I Am Woman, See Me Blog!

Inspiration and Salvation from the Deep

2010-03-12T02:19:00.013+08:00

I don't know about you, but there are times when I feel overwhelmed up to my uvula with the flotsam and jetsam of everyday life, yet feel overwhelmingly empty at the same time.

I guess my mind is filled with things that shouldn't bear thinking about, things that make me go d'oh! and d'uh? Things that I know don't make sense, but which still drive my one poor remaining brain cell into needless overdrive. Things that leave me questioning, unfulfilled, and empty.

It's during times like these I want to just dive into the deep, deep, blue. To leave my cares and worries up on the surface, where they can do the Macarena with the sunlight on the waves. To go deep, deep, deep, where they can't follow me. I just want to go where it's calm and blue and peaceful, a place where even the cold ceases to be a bother, a place where I can blissfully not give a shit where up or down or left or right is. A place where I don't have to care. A place where uncertainty, expectation, frustration, and disappointment don't exist.

Then my mind goes back to the time last year, when I did dive into the deep, deep blue of nothingness. (Well, I snorkeled actually, but what the hey.) I didn't do it to escape anything; no, not at all. I did it to see whether the creatures I had previously only read about and seen on TV were as awesome as they were said to be.

They were more than awesome. The first sight of them made me suck in my breath -- which isn't a good thing, something that dumbass snorkelers like me manage to forget. I ended up with lungfuls of seawater the first few minutes. But I'd had my glimpse of the first of those wonderful animals, and I wasn't going to settle for just a peek. So down again I went.

Swimming with those magnificent creatures -- it was an experience I will never, EVER forget. Mimi Lenox, the Queen of Bloggingham Palace (yes, she's royalty *curtsey, bob, bow*) dubbed me the woman who "Swims with Whale Sharks." You know, something kinda like Kevin Costner's Dances-with-Wolves or maybe Linda Lovelace's Swallows-It-All. (OK, I made that last part up. But she did, didn't she?)

I jokingly asked a friend to call me "Mistress of the Universe," but that's a title I can hardly live up to. I just thought it sounded super cool.

Before the encounter with the whale sharks, the guide told us that the whale sharks weren't to be touched. But I couldn't help myself, especially since they seemed to play with me, rising up and up until they were just inches away from me, letting my fingertips stroke them. Then they sank into the deep where I couldn't follow, to swim away. (Their skin felt like mossy stone to the touch, btw.)

In the video clip above, you can hear me uttering something like "Uhhhh-ooohhh-uhhhh-hmmmm-ahhhhh-ohhhhh" in at least two octaves to the whale shark. I was actually saying something like "you unbelievably beautiful, magnificent, unbelieveable gorgeous creature, you! Ohh you're incredible." That was just one whale shark in this vid; I swam with several of these awe-inspiring beings in one hour. And I crooned orgasmically to them all as well.

In those timeless, saltwater-soaked moments, the world as I knew it ceased to exist. Or maybe I should say the world shrank to something that was a lot smaller, but something that took on an awesome and awful dimension. In a way, it scared the hell out of me, but it liberated me at the same time. It was like I had found myself, at the same time finding something bigger within and without me. For a few moments, for a few deafening heartbeats, it was just me, that space of sea, and the whale sharks undulating inches from me. And I was unspeakably, ineffably happy.

Those whale sharks and the experience of swimming with them taught me a lesson. So now, whenever my world seems heavy and grey, I shut out everything I don't need and revel in the moment. That moment can include a child's slobbery kiss and tight hug, or maybe a friend making me laugh so hard I'm waking up my kids from their sleep, or maybe just watching the clouds turn pink, then russet, then a breathtaking orange at sunset.

It doesn't matter what it is or where I am. Deep blue sea or not, problems be damned, I'm learning to find happiness in the here and now.

Offspring Envy Schmenzy

2010-01-19T02:41:00.004+08:00

I've heard there's such a thing. I even know some people who suffer from the affliction. Offspring envy is when the mom or dad -- or both -- feel envious of their child's characteristics and/or achievements. Then there's second-degree-offspring-envy. An example of this is when Adult A refuses to believe that the child of Adult B is better than Adult A's child; that whatever the child of Adult B has achieved, he or she couldn't have done it without the help of Adult B.

Confused? No worries. I am too.

What I am NOT confused about, however, is my near-absence of offspring envy. I say "near-absence" because there is some envy I feel, somewhat. I do envy my progeny to an extent. I envy them their youth and innocence, their fresh start at lucid life. I envy them the time where they are now in their lives, that still-pure and carefree period wherein any mistakes they commit, any wrong decisions they make, will have no lasting impact on how they live, laugh, learn and love.

But my so-called offspring envy is ultrananomicroscopic in comparison to the overwhelming blessedness I feel when I look at my children.

I don't feel sorry for myself because my daughters will grow up to be more beautiful than I ever could be. Their beauty becomes more evident as time passes, and I rejoice in it.

I don't feel insecure because my teenage son is now writing lines that go "I don't mean to be lazy, it's just that I have those moments that I don't realize that I'm being lazy. Perhaps I'm too lazy to even notice." -- a thought I could never have articulated that well when I was his age. The first time I read his blog, it took my breath away.

What I am is someone who is so proud of her children -- yet at the same time someone humbled by the hints of greatness that are emerging from within those beings who will and are becoming more than she could ever become.

Blind Spot

2009-10-25T03:17:00.002+08:00

Sometimes, for one reason or another, you very nearly miss things of unbelievable beauty even when they're right next to you.

Case in point, the sunset in the picture. I had taken a photo of what I thought to be a beautiful sunset just a few minutes earlier. So I put me camera in me bag, sat down, and commenced licking my chops in anticipation of the early dinner we had ordered at the beach restaurant.

Just as we were finishing dinner, one of my companions (I don't recall which one exactly) said something like "Ohhh, look at that!"

Whereupon I swiveled 180 degrees in my seat, and saw this.

The riot of colors, their vividness splashing across the sky, simply took my breath away. The picture doesn't do justice to what was actually there in front of my eyes.

My beer and pizza lay forgotten on the table (something that doesn't happen frequently, believe me) as I stared transfixed at this blazing celestial photo-op. Dug for me camera in me bag, and skipped a few steps to attempt to digitally capture the moment for personal posterity.

Well, maybe not for posterity. Just an attempt to capture something so unbelievably beautiful, something to later reinforce that what I had seen wasn't just a figment of my imagination.

And to remind myself that no matter how pleasing or attractive whatever it is that is in front of me at the moment (e.g., beer and pizza), that I should pause every now and then to look around me -- to catch things of unexpected beauty that exist silently, which I would have missed because of my other, more earthly, preoccupations.

Picture taken in Tanjung Aru, Kota Kinabalu, Malaysia. October 2009

Fine Times

2009-08-24T01:59:00.009+08:00

Young people can be so funny.

They don't get fazed by new places. They don't care about how quickly the tides seem to turn. They don't care about sand being blown into their faces. They don't care about long walks, about hobnobbing with strangers.

I was in Boracay with some young people, members of my family, a few weeks ago. What I mentioned above are just a few things I observed from them.

So what if Boracay is one of my country's most pernicious tourist traps? So what if it wasn't the right time of the year to visit? So what if it isn't quite what the local and foreign websites make it out to be?

The first-timers had one hell of a time enjoying themselves, nevertheless.

So did the older-timers.

The experience was made even more pleasurable for me the older-timers seeing as how the first-timers were enjoying themselves in a new place, and, more importantly, experiencing a new place with people they love and who love them.

They danced.

They sang.

They laughed.

So did I. I couldn't help it. The dancing, the singing, the laughter, they were all contagious. OK, so maybe I didn't dance at all. But that doesn't mean I didn't feel my young relatives' exuberance. Even when I was convinced it was all a big conspiracy and the young ones were out to kill me.

I kid. They are good people, kind people, who manage to screw up sometimes (perhaps unwittingly)...but then, who doesn't? I'm proud to call them family, and I'm happy many of us got together recently to celebrate fun, happiness, and even some not-so-pleasant drunken moments with each other.

Amazing how the people you're with can color your experience of a place.

{Yes, DaddyP, I did get some baby powder-fine white sand in between my toes again...and perhaps in my undercrackers...right along with soothingly-aquamarine sea water.}

Heaven knows

2009-07-16T04:41:00.002+08:00

Yes, I do identify with this song somewhat.

I've been a fan of Morrissey -- or the Smiths way back when. I was a lot younger then, just like Morrissey. I was perhaps a shade thinner than he is in the video.

I also had a mile-high coiffure that maintained its height and stiffness, thanks to hairspray. But I never left my shirt unbuttoned to the middle of my chest -- though I was as flat-chested as Morrissey back then (still am), nor did I have a sprig of anything in the back pocket of my jeans.

I was never a Morrissey lookalike, but I loved his music. That hasn't changed. Until today, more than 20 years after I was introduced to the music of The Smiths, the lyrics of many of their songs hold true for me.

In my life
Why do I give valuable time
To people who don't care if I
Live or die

Save me some extra-hold mousse and a sprig of thyme, and happiness in the haze of a drunken hour. Let's make Caligula blush.

To Have and to Hold

2009-07-10T02:30:00.002+08:00

There are some hot things I love to hold.

And to hold it in the shower!!!! Mmmmmm...

I gotta go visit this hotel soon.

Adios, Michael

2009-06-26T07:16:00.002+08:00

After everything else has been said and done, one thing remains true -- at least for me: that he was a truly great performer and entertainer. I saw him in concert once, many years ago, and the experience blew me away to smithereens.

R.I.P., Michael. Thanks for the music and the memories.

Awoooo Wooooo Woooooooo

2009-06-16T01:43:00.003+08:00

I was in the car with my friends Rudy and Marnie a few nights ago. The radio station was playing old, sappy love songs. A certain old song started, and we sang our hearts and lungs along to it.

The rainy night became even rainier.

The windows were rolled up, but I'm sure that outside, where we couldn't hear, all canines within a 10-kilometer radius inexplicably started howling.

What I found amazing (and for which I was endlessly ridiculed by the bastards I was riding along with) was that I knew the song's lyrics word-for-word, down to the last ohhh and ahhhh, when I never even owned a copy of the song. Hell, even I didn't realize I knew the words by heart. The realization emerged only that night.

Marnie and Rudy sang their hearts out, but they mangled the lyrics. Then they had the nerve to laugh at my ability to be word-perfect when it comes to sappy love songs? Even songs by *gasp* Billy Ocean? Sing along with me, c'mon, you know you want to.

I used to think that love was just a fairy tale
Until that first hello, until that first smile
But if I had to do it all again
I wouldn't change a thing, 'cos this love is everlasting

Suddenleeeeeeeeeeeee
Life has new meaning to meeeeeeee

Oh man. If I'm able to remember the lyrics to this song from so many years ago, a song that wasn't even a favorite of mine, and one that I don't have a personal copy of, what other things are lurking in my subconscious?

Whatever they are, I'm glad they're there.

There are so many things -- so many memories -- I don't want ever want to forget. And if even just one of them comes out one of these days when I feel the wind blow my hair a certain way, when cold beer slides down my throat in a memorable location, or when an obscure song plays on the radio and rekindles dormant memories that are important to me, making me sing like there's no tomorrow even when I can't carry a tune...then I'm happy.

Even at the expense of my dear friends' eardrums.

Fame Is Rot; Daughters Are the Thing

2009-06-09T02:33:00.010+08:00

*mad applause to you if you know where the title comes from, and who said it (and no googling!)

Her nickname is Kitkat, but I call her my mini-me, because she's the one who resembles me the most physically.

When it comes to temperament and attitude though, the resemblance between me and her older sister is more evident. Shy to a fault, preferring to listen than to talk, content to sit unobtrusively somewhere and watch and absorb everyday sightings.

Not so the mini-me. She probably should've been christened Action.

She makes her opinions known, either through speech or body language, or both. And her body language is so very dynamic! Any moment she sits still somewhere, I worry that she's sick. That girl is one heck of a dynamo -- even when she's feeling a bit under the weather. I remember one time when she was running a fever, and her pediatrician asked me if she was getting up and walking. I replied that I hardly ever see mini-me "walk." Most of the time, she runs, or skips, or hops, or sings at the top of her voice, or wiggles her generous behind, or waves her arms. Quite often, it's a combination of several of those things.

She is pediatric poetry on steroids.

She's also the kind of person who can make you shake your head in exasperation or cause your brow to wrinkle in consternation -- and at the same time have your heart feel like it's about to burst out of your chest and shower the world with goodwill-plasma out of sheer love.

She's so very affectionate too. I can't count the number of times I've awakened to her sweeet butterfly kisses on my cheeks, eyelids, forehead, and lips. Her personal well of hugs is seemingly bottomless, just like her wells of laughter and love.

Happy 8th birthday, my baby girl. May your sparkling, buoyant wells never run dry. I love you.

I think I want a spanking...

2009-06-06T00:46:00.002+08:00

Your Daddy Is Johnny Depp

What You Call Him: Old Man

Why You Love Him: He's the Mack Daddy

Who's Your Daddy?

Oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah...

My other virtual daddy isn't so bad either. I'm talking about none other than DaddyPapersurfer! He's crazy (that's why he's constantly under threat of being disowned by his family) but he's cool too.

I won a DaddyPapersurfer T-shirt in April, and he sent it over to me from the UK. Poor old git was complaining about how he had to take out a mortgage to cover the postage.

It was worth it, DaddyPee! I promise to love and cherish the shirt, and maybe will it to one of my children -- if they do something bad.

Which reminds me, one of them asked, "What's a DaddyPapersurfer?"

Me: You mean THE DaddyPapersurfer! There's only one of him, thank God.

(And I left it at that. Didn't want to scar their young minds.)

(Daddy Papersurfer stoked me and I liked it!)

A-weigh we go!

2009-06-04T05:58:00.003+08:00

50 kilos. That's 110 pounds to you, my Americanian friends.

That was my heaviest weight when I was in college.

Today, I weigh considerably more than that. And earlier tonight, at a reunion with old college buddies, I heard one old friend say, I'm "fucking fat." He hasn't seen me in nearly 20 years (good lord! 20 years!) so I imagine the comparison between what I looked like in my late teens and the present reality is quite an eyeful.

Strangely, I wasn't at all offended. The way this old decades-missed friend said I'm fat was the same way he would've said I have black hair, or that I have two eyes or two legs. Very matter-of-fact. No malice or offense intended. My reaction (crybaby) was so very different from comments made in the same vein by the friends I go with regularly now.

Getting together with old friends you haven't seen in eons is sooo good -- BMI notwithstanding.

**********

I spent a few days last week in a place called Boracay here in the Philippines. Expensive tourist trap that it's become, it still holds an allure for me. Maybe because I have delightful and yummylicious memories of previous times I spent there.

More Boracay pics I took last week here.

Testing

2009-05-28T23:11:00.003+08:00

This is just a test. Connection is choppy, but San Miguel beer is nice and coool -- cold, in fact. They call it "sub-zero" because the bottle is all nice and frosted outside.

Oh, well. I'll try again tomorrow. Cheers!

Tits

2009-05-28T02:34:00.006+08:00

So here I am, sitting in a beach-front bar, enjoying a cold bottle of the golden stuff.

Lots of nationalities here. The guys at the bar are talking loudly in some incomprehensible language that's known in some quarters as the Queen's English (volubly arguing for or against the merits of Manchester Utd. and/or Barcelona as they watch the game). My untutored ears find the accent funny. Wot? Wot? WOOOOOO! But in a GOOD way, so no offense meant, DaddyP.

The French guys sitting at the next table are more subtle, murmuring and stuff. I know they're French because once in a while, I understand what they're saying (I speak baby French).

Then one of them said something like tetons. Some of them looked at me and smiled widely. I smiled back tentatively. My tetons are nothing to write home about, nor are they worthy of any kind of conversation! Moi, paranoid, much?

I need another beer.

Hey, DaddyP, here's a nice pic of a tit for you! (Not mine though)

First Decade

2009-05-26T02:35:00.003+08:00

Several decades ago, I remember waking up and thinking, "today I'm a decade old."

I distinctly remember thinking that word, decade, and I'd like to think it made me feel more sophisticated about growing older. Who was I kidding, I knew next to nothing about sophistication at ten years old.

What I do know is that there was a sense of importance attached to the event, like turning a decade old was somehow important in the relative smallness of the-child-I-was-then's life. For reasons I still can't understand, it was a milestone of sorts.

Today my daughter reaches that milestone.

And suddenly I feel decades older than my usual decades...but I'm happy.

I love you, my Noni, my Noni (there's a certain inflection or tone there that only her mommy is capable of accomplishing, and she loves it).

Happy 10th birthday, my darling.

A Midsummer Night's Dream, Yeah, Yeah, Yeah

2009-05-22T01:30:00.006+08:00

If you like the Beatles, you'll probably ~~like~~ adore this.

If you're a Shakespeare fan who doesn't mind parodies of his plays, then you'll probably appreciate this too.

I'm both of those creatures, and the clip below never fails to crack me up. (Besides, a British accent always makes me giggle...but in a GOOD way, so don't get your knickers in a twist, DaddyP. You and your non-existent Liverpudlian accent[?])

John's my favorite Beatle, for many reasons besides his being a kickass Thisbe. But I think if I ever took any quiz about Beatle personalities, I'd probably be a George. I love John's humor and wit, but George's (mostly silent) depth and enigma touch me in places I didn't know existed within me. It really is too bad these two talented men are no longer here with us.

I posted a similar clip before, I think, but I think it was in black and white. This one is in color (or colour as those who follow the Queen's English spell it). And I still laugh.

Laughter can bring so much color, vividness, and extra dimensions to some of the things I previously thought of only in black and white. Amazing.

Happily ever after and all that shit

2009-05-20T06:23:00.002+08:00

Technology is so amazing. It can bring back to life moments so truly wonderful -- even if I had been there to witness and feel the experience firsthand in all its sweaty, exhilaratory glory.

And I WAS there. But seeing it online again is a pleasure I can immerse myself in over and over again.

They didn't show this song in the television network telecast a few weeks after the show took place. It was understandable having the network forgo showing the band's performance of their groundbreaking song "Pare Ko," since it includes lyrics that some might think of as profane. (Personally, I think the "profanity" is not at all out of context. I, for one, have thought at least once that being in a fool in love is a son of a bitch. That's what the band said in the song.)

