary on things you want... Feeling completely satiated until you realize most of it will go to things you don't want... Bills, bills, bills.

9. Unload the contents of your bag... Fanning out the smell of fastfood. Discover you have 67 pesos worth of change, find your stylus that's been at large for 3 days (you were forced to use other blunt objects... pinky included, to act in its place), throw away 5 candy wrappers and remember you forgot something at the office.

10. Spend a sufficient amount of time thinking for a clever entry for #10 but all you end up doing is pumping vaporized tobacco to your lungs.

11. Realize (again) you're getting fat. So you start flailing your arms in supposed aerobic activity to Mas Que Nada. Realize (again) that you look like a moron. So you sit down again and make a mental promise to work-out tomorrow morning.

12. Forget the mental promise to work-out in the morning while you eat a Snickers bar.

13. Do a happy dance cause you squeezed in your 13 post for October with 3 minutes to spare.


Have a great weekend everyone! and Happy Thirteenth SV2G!

Labels: area 13, i-rate

Despite my subtle efforts to prevent it from happening, our house has been christmasized. Last week, after an exhausting day from work, I was greeted by our plastic fantastic tree standing in all its tinsel glory in the living room. I have always been the designated Christmas decorator and I took comfort in the fact that I controlled when the multi-colored Christmas balls come out of their dusty mildewed boxes. I have been putting off the decorating intentionally, but unfortunately... our chipper housekeeper, Lisa decided to do a Yuletide mutiny. While I was busy designing plans of a resort... Lisa resorted to plan a design for the sparkly garlands of the tree.

I am still in a way successful in my plans to delay Christmas. Filipinos are known to celebrate the longest Christmas season. When the "-ber" months start, so do the carols in radio shows and the hanging of parols (colorful star shaped lanterns) This whole"-ber" thing supposedly refers to "brrr", the sound shivering people make when its cold, mainly due to the Barat wind. (Its interesting that barat in Filipino means "frugal" and this wind starts to show itself on December) A month-long Christmas season can, at times, be very depressing under certain circumstances... Try going through it for 4 months and 3 weeks, give or take.

My suspended christmasation lasted one month and nine days.

I can not pinpoint the exact moment when I turned from Charles Schulz' Linus to Charles Dickens' Scrooge. When the carols sounded more like Jingle Belch, Winter Blunderland and My Grown-up Christmas Hitlist. When a plastic tree is just a plastic tree.

This is just a phase I go through every year... I am actually a delightful person who loves the season and still looks at a lit Christmas tree in a dark living room with awe when no one is watching.

Bah Humbug.

Labels: blah (3x), filipinowledge, holidays, i-rate

My Monday abhorrence started when I began school and... when I discovered the allure of procrastination. It's a huge, totally unwelcome yet inevitable hurdle after the weekend. I look forward to Mondays with the same anticipation I do flu shots.

I never did get the association of this drasted day with the Moon. Monday from the Old English Mona and the Spanish Lunes (which we also use) from the Latin Luna... both referring to the Moon. I've always associated Monday, and thought it more appropriate, with mundane, and Lunes with lunacy.

Aside from the tubbiness, the orange fur, the black stripes, the love for Italian food, disgust for spiders and an utter surrender to gravity... Hating Mondays is another thing I have in common with Garfield.

While my classmates in gradeschool went gaga over Rainbow Brite, Strawberry Shortcake or My Little Pony... I was collecting cut out Garfield comic strips from Stars and Stripes newspapers. They are yellowish now. I never got Garfield's sarcasm at that age but I did get the annoyance for drooling dogs, the indifference for hovering pet owners, and the disdain for alarm clocks.

The movies they did were blah. Bill Murray was a perfect voice but the whole Garfield sets off for another adventure plotline just sucks. Nearly all of these comic strips happen in just three places... Jon's home, the vet, or some unnamed fence where Garfield does his stand-up comedy routines.
The only thing I look forward to on Mondays is The Amazing Race and that is still 8 hours from now... *yawn*... where's Pooky?


All strips from www.garfield.com

PS. Said website is amazing, It has a vault containing all Garfield strips ever created by Jim Davis. I dug up the archived and found this strip made on the fortuitous day I was born. It's a bit prophetic. Jim Davis managed to predict that I would love watching tennis, I like vegging out, I'm a couch potato and beer... oh precious beer.

