S i l v e r L i n i n g

Turning Over a New Leaf

2010-04-23T08:44:00.003+08:00

A Different Kind of Trip

2009-08-30T14:44:00.010+08:00

Honestly speaking, I’m no fan of foodcourts — they’re packed, they’re loud, and you can’t help but rush because really, it’s not good manners to hog tables when other people have yet to be seated. However, foodcourts do have a startling advantage: food selection. From fast food to home-cooking to foreign cuisine, the wide array of food choices is their meanest card — trump card, and they’re out to win. Win customers, of course.

SM Bacoor Foodcourt, to which I owe yet another experience, is one of those things that will stay with me long after I’m done with food trips, not because of misplaced sentimentality but because of how I came to know of it: while having our house constructed years ago, SM Bacoor became sort of the mall to go to while my parents and contractor supervised the construction and SM Bacoor Foodcourt became that “hot spot” of weird cousin bonding with, well, my cousins and siblings. A good story to tell, that one, but I digress. This entry’s to talk about foodcourt dining experience, not the antics of crazy relatives after all.

Foodcourt dining is no dining experience to write home about, but the variety you are presented with deserves to go down in the history of food choices, if there were ever one. Of course, you can’t forget to take into consideration the simplest factor with which to judge food sold anywhere: taste. There’s just something so fundamentally right about simple food eaten at a simple location that the fanciest food establishment can’t possibly hope to imitate — some things just taste wonderfully different when consumed somewhere intrinsically Filipino. That’s not to say that foodcourt dining is exclusively Filipino, but, not to sound terribly cheesy, SM Bacoor Foodcourt dining is distinctly Filipino in that it cultivates an atmosphere filled with scents you grow up with and chatter that’s familiar due to years of having heard the tone in which it’s carried.

So, now that all those glitzy words and highfaluting phrasings are out of the way — dun dun dun, here come the drums, here come the drums — let’s talk about what we all love to talk about and indulge in: FOOD.

And first on the list is the most classic of classics — Tapsilog, with a side of banana, please and thank you. Tapsilog — tapa, sinangag, itlog — is supremely Filipino, and yep, SM Bacoor Food court has it with Pinoy Toppings providing the food.

Lechon, of course, is also high on the list. No meal is complete without that artery-clogging dish that’s distinctly Pinoy that foreigners think roasting pig the lechon way is a frontier not frequently visited. Lydia’s Lechon is quaintly settled in SM Bacoor Foodcourt for all and sundry to enjoy.

And whoever said that bibingka is primarily a Christmas delicacy? Of course not. And there’s goto, and Chinese food that’s been entrenched in the Filipino taste for as long as I can remember: siomai, siopao, and wanton noodles.

There are so much more to taste and to have, but sadly, I can only consume so much.

Today has been about a different kind of trip. I’m always lounging in coffee shops, ice cream parlours, and pastry houses, and experiencing “foodcourt foodtrip” once again is kind of nice. Kind of nice in that really nice way, with all the roundabout ways of describing it just to keep things interesting.

Street Fighter: The Legend of Chun-Li…Is Anything But Legendary

2009-03-13T19:32:00.011+08:00

WARNING: SPOILERS

Street Fighter: The Legend of Chun-Li follows the story of Chun-Li as she finds — and fights — her way to justice. SFTLCL, casting Smallville Kristin Kreuk as Chun-Li, is the second movie to be inspired from the Street Fighter video game franchise, the first being Street Fighter starring Jean-Claude Van Damme as William F. Guile.

Chun-Li grows up as a talented pianist with a mother who’s suffering from cancer. After one of her performances, Chun-Li receives a scroll written in Chinese, and on her way home, she helps a beaten-up strange man with a web tattoo. Soon after, her mother loses the fight against cancer, and she has the scroll translated. Her journey begins as she follows the instructions in the scroll, and she later on meets Gen and learns of her missing father and Bison, the one who kidnapped her father when she was just a child. Her quest for justice and the truth helps her find her father, but it also makes her an unwilling witness to her father’s death. Filled with fighting thugs and eventually, the ultimate villain of all, Bison, this movie follows the same route most films of this genre travel, and in the end, good triumphs over evil.

There isn’t a lot of twists to keep you interested, and worse, the film makes you wish you were watching Van Damme’s Street Fighter again not because it makes you feel nostalgic, but because SFTLCL actually makes SF seem like such a good movie. Yep, Kristin Kreuk was better off being Superman’s leading lady, because not only is her newest movie choppy in its storytelling, but it also suffers from unforgivable clichés and a boring (BORING) flow. The acting is so-so, meaning that if you look at the actors’ acting skills individually, they’re all right, but together? They’re just not convincing enough. The fighting scenes are decent but nothing grand, and where the hell are all the cool poses that are cliché, yes, but fun to watch nonetheless?! The only redeeming factor is Kreuk’s hair buns during the club scene because that’s the only thing that will make you think that you’re watching an adaptation of Street Fighter (and mind you, it’s the only part where Chun-Li looks like Chun-Li).

If you’re looking for a movie that’s worth your money, this isn’t it. It’s as exciting as watching paper — nothing happens! And it being on its third week in the cinemas only means that there isn’t a movie yet to replace it; it’s not because it’s good that the title hasn’t been scrapped out yet from the electronic boards.

I don’t have any praises for this movie. Not a one. I even fell asleep at the beginning, and this is coming from someone who actually thinks the Resident Evil movies are good adaptations when the rest of the world disagrees.