What I didn't like about the TV network's telecast was that they left out a lot of the band's songs. Songs that weren't hits in their eyes. I'm so glad someone put up great-quality clips of the less popularly known Eraserheads songs that I love.

I wish I could go back to those fairy book tales
Forget the real world awhile and seek the seas of the talking whales

Where everything starts out once upon a time long, long ago
And ends happily ever after

Or so the uncommercially-popular song I love goes. It hits a sensitive spot, strangely.

Someone point me to the place of wishing wells and magic spells? :-D

Hey, Andy, Did You Hear About This One?

2009-05-14T04:14:00.005+08:00

Once upon a time, my now-16-year-old boy was just a wee, chubby toddler. During those wee, chubby toddler years he had a best friend -- another chubby little one in the person of his cousin, Andrea. She was a few years older than him, but that didn't make a difference in their friendship.

They truly were the best of friends. That isn't to say the friendship was trouble-free; like most BFF's at that age, they had their petty squabbles. But most of the time, they had a blast doing all sorts of things: from playing Playstation games to watching cartoons together to just hanging out and just talking.

But change, as it is known to do, entered the picture drastically some years later. Andrea and her family relocated to Australia several years ago. Earlier this year, they became Australian citizens. In the years since their move abroad, other changes occurred: Andrea learned to drive a car (and soon bought a car of her own), she developed a penchant for body piercings, and cultivated a taste for all things "gothic."

The friend she left behind (my son) underwent quite a few changes over the years too, since they've been apart. He grew A LOT taller (he's taller than my 5'8" frame now), his voice has become A LOT deeper, and he has experimented with piercings too -- though nothing beyond his ears. I feel sad that he and his cousin Andrea (now known as Andy) didn't go through all these changes together, especially since they were so close when they were younger.

The closeness has prevailed to a great extent, I'm glad to say. Thank heavens for modern VoIP technology; they chat in real time, share what's new, and just talk. Milestones are never forgotten; in fact, when my son graduated from high school, Andy and her older sister even sent him a graduation gift. He appreciated that a lot, but I could tell he wanted the presence of his cousins even more. Long-distance loving can strike a chord of dissatisfaction sometimes.

This post is a tribute to my beloved niece Andy. She leaves teenage-hood today, kicking and screaming in protest, but in vain. Relax, Andy. In just than ten years from now, you'll be saying bye-bye to your twenties. Bwahahahaaaa...

But no matter how many years go by, I believe you'll still be an angel, a gorgeous one that Josh -- your BFF -- and your other cousins, will always love and adore. Happy Birthday!!!

Exotic Food a la Americana?

2009-05-12T00:44:00.005+08:00

I hope this isn't the American fast food industry's contribution to solving world hunger.

(Though I can think of a fellow blogger or two who'd probably have no qualms trying out this particular cheeseburger.)

[Image courtesy of SPOGG (Society for the Promotion of Good Grammar). I think Martha's site is awesome, check it out!]

A little fall of rain can hardly hurt me now

2009-05-08T02:20:00.006+08:00

So what if there's a typhoon coming in? There's no stinking storm that has been able to stop the young ones from creating weird faces underwater so far.

It can't stop mother and teenage son from smiling for the camera beneath gallons and gallons of water too.

Nor does it keep them from being effervescent and bubbly (or ectoplasmic maybe?)

"Mist" messages take on a new meaning during glassy, chilly, rainy evenings

Sorry to say Mama's half face is nowhere near as gorgeous as Mimi's

But that's OK. She still manages to maintain her cool.

Until the next time a bastard typhoon in her life tries to bring her spirits down.

Take Your Cat and Leave My Sweater

2009-05-06T05:10:00.003+08:00

...metaphorically speaking, of course. My thoughts are jumping hither and thither, so I apologize if this post makes no sense.

Pretty boys, ugh.

I like 'em scruffy. Makes me want to give them a long, hot, loving bath. If they have a talent with the guitar, so much better. Bassists, oo-la-la.

I have a soft spot for bass players (bajistas); I look at the bass player (and perhaps the drummer) first when I'm watching a band's live performance. John Taylor (play that fuckin' bass, John!) and Flea...oh yeah, yeah, yeah.

Finding out that my teenage son loves bass too -- indeed, he's the bass player for the ragtag band he and his friends formed -- was such an unexpected pleasure. I told him he was driving me crazy by playing "Stand by Me" all the time, but I really loved it.

But back to scruffy men. Did I mention I like 'em raw, unpolished...manly? (Though I'm sure manly, polished men like DaddyP have their own following.) Keith Urban is all these and more in this video. (And he has a guitar.) Yes, I am thinking naughty thoughts about Nicole Kidman's husband. He won't go to hell, because I'm the one who's doing all the thinking.

I'm not country music's biggest fan, not by a veeeery long shot. But this song, I'm a big fan of. Doesn't matter why. We all of us react to music (and most anything else) differently from other people. What's corny for one man is a tear-jerker for another. What's icky for one woman is criminally hot for another.

Mr. Urban is sizzzzzzzzling hot for me. In this video, at least. (Did I mention I'm liking the song very much too?)

Cry, baby

2009-04-30T03:37:00.001+08:00

I was talking to a friend who loves to watch movies and the conversation turned to how certain movies affected us. He said he can't recall a movie that ever made him cry.

I'm cut from a different cloth, because I can't even remember all the movies that have made me cry. Not just drama movies, mind you. Home Alone made me teary-eyed, so did Monsters, Inc. (That one was particularly sweet.)

Movies aren't the only ones that can activate my tear ducts. Books can do this. So can some TV shows. (I remember how almost every episode of ER and more recently, Brothers & Sisters made my eyes fill up.) Certain songs bring a lump to my throat. Hell, even TV commercials, like this very touching local McDonald's ad, can set my mouth a-tremblin' and start the tears a-rollin'.

The ad is in Tagalog, but you don't have to know the language to get the message. I also love this commercial because they used one of my favorite songs by the best Filipino band ever! (according to moi)

Media aside, it's easy to make me cry. I cry when someone I love is hurting, or when I receive a touching letter or spontaneous hug from my children, or when I'm at a funeral, or when heartache rears its despicable head. One thing I've never experienced though, and which I hope I never will, is something that's so bad that it's beyond crying about. Something like what Wordsworth referred to in his Intimations of Immortality: thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.

However, it's also easy to make me laugh. Yeah, I know, I'm an easy girl. :-D I've laughed so hard so many times that my eyes became red from crying. Thinking about all the wrinkles I'll be getting from it is almost enough to make me cry now.

But back to movies. The last movie I can remember that really, really made me cry was I Am Sam. I was alternating between hyperventilating and hiccupping from sobbing so hard. What about you? Was there ever a movie (or TV show or book or whatever) that made you bawl like an abandoned baby?

Exercise in futility

2009-04-25T01:12:00.005+08:00

Has this ever happened to you? You see or hear or experience something during the course of the day, and you think, "man, I gotta blog about this!"

Then a measly hour or two later, when you get access again to your computer, the brilliant idea is gone. Just like a snowflake with its nanosecond of fame in hell.

I've been racking (wracking?) my brain the past few minutes, trying to recall what this terrific idea I had, was. Let's see if going into regression mode will help any.

Spent the evening with one of my beloved brothers and his wife in a bar. We drank beer.

Nope, my idea wasn't about beer. Now that I think of it, though, I'll mention that the staff recommended we try Coors light. We politely declined. No offense to Coors fans out there, but we've tried Coors before and we did not like its taste at all. Not one tiny bit. So we stuck to our local San Miguel Pale Pilsen (whose taste and flavor kicks Coors' AND San Miguel Light's asses in a major way, but that's just our opinion).

(I can't help saying that San Miguel Light is a poor excuse for a beer, but again, that's just my personal opinion. It sucks! It's an insult to the beer that San Miguel is known for. OK, enough of that. Shut up already, Lizza.)

So my idea didn't have anything to do with beer. Did it have anything to do with the food? All we had was calamari. It was OK, but nothing to write home about. Scratch the food idea.

Did it have anything to do with the band that was playing? Hmmmm. Perhaps. I do remember they performed a cover of a certain song that's something like a national anthem for drinkers, bar-goers and strip-joint-goers here. Hardcore bar- strip joint-goers will practically stand up and salute when this song plays. :-D

I never realized until tonight that I could actually sing along to it. Jeez.

The band at the bar tonight did an awesome version of this song. It's called Luha or "Tears," by a band called Aegis. It's a Tagalog song, so apologies to my non-Filipino friends since you won't be able to understand it. It talks about tears and love and get-the-hell-out-of-my-face, yadda yadda. Still a great song, though.

I, for one reason or another, have never visited a strip joint. But I did enjoy this night's cover of that song in the bar I went to. The routine they do (or so they say) at the local strip joints for this song has been described to me in great detail. I could probably do it, if I weren't laughing so hard. (And if I didn't have to use the pole, and if I had the type of awesome body to do it!)

What was the point of this post again? Ohh, the awesome post thing. Nope, haven't recovered it.

I'll let you know once I do.

EDIT: Now I remember!!! It has something to do with voice, so I'll talk about that one next.

It's raining men...oh no!

2009-04-20T06:21:00.011+08:00

What does one do when she is in need of some ha-ha-ha moments? She goes to CelebMatch.com, of course. You lovely males can have fun there, too.

What I did was enter my birthdate, and they came up with several male celebrities I'm most compatible with, according to their biorhythm computations.

Ergo, my results.

I live under a rock (or its metaphorical equivalent) so I have absolutely no freakin' idea who these men are. But hey, they're supposed to be the best men out there for me -- and they're celebrities to boot (though I'd never heard of them), so the least I could do was to check them out.

Celebrity Match #1: FERNANDO COLUNGA

Jeezus on a rusty bicycle. This is the man that CelebMatch.com thinks is my best bet??? Can I just pass Go and collect $200? Notwithstanding the impressive bulge in his swimsuit, he just isn't the type of guy who I'd invite to warm my waffles. No offense to bodybuilders, but Terminator-type men leave me cold.

CelebMatch.com proclaims Colunga and me to be 100% physically compatible. (That does sounds promising.) Emotionally, he and I are supposed to be 94% compatible. (He's as much of an emotional basket case as I am?) We do even better intellectually, at 98%. (Maybe he's even more of an infuriating smartass than I am!)

The other men I'm supposedly compatible with:

Celebrity Match #2: JASON O'MARA

Not bad, but the milk-and-cookies guy isn't my type either.

Celebrity Match #3: MATTHEW LILLARD

See comment above.

Celebrity Match #4: JASON KIDD

OMG. Please, oh please, all the powers that be, I'll do anything, just please, spare me!

Celebrity Match #5: SCOTT SPEEDMAN

He kinda looks like the venerable JC, doesn't he?. Maybe if I pray to him, I'd be spared from someone like Celebrity Match #4.

These are the men who I'm biorhythmically compatible with? If so, shower me with the damn hellfire & brimstone now because I am doomed I tell you, doomed! (And so are they, if each of these men's significant other is someone like me.)

I also did a search on one of my ultimate celebrity crushes, and this is what CelebMatch said:

I'm probably too dumb for Ryan Reynolds, but physically and emotionally, he and I are a match! Yeah, right, in my dreams. Doesn't seem like he's classic Oscar Award material, but I don't care. I still think he's way yummy-licious. More importantly, he never fails to make me laugh, especially during his deadpan moments.

Oh, Wade! Prolly my favorite male mutant after Logan.

Perchance to dream (3 in 1)

2009-04-17T04:44:00.009+08:00

Runaround?

I've heard tell that the more we love, the greater the returns. But if you truly love another without reserve, how can it even enter your mind to expect something in return? Maybe some kinds of love require some form of reciprocity, but what the hell do I know.

What I do know is that I have the utmost regard for one of my dearest blogger friends who doesn't let his/her love for a certain person adversely affect his/her psychological health. He/she continues to love and be supportive, but he/she doesn't just sit around and wait for him/her to come around.

(You/you know who you/you are. I hope I'm doing OK to protect your/your privacy. Inom na lang kaya tayo.)

*****

In the Darkness, the Trees Are Full of Starlight

I'm such a lucky bastard. I have three children whom I love with my whole heart and then some, and who adore me. I have a mother who'd (almost) brave hell and high water for her children's benefit (double that power if my dad were still alive). I have two brothers and a sister who have nothing else but been 101% supportive. I have a handful of friends who are TRULY friends, deeply and sincerely.

So...

Why this overwhelming feeling of bereftness, of isolation, of abject loneliness during my darkest moments? In those moments, I'm truly on my own... pretending, making believe, wholeheartedly missing someone and something. At just the right moment, my saving grace enters the picture. Thank you. You have no idea how much you save me from myself. But you probably know how much I love and appreciate you, my sweetie smartypants, my terrific friends.

By the way, I blame the woman in the following video for my lack of singing ability. She and I share the same birthdate, and she probably caught most of the singing talent here in the Philippines that God was giving out that particular time. I, on the other hand, was probably out scouting the best beer sources that day. That's why she sings like an angel and I can drink like the devil.

Seriously, her voice moves me. As it has so many others. She is a recipient of a Tony Award and a Laurence Olivier Award for her role in the musical "Miss Saigon." (She was the original Kim.)

*****

Bokeh Dreams

Lately I've again started having vivid, colorful dreams that both exhilarate and scare the shit out of me. I call them "bokeh dreams." This is how Wikipedia defines bokeh:

Bokeh (derived from Japanese, a noun boke 暈け, meaning "blurred or fuzzy") is a photographic term referring to the appearance of point of light sources in an out-of-focus area of an image produced by a camera lens using a shallow depth of field.

So many of my bokeh dreams, vivid as they are, are slightly out of focus in that they don't come true exactly as I dream about them. For example, one time I dreamed about my gang coming together from all over the world because one of us died. In reality, a few weeks after the dream, we all came together because a member of one friend's family died.

Do you understand what I mean about my bokeh dreams? The reality is there, but it's slightly out of focus. Now, if only I can teach myself to dream more accurately and target winning lottery numbers. :-)

My latest bokeh dream was so vivid I actually smelled the sea and felt the sand on my legs and ass right after I woke up. I'm going again to a place with white sands and aquamarine waters in a few weeks; I don't know, though, what the dream bodes.

But if there's nothing there in store for me other than lovely aquamarine water, fine white sand, and breathtaking sunsets (and happy hour!) I have no complaints. Questions, oh yes. Complaints, no.

Eye and soul candy

2009-04-12T02:55:00.008+08:00

Chaos, turbulence...uncertainty at the very least.

These are only some of the things we feel at one point or another in our lives. Sometimes it can even feel like we're drowning in despair, or maybe feel like our lungs are bursting just trying to stay in place.

So what if the world seems off-balance every now and then? So what if we feel like [insert the appropriate derogatory adjective here] once in a while?

Then you go do something you love, or go do something different.

What I love about being a Filipina and living in the Philippines is that there's no shortage of new things I can do. Heck, with more than 7,000 islands in my country, there's always something novel for me to see and do.

My recent trip to Bicol is awesome proof of that.

I got my toes -- and the rest of my body -- immersed in fine, white, powdery beach sand, plus warm ocean waters in Bicol's Caramoan Peninsula.

Feasted my eyes on yummy-licious eye candy at the 2009 WWA Wakepark World Championships. *slurp*

But, by far, the best part of the holiday had to do with the non-legged creatures.

I'm referring to the whale sharks ("butanding") in Donsol. They were so big, they boggled my mind. Around 40 feet?? I read somewhere that the great explorer Jacques Cousteau saw just two whale sharks in his lifetime.

Lucky bastard that I am, I swam with SIX in one hour.

I could've swum with even more whale sharks, but my legs were shaking from exhaustion after just one hour. I am neither an endurance swimmer nor a strong swimmer by any stretch of the imagination. Still, I'd love to do it all over again. But next time, I'll try not to make my crooning to them sound so orgasmic-like.

If I can help it. They are such magnificent creatures.
(The rest of my Bicol photos here: My Flickr page)

Camiguin in my heart

2009-03-20T04:08:00.011+08:00

This photo courtesy of Irene

Last month the girlfriends and I got our collective asses together and flew south to a place called Camiguin.

Once again, I fell in love.

But not with anyone in particular. It was the island itself that captured a big part of my heart. A small island in the southern part of the Philippines, boasting of seven volcanoes and numerous hot and cold springs, waterfalls, and with white-sand beaches just a short boat ride away (about 15-20 minutes).

I'm a city girl born and bred, so Camiguin didn't capture my whole heart because it doesn't have the supermalls that I've grown so used to here in Metro Manila.

But still, notwithstanding the absence of malls, I didn't mind because the island had lots of pubs. I like pubs. Not only do they have great food at cheap prices, they also have cheap beer. Plus, free high-speed Wi-Fi. I could spend a whole day working online in a pub or restaurant near the beach, my laptop plugged in (for free!), sipping my beer, or eating pizza.

People who love city life will probably find Camiguin to be a little too laid back for their taste. Quite a lot of things I take for granted here in Metro Manila are missing there. For instance, I needed a new pair of disposable contact lenses but couldn't find any there. However, when I needed new alkaline batteries for my camera, I found them easily. There weren't any movie theaters, at least none that I could see, but satellite TV was pretty much commonplace. And did I mention the free high-speed Wi-Fi at so many bars and restaurants?

Camiguin isn't the easiest place to go to. From Manila, we flew to a city called Cagayan de Oro, then had to travel for two hours by land to Binangoan Pier, then took an hour-long boat ride to go to Camiguin itself. Given the island's relative remoteness and lack of noisy nightlife (despite the number of bars, it was still very quiet) I was quite surprised to see many young Westerners about. I saw them driving on scooters around the island, eating in restaurants, and using their laptops in the bars. It was a pleasant surprise to see that people from other parts of the world took the time and effort to go to this island and enjoy its serenity.

On our first day in Camiguin, after dropping our things off at a lodge that shall remain nameless (because we were so disappointed in the place, despite its international claim to fame), we rode a motorized canoe to White Island. White Island is actually just a sandbar, but it's so cool because when you face one side, you see semi-turbulent waters and noisy waves. Make a 180-degree turn and the water is suddenly still and quiet. The day was very cloudy and windy, but it was a lovely experience on White Island nonetheless.