Labels: blah (3x), comics, i-rate, idiot box

The Hawthorne Effect - an increase in worker productivity produced by the psychological stimulus of being singled out and made to feel important.

We all, yes all of us... don't act the way we normally do when we know someone is observing us. Although the Hawthorne Effect (aka Observer Effect) was initially done in the workplace, I believe it applies to everything we do.

Quite a scientific intro for my post on Reality Shows, eh? I'm removing my unprescribed glasses and my borrowed lab coat now.


A Car Crash... Don't Look!

I have always been mesmerized by Reality Shows. An overused analogy for such shows is the car accident... you don't wanna look, knowing you'll see something gruesome, but you HAVE to. Jerry Springer is as as useful as that smug second vocalist of Cueshe, but I can't keep my eyes away especially when the obscure guests start making utter fools of themselves. I know you like hidden camera shows like Just for Laughs and Candid Camera and I'm guessing you've at least watched an episode or two of Fear Factor. MTV's Punk'd is uber hilarious and Jackass is sadistically genius!

I knew I hit rock bottom when I watched episodes of The Simple Life and Laguna Beach. You actually see the smoke when your brain cells combust as you watch these two shows.


Richard, Tina, Ethan, Vecepia, Brian, Sandra, Amber

I watched 7 seasons of Survivor religiously. The first one, Australian Outback, Africa, Marquesas, Thailand, Pearl Islands and All-Stars. I could name the winners of these seasons... I know I'm pathetic. haha. There's something about the way the survivors plot against each other and compete in challenges. It's very primal and machiavellian. I stopped watching though because it became formulaic. I'd bring 39 cigarettes as a luxury item.

I also watched all, yes ALL, seasons of The Amazing Race like a crazed stalker. It has got to be the best show of the genre. It has all the drama Survivor offers, but you also get to see the architecture, customs and cuisine of the different countries they race through. Survivor meets National Geographic. I know all the winners' names by heart. Double Pathetic. hah! This is the only show that, even after 9 seasons, still keeps me at the edge of my seat. Hearing the theme song gives me an insta-adrenaline rush.


Idol Idolatry

Watching the third season of American Idol got me hooked. Fantasia singing with a broken heel and a missing necklace did it for me. The irritable Paula Abdul and the vain Ryan Seacrest aside, this is a good singing/reality show producing some great talents and Simon is a blast. I was a McPhan last season, too bad she lost... oh well, I used up all my voodoo-mojo getting the Mavericks to the NBA Finals and didn't leave any for Katharine.

Philippine Idol is a nice show in theory but extremely poor at the execution. Ryan Agoncillo as host (Ryan too) and judges Ryan Cayabyab, Pilita Corales and (why him?) Francis Magalona. I was ecstatic knowing three male contestants in the final 24 are from Baguio, two of which live in my neighborhood and one is the younger sibling of my sister's close friend. It seemed this was a show I was gonna watch every now and then, if for nothing else than to cheer for my ka-barrios.

ABC is too small a network to support this big a show. I watched the top 12 male performance. The audio was pitiable, a contestant even lost his mic feed in the middle of his song. Two of the three Baguio singers did fairly well and the other one (with long hair and plucked eyebrows, I think or was the TV deceiving me) did extremely well. True to Idol fashion, the results were a day after, and 4 of the 12 would go onto the finals. None of the guys I was rooting for made it. I wasn't counting on the other two but Long Hair, which the judges concurred was the performance of the night, deserved to go through.

The voting public chose the "shinier" contestants. Those with perfect teeth and shiny hair. I thought it was a singing competition first before a beauty pageant. What is it about voting for the "shiny" people instead of the deserving, could-do-something-great but less attractive ones?

Enter Heart Evangelista. She will be a co-host for the show doing the "behind-the-scenes, what's-his/her-lifelike" ala Pinoy Dream Academy on the same time slot on ABS-CBN. I give up, I'll just wait for the headlines saying who won. "Oh... him/her?"

Big Brother aka Kuya has a god-complex.