Street Fighter: The Legend of Chun-Li is not legendary…it’s a mistake.

Confessions of a Shopaholic: Worth Your Gucci?

2009-02-18T19:22:00.032+08:00

WARNING: SPOILERS

Confessions of a Shopaholic is brilliant author Madeleine Wickham's — more popularly known as Sophie Kinsella — hilarious, chic novel. It centers on Rebecca Bloomwood, a financial journalist whose finances are out of control, but whose addiction — shopping — ultimately leads her to millionaire Luke Brandon whom she’ll eventually fall in love with. And this basically is all the movie has in common with the book.

Out of all the films I’ve seen that are adaptations of famous novels, Confessions of a Shopaholic tops at taking liberties. The movie makes such a big thing about her being an accidental comedic journalist, sometimes more so than her being a shopaholic, which isn’t the central theme of the book. It’s set in New York, and the characters, with the exception of Luke Brandon, are all Americans instead of the British we all came to love in Sophie’s books. As always, the book is way better than the film. There are so many deviations from the real plot that the movie seems like a separate story all together and just happens to have characters with the same name as those in the book.

But it's not all bad; the film has its moments, and Isla Fisher plays Rebecca Bloomwood the way you would picture her in your mind if she were American. She makes the movie fun and brings just enough cuteness, kind of like Amy Adams in Enchanted. And Hugh Dancy, who plays Luke Brandon, is cute and loveable and can be Luke Brandon except he’s not as gorgeous and sharp and sexy as the book says him to be. Still, he’s acceptable and convincing.

The film is simple and shallow, and funny in its simplicity and silly in its shallowness. It’s not something you’d watch again and again, but it’s something you’d watch if you just want brainless romcom to destress. It’s your everyday chick flick, that’s what it is.

I’m not hard to please, and I’ve enjoyed movies that hardcore critics over at Rotten Tomatoes have all but booed (The Women, Underworld: Rise of the Lycans, what-have-you). I don’t look at the itty-bitty details that should supposedly “make a movie.” I don’t criticize the lighting, the script, the director to an inch of their lives. I’m your ordinary movie-goer, but that’s what makes my take on the movie — dare I say significant? — different. Most viewers are just like me, so I say, try it, watch the movie.

Confessions of a Shopaholic is a film not meant to be taken seriously. It’s just something to pass time, something to make you laugh, and it does make you laugh (everyone in the movie house was laughing, including me). It is very far from the book, so if you want to enjoy it, don’t compare it. Take it as something totally separate from the novel.

The final verdict? It’s not worth your Gucci, but it’s worth your fake Fendi, and with the financial crisis afoot, that’s not such a bad deal.

~
Fake Fendi – Sex and the City

The Hype Got Too Hyped (Requiem for Practicum)

2008-10-14T12:42:00.015+08:00

This was supposed to be the pre-practicum video, but the spark of...inspiration...to do this came a little too late.

Music:

Main theme of the movie Saw

Clint Mansell's Requiem for a Tower from the game Lord of the Rings the Two Towers

Disclaimer:

Requiem for Practicum is based on DS students' pre-practicum apprehension using various video clips from unnamed sources (will be taken down when asked by rightful owners). No money is being made, and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Blanket disclaimer applies. This is entirely for fun.

Warning: Suspense

LOL!

It’s NOT Just a Cartoon, Honest

2008-08-25T18:02:00.019+08:00

WARNING: SPOILERS

Isao Takahata's Grave of the Fireflies opens with a boy sharing his date of death, and, if the title hasn't yet warned you of the mood the movie is taking, then the opening scene surely will.

Grave of the Fireflies revolves around two siblings who have been orphaned and are forced to live off their own meager means. With the constant fear of being bombed and the constant burden of relying only on each other to get through everyday life, the children face a never-ending battle for survival that it's a wonder these two children can still smile. Their fight for survival is even made harder because they are thrust in the world of adults that has no place for two orphans who have nobody else to fall back on but each other, and the saddest thing is that they don't come out as victors.

Set in the grueling days of World War II, the movie narrates the past of the boy, Seita, and his sister, Setsuko, with the boy's ghost narrating in the background and actually revisiting the places they've stayed at and, sadly, reliving every heartrending memory, from learning of their mother's death to the eventual death of the children themselves.

The movie is based on a semi-autobiography of Nosaka Akiyuki, a war survivor whose guilt over his sister's death nudged him to author a book. Both he and Takahata have agreed that the best way to tackle the content of the movie is to use animation. Real live actors would have hampered the depth of the film because of the pressures of special effects, dramatic shots that pan in and out at all the right moments, and pillow shots that depict mundane living but give the movie so much life. There are really just some aspects live action can't accomplish that animation can. The animation actually brings to life the film more so than live action ever could.

Different from animations that spew comedy, jokes, aww moments of cuteness, and bouncy characters that tackle moral, environmental, even political issues, Grave of the Fireflies explores an alley that's more human, that tugs at your heartstrings because you know that something like that actually happened, and that slashes across your reasons that justify war even when you know it victimizes even the innocent. It looks at the other side of the war, the side that is ignored in favor of the glorified experiences of soldiers, the side that makes you see war through the eyes of children whose perception of it is nothing political, or governmental, or worldly; instead, they are made aware of its existence through the horrifying sounds of klaxons that disturb the peace, the angry flashes, the abject sense of loss that overwhelms.