After that, we headed back to the main island to visit one of the waterfalls. We had to hike quite a ways to reach it, and I was seriously thinking of giving up because my thighs were killing me. I just knew I wouldn't be able to get up and walk properly the next day because of sore leg muscles.

This photo courtesy of Irene

After the falls, we went to one of the island's hot springs. And man, that truly was a heavenly experience. As I settled my ass and the rest of my body in the lovely 40°C water (that's 104°F to you Americans) I swear it felt almost like having an orgasm. Sweeet! I could hardly keep from moaning because it felt so damn good. I credit the hot springs for the lack of muscle soreness the next day. Sitting there, watching the mist rising from the water and being immersed in wet warmth was simply spectacular.

This photo courtesy of LAR

The next day, with hardly an aching muscle, we visited Mantigue Island, which is getting to be famous for its white-sand beach and great dive spots. There are no resorts there, though you can buy food and drinks from the locals if you want to. Again, it was a cloudy day with some rainfall, but it was still an enjoyable experience. We watched a local fisherman diving for sea urchins, which he and his family were having as part of their meal.

Above photo of me taken by Irene

A boatload of Western divers in Mantigue Island's waters

I loved Camiguin, and would love to go back again someday. My bestest girlfriend-with-a-penis feels the same way.

This photo courtesy of LAR

Thank you, Camiguin. May you forevermore remain natural and unspoilt.

*All photos by me unless otherwise stated. More of my Camiguin pictures on my Flickr page.

Eraserheads Final Set Concert: When Time Stood Still

2009-03-11T04:42:00.005+08:00

Love them or hate them, there's no denying that these men, comprising the group called the Eraserheads, made a huge impact on Philippine popular culture when they burst into the local music scene in the 1990s.

Eraserheads March 2009 Reunion Concert

They were just a bunch of kids back then, and it boggles the mind as to why and how they did what they did so successfully. There were other bands here too at the time, but they stood way above the competition for some reason. Maybe it was because their lyrics, though very simple, resonated with what people were feeling and thinking back then? Be that as it may, it seems their music makes quite an impact on younger audiences as well.

My 16-year-old son and some of his friends, for example, think the music of the Eraserheads is awesome. It made me think, when I was 16 years old, I had only just made the acquaintance of Ely Buendia (the band's lead vocalist) at the University of the Philippines' freshman dormitory, where we were both staying. Back then, the concept of a band like the Eraserheads was probably just a twinkle in his eye.

Fast-forward to 22 years later. The members of the Eraserheads have long since gone their separate ways, but decided to get back together for a show, and I'm with my son watching Ely, Marcus, Raymond, and Buddy performing onstage at a concert called "Eraserheads Reunion Concert: The Final Set."

I think it's actually pretty cool that my teenage son didn't mind going to a concert with his mom, that both he and I were singing our lungs out, that he and I locked eyes and went "ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh" and then cheered like crazy when the band started playing a song we didn't think they would play.

I'm not saying that I felt like a teenager again or someone in her twenties at the concert last week. I didn't feel like I was recapturing my youth. No, not at all. It was an experience that transcended time and age.

You know how during an orgasm you can't/don't think of anything else but the sensations that are coursing through and in you? The concert was pretty much that way for me: an almost-three-hour-long orgasm. During those hours, time didn't seem to exist. I was ageless. I was just someone who was immersed in the music that I love, from a (disbanded) band that I love, that was performing right in front of my eyes.

Maybe you can even call it group sex, because it looked and felt like almost all of the thousands of people there -- both "young" (like my son) and "old" (like me) were experiencing the same thing. The energy and goodwill radiating all around were almost palpable. If you've ever been to a concert by a band whose music you particularly enjoyed, I'm sure you can relate to what I'm talking about.

Love you, Eheads. Thanks for the awesome concert.

The 38th February 22nd of My Life

2009-02-22T02:28:00.006+08:00

What do these unfortunate folks have in common with me?

George Washington - first president of the USA

Lea Salonga - Filipina actress who has won prestigious awards in the USA and the UK for her musical work

Drew Barrymore - uber-cool chick who stays cool despite the roadblocks in her life

Edna St. Vincent Millay - one of my favorite American poets (My candle burns at both ends/It will not last the night/But ah, my friends, and oh, my foes/It gives a lovely light)

Dr. J (Julius Erving) - NBA player extraordinaire of his time

Steve Irwin - Australian personality who loved wildlife to a deathly extreme

Hans Klok - Dutch artist specializing in illusions

James Blunt - He's beautiful

Jenna Haze - Porn queen

If I really, really stretch my imagination, I can find some things I share with these personalities apart from being born on the same day of the same month. I'm quite good at stretching things, btw.

Traits I share (or don't share) with them in my mind?

I am the president of my own world.

I am Filipina.

I am cool (at least I think I am most of the time).

I write to express my feelings (though I don't show much of it online).

I play hard...if only I had the discipline to work just as hard.

I will never probably never love wildlife to the point where they could threaten my life. Especially if frogs are involved.

I (oh so damn willingly) fall prey to illusions.

Much of my life is beautiful...if you ignore the gory and pathetic parts.

I don't do porn. Well, not in public anyway. Sorry, guys (though you should be eternally thankful I don't). I save you thousands of dollars in therapy.

Starting another year in the life can be strange, lonely, and depressing. But looking at the bright side: I'm alive, in good health, and surrounded by the people I love and who love me just-because and in-spite-of. Not a bad deal at all. Nope, not at all, indeed. I'm so unbelievably and amazingly lucky in so many ways.

Whitey-tighties are sooooo sexy. :-P

Caring

2009-02-15T04:43:00.012+08:00

My sister and her family live near Melbourne in Australia, so when we heard about the raging fires in the area recently -- and that there have been casualties -- you can understand how worried we were, especially since we didn't hear from them for a few days.

We finally got to talk to them; turns out they're far from the fires. It sure is a big relief to know my sister and her family are OK.

Tragically, many other people are not OK because of the fires; property and lives were lost. My deepest sympathies go out to those who lost loved ones there.

There's one picture related to the fires I saw on the Internet, on Nic's News, the blog of Nicole, an Australian expat living in Sweden. The caring, empathy, and sweetness in this photo are almost palpable.

(Nicole also answered some questions about expat life in Sweden in an expat interview).

This reminded me of something that happened to me fairly recently, though it didn't involve fires and in no way was it a tragedy of epic proportions. But the caring directed toward me at the time, which I only learned about some weeks later, touched me deeply.

Normally when I go to a place here in the Philippines that I haven't been to before, it's always with my friends. A few months ago, however, I went to a couple of places on my own. One time on that vacation, I ate something that my city-girl stomach rebelled against. As a consequence, I spent the next day in bed, getting up only to run to the toilet to either throw up or to void my stomach in an even ~~smellier~~ nastier way.

In between toilet breaks, I sent a text message to my friend Marnie to ask her to contact a doctor friend of hers (whose number I didn't have) to find out what medicine I could take to stop the godawful stomach cramps (which felt almost as bad as labor pains) and the puking and diarrhea. At that time, the relative I was staying with in a remote part of the province was trying to find out what medications I could take to ease my pain.

Some minutes after I sent Marnie my text message, I had to throw up again. While I was doing the dirty deed, I didn't notice my phone was ringing, that Marnie was calling me. Who the hell notices a ringing mobile phone while they're puking their guts out? A few moments later, my relative informed me about the medications I could take (I'm allergic to some drugs) and that she had sent someone out to buy them for me. I was then able to tell Marnie that help was on the way.

What I didn't realize then was just how worried Marnie was about me during those few minutes between my sending her my first text message and her trying to call me. She didn't know I was staying with a relative at that time; she knew I'd be moving around. What she imagined when I failed to answer her phone call was that I had collapsed all alone in a hotel room in the province. She had whipped out her credit card and was going to book a flight to the province where I was if she didn't hear from me within the next few minutes. And then she was going to do her damnedest to find me once she landed in the province.

That struck me as unimaginably awesome. She had no idea where I was exactly; it's something like booking a flight to California to rescue a friend in need, without knowing exactly where in California that friend is. Geography and logistics be damned, she was going to do what she could to help a friend.

Also, this wasn't the first time she had been there for me in my darkest hours. Even when I didn't think I needed anybody, she was there. I found that I did need a friend those times...and she was there to hold my hand (figuratively speaking) and to fill that need.

You can probably understand why I feel so damn lucky having the friends I have, like Marnie. Sometimes life feels like one big shithole. But people like them can make life feel like a treasure chest instead, because they enrich the human experience in so many ways and on so many levels. They are a major part of my life's blessings. I've said this before, and I'll say it again: I wish I'm as good a friend to them as they are to me.

25 Things About Me Redux

2009-02-12T04:12:00.007+08:00

I got tagged quite a few times with this one on Facebook. The taggee is supposed to disclose 25 things about him/her. I wanted to do this tag with a twist, but the way I wanted to do it, I'd be violating the privacy of some friends. Which I would never want to do.

So, in the spirit of the non-violation of privacy rights (except mine, which doesn't matter, since I'm the violatee queen incarnate), here are 25 things about me, some of which you might know of already!

1. Billy was the name of my first child. He was a cat -- the most beautiful street cat I've ever had the fortune to know. He died. I never had a cat again after Billy.

2. Whiskey was the name of my favorite childhood pet. His fur was golden, like whiskey. He died. I've had pet dogs after Whiskey, but I've never loved any of them as much as I did him.

3. I can't stand whiskey (the drink, not the dog). Nor can I tolerate any other "hard" drinks apart from tequila and vodka.

4. I love beer, though. (Like my blog friends didn't know that already!)

5. My sense of balance takes a hike when I drink.

6. My favorite colors are black and orange.

7. I love music from the 1980's, especially New Wave.

8. I love lots of sappy songs.

9. I enjoy most kinds of music, except rap (Linkin Park is an exception).

10. I wish I had bigger and perkier breasts.

11. My penmanship is more than terrible, it's pathetic.

12. My laptop is a Lenovo Y430. I have yet to think up a name for it.

13. I'm 5'8" tall.

14. I weigh...too much.

15. I smoke too much.

16. I can't sing to save my life.

17. Nor dance.

18. I love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love the beach and the sea (though I can barely swim to save my life).

19. I bite my nails (fingernails, ok?)

20. I think Javier Bardem is hotter than Leo diCaprio (I prefer manly men over pretty boys).

21. I have mild scoliosis.

22. I grew up a churchgoer. Now, I don't believe in the god of the organized religions. I still believe there's a "higher being," though.

23. Spanish guitar music can make me weep.

24. My children, some other family members, and my true friends save me from myself.

25. Ancient ruins (except my body) enthrall me.

Tengo hambre

2009-02-02T02:38:00.001+08:00

Have you seen the movie Vicky Cristina Barcelona, directed by Woody Allen?

I saw it a few days ago, and I had a good time watching it. I downloaded the movie for the following reasons:

1. It's set in Spain. Spain has always had a hold on me ever since I was a kid for one reason or another. The fact that I've never even set foot on Spanish soil doesn't seem to matter all that much, especially since I've been told by people close to me who have been there that Barcelona and Sevilla are "so me." I don't really know why they say that, and I don't really care. I can only prove it if I spend time in those Spanish cities...something that's only dream fluff for me right now.

2. Javier Bardem. So strange. He doesn't fit the handsome-Hollywood-type mold, and I didn't really like his character in the movie version of Gabriel Garcia Marquez's novel Love in the Time of Cholera, which, incidentally, showed the most perfect pair of breasts I've ever seen on film. (And now everybody's going off to download "Love in the Time of Cholera." Sigh.)

You're back? Oh, good. Anyway, there's something about Javier Bardem that compels me to watch his movies. I really loved it whenever he spoke Spanish in Vicky Cristina Barcelona, or maybe I just have a predilection for Spain's sons (especially this one, who looks so manly, grrrrr). This topic brings to mind Jamie Lee Curtis' character in that old movie "A Fish Called Wanda," which reminds me of myself somewhat. In that movie, men speaking a European language turned her on. An apt comparison, except for the fact that I don't have Jamie Lee Curtis' gorgeous boobies. Plus, not all European languages turn me on. Just a handful. :-)

3. Penelope Cruz. Because she's so damn gorgeous. And she's Spanish. I could possibly switch teams just because of her.

The main female characters in the movie are Vicky (Rebecca Hall), Cristina (Scarlett Johansson) and Maria Elena (Penelope Cruz). Which one do I best identify with? Watching the movie, I can say that I found myself in all three: I'm straightlaced (somewhat), adventurous and dissatisfied (somewhat) and bizarrely neurotic (somewhat).

What's strange is that I also see aspects of my character in Javier Bardem's portrayal of the man called Juan Antonio Gonzalo. Passionate, artistic, intense, yet wishy-washy. Ugh.

Which movie character do you most identify with? Let me know, so I can stop feeling so pathetic.

Oh, Davao!

2009-01-27T16:26:00.013+08:00

Davao, a place in the southern part of the Philippines, about a 1.5-hour plane ride from Manila, was the location of my crazy gang's latest shenanigans. It was an interesting experience, to say the least. (Some pictures from the trip are below, just click to enlarge.)

Spending a few days in a place that I had never been to before had its ups and downs. It was hot, so hot. I was so thirsty most of the time. And scurrying to go to this place and that was so tiring.

But I didn't mind.

Hungry and thirsty? There was fresh and good food to eat (and beer to drink, of course), in locations that pleased more than just my stomach.

Hot and sweaty? Dips in one of nature's bath tubs were cool and refreshing.

Feet tired from walking? The feeling of soft, powdery sand between my toes was amazingly restorative.

Being a stranger in a strange new place wasn't bad at all, especially since I was with the BFFF's (best fucking friends forever).

And I made some new friends, too!

(Though one of them remained stone-cold and and unmoving, no matter how hard I or my friends tried to charm him. The bugger.)

Days and nights with friends, times of forgetting and yet remembering, moments of belly-aching laughter and of cathartic tears.

Goodbye, Davao. We had a good time there.

The first time I fell in love...

2009-01-16T01:40:00.003+08:00

...was oh so long ago, and it was with a man from outer space.

I don't think I had even reached the delicate age of ten when I first encountered the most super of all men. It was on the silver screen, but the experience had such a big impact on me. I know, I know, pretty boys aren't usually my type; I've said that often enough. But I made an exception early on for Christopher Reeve's Superman.

Maureen McGovern's song Can You Read My Mind struck a chord within me, too. It still makes me teary-eyed to this day.

But back to the topic of Superman himself. That part in the first movie where he flew above the Earth was so awesome, I thought. And the part where he took Lois on an evening flight. *sigh* So romantic! I was too young then to think about the more intimate aspects of his relationship with Ms. Lane, thank goodness! Why complicate simple matters like heroism and love with icky things like sex? ;-D

Now, I know better (I think). I've learned that setting someone on a pedestal can perpetuate the illusion of his perfection, but does not make it real. That even the best of men can have feet of clay. That they can't save you when you think you need saving, because only you yourself can really do that. That even the most super of men can do incomprehensibly crazy things, such as wearing bright-blue, tight-fitting Spandex AND their bright-red underpants over their equally bright blue tights -- with bright red boots to match.

But those things don't really matter in the big scheme of things. The capacity to love and be loved can triumph over intergalactic issues like wardrobe malfunctions and maybe even the time-space continuum.

Imperfect as I've discovered he can be, almost three decades later, I still believe in Superman. (and in super sex)

A Year in the Life

2008-12-31T04:50:00.006+08:00

2008 is (and very-soon-to-be was) a year composed of 525,600 minutes, just like any other year before it and any other year to come. But for each one of us, it has made an especially strong impact in our lives in one way or another. Some people will remember it for special countless smiles and LOL moments; some will remember it for heart-rending grief and tears that will last for years to come.

It has been a time for joyful reunions, as well as for painful partings of ways. It has been a year for the discovery of things unexpected and unwarranted, yet also a year for the re-affirmation of steadfast desires and beliefs.

Joyful or tragic, I believe this year -- and every year for that matter -- is marked by love. It doesn't matter whether your asshole boss or your mind-numbingly exasperating neighbor has been pissing you off. And so what if boredom or despair -- the kind that makes you want to slit your wrists -- threatens to overwhelm you sometimes? In the words of one of the world's foremost geniuses: "Shit happens."

Negativity of any kind is negated in certain timeless moments.

1. Like a child's belly laugh when you hug and tickle her. The realization that your child is growing up to be even more of a smartass than you or his/her other parent -- and you secretly liking that no matter how much you may complain about it.

2. Like intensely serious yet humorous conversations with friends and family, lively and heated debates replete with cuss words that you nevertheless know are filled with love, but which those not in the know might misconstrue. Which makes such conversations all the more fun!

3. Like breathtaking moments that really do take your breath away when you least expect it: seeing something that's so indescribably beautiful, tasting a new dish that defies description, experiencing an epiphany that shakes one's personal universe to its very core.

4. Like the memories of the sound of a voice that's as caressing yet as intimidating as the sound of waves breaking on the reef, the sound of a heartbeat underneath your cheek when you lay your head on his or her chest, the indescribably enthralling and breathtaking (see point #3) sight, smell, and taste of skin at dawn's first light.

5. Like the movie-esque dramas and comedies that usuallly make up the better part of the day, but which we can't forget no matter how much we try...well, not at first, at least. But deep down, do we really want to erase them from our memory? Especially if they're accompanied by earworms we would never admit to enjoying; the cheesier the song, the better!

No matter what kind of year you're having, I hope it ends well. I sincerely hope we all experience 2009's 525,600 minutes in ways that would enrich our lives and those of the people around us -- in the universal ways that transcend barriers of culture, language, sex, and religion: music, pictures, and well-chosen words. Such things make as laugh, cry, dream, feel.

I especially wish for all of us to experience the New Year in that thing called love. Because it makes everything so worthwhile. Whether disguised by humor, by general smartypants-ness, and by exasperation, and whether given or received -- or both! -- it's priceless.

May the 525,600 minutes of 2009 and beyond be blessed for all of you. Happy New ~~Beer~~ Year!

Super Maligayang Pasko!*

2008-12-24T16:32:00.004+08:00

click image to enlarge card

*That's Tagalog for "have a super Merry Christmas!"

My fondest wishes to you and yours, my dear super bluddies (blog + buddies).