There is way too much drama on Pinoy Dream Academy. That whiny girl is crying, then that guy with... is that even hair?... the only one who should be crying is that Japanese guy who cried ever since the show started, and us viewers, intentional or surfing, for being subjected to it. Whatever happened to the good old days when the first thing you know about an artist is his music and curiousity from the lyrics or melody of the music made you wanna know more about the artist, his influences and his life. In this show, it's the exact opposite. There is talent there, I have seen some of their performances, but sifting through all the drama to see it just ain't worth it.


Surreality Show

Which brings me back to the Hawthorne Effect. If all the contestants of these shows know we're watching them and they act differently because of it... Are reality shows still real or just what TV producers think is real?


Photo Credits
Goldfish looking at Catbowl
Fishbowl Painting

Labels: i-rate, idiot box

What is slower, more frustrating and mind-numblingly boring than watching paint dry?

My internet connection. The wi-fi service we have here at home sucks... big time! (I'm not saying what it is... but it isn't SNART) After the choppy connection a few days ago, today, it is totally down. Customer service is, of course, not gonna knock on our door anytime soon.

So... desperate to send some CAD drawings to Ma'am A for a split-level house I was drafting for her, I've resorted to a more archaic method... dial-up. I had to switch back to the old Yahoo! format just to access my mail. The Beta was just too much for my 28 kbps connection.

While waiting for my e-mail attachments (which took forever), I played minesweeper, which as I've come to realize is THE most infuriating game ever created! I have developed an aversion for yellow smileys. I played a gazillion games (Files Attaching: 50%) My minesweeper success rate: 0%. The smiley with X'es for eyes when you hit a mine is just plain sadistic!!!


Finally sending the e-mail, I dared to blog. My blog took (yes I timed it...) 10 minutes and 17 seconds to fully load on firefox. I had a bloghopper advise me once to truncate my long posts and reduce the images I upload so that my blog would load faster on dial-up connections... now I know what he meant (but knowing how stubborn I am, it won't happen)

You have to give me credit for "fighting spirit"... despite the ghastly connection, I was able to blogroll a bit, leave comments and now post an entry. SNART needs to fix the problem post haste!

My only consolation tonight is that I have a Bamboo concert live on my radio. Thanks to 97.1 WLS. I discovered this Manila station when I was looking for 96.7 K-lite. Thanks to this station I can listen to live rock concerts in Manila, which sadly, are rare here on my pine covered plateau. Bamboo are (is?) singing songs from "Light, Peace, Love" ("Truth" baby, and "Much has been Said") and some from "As the Music..." ("Masaya" great track) and some old school tracks from Rivermaya of the 90's (214, Kispamata, Elesi... the good stuff)

I saw Bamboo on concert early this year and the new funky Bamboo (the vocalist) is a demi-god! And... (All hail!) Ira Cruz (bow before him!) can make that guitar sing better than anyone in the industry to date.


My dial-up connection isn't half as bad when you have Bamboo in the background... If only I could win a game (just one game!) on blasted (pun intended) Minesweeper.

Labels: blah (3x), filipinowledge, i-rate, music, nyt-out

I was channel-surfing the other day and I saw again that new Johnny Delgado ad. I first saw it a week ago (channel-surfing again, I need virtual board shorts) and I was moved by the sentiment it imparted.

It is a very simple and straightforward commercial. Mr. Delgado sitting in the backseat of a taxi, contemplating on how Filipino's act when they're in a foreign country as opposed to how they act here in the Philippines. He said something like: (Me Paraphrasing horribly)

"Bakit ganun tayong mga pinoy? Kapag nasa ibang bansa tayo, masunurin tayo sa batas at marespeto sa ibang tao. Hindi tayo umiihi sa kalye at nagtatapon ng basura kung saan saan. Kaya naman pala natin eh, Bakit pag andito tayo sa sarili nating bayan, hindi natin ginagawa." (Why are we Filipinos like that? When we are in a foreign country, we follow rules and we respect other people. We don't urinate in public and we don't litter. How come we don't behave like that in our own country)

It's a sad sentiment but true nonetheless. The closest I could come to an analogy is being a teenager and visiting a friend's house. We were always on our best behavior, prim and proper, when we stayed at a friend's house (especially when their parents are there) but in our own house we were the biggest slobs (or I was at least).