Grave of the Fireflies will move you to tears like nothing ever has, a tearjerker to its very core, from the hints of loneliness at the start of the film to the inevitable desolation at the end, including the bittersweet scenes where Seita and Setsuko are playing, but every scene is justified in a way that the events are not cliché — you know that they are there not because the makers want the audience to cry but because they deliver a message so powerful that it will leave anyone breathless.

The moment you notice the tenderness of the siblings' relationship, you know you're in for a movie that has so much going for it, that has so much emotions invested in it that it's impossible to watch it and remain stone-hearted. There are times when you want to tell the protagonist to swallow his pride and go back to his cruel aunt who can at least provide them shelter and food, but then the film makes you realize the folly of kids and their pride. The film also makes you realize that war can make anyone cruel to everybody else that you can’t even blame the aunt for driving them away and forcing them to live on their own.

The frailty of humans, the shortcomings of humanity, and the power of human emotions are expertly shown in the film, in every angle, every shot, and every character, in every laugh, every tear, and every unfair situation of life in the middle of a war, and the strength of the film lies in its ability to deliver these human aspects and evoke equally human reactions from its viewers.

Grave of the Fireflies is the human side of every war movie, and it's the kind that opens your heart and stays with you permanently, drawing tears even long after the credits have finished rolling and the music has stopped playing.

Life is Orange Ice Cream

2008-07-12T17:37:00.007+08:00

You know those events that you don't appreciate until after they've gone? Funny how many times those things have hit you in the face and yet you only feel the force after they’ve turned a new corner to hit another's. Like high-school exams you loathed back then but you now miss because you realize they were a lot easier compared to college exams. Or that extra bottle of lip gloss you kept putting away but you now die looking for because you realize they don't sell that kind anymore. Or that book you let gather dust but you now regret having let time wear away its pages because you realize you might find the story interesting. Or that single historical event you cheered for where she replaced him but you now rue because she actually proved to be the greater of two evils.

Like the other day, I was excited to try the mandarin orange ice cream we bought (because, really, I've been looking for orange-flavored ice cream since forever and it's just now that I got my hands on it). Then when I got to taste it, I was kind of disappointed because it didn't taste as great as I expected. After the ice cream was all gone and I've brushed my teeth and realized that I might not be able to find orange ice cream in the stores anymore (because it's not that common so they might phase it out), I suddenly realized, hey, it wasn't half bad…it was actually good.

A lot of things in our life are like orange ice cream — at first they aren't anything especially good, but when they're gone, that's when you realize you should have enjoyed them while they lasted.

So I say…le's try to enjoy things that come our way so we don't end up regretting a lot of things.

One scoop of orange ice cream with my life on top, please.

Oh Yeah!

2008-07-05T11:47:00.008+08:00

July 1, 2008

PRACTICUM CONFERENCE, baby!

Fucking hell, we made it!

black is back, and it's here to stay

The Demon Barber of Fleet Street Meets the Last Man on Earth

2008-01-22T01:11:00.001+08:00

Envy me, I've seen it! And yes, Sweeney Todd is everything it's cracked up to be -- cutely morbid and morbidly sad. The dark and foreboding setting that's uniquely Tim Burton lends an eerie, yet highly apt, atmosphere to the whole movie, which is an adaptation of a play by Stephen Sondheim

I say cute because it reminds you of Burton's former masterpieces, The Nightmare Before Christmas and Corpse Bride, which, funnily enough, are all cartoons. It's cutely morbid because of the colors used: for example, the almost-neon red used for the many bloody scenes somehow downplays the morbid aspect of the film. And it's morbidly sad because, frankly, how many people get thrown in jail because of a jealous Harry Potter character (for the ignorant, Alan Rickman, who plays Judge Turpin, also plays Severus Snape in HP) and end up killing their own wives (plus getting killed, too, by their own weapons)?

Watching Sweeney Todd is like watching a car crash: you know it's gonna end up all awful and hair-raising but you still look anyway. And, in effect, it tickles many a person's morbid fascination over revenge-driven individuals who have been so wronged that you root for them even if they should be legally put down by gas masks, you know, like rabid dogs or something.

Sweeney's misfortune and the way his story ends almost made me cry, just as how the satirical aspects of the movie made me laugh. It's that good a movie, but, children, it's not rated R-18 for nothing. Even if Johnny Depp's friggin'ly sexy voice is like a siren's song that lures pirates and wee little girls’ hearts, his role and maniacal portrayal are not for the faint of heart. Unless, of course, you enjoy having mini heart attacks and you get unexplained thrills from watching throats getting slit (which you would need a psychiatrist for).

So even if you're not much into revenge-seeking-injusticed-holy-crap-he-can-sing anti-heroes, Sweeney Todd is worth your money (of course, you get lollipop Johnny, so it's not such a waste of time, is it?). If, after enduring all those gory scenes and pretty song numbers, you're still not convinced that it's a good movie then...there's something wrong with you.

Go! Go watch I Am Legend...oh...I mean, Sweeney Todd! Then get back to me...or whatever.

P.S.
I Am Legend is good, too. Those of you who think otherwise...well, screw you!

Where the Heart Is

2007-12-04T09:10:00.000+08:00

Slow updates are due to the owner realizing she has a life.

"Even if you are on the right track,

you'll get run over if you just stand there."