Picturing

2008-12-23T06:09:00.006+08:00

I picture you in the sun wondering what went wrong
And falling down on your knees asking for sympathy
And being caught in between all you wish for and all you've seen
And trying to find anything you can feel that you can believe in

I picture a lot of things, both bad and good, at will and inadvertently. I just wish things were different. But like someone said, wishes won't wash dishes, and they can't change anything.

I know I would apologize if I could see in your eyes
'cause when you showed me myself I became someone else
But I was caught in between all you wish for and all you need

The thought of losing myself and becoming someone who I'm not is scary, and I've come perilously close to it a few times. I thank all my lucky stars for the ones who keep me anchored. Strangely, though, I've been shown aspects of myself I never imagined existed. I did like those new sides of me - mainly because they were still me.

I don't know anymore
What it's for
I'm not even sure
If there is anyone who is in the sun
Will you help me to understand?

Uncertainty doesn't necessarily equate to hopelessness, though it may feel that way sometimes. Understanding will come, hopefully from within.

May God's love be with you
Always
May God's love be with you

Whether or not you believe in God, the wishes remain true. From me to you.

Especially to you, my lovely friend Mimi. Thank you so much for everything. I love you dearly.

Also, I'd like to say that I long have been deeply enamoured of Michael Stipe's singing voice. I'd make love with it and have its babies if I could.

Full moon blogworld Saturday

2008-12-13T04:24:00.009+08:00

There's a full moon out in the sky tonight.

I find it to be so provocative, so alluring, yet so frustrating somehow. It's a killing moon for me in certain ways...not that I want to kill anyone. Just something. Maybe.

It seems to vacillate between taunting me and soothing me as it peeks through my window. Cruel as it seems to be, its beauty set against the inky night sky is undeniably magnificent - in a peaceful yet provocative kind of way.

It almost makes me want to dance in the pale moonlight (except for the fact I rarely dance outside), my white dress flaring around me as I whirl round and round (except I rarely wear pure white), and my jet-black hair streaming in the wind (though there's no wind tonight).

So I'll leave the dancing to DaddyPapersurfer, who has a most educational and entertaining series of blog posts this week about various kinds of dances in Europe (and some other universal dances). And he has cool pictures of them too!

Chacha, tango, cancan, and of course, lovely moonbeam-bathed-slow-dancing wishes to all of you for the weekend.

It's a Bust

2008-12-12T01:10:00.012+08:00

Far be it from me to judge what a woman (or a man) decides to do to her (or his) body.

But Sheyla Hershey boggles even MY imagination. I don't know what her original bust size was, but from what I heard, she went to her homeland of Brazil to enlarge her FFF boobies to KKK.

KKK? WTF? [The latter isn't a bra size, if I'm not mistaken. Unless if it were my bra. WTF indeed.]

Apparently, such extreme-enlargement surgeries are illegal in the USA - that's why she had to go to Brazil for the procedure.

And that isn't all, folks. She wants to make her KKK-cup kajangas even bigger. What in the name of all that's holy and unholy comes after KKK? Mind-boggling.

My mind cannot fathom either an FFF or KKK bust size. [Yes, I am mammarily-challenged, shut up already.]

But let's say I were willing - and had the financial resources to go Sheyla's route - would I do it? Some major concerns I could encounter:

What would happen to my already pathetic sense of balance?
Would I find shirts/blouses/other tops in Asia that would fit?
Would my bosom bunnies freeze if I decided on a whim to move to Antarctica or any other sub-zero-temperature location?
Would they burst or leak if pinched? Or if jostled in crowded places? What a deflating thought.
Would they not hinder me from blogging? I can't touch-type, and they might obscure my view of the keyboard.

Amazing. I just wish I could push my beer belly up into places that need extra plumping. And give me a good singing voice too, if that were possible. But wishes won't wash dishes, and they can't improve cup sizes either. Don't want them that big, though. Jeez, no.

[Bud, I hope the sisterhood you contribute funds to doesn't forget to keep me in mind.]

Something for the Mythbusters to look into

2008-12-10T04:16:00.003+08:00

[image from xkcd.com]

Simultaneous orgasms are like Halley's comet, in my opinion. They occur once in a lifetime.

Moving and getting a move on is a good idea, however. Anything to get me off my fat butt. Any exercise tips from my dear blog buddies?

Panaginip lang*

2008-12-09T06:29:00.009+08:00

Dreams are surreal, mine own and most everyone else's, probably. But computer-generated visual interpretations of dreams at Dreamlines can be even more surreal. I learned about that site from Citizen of the World. (Thanks, CS!)

How does it work? You type in one or more words that best describe your dream, and the site comes up with some images. The graphics it came up with for me were even more surreal than my dream, but the colors and textures in the Dreamlines pictures sure are pretty.

But then, that dream of mine was so very pretty too. Oh, yes, oh yes it was. I had a mini-heartbreak when I woke up and realized all that beauty didn't really happen, that it had only been in my mind.

*only a dream

And no, I did NOT dream of Gene Simmons or any of his ilk. Jeez. (Though there was a tongue in that dream somewhere.)

Blogworld Saturday

2008-12-06T02:04:00.007+08:00

Her eyes closed, strains of David Sylvian's Darkest Dreaming streaming through her thoughts - a peculiarly haunting song that almost never fails to bring a lump to her throat and tears to her eyes (because she can be such a sentimental idiot sometimes) - wondering how the year could have gone by so fast, everything and nothing within a span of 12 months and forever.

Stay tonight
We'll watch the full moon rising
Hold on tight
The sky is breaking
I don't ever want to be alone
With all my darkest dreaming
Hold me close
The sky is breaking

She's so glad, though, for blogs and blog posts like the following she's read recently, brightening her days and nights.

Baby, When the Lights Go Out, at Unfinished Business Part 2. Power cuts can be so inconvenient, whether you live in the tropics - like Anusha and I do - or elsewhere. But it's interesting to read about another person's differing take on candlelit dinners and showering by candlelight (I find the latter to be most soothing).

One More Hackney Summer, at Papersurfer.com. Transliterating thoughts into words can be so hard sometimes, but Penfold (along with another friend of his) did well when they wrote about a friend of theirs who no longer walks this world. I really like how Penfold uses words and images to express his thoughts and feelings. Plus, he's a good guy (as many other people, especially the tantalizing Tango, can confirm). I'm lucky to have met him - at least virtually.

Visions of Vulva and Forget the Pigeon..., at Gimcrack Hospital. Nursemyra in Australia NEVER fails to educate and entertain - especially when it comes to sexual matters. To my male blogger pals: head on over to Nursey's site to learn about your penis' personality, and what you can call it besides "dick" or "cock." Female readers, go to the vulva post and learn more about what you can call your vagina according to its characteristics. (I used to call mine "The Secret Garden." A former colleague called hers "The Well of Loneliness." I think I'm going to have to steal that one. *sigh*)

Where the Winds Blow, at The Death of Retail Price. I love an introspective post that's a rant at the same time, especially when I can relate to said rant, and when said rant is so passionately written. Several other people identified with Orhan Khan's post too: about the prospect of entering into a relationship where the other person doesn't even know himself/herself all that well, and the possibility of losing one's own personality upon entering a relationship. How can two halves become a coherent whole when those halves haven't found themselves and/or get sucked into a vacuum?

An Epiphany (or Paradigm Shifting), at A Blue State of Mind. Another heartfelt rant, this time from Debo Blue. The urge to belong can sometimes lead us to abandon or compromise our beliefs for a while...until we wake up and realize that our efforts to be part of certain cliques are stupid and pointless. Debo Blue speaks (or writes) her mind - a mind that most definitely comes across as level-headed and strong.

Enjoy your weekend, folks.

Oogy wawa!!! (That's Zulu for cheers! You learned something new from me today.)

From the Mouths of Babes

2008-12-05T03:18:00.004+08:00

Being under ten years of age and not knowing everything can make for a lot of laughs - especially when the below-ten-year-olds in question aren't even trying to be funny.

For example:

Daughter Number One, seeing some old LP's in the basement: Wow, those were really big CD's you had, Mama.

*****

Daughter Number Two (when I was chatting sometime back with a friend who lives in another country): Where does he live, Mama?

Me: He lives in the Netherlands.

Daughter #2: Is that on Earth?

Oh, how my children make me laugh.

Seven and the Ragged Tiger

2008-12-03T18:52:00.006+08:00

Yes, I was a Duran Duran fan back in the day. Apt title for this meme, though I'm not really that ragged, nor am I anybody's idea of a tiger.

I like tags and memes for the most part, but sometimes I have to think my answers through because:

a) I don't want to scare people away from this blog, and
b) I don't want to give too much of my thoughts away. Some of them are too private. Sometimes I wish I had thought to start this blog anonymously. Then I could let you all into the deepest recesses of my mind. On second thought, maybe that isn't a good idea. It's a cesspool sometimes, something from which even I want to escape.

But I don't plan to escape from this meme, especially since it comes from the adorable Snowy Bear. Besides, Snowy called me "ace." Flattery will get you almost everywhere!

So here you are, seven facts about me. Nothing too outlandish, nothing too spectacular. Nothing that will end world poverty or make you live longer. Just more of me, me, me!

I'm 5'8" (172 cm) tall. Look here for a peek at the height differences between me and my girlfriends. [Never mind how much I weigh; suffice it to say I need to lose quite a few kilos.]
Frogs both scare me and creep me out. I dimly remember a frog plastering itself onto my torso when I was a child, terrorizing me. Funny, I should be scared of dogs since one bit me in the face when I was two years old. That memory didn't scar me, though. I love dogs.
I have mild scoliosis. This gives me a legitimate excuse not to carry anything too heavy whenever the gang and I go somewhere as my lower back tends to ache something fierce if I do that. They do most of the carrying.
I'm missing one organ: my gallbladder (though my brain tends to go AWOL every now and then). It was taken out when I was in my mid-twenties because of gallstones.
Aragorn or Legolas? I'd take Aragorn any day. Pretty boys don't do it for me; but manly men...sigh. They're a different story. Five o'clock shadows, tousled hair, a slight scruffiness, clothes worn for the sake of comfort and not for the sake of looking like something that's fit to include in GQ, clean and natural manly scents - I could go on and on.
I absolutely cannot stand Barney the Purple Dinosaur. Sorry, Snowy, if you're friends with him.
I like being alone; many of my happy moments occur during times of solitude. It's feeling lonely I don't like.

I'm supposed to tag seven others, but I won't do that this time. I have to go feed the fish.

Trip no further, pretty sweeting

2008-11-29T23:50:00.005+08:00

I wouldn't mind tripping further on future trips. Going to new places can have its ups and downs.

But if my spirit is soothed by such sunsets:

If my desire to try new things is accommodated so willingly and so graciously by strangers:

If my eyes get a treat now and then from such bright colors:

If there's no problem when it comes to my thirst-quencher of choice:

If my passion for very old things is indulged:

And if I'm lucky enough to witness people doing what they love to do, and doing it so well:

Then I certainly wouldn't mind going on a journey again. No, not at all. Even if such a journey doesn't end in lovers meeting.

[More pictures (my own, this time) here and here.]

Coffee Break #4,298

2008-11-20T16:12:00.013+08:00

Going to a few areas in the southern part of the country for a few days to spend some time with aunts and cousins I haven't seen in ages.

And to gorge on stuff like this:

And see historic things like this:

And natural sites like these:

One of the things I anticipate the most is relaxing on this island:

And celebrating glorious five:thirsty sunsets on the beach with this:

Ahh, I can almost feel the sand between my toes, the sea breeze on my skin...and the need to go to the toilet after a bottle or two.

I'll find time for some coffee, too.

I'll be back soon with pictures of my own.

Have a great weekend and week ahead, everyone!

Between a rock and a hard place

2008-11-16T01:47:00.007+08:00

What do you do when itty-bitty problems you've become accustomed to - to the extent they're normal parts of your everyday life and hence, not "problems" in the true sense anymore - seem suddenly to take on gargantuan proportions and threaten to overwhelm and flatten you? It reminds me of Sisyphus, except that my version has the boulder crushing him as it rolls back down the underworldly hill. And then he has to roll the rock back up the hill and endure the same damn thing all over again. For eternity.

So what do you do when you feel the pebbles being thrown or tossed your way are as heavy as rocks? And it feels like it's being done to you forever?

Why, you wallow in your misery, of course. Like a pig cavorting in the mud just before its first and last trip to the slaughterhouse. You let the mud and the blackness consume your consciousness, you rant and rave and oink out the equivalent of "FUCK IT ALL!!!!" at the top of your voice, with your nose and eyes all red. (If you're the type of person who looks glorious at the heights of rage or the depths of despair, screw you. Other people look damn ugly when they're in those situations, but that's ok. They're feeling ugly anyway.) And then you drink yourself senseless or run circles around the cows or indulge in the 30-minute orgasms that pigs are said to have.

And then you get over it.

Because you realize that your problems - overwhelming as they seem to be - don't hold a candle to the people and things you have in your life. That these people don't mind if you wallow in the pigsty every now and then to scream obscenities; in fact, they'll accompany you to it, knowing it'll do you good. Then they'll help clean you up and give you a cold beer or a hot cup of coffee.

And then you realize just how lucky you are: that you're in full command of your senses, that you can appreciate the smell of a new day, hear the laughter of a child, cry at maudlin sentiments. That you have people to love and who love you, that you can help other people get through the day, that you're lucky just to even be alive at this moment.

For all its blackness, life is precious and beautiful. And you know that after the darkness, no matter how long it seems to last, will come a peaceful and hopeful dawn.

Sisyphus and pigs be damned. Oh, wait. The former IS already damned, but let's not curse the latter. They do find happiness in their own way. (30 minutes? I'll be damned!)

Blogworld Saturday

2008-11-15T04:09:00.007+08:00

Restless, on edge, cranky enough to bite my offspring or kick puppies - I was those things and more the past few days when I didn't have my Internet connection because of some technical issues over at my ISP. But all is hunky-dory now, and it's back to sweetness and light, or some semblance thereof.

Time for you guys to check out some of the stuff I enjoyed recently. And you will check them out, won't you? Because you're all cool that way.

My brother's Internet shopping site. If you like online shopping, then head on over to this site. My brother and his wife feature more than 400 retailers there. Right now the company they're affiliated with delivers only to the US, I think. So to my buddies in America, visit my brother's page and shop in good environmental conscience! And tell them I sent you. :-)

Ask Diesel About Language Stuff Part II, at Mattress Police. He's funny, he's smart, and he makes sense! Meet the coolest member of the grammar police. For those of us who love to split infinitives and dangle prepositions, it's good to know we have Diesel on our side.

November 11, at A Little Off Kilter. Citizen of the World's post about finding dead birds near her house is simple, yet so thought-provoking. Autumn over at her place is wonderful, with all sorts of loveliness and yumminess in her kitchen, front yard and back yard. But as this post shows, the beauty can be tinged with sadness.

Strawberry Vanilla Swirl, at Worth a Thousand Words. Photo Cache has the most breathtaking pictures of all sorts of flowers in her "Flower Parade" series. Be sure to look at the other photos in the collection - they are soooo pretty.

Relaxing After Work, at The Other HNT. Unwinding with a glass of wine at the end of the day can be blissful - and healthy! Wine is good for the heart, you know. I absolutely adore this photograph because it features wine...along with some other things I like. :-D Riveting, and absolutely beautiful. ***NOT SAFE FOR WORK!!!***

Have a cardiovascularly healthy weekend, everyone.

Dream on, dreamer

2008-11-11T01:56:00.002+08:00

I dream lots of dreams, many of them so realistic I wake up with my heart pounding, the sweat pouring off me, and feelings of elation/dread washing over me.

Sometimes my dreams have a way of coming true - in a way.

For example, one time long ago, I dreamed of an old friend - let's call him Bernard - lying in a coffin. He looked so peaceful there as I and the members of the old college gang looked down upon his face, including our friend Gail, who had been living in the USA for many years. I emailed Bernard about this dream of mine, and he said he was going to save that email in case something bad did happen to him.

A few weeks later, the gang DID get together for a funeral, but not Bernard's. Gail's father died and she came home for the funeral, hence the impromptu get-together of the gang.

Now all I need to do is to learn to improve the synchronicity between my dream world and waking world, and then start dreaming about lottery numbers.

Skinny Blogworld Saturday

2008-11-08T05:20:00.005+08:00

Northern Downpour - Panic At The Disco

Your skin, the sight, taste, smell and texture of it - I miss it and the rest of you, oh so much, from and in all directions. Oh, you have no idea just how much I miss it. The mere memory of your aroma intoxicates me. W.H. Auden said it best in one of his poems, and his words ring true - at least for me. As do some of this song's lyrics. This song reminds me of you. So many things remind me of you. You're always in my thoughts.

Auden wrote great poetry, poetry that crunches my heart, soul and mind and leaves them raw and bleeding sometimes. But he didn't know crap about Blogworld Saturday. Here are just a few of the noteworthy posts and blogs I've enjoyed recently. I hope they make you think and/or smile, too.

World Blog Council. If you want a pithy appraisal of your blog, then go on over to the World Blog Council and mark your place in the review queue. The venerable Colonel and his cohorts (forgive them, they're British - though they have a so-called German contributor) can be ~~crazy~~ confusing. Rest assured you'll get an accurate (?) and fun (!) appraisal of your blog, if you discard the non sequitur part of the review. Their appraisal of this blog is in there somewhere.

Teaching . I paid tribute to earnest teachers in one of my earlier posts, and this post written by Aunty Helpful Dictator makes me wish I was under her tutelage when I was still in school. Aunty (no relation, smartasses, that's what she calls herself) lives in Ireland. Her post expresses the passion and enjoyment she derives from teaching. Aunty, the world needs more of your kind.

Dear Parents. The 2008 US elections spawned quite a few thought-provoking posts all over blogworld. But regardless of political belief, one thing all parents share, I believe, is the desire to raise their children to become decent and kind adults. Kanani mentions kindness and civility in this awesome post; something that we all need to learn more about and practice on a daily basis.

Miss Earth Swimsuit Shoots in Palawan, Philippines. Gerald featured beautiful bikini-clad babes from all over the world, in one of the reputedly most beautiful places on Earth - found here in my home country. And that is Palawan, which I hope to be visiting soon. Yay! OK, I'll shut up now. Go look at the beautiful women representing their countries, and drool. Just come back here and give me a hug and kiss, though I'm nowhere near as gorgeous as they are and can't fill a bikini the way they do. OK?