Too much of anything is bad.

Rules, both legislated laws and unspoken rules of propriety, are there for a reason. They keep things in order and make sure we act like decent human beings. However, We can't be unquestioningly obedient and perpetually well-mannered (unless we're programmed like that), its just not human nature. Too much of anything...

On the other side of the spectrum, We need to be true to ourselves. Home offers a certain amount of comfort and security where we could let our guard down and be ourselves.. this is a good thing. The freedom to be who we are and do what we want to do is what democracy is all about, but not to the point of public urination. Too much of anything...

I feel like I'm making an essay for a Social Studies class... oh well.

Labels: blah (3x), filipinowledge, i-rate, pseudo-serious

"This is the reason why your headache didn't go away, That's actually pronounced analgesic, not ANAL-gesic. Sir, the pills go in your mouth." ~ Dr. Chrisopher Turk

I never looked at paracetamol the same way again after I heard that quote from Scrubs. For the past two days (and counting), my body and I have been battling the infamous flu. Its influenza season again on our side of the tropics, we've had three typhoons this month (Florita, Glenda and Henry) and another one (Inday) on its way. It's been a cold, wet and humid month. I miss the sun. I'd trade pine trees for coconuts right now. (Something no self-respecting Baguio resident would think, let alone say out loud type on one's blog) I'm high on antibiotics... shoot me.

I've had my first flu shot circa two months ago, and that's why I feel like I'm in a flu limbo of some sort. The whole flu sequence (as I grew up knowing it) has become all blurry and jumbled. I feel like I have just acquired it and I feel like I've nearly recovered from it at the same time. I don't know where I am right now. I've done my two day flu home remedy:

2 gallons of Del Monte pineapple juice + no smoking (cold turkey) + "chicken noodle soup" (thanks to my sis) + 23 hours of sleep (one hour bathroom breaks) + 4 blankets + 1 comforter + a pair of socks + Paracetamol + Lagundi + a million rolls of tissue paper + fresh tangerines + Sinigang

I am strong enough to go online but I'm still too weak to leave the house. Housebound for the last two days (and counting), I didn't even notice with all the sleep I've been doing. Sleep sleep sleep, that's all I did. I'm gonna go cuckoo soon.



Note to self: Look for hotkey for strikethrough in Blogger.

Labels: blah (3x), i-rate

I had the worst (and ugliest) alarm clock this afternoon. I slept late last night planning stuff in my head. After lunch and a couple of shows, I felt my eyes beginning to feel heavy as I lay lazily on the living room couch. I haven't had an afternoon nap since college, a full 8 years ago. I was truly enjoying my siesta. Nearly catching sleep, a loud knock came from the window next to the main door. This fugly woman plus a couple were at the door when I opened it, They were looking for a room for rent. Not knowing the affairs of the apartments my mom, who went out, manages, I asked our housekeeper if we had any. Nope, she says, fully occupied. I returned to the door with the news, and this fugly woman still kept inquiring. What part of "none" didn't she understand. I nearly slammed the door to her face, I was absolutely not in the mood for nonsense, but the rules of propriety hadn't been quelled enough by my irritability. I just dismissed her politely and closed the door, saying nasty things under my breath.

It's one thing to be woken up by my bright red wind-up alarm clock, It's another to be woken by a fugly woman with bright red lipstick.



My friend TJ sent me an e-mail with caricatures of some celebrities. The drawings exaggerated certain physical attributes that have become anatomical signatures for these celebrities. I dunno where these drawings actually came from, I tried following the string of forwards this e-mail went through and found a dead end. (Extend my compliments to the artist if you know him/her) Below is one of Penelope Cruz and all I can think of when I looked at it was the woman who tapped on my nap.

BTW, Does Miss Cruz actually have a Mickey Mouse tattoo on her bosom?

Labels: i-rate

There is an old wives' tale that says... "All bad things happen in threes". You hear about such incidences in the news, you feel sorry for the fellow it happened to and a couple of minutes later you're watching Spanglish on HBO as if nothing happened. To actually have three bad things happen to you consecutively is devastating!

Labels: blah (3x), cafe, i-rate