Silver Lining II: Only in the Philippines

2007-09-13T19:56:00.000+08:00

I've always been a nationalist at heart even though, I admit, our tastes, and even who we are, have been made more westernized than is healthy. Still, even if the Philippines weren't the best country to live in, I wouldn't want to move anywhere else. Yes, there've been times that I thought I might work abroad come the time I actually need to work already, but it's always been followed by the thought that, no matter what, I'd return to my homeland.

I fail to understand how some Filipinos can just easily dismiss our country and pretend that they're anything other than Filipinos — I mean, what benefit is there in that? It's like they've devoted so much time and energy focusing on what's bad in our country, scrutinizing our shortcomings like we've done nothing that's worthy of recognition. Don't they realize that other nationalities are probably thinking how desperate and pathetic they are? Why bother being looked down upon in a foreign land if you could be cherished in the old country?

Let's be more uplifting, shall we?

We Filipinos have not gone down in history with nothing but our tails between our legs. No, we haven't. We've made our mark, and we will continually make it known. Where else has there been an EDSA Revolution that inspired awe even from the snootiest of whites? We may lack the proper practices of a democratic people, but we know how to show what we have when it matters.

Where else has there been a Gawad Kalinga established with the proud avowal that it's "the gift of the Filipino to the poor of the world"? The country is poor itself, but instead of just selfishly focusing on our own people, we are reaching out and helping the poor in other countries.

Sure, we have done things that are dishonourable, but what country hasn't? Spain enslaved and degraded the Filipinos for 400 years centuries back. America made us second-class citizens in our own country when they refused to acknowledge our independence. Japan violated the Filipinos when they tried to colonize us. Australia heavily criticized the Filipinos during the pullout issue in Iraq, never minding the fact that if it weren't for us, the Japanese would have invaded their country during World War II. Compared to those, our mistakes are nothing but a tiny scratch on a sandy desert that could only exist for a second before the winds carry new sand over it.

Ohh…right…we have terrorists in our country, but guess what? They have, too, in their own countries!

You know, it's not always about whether we are a Third World country or not, nor is it always about being brown and Asian or not, nor is it always about being poor or not — it's about having pride in who we are.

So, guys, say it with me! I'M PROUD TO BE PINOY!

At the Turn of the Tide

2007-08-17T17:53:00.000+08:00

Hepburn has had too many breakfasts at Tiffany's, Connery has played Bond long enough, and LaBeouf would soon be packing his Transformers. And soon, our college days would be just memories of laughter, and homework, and sleepless nights. Of cakes and pretzels enjoyed with friends. Of coffee and hot chocolate sipped between jokes and stories. Of pictures taken on road trips, and random and planned mall trips, and sleepovers. Of shared lunches and cancelled classes, and ice cream cravings almost every other day.

What once was is now not anymore. Chamberlain's hundred-point season is over, Jordan's era has passed, and Nowitzki's name would soon lose its MVP title. And soon, we'd be dancing to a different tune, marching to the familiar notes of the graduation melody, and smiling at the camera as we go down the stairs with our diploma in hand and a vision of what's next on our minds. UP Naming Mahal would be playing in the background, and we would laugh, and some would cry, and promises to keep in touch would pervade the air.

The times are changing, and what has been won't always be. The age of Shakespeare is over, Tolkien has been replaced, and Rowling would soon be just another author. And soon, we'd be reminiscing, and, giggling, and chuckling over our silliness in college, over our rudeness to professors, over how much we judged our schoolmates — the way they dressed, the way they talked, the way they carried themselves, over our complaints about our orgs, our tasks, our responsibilities.

Things change, and though we wish we could hold onto something forever, we know it's impossible because things are meant to move forward, we are meant to move on. That's how things figure, and we have to roll with the times. But you see...I'm getting ahead of myself. Graduation is still many nights away. There are still more movies to be watched, more obscene amounts of ice cream to be consumed, more restaurants to be tried, and still more road trips to be taken.

Though it's nice to look into what may be, it's still better to live today, to forego planning and just enjoy whatever now brings. There are still more pictures to be snapped, more jokes to be delivered, more stories to be shared, more coffee and hot chocolate to be sipped while whiling away time in different coffee shops.

Rizal has gone down in history, Mother Teresa has loved until her last breath, but we still have our lives ahead of us. There's no need to hurry...after all, there are still newly baked pretzels waiting for us in Auntie Anne's and venti frappes where she-who-works-for-us is a part-time barista.

If God was a Villain, He'd be Me

2007-07-29T17:50:00.002+08:00

If I were a boy, I'd draw my gun, wear my breeches and chaps, saddle my horse, and ride off to the sunset. I'd paint the town red, smear it with booze. I'd save damsels in distress, tip my Stetson, and make them swoon with my sexy cowboy drawl. I'd cock my gun like they do in the Old West, control my whining horse with my shiny boot spurs, and pull hard on the reins. I'd be a pub patron who gets challenged, and I'd duel with my Single Action Revolver and win because I'd be the good guy with a cocky attitude. And I'd say things like "Over yonder, ma'am," and "We've howdied but we 'aven't shook."

If I were a boy, I'd be a pirate, and I'd be sassier and cooler than Jack Sparrow, and I'd say things like "Shiver me timbers," and "Arrr!" I'd be captain of a ship, The Seven Seas, and my crew wouldn't mutiny against me. I'd have two female pirates that are more notorious than Anne Bonny and Mary Read. I'd attend the Fourth Brethren Court, and I'd be the Pirate King because even Jack Sparrow and Elizabeth Swan would vote for me, and I'd show Mr. Keeper of the Pirata Codex who's daddy. I'd have meaner enemies, and I'd have the key to Davey Jones' locker, because, really, when I rule, it'd be just a locker instead of the bottom of the sea.