Have a great weekend, everyone.

Blogblast for Peace: November 2008

2008-11-06T01:39:00.006+08:00

"Mims, I need a huge favor."

So started a comedy of errors between me and Mimi Lenox a few days ago, when I asked her to email me all the Peace Globes in her gallery. After several failed attempts, we finally succeeded. With the help of Mimi and an awesome free program called AndreaMosaic, my Peace Globe for November 6, 2008 was born.

But much of the credit for my Peace Globe goes to each and every blogger who has participated in Dona Nobis Pacem at one time or another since the movement started two years ago. For each and every Peace Globe from November 2006 to November 3, 2008 is in there somewhere - a few of them even appear several times.

(If you want a closer look, click here. But be warned: it's one heck of a big file and it'll take quite some time before it loads fully. Then you can zoom in and look at each tile when it's done.)

Isn't it amazing how people from all over the world contribute to the big picture we call peace in many different little ways? And we do this in spite of our differences. It doesn't really matter if our politics are different; it doesn't matter if I prefer salty food and you like spicy; it makes no real difference if you like being on top and he/she prefers otherwise; it's fine if he believes in the Holy Trinity and she believes in Allah and I believe in the Flying Spaghetti Monster; it doesn't even matter if I like beer and you don't (though I'm thankful several of my online and offline friends enjoy some form of alcohol on occasion - I'd be so lonely otherwise). Thank heavens for diversity, life would be so boring if we were all alike.

Paradoxically, though, we are also all the same.

We laugh, we cry, we bleed, we heal, we get mad, we sing, we dance, we think, we dream, we live, we die, we love. It's what we humans have been doing for millennia, and it's what we'll keep on doing in the years to come.

Will there ever be an end to conflict? I don't think so; the differences in our natures and beliefs are fertile grounds for conflict. But maybe one day we can resolve conflict without having to resort to inflicting violence on fellow humans and Mother Nature - and get along peacefully despite our differences.

It Was the Best of Times

2008-10-31T13:50:00.009+08:00

The setting: Drinks and dinner al fresco at Cyma Estiatorio in Greenbelt 2.

The cast: In addition to me, of course, these ladies, Portia and Yvonne, with whom I've been friends for more than 25 years; we went to the same schools from elementary to college. We get together every odd year or so.

Then there's Paul, who became a friend of ours in high school, though he went to another school. Last time I saw Paul was about 18 years ago, I think. So last night's reunion was eagerly anticipated on all parts.

And what a reunion it was. The bodies may have changed, but the meeting of the minds has not. Oh no oh no oh no, thank God it hasn't. It was as if we were just resuming a conversation we had yesterday, only we found ourselves updating each other on half a lifetime's worth of experiences instead of just a day's worth. Our night was filled with laughter and stories about other friends, work, family, the crazy stuff we did (and didn't do) when we were kids, and lively discussions about topics ranging from religion to politics to travel to female genital mutilation.

Discussions were interrupted only by our friendly young waiter (named Bond) serving us our food and bringing the beer drinkers a new bottle every now and then. For what's a reunion without some form of alcohol?

The mental and emotional nourishment was stimulating and satisfying, but our ~~older~~ more mature bodies didn't do badly with the evening's fare either.

Cyma serves Greek fusion food, and here are pics of some of what we had.

Spinach and artichoke fondue (cheese, sliced sun-dried tomatoes and Feta, with pita triangles and grilled garlic bread)

Roka Salata (Fresh arugula, chopped Romaine lettuce, sun-dried tomatoes, candied walnuts, served with shaved Parmesan in traditional Greek Vinaigrette). I loved this one.

Baby Clams Angel Hair (Pacific baby clams, white wine, lemon, parsley, grated Parmesan cheese and garlic butter)

Lamb Chops with Roast Potatoes

We wanted to try the flaming mango for dessert, but tummies were already too full to accommodate any more food.

The lovely evening had to end, but it didn't finish on a sad note. With friendships renewed and reaffirmed, the conversation will surely continue.

Word Games

2008-10-30T02:25:00.008+08:00

I remember when certain cousins, aunts, and I used to kill a few hours playing Scrabble.

One cousin, the smartest person I've ever known personally, used to demolish us with words like quartzes and cwm. What the blazing hell is a cwm? I remember asking. Turns out it's a Welsh word for something, and I was too awed at the sheer novelty of it to question its legitimacy for Scrabble.

I did come up with an awesome word in the same game when an open "i" presented itself: fellatio. Heck, you don't forget once-in-a-blue-moon achievements like that!

High fives and proud smiles all around, but I didn't win the game.

In loving memory of my cousin Arlene, the smartest and perhaps one of the most lovable and weirdest persons I've had the fortune to be with. She passed away at the age of 40 some years back.

[cartoon courtesy of xkcd.com]

Sweet and Sour Pineapples

2008-10-29T02:07:00.012+08:00

Once upon a time, there was a beer-loving wench who, despite being buried almost uvula-deep in work, decided to just sit back and chill out by watching a movie. The film she chose was something called Pineapple Express, a comedy that promised inane, mindless fun. It was OK, she thought, as most comedies go - but the line about the Pineapple Express marijuana strain smelling like God's nether regions made her really laugh out loud.

Not that she's an expert when it comes to weed, though a few hits one time had her unconsciously walking a few steps into the ocean. Maybe she just wanted to feel the warm seawater swirling about her ankles as she scrunched her toes in the fine sand beneath; the beat of now-forgotten music pulsing in the background, overshadowed by the seductive light of her birthday full moon shining on the peaceful ocean.

Or maybe not. Maybe she really was just strunk.

The movie wasn't perhaps as mindless as she thought it would be. Because it made her think about friendship.

About how friendship can have its mind-altering heady highs and its depressing lows.

About how addictive and binding it can be, but through heart- and soul-strings...not through cannabinoid receptor thingies.

About how bloody and violent it can figuratively be sometimes. Then about how the sweetness and healing that come after everything is aired out can make one feel cleansed, and that the relationship is better - stronger - despite the earlier virtual evisceration.

Tears, anger, resentment, frustration, laughter, love. All these and more come with true friendship. [One of beer-loving wench's friends once asked her about the three kinds of love. She was able to come up with Eros and Agape, but the third one escaped her. She bluffed, stating it was called Phallic Love. He wasn't fooled, but he did laugh. But she wasn't that far off the mark it turned out, since Philia is the third kind of love.]

Laughter and humor, essentials to any lasting friendship, beer-loving wench thinks. Sympathizing and empathizing with a friend through the banal or tough times, and then later finding humor in the situation - that's priceless.

Love, humor, companionship, understanding...one doesn't need Academy Award-quality lines to express these. Even a text/IM quickie that's as bland as, "Hey, how are you, ~~bitch~~ girl?" can make you feel all warm, buttery, and high - if it comes from someone whose heart, mind, and soul are linked to yours.

Blogworld Saturday

2008-10-25T02:34:00.011+08:00

I'm feeling a tad nostalgic for what used to be - at least when it comes to blogging. When I started this blog two years ago, it never even entered my mind I'd "meet" some terrifically awesome people online through their own blogs. Sadly, some of these people don't update their blogs anymore, which I think is a crying shame since they're among the people whose writing I really, really enjoyed reading.

Two noteworthy blogger friends who have been missing from the blogging world come to mind:

The World of Yaxlich. This young Englishman has shared so much of his life with us: from his experiences with agoraphobic Peruvians to the raison d'etre of Daddy Longlegs to the effectiveness of curing hiccups with a digital rectal massage. Wherever he is and whatever he's doing now, I hope he is well.

The Moving (Middle) Finger Writes. I was entirely seduced by how Prometheus wrote when I first read his blog posts two years ago. Over the months and years, this fantastic Indian blogger touched on topics such as Celtic poetry, leetspeak, samurai songs, and many others. I know he's been very busy, hence the very sporadic blog posts. And especially now, when he's just reached a major turning point in his life. Mon ami, if you're reading this, you know I and your other blogging pals share in your joy.

I'm happy to say, though, that many of my other blogging buddies are soldiering on. Which is just another way of saying I'm glad they keep posting regularly. Here are two of them:

- When it comes to sex it isn’t about whether or not, at my age. It is all about compatibility. You have to actually like doing the same things. I do not care how “hot” a woman is if the sex sucks. No, no, no, those aren't my words. They're by Mr. Bud Weiser, from his post Long Ride to Beantown, at WTIT Tape Radio. Bud occasionally lets loose some sublime insights every now and then on various topics, such as incidences of civil status discrimination - even though they're sometimes committed unwillingly - which are a pain in the ass. But lots of guys will be glad to know that Bud regularly posts lots of pictures of semi-naked chicks.

- Diesel's back-to-back posts about murdering the English language over at Mattress Police: This is not a compendia of erratum and Ask Diesel about language stuff. Ever wondered about the consequences of scratching your scrota behind podia? Be more terrified of misusing the apostrophe and comma. I'm kidding. Diesel's not actually a card-carrying member of the Third Reich of Grammar, Spelling, and Punctuation; he just has kittens whenever he sees flagrant misuse of the English language in business communication. Personal bloggers are safe from his red pen, thank goodness. Heaven knows just how many times I've inadvertently (?) bludgeoned this language.

Have a non-violent weekend, folks. Next up, I'll talk about a movie I saw very recently (like a few hours ago) and how it made me think - an activity DaddyPapersurfer actively discourages - and for good reason!

Oh, and I almost forgot. You can call me Ingrid if you manage to somehow forget my name. Eerie how spot-on (or way off the mark) these crazy online quizzes can be sometimes.

Are You a Jackie or a Marilyn? Or Someone Else? Mad Men-era Female Icon Quiz...

You Are an Ingrid!

You are an Ingrid -- "I am unique" [just like billions of other people, I guess]

Ingrids have sensitive feelings and are warm and perceptive.

How to Get Along with Me

Give me plenty of compliments. They mean a lot to me.

Be a supportive friend or partner. Help me to learn to love and value myself.

Respect me for my special gifts of intuition and vision.

Though I don't always want to be cheered up when I'm feeling melancholy, I sometimes like to have someone lighten me up a little.

Don't tell me I'm too sensitive or that I'm overreacting!

What I Like About Being an Ingrid

my ability to find meaning in life and to experience feeling at a deep level

my ability to establish warm connections with people

admiring what is noble, truthful, and beautiful in life

my creativity, intuition, and sense of humor

being unique and being seen as unique by others

having aesthetic sensibilities

being able to easily pick up the feelings of people around me

What's Hard About Being an Ingrid

experiencing dark moods of emptiness and despair

feelings of self-hatred and shame; believing I don't deserve to be loved

feeling guilty when I disappoint people

feeling hurt or attacked when someone misundertands me

expecting too much from myself and life

fearing being abandoned

obsessing over resentments

longing for what I don't have

Ingrids as Children Often

have active imaginations: play creatively alone or organize playmates in original games

are very sensitive

feel that they don't fit in

believe they are missing something that other people have

attach themselves to idealized teachers, heroes, artists, etc.

become anti-authoritarian or rebellious when criticized or not understood

feel lonely or abandoned (perhaps as a result of a death or their parents' divorce)

Ingrids as Parents

help their children become who they really are

support their children's creativity and originality

are good at helping their children get in touch with their feelings

are sometimes overly critical or overly protective

are usually very good with children if not too self-absorbed

Take Are You a Jackie or a Marilyn? Or Someone Else? Mad Men-era Female Icon Quiz at HelloQuizzy

Sugar and spice and puppy dog tails tales

2008-10-23T01:42:00.012+08:00

Engrossed in my meal, I wasn't paying too much attention to what my dinner companions were talking about. Until I heard one of them say something like, "maybe they were thinking about s-e-x."

Withdrawing my concentration from the crispy squid I was laving lovingly with vinegar, I gazed at the bright faces around me: my two young daughters and two of their female cousins.

"What does that mean?"

The bright faces swung around to look at me. "What does what mean, Mama?"

"Sex. What do you think sex means?"

A flurry of giggles from some of the future femmes fatales. Then older daughter piped up: "Well, Mama, it's when the girl's egg cell is fertilized by a boy's sperm."

Mama decided to resist asking daughter about just how the egg gets its fertilizer, and pretended to return her focus to her squid and its vinegar bath. "And then what happens to the fertilized egg?"

Older daughter replied, "It becomes a baby!"

Younger daughter, not to be outdone, said with an air of authority: "It also lets other people know if you're a boy or a girl. You know, when you check the box in forms asking you what your sex is." (I'm pretty sure she didn't know what the hell her older sister was going on about sperm and eggs and zygotes, but she had to put in her two cents' worth.)

God, how my children make me laugh.

I told them they were both right, that yes, you tell people what your sex is when you check the appropriate box, and that people can have children from having sex. We all know, of course, that procreation isn't the only reason why people have sex. But I didn't think discussing the other grounds for doing the deed was quite appropriate for the dinner table. Besides, I'm chickenshit. I figure I have a few more years to build the courage to tell my young girls about the recreational aspects of sex. And about the differences between just "having sex" and "making love."

I don't remember exactly when it was I learned that a woman didn't get pregnant from being kissed, or that babies were found by parents from carabao dung. (I really did believe those myths when I was a teeny-weeny slip of a girl.) But I think I was a lot older than my girls' present ages when I did finally learn for sure that the birds and the bees were being involved incorrectly in the dynamics of human sexuality. Though I still get a kick out of watching animal sex on Animal Planet.

Now, as I creep towards my late thirties, I know somewhat better about things like where babies come from, having sex without having babies, and the orgasmilicious effects of drowning crispy squid in vinegar. But there is still so much I don't know, and I'm glad to be learning every day.

Blogworld Saturday

2008-10-18T02:23:00.003+08:00

The right side of my upper lip got bitten by an ant and now it looks like I had my upper lip collagen-ed. Too bad I killed the ant before it ever got around to biting my lower lip. Now my mouth appears unbalanced.

Oh, well. Where was I? Oh, yes. It's Saturday again - at least in my part of the world - and, stiff upper lip or not, here are some of the blog posts I've enjoyed the past week. Hope you take a look at them too.

Gang tattoos, at My Sarisari Store. After a long absence (don't you just hate it when good bloggers go on hiatus?) Sidney is back with another intriguing set of photos. This Belgian photographer braved some of Manila's jails to photograph inmates' tattoos, and describes some of the designs' why's and wherefore's.

Lazy Photo, at Worth a Thousand Words. Here's another talented photographer for you. Photo Cache's series about the sky and the clouds are simply awesome.

Wedding Is Off, at Bagwine Ruminations. Is there anything about your significant other you've recently discovered that can make you have second thoughts about making a lifelong commitment with him/her? Matt-man recently discovered something he found horrifying about his better half, Schmoop, something that might cause him to at least jump off a cliff.

As Good as Vegas, at The Pole Affair. Isn't it just wonderful the way one's day turns out to be terrific despite its seemingly inauspicious beginnings? The pole dance princess known as Glamourpuss had this happen to her a few days ago - something she richly deserves.

Bland One, at Mattress Police. Diesel and I probably won't see eye to eye when it comes to Jodie Foster's movies. I've enjoyed Ms. Foster's movies over the years, but even though Diesel didn't like The Brave One, I still enjoyed reading his review. And not just because it has the word penis in it.

Speaking of movies, I'm both anticipating and dreading the movie "Twilight." I enjoyed reading the books for the most part and am almost hyperventilating at the thought of watching the first movie in the installment. Yet I'm dreading the possibility that the movie will suck, even though the trailer and other movie scenes released seem promising. I really, really hope the film adaptation of the book doesn't suck.

I've been having Edward Cullen dreams (the book's Edward, not the movie's Edward) since I finished reading the Twilight saga. Still, watching 0:36-0:42 in the film clip below makes me wish he, and not a stupid ant, was the cause of my swollen lip - even though I'm no Bella. *sigh*

Have a bloody good weekend, everyone.

Feelings...nothing more than feelings

2008-10-17T03:26:00.007+08:00

Here in the Philippines, we have a phrase that goes mababaw ang luha, which roughly translates to "shallow tears." If you're a person whose luha (tears) are mababaw (shallow), then it means almost anything and everything can make you cry.

This applies to me a lot of the time, and not even when I'm down in the dumps. It can happen even when there isn't anything to cry about. I just finished reading Stephenie Meyer's Twilight series and some lines and situations in those books had me all teary-eyed for some reason. Certain scenes even in comedy films can make me cry too, though movies like I Am Sam almost have me hyperventilating from too much sobbing. Some TV commercials I've seen have also been known to trigger my waterworks.

Mababaw ang luha indeed.

Strangely, whenever true, heart-wrenching tragedy strikes me, my eyes stay dry - at least initially. Wasn't it Wordsworth who said something about thoughts that often lie too deep for tears? Time passes, and the tears I shed after a particular heartbreak indicate I'm on the way to recovery.

Conversely, we have another phrase: mababaw ang kaligayahan, or "shallow happiness." This can be a derogatory phrase, but mostly I think it's a compliment. When you say someone's kaligayahan (happiness or enjoyment) is mababaw, it means he or she finds something to smile or laugh about even in the smallest or least important situation. When that happens, the moment becomes magical.

Case in point: My little girls and I were in the supermarket the other day. We were discussing a variety of things - school activities, what they wanted to have for dinner - when the supermarket's speakers started blaring out a certain pop song (the title of which escapes me). Inadvertently, as if an unseen button had been pressed, my girls cut off our conversation and started singing and dancing along to the song. I watched, flabbergasted. I thought, "My God, this is how aliens are taking over - via our children and pop songs over supermarket loudspeakers."

Then our eyes met and we started laughing heartily. And when my kids laugh, it seems like the laughter comes from somewhere inside that's deeper than their solar plexus, the sound of which, of course, made me laugh even harder. All of this took place within just a few seconds, but man, moments like that can eclipse the whole day's hours and minutes.

So, I have no problem with "shallow happiness." Just as I have no problem with "shallow tears." They're part of how we humans express ourselves spontaneously. But I must admit being happy and being with happy people feels much better than being around a lot of negativity. Also, it's fun to ruminate on the several ways I can come up with to spontaneously, quickly, deliciously, and satisfyingly express my happiness. But...if I ruminate, then that doesn't make it spontaneous anymore, does it?

Oh, what the heck. They're happy thoughts anyway.

Strange encounters

2008-10-15T15:50:00.002+08:00

Strange things can happen in public places here, there, and everywhere: good strange and bad strange.

Take, for instance, something that a friend of mine experienced some time ago. He was waiting for the bus late at night after work, and someone came up to him and offered to pay him real money for "services" of an adult nature.

Good strange: My friend is no spring chicken, so it was somewhat flattering to be thought of as still desirable enough at his age by a stranger.

Bad strange: Being mistaken for a male prostitute doesn't exactly come across as a compliment.

Worse strange: He was offered just P500 (that's about USD10.50 at today's exchange rate).

According to something I saw over at PARLANCHEQ, my *ahem* services are worth more than the amount offered to my friend at that unexpected and unwelcome bus stop proposition. I admit this particular self-valuation method isn't perfect, but hey, nothing ever is.

Powered By Lovers Toy Stores

Manic Monday: Moon

2008-10-13T05:35:00.011+08:00

For other bloggers' posts about this week's theme on La Luna, visit Mo's Manic Monday site.

**********

Come to my window
Crawl inside, wait by the light of the moon
Come to my window
I'll be home soon

Sometimes, or more often than not recently, I feel like a part of me isn't where it should be. There's this restlessness, this feeling of discontent, of disconnection. I know I have many things to be thankful for: I and my kids are hale and hearty, there's a roof over my head, I can have beer and fried chicken whenever I want, my friends have my back. Still, I can't help feeling something's missing. And for me, it sometimes feels like a godawful waiting game.

Keeping my eyes open
I cannot afford to sleep
Giving away promises
I know that I can't keep
Nothing fills the blackness
That has seeped into my chest
I need you in my blood
I am forsaking all the rest
Just to reach you
Just to reach you
Ohhhh, to reach you...

The things we do to reach out for what we want, other people would laugh themselves silly. But, are we reaching out for the right things for us? Not content to wait, we do things at our own initiative. If the forces of the universe are receptive, then things are hunky dory. But if the idea (or person we're reaching out to) bombs - or worse - is indifferent or shown indifference to, then we're left with a deep and lonely pain that not even the most comforting and ethereally lovely moonlight can assuage. And we know just how breathtakingly beautiful moonlight can be, especially when it twinkles and sparkles on an ocean so deeply blue it looks almost inky black, on a cloudless night and with the sea breeze gently caressing your face.

Can you tell I'm longing to scrunch my toes in powdery white sand on the beach again? Will I find myself there? I don't know. What I do know is that I do so love the beach...even if I can't swim to save my life! Unless you call dog-paddling swimming.

Come to my window
Crawl inside, wait by the light of the moon
Come to my window
I'll be home soon

A part of me is missing. I don't know where it is or where to find it. I hope it does come home soon. I miss it.

This song rocks big time, in my opinion.

Blogworld Saturday

2008-10-11T06:59:00.005+08:00

Saturday here where I am once again, the start of a bright and lovely weekend (I hope). So, which posts/blogs from/by my fellow bloggers did I enjoy the past week? Here are just some of them. Hope you like 'em too.

1. Blue Whales and Bubbles at Mimi Writes. You probably know Mimi Lenox as the Queen of Memes and as the leader of Dona Nobis Pacem - Blogblast for Peace. In this touching post, she writes about re-discovering innocence in the purest sense of the word - in the eyes and words of someone very close to her heart, and at bathtime, no less!

2. The Toy Closet. Everyone has a story to tell and this includes the beloved companions of our childhood: our teddy bears! (or dolls or toy robots or sock puppets) On this site you'll find the stories of much-loved (and probably much-abused) toys like Piglet, Raggedy-Ann, and an assortment of Teddy Bears. What do they have to say about life with their owners? Click the link to find out.

3. Because It's Never Too Early for Bacon at the Jannaverse. Janna stumbled onto an awesome idea for an alarm clock. I want one like it! Except mine would have coffee instead of bacon. Mmmmmmm...

4. Big Boy Biomechanics at the Gimcrack Hospital. Nursemyra's posts are so educational. I never thought I'd learn so much about the different sizes, shapes, and bone structures of mammalian penises in just one post. It's a boner of a post, if you will. Her Corset Friday specials are not shabby at all either!

5. Those online mosaic picture generators are amazing things. A friend of mine generated one for me a while back, and it made me laugh. Click on my thumbnail to see why. I had to retaliate, of course, and you can see his mosaic here.

Have a spankin' good weekend, everyone!

Just say "thank you"

2008-10-10T05:41:00.004+08:00

Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

Why is it when you pay a heartfelt compliment to some people sometimes, they react in such a way as to make you think you had just insulted them, thereby making you feel like you reek of extra-strength mammoth dung?

Jeezus on a bicycle.

Crazy egg

2008-10-07T04:35:00.006+08:00

There are many classic Filipino foods that I wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole.

But one that I do like is called itlog na maalat or salted egg. When you go to the market here, you can differentiate them from normal eggs by their color. They're dyed a migraine-inducing purple.

These babies are ready to eat. Remove the shell, slice 'em up, and they make a fine topping for a lot of dishes. Earlier today I had a bibingka (something like a rice cake) topped with cheese and coconut flakes and butter and slices of salted egg. Yummy.

The Tagalog word for egg is itlog. This word is also used when talking about balls (and I don't mean the kind children play with).

Which reminds me of a couple of classic Pinoy jokes about eggs/balls/itlog.

Q: How do you make your eggs red?
A: Slap 'em.

Q: How do you make your eggs salty?
A: Go jogging

No, I don't think we have jokes about blue balls/eggs. But what the blazes do I know.

Blogworld Saturday

2008-10-05T04:58:00.004+08:00

Once upon a time this blog had a feature called Blogworld Saturday where various bloggers' posts during the week were highlighted. Today (though it's early Sunday morning here already) that feature comes back with just one post, one that moved me deeply. It's from My Marrakesh, written by Maryam, an American woman who lives in Morocco and who is known for her vibrant and endearing stories and images.

This week she told us about a woman called Vestine.

Vestine. An unusual name for an unusual woman. A woman who has experienced things I've never even imagined could happen to a woman. Not that way, at least.

Read her story as told by blogger extraordinaire Maryam, who spent time with Vestine and who's doing what she can to help her. When you read her story, maybe you'll find it in your heart to want to help too.

Can't change the whole world, but I think helping even just one individual like Vestine is a step in the right direction.

Click on the link to read Vestine's story.

O Captain, My Captain!

2008-10-01T04:14:00.011+08:00

*Mad applause to those who know where this post's title came from, with respect to what I'm talking about here.

Madonna, in an interview in the first issue of the late JFK Jr.'s George magazine many years ago, said that if she were president of the United States, then she'd make sure teachers were paid more than celebrities. Or something to that effect.

I'm a fan of Madge's music - though not always of her philosophies - but in this case, I agree with her...to a certain extent. I think those teachers who are dedicated to their calling should be paid more than peanuts - which would just be a bonus from the satisfaction they get from the effect they have on their charges' lives.

Take this teacher, for instance. Let's call him Teacher Norman. (Because that's his name. Hahaaaa...)

Whenever my children's school holds events open for public consumption (read: parents are invited to watch/participate on pain of death) one of the teachers with the most visible profiles is Teacher Norman. Especially when said events involve dancing. It seems like this guy is a big part of choreographing the little ones' dance presentations. At the crucial hour, he's in the spotlight with the munchkins in whatever dance it may be, and all on the same day: rhythmic exercises, chacha, swing, etc., guiding the little ones' steps. That's apart from the dance presentations with other teachers shown sometimes.

What impresses me is how the kids look up to him, and how he doesn't manifest any bit of self-consciousness in front of the crowd. I can't dance in front of a group of people; nor can I handle dozens of kids on a daily basis.

Over the years, I've noticed Teacher Norman's watchfulness over the kids even while he himself is performing. It's more than just being like a big brother to them. He's being a teacher, and the respect he gets from the children comes not only from the authority of his position, but from the way he personally interacts with them. He does his work passionately, and I think the kids sense that and somehow appreciate it.

Seeing Teacher Norman in action once again brought to mind the teachers who made an impact on me when I was younger. But it was only after some years had passed that I realized just how much they had influenced me.

One of them was Teacher Evelyn, who taught Social Studies and Science when I was 15 - my son's age now. It wasn't only that she made those subjects come alive for many of her students. God knows, I've had teachers for the same subjects who made me want to cry because of sheer boredom. No, what made her stand out for me was the time and effort she took to get to know her students as individual persons - and not just as a collective mass of hormone-hyperactive teenagers. A stern taskmaster lay behind her twinkling eyes; she was a major reason for my high school accomplishments. She was a wonderful teacher who helped me believe in myself.

Another outstanding educator I had was Señorita Teresita, my Spanish professor in college. Learning Spanish from her, we weren't confined to hot, dusty classrooms mumbling conjugations under our collective bored breaths. Oh, no no no. She sat with us - coming to class a few minutes early and leaving a few minutes late - to talk to us about anything and everything - in Spanish! She made the works of our national hero, José Rizal, seem like vibrant pieces of literature - which they are. I realized that sooner, because of her. She kinda played hooky with us by bringing us to Spanish cafés and restaurants to teach us how to properly consume chocolate y churros. I'm sure she would've taken us to Spain if she could've! But teachers at the state university couldn't afford such things back then. I don't think the situation here has changed all that much over the years in terms of salary.

So, yes, Madonna. I do agree teachers should be paid more. Specifically those who are teachers in the true sense of the word, and not just those who "teach" to make a living. Wake up and smell the chalk dust! It isn't just a job; it's a job with a heavy responsibility. I hope each one of you has had a Teacher Norman or a Teacher Evelyn or a Señorita Teresita in your lives: a mentor, someone who helped shape your life when you were younger and at your most impressionable - whether or not he or she has a degree in education.

And if you're one such teacher...man, hats off to you. Not that I usually wear hats, but you get the idea. I can only say thank you, from the bottom of my heart.

My teachers might not remember me now after all these years. But I sure as heck will never forget them.

Now if I were President of the World, what would I give to true teachers?

Hmmm...as many students as I could give you. God knows the world needs your kind more than ever.

Plus a beach house in your tropical country of choice...and an unlimited supply of chocolate.

Pataasan ng ihi...

2008-09-27T02:18:00.008+08:00

...which very roughly translates to "who can piss the highest."

It's when someone thinks he or she is so much better than almost everybody else. This phenomenon occurs worldwide, not just in the Philippines. The pisser believes his or her beliefs are not just better than everybody else's, but that they are the only ones that are right. And woe betide anybody else who even attempts to assert otherwise. Self-serving beliefs of superiority that may fool some people, but which in my opinion just makes them look stupid. Somehow I think they know that, they just refuse to acknowledge it.

You could say I was pissed. [Hahaaa...]

"My beliefs and my practices are truer than yours. Therefore, my way is right and yours isn't. Therefore, I can piss farther and higher than you can."

Jeezus, Joseph and Mary. It just gets my goat whenever I come across this type of people - and sometimes that includes myself. I admit, I can be a condescending bitch at times. I just hope it doesn't happen often; but I know I can count on my dearly beloved friends to put me in my place if I ever exceed the boundaries.

What brought this on? Something I read recently, some jackass who believes himself to be so much more superior than others, who thinks his way is the right way and that others are fools for wanting help or information on doing a certain something the more conventional way. Pontificating and pooh-pooh-ing other people's methods of doing things. Pissing on other people, figuratively speaking.

But enough of that. How are you doing, my dear blog friends? I know I've missed a lot. I hope I can ketchup! :-D

I Had No Idea...

2008-08-03T03:18:00.002+08:00

that he was so yummy-licious.

If I had known, then I wouldn't have missed the concert.

So it's a simple song ~~one that can be so pukingly oversweet to some.~~ Me likey anyway. In fact, me likey a lot. Both the song and the singer. So there.

Another celebrity with whom I share a birthday. (If you can count George Washington a celebrity too.)

And yes, I will do my meme, oh my queen. Patience.

Ask me no questions...

2008-07-29T07:25:00.006+08:00

This mini Q&A courtesy of blogger Photo Cache, a Flipino-American living in San Francisco. She maintains two blogs: Frankly, My Dear and Worth a Thousand Words. The latter is a photoblog; she's also quite a shutterbug. Photo Cache has been one of my best blog buddies from the get-go; she's always been there, rain or shine. A terrific blogging buddy, that she most certainly is. Thank you, Photo.

1. WHAT WAS I DOING 10 YEARS AGO?

1998. Hmmm. I was still in my mid-twenties back then. At that time only my first child was in existence. The other two that were to come were still just cosmic dust glittering promisingly in unseen and unfelt eternity. So, in 1998, just one child. Oh, and two rabbits. Life was good. Still is.

2. WHAT ARE THE FIVE THINGS ON MY TO-DO LIST TODAY?

Decide whether or not to wear undies.

Narrow down potential undie colors.

Take a relaxing shower again (deciding what color undies to wear can be an exhausting and sweat-inducing job!)

Put on undies.

Buy beer.

3. SNACKS I ENJOY:

Garlic peanuts.

Pringles (sour cream & onion)

Japanese sweet corn on the cob

White bread dipped in Coca-Cola (haven't done this one in ages, though)

Some other white stuff. :-D

4. PLACES WHERE I LIVED:

Parañaque City

Angeles City (No, that isn't L.A.)

Do the paradises in my mind count?

5. THINGS I'D DO IF I WERE A BILLIONAIRE:

Build, stock and staff a decent public library in my city

Travel, travel, and travel some more

Hire certain soccer players for (mostly) wholesome entertainment and educational purposes

Get boobs

Help. Fund. Cancer. Research.

(I didn't forget to mention travel, soccer players, and boobs, did I?)

6. PEOPLE I WANT TO KNOW MORE ARE: You know who you are. Smartasses.

(Addendum to item #5: Can we also ship Barney to Abell 1835 IR1916? It's a place that's supposed to be far, far away. That galaxy is 13.23 billion light-years from us, but it's still much too close in my opinion when it comes to this annoying creature.)

Nocturnal Mentations

2008-07-24T03:33:00.003+08:00

I dreamed a dream.

Walking on the soft, powdery sands of some isolated beach somewhere, I came upon some strange sights (which are strange only in retrospect because in dreamland, nothing is strange).

There was a Papersurfer performing a jaunty tune on a harmonica - the sunlight bouncing off his ass - harmonizing with the melody of a song being played by the World's Best Vodka-Swilling Tape DJ. Bouncing with utmost gusto to the music was a Most Handsome Wolf, whose steps somehow reminded me of a dance reality TV show that I've never even watched.

A hobbit running past distracted me; it was being chased by an Italian-loving Truthsayer, though it looked like the little creature wasn't really trying to escape. A great shadow suddenly shielded me from the glaring sun; looking up I saw a Wise Dragon and on his back, a Lovely Citizen of the World -- they were off on one of their missions to disseminate knowledge and kindness to humankind -- along with lots of smooches and gropes sent along by She Whose World Turns So Enchantingly.

A few meters offshore, an Old Git was bathing his sore shins in the balmy waters, having been kicked yet again by his better half for lo, she is a Terrible Goddess indeed. A Bodacious Corset-Clad Nurse sat waiting for him beneath a huge palm tree, for treating the problems that come with old age is within her field of expertise (in addition to bedroom sports. But not with the Old Git! Oh, no. That'll earn him more than just a kick in the shins.).

A door appeared in the middle of the beach, and opening it, I entered a scene of genteel madness. For there was a Glamorous Puss shimmying up and down most enticingly on a pole while simultaneously singing the praises of beautifully-dressed people. The Perpetual Writer was engrossed in events in the lives of little Lego superheroes while the Queen of Memes prettily proclaimed amnesty for those imprisoned in Bloggingham Dungeon. Brilliant Peace Globes were flying helter-skelter, and the Cacher of Photos was busily clicking away on her camera to record everything in sight. The Thwarter of Complacency smiled dreamily, images of kittens, the moon, and the sea dancing in his mind.

But wait, did I hear the strains of a Bollywood song when I espied Two Halves of a Brain, enveloped in pink mist, prancing along on the soft and alluring pavements of Witness Lane? Hahaha, what a gorgeous sight! A Big Leather Couch beckoned, and sitting on it was like coming home. With the Greatest Honk 'n' Holler, I raised to my lips the bottle of cold beer that appeared magically in my hand.

I didn't really dream that dream.

But it was a lovely dream nonetheless.

Awright stop, collaborate and listen...

2008-07-16T04:13:00.005+08:00

No, I'm not back with a brand new invention.

What I do have is an earworm, courtesy of he-who-was-once-popular-in-the-80s.

Will it ever stop? Yo, I don't know.

I sure hope it does, though. But I really, really thought this song was so baaaad (read: terrific) back in the day.

Should I compound my shame by adding that I actually paid to see him in concert way back when? Oops, I guess I already did. OK, I admit it. I paid two weeks' worth of my allowance when I was a teenager to see Vanilla Ice in concert. Just because I totally loved Ice Ice Baby in those days. And I will admit that the song still makes my ass twitch even now.

Stop laughing, you smart alecks. I'll get you. Because I slice like a ninja and cut like a razor blade.

(As you can probably tell, I have more than a passing acquaintance with this song's lyrics. I'm going to go jump off a cliff now.)

Kick it one time, yadda yadda. Go ahead. Sing along if you want to, I won't tell.

Java Jive

2008-06-30T05:27:00.003+08:00

Going on an extended coffee break.

Or breaks.

Not having a breakdown.

Just some introspective coffee breaks.

And attempts in between to hunt down my runaway blogging mojo.

Be back soon.

Illuminating the bushel

2008-06-12T03:09:00.004+08:00

My daughters had their birthdays recently and where there's a children's party, there are games. Not just children's games...adults are required to take part too. Well, adults taking part in the games isn't really a requirement, but you'd really be a spoilsport if you didn't participate. To make a long story short, it was a truly fun affair. The restaurant's mascots behaved themselves, I'm glad to say, and didn't cause a scandal.

Anyway, one of the games involved passing around a pen in time to music, and the ~~unlucky bastard~~ person left holding the pen when the music stopped had to demonstrate some of his or her talent.