If I were a boy, I'd wear 2039 Flex Revo sunglasses and drive a silver Maserati because I'd be the rich kid who has more money than he could count. I'd wear my white Lacoste Radiates with my Abercrombie & Fitch polo and Citizens of Humanity jeans on Mondays, then other designer wear the remaining days. I'd be greeting them "Morning, ladies," and they'd be all over me instead of the other way around. I'd spray FCUK Him instead of Armani cologne because I'm young and hip, and I'd sport my TAG Heuer Carrera because I'm cool like that.

If I were a boy, I'd play polo because it's classier than all the sports put together, except maybe soccer, which isn't really classy, but still sexy to watch. I'd have fan clubs, and groupies, and millions of websites dedicated to me. I'd be the endorser of every sport even when I don't play them because my face sells. I'd say stuff like "Have a dab at polo," or some other silly sounding English slang.

If I were a boy, I wouldn't waste my time watching chick flicks. I'd waste my money on Die Hard, Band of Brothers, Rambo, Terminator, Independence Day, and the occasional fucked up cartoons like The Simpsons and Drawn Together. I'd be drinking beer and hard liquor and not chic cocktails, and I'd be eating pizza the way it's supposed to be eaten. My usual lines would be "Yippee-ki-yay, motherfucker," and "Who's the man? Who's the man?!"

If I were a boy, I'd be named Lorenzo (because I'd be a suave Italian and, when pluralized, my name would mean fame and victory), or Alexandre (because I'd be a snooty French and "a defender of men"), or Kaoru (because I'd be a noble Japanese and my name would mean fragrant), or Lewis (because I'd be a hardcore German and "a warrior"), or Datu (because I'd remain a proud Filipino and the name is honorably regal).

If I were a boy, I wouldn't be me. And then I wouldn't like it so much.

~
"If God was a villain, he'd be me." – Benedict, Last Action Hero
"Yippee-ki-yay, motherfucker." – John McClane, Die Hard
"Who's the man? Who's the man?!" – Captain Steven Hiller, Independence Day

Houston, We Have a Problem

2007-07-23T13:03:00.000+08:00

Reality bites, and so we try to find a way to escape it, like plunging underwater to block the cacophony of disruptive noises of the world. The lap of waves dull the senses, and the whisper of the waters a soft cadence to our ears.

Underwater, there's no rush, the tide a slow creep compared to the erratic flow of blue on the surface. Movements are lethargic, a deliberate mockery of the fast-paced life on the street. Then we get lulled into a false sense of peace, away from the mess of everyday life. We miss the laughter evoked from facetious antics. We miss the anger of professors driven to prove things only they understand. We miss the smiles favored so easily by faces we have met in a past never to be forgotten. We miss the indignations of those we have wronged.

We escape the jangling reality, and we inadvertently miss out on life.

But we choose to stay underwater, deceived by the calmness of a fraud situation. Then we realize we can't forever run away, and the pain in our chests reminds us the need to draw air. We loathe the idea of having to forsake the comfort of tranquility, but we yearn to face new challenges. So we decide to follow the incessant tug to relieve our chests of the dull ache that has turned into a burning throb, even if it means meeting new hardships. Because no matter how much we ignore it, we know, deep down, that staying underwater will kill us.

So we kick our feet and flap our arms because, eventually, we'll have to come up for air.

Doesn't Know Shit from Shinola

2007-03-01T20:41:00.000+08:00

When you start thinking of whom would come out the victor in a fight between a raging Superman and a carrot-nibbling Bugs Bunny, it can only mean that you're bored beyond belief. Or, you know, when you start writing a blog entry in your notebook in the middle of a class... yep, a definite sign of boredom.

Being bored can be one of the worst things that anyone can experience. It makes you feel lethargic even if you've gotten eight fabulous hours of sleep. It makes you hungry even if you've eaten a breakfast that could easily feed a famished team of football players. It makes you wonder about the strangest things, like feats that totally defy the laws of physics. It makes you... well, you get my drift.

You know what, I'm thinking that the powers-that-be should constitutionalize (I know it's not a word, but it should be!) a practice that demands professors to entertain the class when more than half of it has their minds cruising to different fictional (or non-fictional) places (like Neverland for some people, Hogwarts for others, and the PBB House for others still). I mean, how can one learn the intricacies of the humanities, third world development, and the psychotic mind of the occasional weird professor if his mind were somewhere else?

You see, in an ideal world (you know, where students are mad-happy and professors are mad-cool), things go like this:

Professor: Your assignment for the night...
Students (with too dramatic groans to accompany their very wise reasoning): But, sir, we have a party to go to!
Professor (with an accommodating smile on his face): Of course, of course. No assignments 'til you graduate!

Then we graduate and we apply for jobs, sending out resume after resume and crossing our fingers in hopes that one of them would be marked "hired"...or whatever they do with it once they get fooled by our dazzling abilities…or lack thereof. After biting our nails off (or worn a hole through the carpet with our pacing), worrying that we'd get zip in return, we get our mail, though most of them are rejection letters. Of course, we sift desperately through the junk, hoping against hope that one of them would at least be good news. And voila! There's a white envelope containing a letter, saying that we got accepted in a job we don't exactly want and had only submitted a resume to as a backup plan.