Of course, I found myself feeling a tad anxious when the game's rules were explained.

What talent could I perchance show if the pen happened to stop in my hands? I don't have any.

I don't sing.
I don't dance.
...unless I'm drunk.

Even then, I can't do the Papaya Dance as well as the US Ambassador to the Philippines does it. (Kudos to you Ambassador Kenney, for showing your lighter side. You sure are no spoilsport!)

Talent...alcohol. Oooohhh, that's an idea. I could show to one and all just how much beer I'm capable of drinking! I'd kick everybody else's ass in that talent contest!

But that particular chain restaurant doesn't serve beer.

Bummer.

It turned out I worried unnecessarily; the pen never stopped in my hands. But everybody had fun, and that was the important thing.

I hope my beer-drinking talent will come in useful somehow. I'm about to apply for a job that'll take me to places I've only dreamed about. (If all goes well, I might be able to visit you and the TG, DaddyP! And maybe even Penfold too!).

The ability to drink copious amounts of alcohol, being a smartass..and some other abilities I won't mention...will they make an impact on the hiring personnel? Wish me luck!

Dona Nobis Pacem

2008-06-04T04:24:00.005+08:00

We bloggers write about anything and everything under the sun: like love, hate, sex, work, politics, sex, family, travel, gardening, parenting, friendship, sex, music, movies, making money, sex. Today, a number of us are posting about peace, we who are not only willing but enthusiastic participants of Mimi Lenox's Dona Nobis Pacem Blog Blast for Peace movement.

It started several dozen moons ago, Mimi's initiative, which has since blossomed and swelled like a beauty pageant contestant's head - but in a much, much nicer way. Though those contestants do mention world peace quite regularly...or as Mimi puts it, world peas. Makes me salivate for some delicious pea soup.

But life isn't an epicurean delight every day. More often than not, events leave a bad taste in one's mouth, or if they don't it's because they were too bland to make an impact. Funny thing is, if one takes the time to chew - to savor - an experience, then he or she will find something good about it, no matter how colorless or unpalatable it may have seemed at the start.

And where else does peace start but from within each and every one of us? Sure, it's easy to spout rhetoric about world peace (peas? mmmm, pea soup) but if one's own life is devoid of it (peace, not peas!), how can she or he influence others? You can talk the talk but you gotta walk the walk too.

Inner peace doesn't necessarily mean eliminating everyday conflict. How the hell can you do that? Unless you're some sort of monk living in a cave in the mountains. Even then, you'd have to deal with the pesky insects. No, I think it's about finding serenity - and perhaps imparting it to others - even in the midst of the usual chaos we encounter within and without on a daily basis. Yes, choosing the peaceful way is hard sometimes. What's easier, to flip the bird at the jerks who cut you off on the highway or to think that maybe they have problems that distract them from driving responsibly? To take offense at a friend's seeming inattentiveness or understand his need for silence? It's easier to rant and rave, to react in a negative manner especially when such a reaction seems merited.

It's easier to react negatively, it seems. But then again, the things that are most worthwhile aren't all that easy to deal with, the things that will bring peace to us, and by our resulting actions, to others. Conversely, it isn't rocket science either. It's simply a choice: the choice not to do harm, the choice not to hurt, the choice to do good, the choice to act in peace, the choice to love.

There are things that bring me a measure of serenity, the ocean is one of them. Music is another, and these two songs lull my spirit because they celebrate love (which I think is essential to peace). They make me smile, and sometimes they make me cry (but in a good way). I like them a lot because they celebrate my life and my peace and my love...even if they don't talk about peas. Or sex. Or beer.

Seasons of Love [From Rent] - Cast of Rent

So shake it up, baby, now...for peace.

Killing time, unwillingly mine

2008-05-30T03:28:00.002+08:00

We know what a haiku is: a seventeen-syllable poem (originally from Japan) divided into three lines of five, seven, and five syllables.

The effervescent banana-lover Janna has her own version, the Janku: a three-line poem, each line with its corresponding number of requisite vowels.

Now that's a fun idea: adapting a form of poetry and calling it after yourself.

Problem is, I can't decide on a poetry structure I can ~~bastardize~~ adapt specifically for me.

A lizzonnet would be too damn long.

I'm not quite ballsy enough to write something like a Lizza Sutra.

I love the idea of a beerku, but there's already an excellent site devoted to beer haiku.What about a cannabisku? Nah, not enough experience for that.

Oh, well. Settle for a Lizzmerick then.

It's that red time of the month again
A most sore time for this Asienne
So she calls out "Cheers!"
And guzzles some beers
Because she's allergic to ibuprofen

This isn't to say I imbibe only once a month. Oh dear, no. At least twice. :-)

Tickling the funny bone(r)

2008-05-26T02:57:00.005+08:00

Humor is a funny thing.

Or rather, one's taste in humor.

It can change without warning; what's funny today may seem tasteless tomorrow, or vice-versa. Some tasteless jokes are kickass funny, some are not. Though I find it hard to believe everybody hasn't laughed at a tasteless joke at least once.

There are lots and lots of funny blogs out there, and I'm glad I've come across a few of them.

DaddyPapersurfer's blog is just plain fun. Well, not plain, maybe. But simple fun about the life of an old git in England, who is wont to exaggerate things just a trifle. Another Brit humour blog I enjoyed was The World of Yaxlich. Too bad he stopped blogging. He made me laugh with posts like this.

Mr. Fab of Pointless Drivel has ruffled quite a few feathers with some of his posts - those with themes dealing with topics that some people don't think shouldn't be made fun of. I admit some of them are a bit too much for me, but I don't get my knickers in a twist over them. Many of his other posts tickle my funny bone anyway,

One of my most favorite humor blogs is Gimcrack Hospital. It's not only funny, it's educational as well! I wouldn't have known otherwise about things like male urethral stimulation, using leeches to simulate virginity, and the practice of dry sex in some cultures. Plus, the Good Nurse titillates her male readers (and makes her female readers green with envy) every Friday, when she showcases her bodacious bod in pieces of her lingerie collection. (Like this, for example. I suggested the concept of Casual Fridays to Nursemyra sometime back; she turned it into Sizzling Hot Fridays.) Nursemyra's blog helps her deal with a tragedy she suffered recently. Another example of using humor to cope with loss, and it's a big plus if it delights other people too, which her blog surely does. See her "About Me" page to learn more.

What does the title of this post have to do with anything? Well, this picture. Hey, it's NSFW ok? It made me laugh - not the reaction the subject probably wants from viewers - and cross my legs and mentally shriek "episiotomy!"

Under the covers

2008-05-16T02:08:00.006+08:00

Re-interpreted songs sometimes get my goat. (No, DaddyP, I don't really have a goat. But if I did, I could make some nice goat stew from it. With potatoes, carrots, pepper, and tomato sauce.)

However, there are several cover songs that I do like, in a goosebumpy, rockin' way.

Julia Fordham's version of Minnie Riperton's Loving You. This one never fails to stop me in my tracks. Quite a few of her songs are on my playlist. Her voice enchants me. It's smooth and full like dark and rich chocolate.

***

Sonic Youth's haunting version of The Carpenters' Superstar. Found this via the movie "Juno." Me likey. A lot. (Both the movie and the song.) The drummer kinda looks like Bill Gates, which made me laugh.

***

Filipino artist Sitti Navarro's cover of D'Sound's Tattooed on My Mind. Sweet, sweet song in a sweet, sweet voice.

***

Prince's version of Kiss. This makes me dance, and I DON'T dance as a rule. 1980's nostalgia for those who came of age during that decade (like me!).

***

So these are four of my favorite covers...at this time, at least. I like them not only for how they sound but for the meaning they hold for me.

Yeah. These songs touch me deep inside. I'm shallow that way, deriving a bit of self-identity and gratification from songs sometimes. They don't really make me cry...but then, wasn't it Wordsworth who said that the something something lies too deep for tears? And no, DaddyP, I am NOT lusting after Prince.

What are your favorite cover songs these days? Let me know. Some musical artists (new and old) I've come to like I never would've heard of if not for terrific friends who wanted to share.

Look, Ma, Both Hands!

2008-05-11T03:57:00.010+08:00

My mom is a funny creature.

There are times I would catch her humming the Cranberries song Zombie while she's watering her plants. She loves her residential flora, almost as much as she loves her kids and grandkids. I know that it isn't unusual for plant-lovers to talk to their plants, but is lovingly humming songs like Zombie to them normal?

When I screw up, she has this way of talking to me that makes me shrink; it's like I'm a wayward kid all over again. She hardly ever yells, but the tone she uses, soft as it is, is no less stentorian. In those moments she makes me cringe with anger and shame.

But there are other things I remember.

Like how comforting her hand felt smoothing my hair away from my sweaty brow as I, writhing and moaning in pain from gallstones, was being driven to the hospital. How calming and reassuring her whispers were. Better than Lamaze.

Like how she would spend hours with each newborn child just so that I could catch a few zzzzz's after a sleepless night.

Like how she'd be there to offer her very tangible support during very lean times, even without my asking.

Like how she would wake me up just to tell me that something I liked was showing on TV. And even though I'd seen that show already, I'd watch it again out of appreciation of the fact that she knew I liked it. To this day, I can't figure out how she knew I liked that particular show. I didn't let anyone know I liked it; it was that cheesy.

Like how she loves, accepts, and supports me and my siblings unconditionally. She may question, oh boy, does she ever. But when all is said and done, whatever the issue - from the breakup of my marriage to the exploits of other relatives to whether it's okay to hum Zombie to the plants - the love, acceptance, support, and understanding are there...in-your-face or behind-the-scenes, they're always there. Along with her crazy-ass sense of humor and the exasperating radio dramas she listens to. I'm immensely thankful I was born to this terrific woman, she who is my despair, my inspiration, my goddess, my bulwark.

My mom's a funny creature, and I love her so much.

A blessed and meaningful Mother's Day to all mothers and mothers-to-be, young and old.

These endless summer nights

2008-05-08T03:58:00.006+08:00

It's the height of summer here in the Philippines, which translates a lot of times to mind-numbing, libido-killing (for a nanosecond), energy-sapping heat. Sure, we have a few scattered thunderstorms, but most times so far they've lasted only a few minutes, after which it's hotter and more humid than ever. It leaves me boneless, spineless, tendon-less. A limp noodle, that's what I feel like most days because of the mugginess and heat. Air-conditioning is all well and good, but when I go out the heat is even more palpable; it's like a physical assault.

Of course, there are sights and sounds of summer that I enjoy. The following are some of them, chez Lizza:

The sun is bright, the bougainvillea is blooming.

A single mother has made our home hers - and her kittens'. These little ones make me and mine laugh with their adorable antics. And yes, DaddyP, they can be called LOLCATS.

See that legion of little critters congregating in the light of the streetlamp? You'll have to click on the image to see a bigger picture. Those insects are called gamu-gamo. They're like flying ants, except they don't bite. What's weird is that tonight (my son took this photo a few hours ago) they were congregating at the streetlight in front of our house; those lights a few feet away they left untouched. Folklore has it that hordes of them appear to herald the coming of the rain. We've been getting some rain the past few days, but does their appearance foretell the outpouring of an abnormally large amount of rain in the lives of this household's members?

I can't speak for the others, but I sure hope it rains hard - and soon! Complete with thunder and lightning, though I'm normally afraid of lightning. This time, I want it. I don't care whether it rains water or cats or dogs or men, hallelujah. Lovely and bright as the sun is, I'm tired of the glare and heat. Just so tired...of so many things. I need a change.

Manic Monday: Fresh

2008-05-05T04:57:00.006+08:00

Fresh air, breathtaking lakes, forests, vistas, and small-town life. What could be more appealing? These and more are the qualities that a certain charming Austrian village possesses, and life in it would be ideal, except for the damn tourists who keep stealing town signs to take home as souvenirs. Well, all I can say is Fucking sure sounds refreshing in winter or in any other season. What's more, seems like the people there (or those working for the Austrian Tourist Board) are very accommodating and have a great sense of humor too. They're good sports, at least.

A town that used to be called Sexmoan here in the Philippines would do well to have such great PR!

For other takes on this week's theme word, fresh, visit Morgen at It's a Blog Eat Blog World.

Blogworld Saturday

2008-05-04T02:40:00.007+08:00

Betcha thought Blogworld Saturday was over and done with. You thought wrong, but I'm not blaming you. The year is almost half over - jeez, time does fly - and here's my first Blogworld Saturday post for 2008. It's early Sunday morning already where I am, but when did I ever let something like time stop me from doing what I want to do?

Here are some of the posts I've enjoyed reading the past few weeks.

East Coast Dweller. Wise and gentle he may be, but he doesn't put up with ignoramuses. God knows there are so many of them. Here he stands up yet again in defense of womanhood.

Kadi. I've been lurking on her blog, which I like veddy much. This magnificent lady has seven young kids, and lovely as they are, I can imagine the maelstrom they can cause in her household. This post is an example of one such stormy day. No wonder she says "Shitballs!" regularly. Also, this post, The Talk, just made me laugh.

Glamour Puss. She's sexy, but more importantly, her excellent and heartfelt writing reaches out to me and to many others. I most certainly can relate to her post on her darkness and her light. Well, most of it. Not the erotic asphyxiation part, though.

Aileen. Does the way other people refer to you bother you? It does me, sometimes. Aileen talks about what gets her goat other than being addressed as "Ma'am."

Mimi Lenox. On June 4, 2008, Peace Globes will once again float, soar, and dash through the Internet. Participating is simple; just download the Peace Globe picture you like, scrawl your signature across it (and add an image if you desire) and blog about what "peace" means to you. Some people have banners that say something like "Make Poverty History" or "I Need to Get Laid" on their blogs." Achieving either one would certainly bring a measure of peace to one person or many people. Mimi's Blog Blast for Peace would, too, I believe. Positive energy and goodwill through pictures and personal thoughts and stories are something I'm look forward to.

I hope everyone is having a good weekend so far. See you all again in a few days. Stay naughty!

Asked for, and received

2008-05-02T02:14:00.006+08:00

This blog has been reviewed by Charlotte, and you can read the review here.

How's that for brevity?

But of course, the post doesn't end here.

I myself asked for a review from them, and man, did I receive. I'm relieved it's finally over, and that Charlotte (a guest reviewer) didn't rip my blog nor my way or writing to shreds. The site's mainstays aren't going to visit again, thank goodness. I'm glad they took a peek, and sorry they didn't like what they saw.

Did I like the review?

Hell, no.

Do I think it's a fair review?

Hell, yes.

After I submitted my blog to "Ask and Ye Shall Receive," I tried looking at this blog through a stranger's eyes, and I did see how it can be off-putting to the casual visitor. Brown template that can be reminiscent of shit to some, a lot of long posts. I can be wordy many times, but there are many posts as well that don't ramble on and on. But if all you see is a lot of long posts on the front page, and which aren't to your liking, then of course you won't be compelled to dig deeper into the archives to explore. I see that clearly.

I thought the labels would help a reader navigate; I keep just a few tags or labels to make navigation easier, but Cappy pointed out that the labels aren't interesting and don't entice him to delve further. I just don't know. Lara suggested a "best posts" list to draw readers in. My thanks to them for their tips.

So...change is in the air.

Template: I've been wanting to change it, but didn't think I should do so before the review came out. So I'll find a nice one. I liked this one when I first saw it, though (reminded me of dark, warm chocolate).

Title: I'm sticking with what I have. I do have a vagina and a keyboard, can't deny that. Besides, I suck at coming up with cute and clever titles.

Content: I will TRY to meander less and edit against verbosity, but no promises. Maybe it's because I'm so reticent in the 3D world that I ramble on and on in many of my blog posts. It's a form of catharsis for me sometimes. A number of you put up with them, and I thank you. It isn't obvious to everyone, but a lot of them I poured my heart and soul into.

Another thought: maybe it's the template that makes the posts look ultra-long? Well, we'll see when I find a new template that I like.

I appreciate Charlotte's review. The virtual spanking that this lady from the Midwest gave me (I mentioned spanking here recently, didn't I?) was tempered with good words and with criticism meant to help. It was done fairly, in my opinion. Others may not agree with her two stars and flaming finger, and that's their right. But tight hugs and sloppy kisses to those of you who do like my blog - and who do find a connection between us through it.

So I have three blog reviews (that I can remember) under my belt. This latest one from Ask and Ye Shall Receive, one from The Weblog Review, and one from The World Blog Council - my personal favorite, but only because Colonel-whatsisname-Arse is way hot.

Emotionally high-speed home

2008-04-27T02:45:00.011+08:00

Having no Internet connection sucks.

Having Internet connection that's supposed to be high-speed but which performs at a speed that's even slower than dial-up sucks even more - when it takes what seems like a gazillion years before a web page loads. Technical problems, the bland voice at the customer service end of the ISP phone number says. "Thank you for bearing with us," this female automaton recites. My ass. I'd rather bear a cow, which I think I've been doing anyway for the last 24 hours at least. If I don't get an über-slow Internet connection, I get totally no connection at all.

Bugger!

So what's a night owl supposed to do when she doesn't have an Internet connection, all available video games have been played, the kids are asleep, and she can't get to sleep herself because the wee hours are when she's usually still alive and kicking?

She [meaning I, of course] watched a movie, of course. Or several movies.

Watched Love in the Time of Cholera, which I didn't consider to be all that bad, like what the reviews said. Loved the book, liked the movie. Except for the parts where the ladies had beautiful boobies. Happy for them, sad for me. I was probably out drinking beer when God was giving out boobies.

Saw Kinkyboots, which made me laugh. I wish I had Lola's panache. But it's been half a lifetime since I last wore stilettos. They weren't too bad, but I was younger then, and more limber. I'd probably sprain my appendix in addition to my ankles if I tried wearing something like Lola's boots now.

Watched an old Michael Buble concert on video. I don't really get his music. Yeah, he's cute and all, but not really my type. Me likey men with a five o'clock shadow. What the hell, I thought. I should go out of my comfort zone a bit. (To those of you who don't know, my comfort zone - musically speaking - is rock 'n' roll...with a bit of sappiness thrown in sometimes. Hee hee.)

Well, that isn't exactly true. I like lots of kinds of music: rock, jazz, new wave, classical, emo, Sesame Street. Yep. I almost cried when I first heard "Lower Case N" (Sing it with me... Lower-case N/Standing on a hill/The wind is very still/For the lower-case Ehhh-ennnnn...)