Of course, we go to work, pay taxes, settle bills, and lose sleep. Then we think, "What in blazes did I do back in college?" Only to come to a painful realization that, back then, we wished our college life to be all fun and games, and -- guess what? -- we got it! We breezed through college because all we had to do was party and get drunk.

Ooh... That's gotta suck. As the saying goes, "We don't always get what we want, and we don't always want what we get."

...

Then the bell rings, and we wake up from our dream, glad to know that everything has happened only in our subconscious. Here's when we promise ourselves that we won't slack off anymore, that we'll try to pay attention so we won't get bored because we're too shaken by our dream. With a resolute nod, we go home, come back the next day, then we get bored all over again and wonder who would win in a fight between a raging Superman and a carrot-nibbling Bugs Bunny...

Tsk. It's a vicious cycle.

~
Doesn't know shit from Shinola - possessing poor judgment or knowledge

All the World's a Stage...

2006-11-30T14:18:00.000+08:00

The one thing about blogs that's quite nifty is you get to read people's thoughts without being intrusive. And knowing a lot of friends who have blogs, you get to read a lot of thoughts, so to speak. Ironically, though, despite their glaringly different personalities, they seem to have lots of common sentiments. One example is their similar entries with the running theme "enjoying one's childhood." The articles range from "don't hurry to grow up" to "I'm still a kid inside," and, let me tell you, they don't stop at that. But what happens if we finally decide to leave our childhood, or if our childhood has finally proven too fleeting a thing?

We grow up, that's what.

We go through the long and painful phase of understanding that we aren't children anymore and that we still have a long way to go to becoming adults. And in the course of growing up, we get stuck in Teenager-ville where we supposedly start learning being mature and taking responsibilities like how a conscientious individual should. After a while, we get the gall to brag that we're now mature and sensible college students. But then, when we really think about it, do mature and sensible people whine about exams? Do mature and sensible people throw tantrums? Do mature and sensible people waste time pondering the "in" factor of Chuck Taylors?

In light of this situation, I wonder: Are we really mature, sensible college students, or are we simply ten-year-olds stuck in the bodies of teenagers?

We bristle when we're called childish. We're insulted when we're labeled infantile. Why? Because somehow, we've gotten it in our heads that we aren't immature, that we're capable of letting go of our childish tendencies. On some level, maybe we are capable. The question is, how long 'til we revert back to being kids who are wont to throw tantrums?

Until something we don't agree with comes our way, I suppose. Like...

A professor who's too fond of handing out crap

A party we're suddenly not allowed to attend

A pair of shoes we don't have enough money to buy

A classmate who thinks s/he's all that

A show we're going to miss because we can't get home on time

Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera

But until those situations present themselves, we are the mature, sensible college students we've led ourselves to believe. And maybe, this ain't so bad. We're only in college. We still have time to really live up to our parents' expectations. Right now, I don't think we're prohibited to act as schizo as we want to. After all, what's life without the occasional "boo-boos" of adults-to-be?

~
All the World's a Stage, and all the men and women merely players (Shakespeare, As You Like It) - Life is like a play, and we go through every stage of our life acting it out

The Exception that Proves the Rule

2006-10-22T12:57:00.000+08:00

Warning: Mindless rambling and coarse language ahead

Murphy's Law

When something can go wrong, it goes wrong. Annoying, yes, especially if you've planned everything already. Damn, I take it back. It's more than annoying--it's downright maddening! You plan to go out, then they tell you that you have to reschedule. You plan a presentation, then the projector messes up everything. You plan to ride with someone to school, then that someone calls and asks you, "Can you commute on your own? Something's come up." Are you kidding me? There's always something that comes up whenever you want absolutely nothing to go wrong. Yeah, yeah, when life hurls dang lemons at you, make lemonade and all that crap, but sometimes, life lets fly lemons so quickly that you'd be drowning in it before you could pull out your juicer. Yeah, I did say something about throwing 'em back until you get the oranges you originally asked for--which they fucking ignored--didn't I? But there comes a time when your hands get sore with all that throwing. Dammit, did I lose you somewhere? Oh well, there is a warning right there about mindless ramblings, isn't there?

Optimism versus Pessimism

Optimism can go a long way. It helps you feel good about everything, but as shit happens, optimism gets shot down the drain and all that's left in your sentiment box is irritation. Dammit. Sometimes, pessimism seems a better option. At least when you're a pessimist, it's either you're proven wrong or pleasantly surprised.

How nice it would be if you could face every problem with a blindingly brilliant, toothpaste-commercial smile on your face. Then again, you'd probably be considered a freak if you do that all the time.

An Eye for an Eye, a Tooth for a Tooth

Have you ever thought of cursing the world or life in general? I have, but that doesn't mean that I hate it. Nope, far from it. Life screws you, and I guess cursing it back is just a natural reaction.

"Fuck you, life!"
Then life finds a way to fuck you back.

Dammit.

At least life doesn't get boring.

On the Batting End of a No-hitter

2006-09-08T20:31:00.000+08:00

There's just something so amusingly annoying about stupid people. They either make us laugh because of their incredible moronity, or they rub us the wrong way because they've got such a dim light bulb under their lampshade. But when we think about it, who hasn't acted so idiotically at one point in his lifetime? It's either one does stupid things because he's pissed drunk, or he's intellectually-challenged. Or he's too sleepy to function well. Or he's trying to be funny. Or he's just really not using his brain. Or he's so pathetically slow. Or... There are a lot more reasons, and I bet everyone falls in one category or another.

Some may think that it's nitrogen, or hydrogen, or oxygen, or any other "-gen" that's abundant in the world, but I beg to differ--dammit, it's stupidity. Though, we have to admit, we gotta love our moments of being a few fries short of a Happy Meal! Those moments emphasize the fact that no matter how much we know, what school we attend, and who we associate with, we still don't have enough bragging rights to rub in other people's faces that we are "smarter" or "more intelligent." Sure, it feels great to know that, somehow, we're sharper than the other tools in the shed, but let's not forget that there's still a big chance that we might have done something more foolish compared to other people.

I know it's hard to keep our mouths in check and our judgments on leashes because it's human nature to gloat over what we have and mock others for their shortcomings, but it won't hurt to try. It's not like we'd be struck by lightning if we tried, now is it?

On that note, I wouldn't mind if people tell me off for insulting someone because I think he's as much use as a hedgehog in a condom factory. Nope, I wouldn't, because, one way or another, I'd forget that, once upon a September, I wrote something endorsing the right to be stupid. I wouldn't mind being reminded, not at all. But let me get this straight: Having been granted the privilege to be stupid once in a while doesn't mean we should keep on falling down the Stupid tree and hitting every branch on the way down. Let's not make a habit of being an idiot. There's a difference between an occasional act and a lifetime profession.

Silver Lining I: Bakit Masayahin ang Pinoy?

2006-08-25T22:17:00.000+08:00

Bakit nga ba, eh ang daming problema ng mga Pinoy? Maraming hindi nakakakuha ng magandang edukasyon, marami ang nagugutom, marami ang walang trabaho, marami ang nadadaya, marami ang naiisahan. Walang pera, makasariling gobyerno, iniinsulto ng ibang bansa. Pero, kahit ganyan, masaya pa rin ang mga Pinoy, mas masaya pa kumpara sa mga tao sa kanluran na higit naman ang pagka-unlad sa atin.

Kung ganon, bakit? Simple lang. Noypi eh.

Rasong Noypi # 1:
Kasi marunong tayong tumawa sa harap ng mga suliranin. "Suliranin" hindi bilang isang kalamidad na pinagtatawanan ng mga Pilipino kasi sa ibang tao nangyari, kundi "suliranin" bilang mga hamon at kahirapan sa buhay. May salawikain nga na ang pinakamabisang gamot ay ang pagtawa. Sigurado hindi 'yon mula sa isang Pilipino pero ang mga Pilipino naman ang kumakatawan sa kasabihang iyon. Sa sobrang hilig nga sa pagtawa kahit sarili kayang tawanan!
"Pare, nawala yung pera ko."
"May tawag dyan."
"Oo nga, tanga!"
Ha Ha Ha… Tawa nang tawa na parang wala ng bukas.

Rasong Noypi # 2:
Kasi dinidibdib ang konsepto ng pakikipagkapwa-tao. Bagong kakilala pa lang, ang turingan na magkaibigan. Kaka-kamay pa lang kung makipagtawanan akala matagal na nilang ginagawa yon. Bumati lang at nag-opo sa tindera tila suki na ang tingin sa sarili. Isang oras pa lang nagsasama parang matalik nang magkaibigan kung magpalitan ng sikreto.
"Ako si Pinay 1. Ikaw?"
"Kamusta! Ako si Pinay 2. Crush ko si Pinoy 1 pero sikreto lang ha."
"Oo ba! Ako ang crush ko si Pinoy 2. 'Wag mo sasabihin sa iba ha."
Sa susunod pati ang password sa e-mail at blog naiibahagi na din.

Rasong Noypi # 3:
Mahilig sa good time kahit walang perang pang-gastos. Kahit mangutang pa basta makasali sa kung anong trip ng barkada: Inuman, kantahan, kainanan, manood ng sine, at marami pang iba.
"Tara, videoke tayo!"
"Wala na kong pera. Utang muna!"
'Keys me, beneath the milky twilay…silvymousse is barkley…'

Rasong Noypi # 4:
Ibang klase ang banat ng mga programa at commercial sa telebisyon at radyo. Hanep ang mga linya, patunay na kaya nating maghayag ng importanteng mensahe sa nakakatawang paraan.
"Economy o Quality?"
"Pwede bot?"
- E.Q. diapers
"Mama, para! Wala akong passport!"
- Cossack Vodka

Rasong Noypi # 5:
Mahilig sa mga corny jokes at kung anu-ano pang mga kalokohan. Sabi nga ng pinsan kong kano, "Everything is funnier in Tagalog." Syempre!
"Anong sinabi ng bear sa langgam?"
"Ano?"
"Eh di 'rawr!' Alanga-namang magsalita ang bear!"

Simula sa seryosong mga rason hanggang sa mga kalokohan, lahat nagpapaliwanag kung bakit masayahin ang mga Pinoy. Third World na kung Third World, at least ang kulubot lang natin sa mukha laugh lines. Eh sila?

Dahil kailangan bumawi sa talumpati...shyet

Take the Rough with the Smooth

2006-08-18T20:43:00.001+08:00

The bad thing about life is that it has its ups and downs. The good thing about it is that it has its ups and downs. Nope, I didn't just make an extensive typo. It's exactly what I wanted to write. Of course, nobody wants troubles in their lives, everyone wants everything easy, smooth sailing all the time, but we all know we can't have that. The "grand scheme of things" doesn't have that in its outline. Bad things are kind of like a counterbalance, something that grounds us and tells us that life isn't fair. It's the one thing that makes us do a double-take and re-evaluate what we've been doing so far. It's the result of the mistakes we committed, commit, and will continue to commit. We can't have butterflies and sunshine all our lives. As they say, life's not all beer and skittles. We strive for that, yes, but it's near-impossible, so why not just make the most out of a bad situation?

"When life hands you lemons, make lemonade." It was during my fourth year in high school that I always heard this, and I guess there are a very few souls who haven't gotten a whiff of this aphorism. I don't really wonder why because it's the most--dare I say logical?--thing to do when you're in some sort of fuckity circumstance.

When your mobile phone gets confiscated (HS scenario), you frown and whine for a little while, then you shrug your worry off and tell yourself that at least you'd only be getting a verbal warning. A lemon thrown, a quarter of your glass is filled with lemonade.

When you fail an exam, learn from it and study harder. Another lemon, another quarter.

When there's a big sale and you've already maxed out your credit card, two words: window shop. More lemon, more lemonade.

There are lots of ways to cope with the crap that life keeps pitching our way. Things aren't always so bad...it's just how we look at them. We can whine all we want--I admit, it's sometimes fun to complain--we can blame others all we want, but in the end, we're still the ones who should learn how to slice the fruit and squeeze out the juice. By the time we're wise enough to realize that that might probably be what life is all about, we already have saved enough money to buy an entire country from selling all those lemonade.

There's still another thing we can do, though. As I've said before, there's the coping mechanism, the other's our inherent fighting mechanism. Instead of going with the flow and adapting to what's going on, we move against the current and do things the way we want to do them, provided that we are armed with good intentions. A professor shoots down your political argument--Fight!--you stick to your stuff and prove your idea instead of just telling yourself that the professor is right...simply because he's licensed to teach and should know the right answers. Shit, zero; you, one.

That said, I guess we can modify the earlier adage a wee bit. "When life throws you lemons, throw them back until you get the oranges you originally asked for." Either's fine, though I'd much rather prefer the second one. But that's just me.

...I guess I just like oranges more than lemons...

~
Take the rough with the smooth - good things and bad things
Edit (May 13, 2009): That reddened line is from here. Finally I found it! Although of course, what I wrote obviously missed a few words.

Back to Basics: Beyond the Pale

2006-08-06T04:11:00.000+08:00

It's damnably annoying to hear people complain about how rude some shop assistants are when they are rude to the clerks themselves. Really, what ever happened to common courtesy? Yes, there are times when our good manners fly out the window, but when that happens, it's so freakishly insensitive of us to demand respect from others. The adage "Customer is always right" has its limits, and it's sad to know that people have yet to grasp what those limits are.

"Where's the size I'm asking for?!" "I told you to hold the nuts, didn't I?!" "This ain't decaf! What the hell?!" "Can your service get any slower?!" Sound familiar? 'Course they do! Since time immemorial, it has been ingrained in us that we should do unto others what we want others to do unto us--Golden Rule, anyone?--and it's surprising how some people can preach it like they adhere to it even when, just a little while ago, they have shouted at a thousand shop assistants! I mean, really, is it so hard to be kind to salesclerks? I know others are rude to them because they think clerks are meant to forever kiss the floor they walk on--add to that the twisted humor they find in embarrassing the poor devils. Guess what? That's not the way things work. Hell no! Do people want others to treat them as badly as they treat those harried shop assistants? I don't think so, so why not dish out a little respect to gain a little respect for yourself?

What if the roles were reversed? Then it isn't such a funny thing anymore, is it? Now there's another something to think about. Food for thought.

~
Beyond the pale - unacceptable; outside acceptable decency standards

The Bitch in Us

2006-08-03T18:52:00.000+08:00

(Warning: This doesn't sound like me at all, but hell, we all have our days when we act and talk like we're another person.)

We often hear ourselves saying, "What a bitch, that girl," or something along that line (note: "Damn that wench," "What a floozy," "That tramp," "Stupid whore"...need I go on?) Sometimes, we say it so easily and quickly that it only takes us a fraction of a second to utter the word a gazillion times! Tell me I'm exaggerating, but really, how often do you hear that word in one day? I'd say more than anyone would care to count, right?

Assuming I'm right, let me tell you this: have you ever thought that calling someone a bitch makes you a bitch?

If you've thought of this, then I suppose you're acknowledging the bitch in you. Yep, you read right. We know we're being bitchy and yet we point out--with such contempt, might I add--how bitchy others are being. Hn, I guess it doesn't matter if we're flawed ourselves so long as we get to tell another soul how flawed others are, right? Yeah, and we consider doing that highly satisfying and utterly fun! Dang, what perverse universe have we crawled into? Oh, don't get me wrong, I'm not being a hypocrite. I'm not saying that you should stop this twisted habit, not when I often do it myself.

You might be asking what the bleeding purpose of this entry is, seeing as how I'm ranting about something like I'm against it when I'm really not. I have no point, at least none that I'm currently entertaining. Maybe when I read this first entry again "ages and ages hence" (allow me a moment of literary intelligence: The Road Not Taken - Robert Frost), I'd know what I really am trying to say...

...Then again, life's a bitch, so I'd probably be still thinking what the whole point of this is by the time I'm thirty!

"Life's a bitch, as is everyone living it, and I won't have it any other way!" - P. Adara (If you're reading this, luv, props to me for remembering this, all right? Wink)

And a shout-out to those other biatches reading this (you know who you are...Rawr Johnny Depp!)