So anyway, Michael Buble's repartee in between songs had me chuckling. I especially liked the part where he and Josh Groban were making fun of each other (me likey Josh Groban's music...and his five o'clock shadow). There was this one part where Michael walks through the audience and gets kissed to death, among other things. After that, he says thanks to a certain gentleman in the audience who grabbed his ass.

Now, a stranger grabbing someone's ass would hardly elicit a grateful reaction in most cases. A stranger fondled my non-boob when I was a teenager, while I was riding a form of public transportation called a jeepney - and that scared the shit out of me. If he had grabbed my ass, I think my reaction would have been pretty much the same: barely controlled hysteria.

Twenty years later, things aren't much different. Though I have a bigger ass, I still have the non-boobies. However, if someone was crazy enough to grab that big ass, I wouldn't shrink and cry - I'd probably kick that guy where it would hurt him the most (and I'd use something like Lola's boots). But maybe being grabbed in your most sensitive places when you least expect it can be a good thing, especially if it's done by someone whose opinion matters to you. It may not be pleasant at first, but it can get you thinking. And feeling. And then you start wanting more of it. Not from any random ass-grabber, but from someone who cares enough about you (and vice-versa) to spank your ass a bit.

This is starting to sound a bit kinky, so I should stop.

P.S. I lied when I said I don't get Michael Buble's music. There is one song of his that I do like. It's called Home. Home isn't always a physical location made of bricks, cement, wood, and marble. Sometimes home is a state of mind, a state of presence where you can be comfortable in your own skin - alone or with someone else. I do like this song.

Sweet & sour siblings

2008-04-22T03:05:00.008+08:00

I don't watch TV all that much, but there's one show among several that I do like: Brothers & Sisters. Thank heavens it's back (just as Heroes will be back within the year, woo hoo!).

In a nutshell, Brothers & Sisters is about family relationships: the dynamics among brothers and sisters and their mother and their significant others and half-sister(?) - family. It's mostly drama with a few good laughs thrown in. I'm enjoying it immensely.

I have an older sister and an older brother and a younger brother. All of them live abroad with their families, except for the younger brother, who's away most of the time anyway since he works as a junior purser on a cruise ship in either Europe or the Caribbean.

If you watch Brothers & Sisters, you'll notice that every time the family meets for dinner the evening inevitably ends up in a shouting match. There's no doubt that the family members love each other dearly, but man, they almost rip each others' throats out in these shouting matches. As adults, there were moments when the siblings and I don't see eye to eye on certain things. But it never got to the point that there would be a verbal free-for-all. I do have friends who engage in such, um, lively conversations with their families. After the initial apprehension, such conversations became fun to watch.

My siblings and I have had our share of disagreements - verbal and physical - when we were kids. The younger brother, especially, always threw a mean punch that was always aimed at me. He and I fought like cats and dogs when we were younger, but he and I were closest to each other. We still are. Whenever he's home we go out for a few drinks and kid around. Most importantly, we talk and listen to each other. I have great memories of my older sister and brother when we were kids and before they moved away, but it's the younger brother who somehow gets me the most (and vice-versa). I'd call him my doppelganger, except that I'm way prettier. And that I can outdrink him - but only when Heineken is involved. Otherwise he's the better drinker, hands down.

Don't you wonder how earlier generations were more prolific when it came to childbearing? My mom had seven siblings; my dad had eight. I have just three (siblings and children), but on certain days it seems like I have three dozen. But I'm not complaining. Well, just sometimes. But not much.

(We were supposed to have four more siblings, but they were either stillborn or died shortly after birth.)

But back to Brothers & Sisters. I would totally love to adopt Kevin and Justin into my household. Not for sexual purposes, you perverts. Kevin (the gay guy), because he's so lovable even if he's neurotic and uptight. Justin, because he is so vulnerable and has doe eyes and a perpetual five o'clock shadow. And because both of them are such an adorable, pathetic mess when they're drunk.

Just like me...if you hold the adorable.

Happy huggy weekend

2008-04-19T03:13:00.007+08:00

I posted this video already a long time ago. But watching it still touches me and makes me teary-eyed somehow. I know, I'm such a sorry sap. I hope you watch it, if you haven't seen it yet. Even if you have, it's worth watching again. At least I think so. Because I'm such a sap.

A virtual hug doesn't come close to the real thing. But it's the best I can do for most of you - and me (hmmm, that sounds strange) - right now. So hugs to you, my dear blog buddies. And hug someone back - real tight!

A heartfelt hug, man, you can't describe that. You just feel it.

Found this, too. My online slogan.

Your Slogan Should Be

Lizza. As Delicate as a Caress.

The Slogan Generator

Hmmmmm... Oh, yeah. Or not. Depends. :-)

Have a great weekend, folks!

Progeny

2008-04-17T05:00:00.009+08:00

You know how sometimes nothing feels right: your hair’s a mess, you look in the mirror and see a tub of lard, you feel like you’re drowning in a sea that’s slick with inadequacy, insecurity, loneliness, and perceived non-appreciation. A shitty day to top all shitty days, in other words. Today felt just like that for me; it made me want to go jump off a high cliff.

Until…

The firstborn, about to enter his senior year in high school, called me to show a special move he discovered in the video game he’s playing. And to share other stuff I never could have shared with my parents when I was his age.

The older daughter made an intricate, graceful movement with her arm – like it was part of a dance – while she was sleeping. That made me laugh, and wonder what kind of music she was hearing and dancing to in her dreams.

The younger daughter, the mini-me, stopped me in my tracks while I, all irritable and grumpy, was about to set on an errand. Just before I could snap “What?!” at her (and to my shame, I was about to), this plump bundle of love and laughter wrapped her arms around my midriff – very tightly – and said “I love you, Mama” over and over again. Just because. She does that a lot – all three of them do – but it was especially appreciated today for some reason.

I thank the powers that be for my children. They can drive me crazy ass batshit and make me plaintively cry out "Hay naku namaaaan, mga anak ko!" (which translates roughly to "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?"*) but they keep me sane too.

*Not really, no. Feels that way sometimes, though.

Sappy

2008-04-14T04:13:00.007+08:00

To say that I enjoy listening to rock 'n' roll is an understatement, whether I'm BUI* or not (as Turnbaby inadvertently discovered. Look at that evil grin of hers. And her alluring cleavage. She's evil, I tell ya. Diabolical. But I adore her nevertheless.).

Sometimes, though, when the beer hits the spot or when the moon is full or just because, sappy love songs get to me. When that happens, I feel all warm and tingly inside and I find myself singing along, or making up my own lyrics - but only in my mind - because vocalizing them seems tantamount to sacrilege (especially given how my singing voice sucks big time). Though I do throw caution to the wind sometimes and sing along with abandon anyway. Mostly when I'm alone or very, very drunk. No catastrophic effects - so far.

And when it's a rock song that's a sappy love song at the same time, like the one I heard just a few minutes ago (I'm not saying which one, I do have some sense of shame after all), I can't help gurning like Daddy Papersurfer. It's rockin' fun to be sappy and silly once in a while.

*Blogging under the influence (but then you already knew that, Turnbaby!)

Going bananas

2008-04-11T05:18:00.002+08:00

You Are a Banana

You are mellow, easy going, and a total softie on the inside.

People find it really easy to get along with you. You suit most tastes.

And while you're very sweet, you're not boring or ordinary.

You have an attraction to the exotic, and you could show up anywhere... doing almost anything!

You are spirited, energetic, and a total kick to be around.

You're also quite funny. Your sense of humor is on the goofy side, and it fits you well.

What Type of Fruit Are You?

OK, this made me laugh because it's so far off the mark on many counts. I do adore bananas, though. Oh, yeah. Yummy, yummy stuff.

Each one of us goes bananas at one time or another - and I don't mean we go crazy for the fruit. We just go crazy. But what seems crazy to me might seem commonplace to you, or it might elicit another reaction altogether. For instance, a friend of mine and his brothers and sister used to go bananas playing booger tag when they were kids. Now I can understand how such an activity can be both sweet and disgusting at the same time. Only people who are so comfortable with each other, who enjoy an easy intimacy, can engage in such a barbaric act and laugh their asses off and love each other all the more in spite of - or perhaps because of - it.

That said, I never indulged in that particular game during my childhood. Well, one of my brothers once flicked a booger at me, which landed on my thigh. I went ballistic. He had the grace to remove it, after he had his fill of rolling on the floor, laughing until he was hiccupping, at the sight of me jumping around trying to dislodge it without actually touching it, and not succeeding.

My friend and his siblings stopped playing booger tag after puberty. But I think they still play fart games whenever they get together. Oh the joys of childhood, how they can endure. May the gross kid in each of us never fade. Banana in hand or not.

Freebird

2008-04-06T02:51:00.008+08:00

My candle burns at both ends;
It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends--
It gives a lovely light!

-"First Fig"
by Edna St. Vincent Millay

There's a saying that those whom the gods love die young.

My dear, dear friend Victor's brother, Gerard, died just recently. He would've turned 37 today. I've never met him, but it was still a shock to learn of his unexpected death, and at such a young age. The question "why?" arises in such cases. I'm not saying that death in the elderly is any less tragic, but it somehow seems more overwhelming, more stupefying when the Grim Reaper comes with his indiscriminating scythe for those who are still in their youth.

In Greek mythology, the fates of of one and all (including those of the gods) are decided by three goddesses collectively known as The Fates (duh). Clotho is responsible for spinning the thread of life; Lachesis' task is to measure each person's life-thread; Atropos, with her scissors, is the thread-cutter, the bringer of death.

My question is, by what standards does Lachesis decide how long or short a person's thread is? Is it subject to her whims? Or does she allocate each thread's length in accordance to foresight and insight which she alone knows and understands? In any case, it hardly seems fair, and understanding why something could be so is very difficult, especially in the first days, weeks, months when the grief is still new and at its most painful.

But maybe understanding of such a devastating and life-changing event comes later to those whom the dead leave behind. Maybe one of the steps leading to eventual understanding is acceptance. Acceptance of physical separation, acceptance of departure, acceptance of see-you-again-soon even while asking why-the-hell-did-you-have-to-go-now.

In the meantime, there are the memories. Memories of both big and little events - the latter so much the sweeter sometimes: the way he sang, the way he walked, the fire in his eyes when he talked about something important to him, his stance while astride his Harley, the sound of his laughter. Memories of his moments of sadness and anger, since both good and bad moments are part of living, just as death is part of life. Maybe one day such memories will bring smiles and laughter more than pain and tears.

Thirty-six years is but a blink of an eye in the vastness of eternity, but such a treasure trove of memories those years can bring. The thread has been cut, the candle has been snuffed out, but his light, music, and voice live on in the hearts of his family and friends, they whom he loved in life and who love him immensely both in life and in death.

IN MEMORIAM

GERARD VOLDER
1971-2008

Chasing shadowy pavements

2008-04-03T04:47:00.009+08:00

Shadows are interesting examples of the interplay between light and dark. Sometimes when we have a power outage here at night, the kids and I amuse ourselves by making shadow puppets. Block the candle's light with your fist and fingers arranged just so and look! There's a rabbit. Move your fingers slightly and the figure on the wall becomes a dog. Bring the other hand into play and the dog transforms into a bird flapping its wings (though I flip a different kind of shadow bird when the kids aren't around).

But those are just illusions. The rabbits, dogs, and birds on the wall aren't really what they seem to be; they are just the visual results (in candlelight) of a person's hands doing various things to give an impression of being something else.

The play of shadows in the video of the song Chasing Pavements, by Adele, doesn't create such illusions. But the illusions shown in the video are enthralling nevertheless -- at least to me they are. I so much enjoy how the video was done: two people in a special dance while lying down, plus the awesome interplay later in the video between the shadows of people dancing vertically and the two lying horizontally. Pure magic. This is one song and video I actually appreciate as an earworm and eyeworm for now.

(Does anyone notice the shadows that are cast when he or she is doing the horizontal tango with someone else? I certainly don't.)

Part of the song goes:

Should I give up
Or should I just keep chasing pavements
Even if it leads nowhere,
Or would it be a waste
Even if I knew my place
Should I leave it there

Well, the pavements in my life are mostly un-smooth and imperfect. I know, I know, I should find ways of filling those cracks and potholes so that I don't fall into them, instead of trying to find new pavements to walk or run on (or after) - especially when I'm half-shod or even barefoot. That, however, like many other things, is easier said than done.

Sometimes though, when the sunlight (or moonlight) bathes everything underneath it just so, then the pavement looks absolutely perfect. Magical, even. But that doesn't change the fact that pavements are still too hard and painful for things like horizontal dancing - with or without the alluring shadows.

Going for the gold

2008-03-29T05:40:00.011+08:00

Here in the Philippines, most schools hold an annual event called "Recognition Day." My kids' school had their event yesterday morning.

This is held at the end of the school year and medals and certificates are handed out to students per grade level for their academic achievements: e.g., first-, second-, third-honors, etc., Best in Math, Best in Science, Best in Filipino, Best in English, and so on. Parents go onstage to hang medals or pin ribbons on their children and pose for a Kodak moment. I was a tad taken aback to learn of an award called "Best in Sensorial Development." Yeah, I know sensorial development is somewhat important in the Montessori method of education, but it still made me laugh inside because of inadvertent mental associations with sartorial development, and that's one category I'll always get a D in (most of the time, anyway.)

It amuses me how unnecessarily long-winded these ceremonies are. The awardees parade down the aisle (by grade level), then teachers and school administrators walk down the aisle one by one while someone bleats over the loudspeaker each person's academic credentials, then the parade of colors, then the national anthem, then a dance number by some faculty members, then the introduction of the guest speaker (more blabbing about said guest speaker's academic credentials and achievements), etc., etc. It's a full hour before the awarding of medals takes place.

So, anyway, two of my three received medals, but the littlest one didn't get anything this year. Though she wasn't heartbroken about it, it did disappoint her - to the extent that she shed tears over it. My children's dad and I have gone our separate ways but there's one thing that remains constant: our roles as parents. And in that aspect, one thing hasn't changed: that neither he nor I gives a rat's ass about school medals. We see the kids growing up well: kind, funny, smart, with exasperatingly smart-ass characteristics, so we aren't complaining. We don't need ribbons or medals to validate their worth. That kind of gewgaw isn't on our list of what we want and hope for the children.

Don't get me wrong. It feels good when you learn your progeny is about to be recognized for some aspect or another of academic achievement. It helps reinforce acknowledgment of their hard work. But for me (and for the kids' dad) it isn't the be-all and end-all to a child's growth and to his or her self-esteem. So neither he nor I browbeat any of the children with admonitions of getting an award. The littlest one wasn't bothered by the fact that she didn't get a medal this year per se; what troubled her was that maybe her dad and I would be disappointed in her - especially since her big brother and sister were to receive awards. She has been reassured about this, and she's OK now.

This brings to mind someone I once knew; she did all her children's school projects: writing book reports, making web pages, creating art projects. And she was really good at it. I didn't agree with her methods at all, but she enjoyed doing it. When her kids got high grades for their projects, I couldn't help but think she was the one who should've received the accolades - not her kids - since she did all the work. Me, I leave the kids to do their own homework; the most I've done is to type up book reports and such (my firstborn child actually prefers hand-writing such stuff on paper - to be typed and printed later) and to quiz them when exams are coming up. That's pretty much how my parents dealt with me and my siblings when we were still in school. We'll back you up, baby, but swim with the sharks as much as you can before we rescue your sorry ass! Which they never had to do anyway (school-wise).

In retrospect, though, my relationship with my mom (academically speaking) was a lot different when I was in high school than my relationship (in the same context) with my kids. My dad was pretty OK; very laid-back and non-demanding. He was proud and pleased whenever I received an award, he wasn't demanding in any way. My mom was a different story. If I got a silver award for something, she'd ask, "Why didn't you get the gold?" If I got the gold, she'd tell me, "Make sure you get it again next year." Make no mistake, I love my mom dearly; she's a supportive, stabilizing, loving, and comforting presence in my life. But there were moments when I was growing up that she made me want to jump off the highest cliff - cheerfully.

Makes me wonder what my children will be blogging about me in 20 years.

"My mom, Lizza? I love her madly, but when I was growing up, she made me want to..."

Cyber Yeast, Part Deux

2008-03-26T02:36:00.004+08:00

Not all memes are lame, quite a few are actually fun to do. I had a good time doing my Band Meme post, and several others liked the outcome - which is why I was honored with my second Rising Blogger award.

Thank you, Bud Weiser, for your kind words in your review. (Bud is the author of WTIT: Tape Radio and one of the team of reviewers at The Rising Blogger). And thanks to Judd Corizan, creator of The Rising Blogger site.

I didn't tag anyone else for the Band Meme, but some other bloggers liked the game enough to play along. Like my dear Indian blog buddy, Prometheus. He's been AWOL for the longest time and seeing him posting again is most pleasant. I and many others have enjoyed his smart and funny posts. Mon ami, if you're reading this, I hope you continue blogging. Your wit at The Moving (Middle) Finger Writes has been sorely missed.

The other person who did this game unbidden is Dean, who posts over at Qwerty Confessions. Dean is a fellow Filipino blogger. This young man is only 13 years old and his command of the English language is excellent. Young as he is, he's won a number of local journalism awards. It would be a pleasure to watch his development as a writer over the years. I wasn't writing anywhere near as well as he is when I was his age. Well, nothing intellectual anyway. Just the normal teenage-heartthrobbing stuff I'd scribble every day in my pink Little Twin Stars diary. The menage a trois comprised of Lizza, beer, and ciggies was still nonexistent in those days. Ah, wholesomely good times they were.

...See Me Roar (and Burp)

2008-03-22T05:12:00.004+08:00

They say the ability to think, to reason, is what elevates humans above other animals. Thinking is good, but it's overrated in some cases. Especially when you come across people who are ostensibly thinking, but in reality they're just blowing wind in an attempt to impress others. Yep, watching how members of the animal kingdom act naturally, without pomp or pretense, via shows on Animal Planet or the Discovery Channel is most refreshing.

The animal way of life is appealing sometimes - just acting on one's instincts. Though maybe men wouldn't agree if they see how some female animals devour the males of their species after copulation. No, I know such behavior isn't practical or acceptable by human standards. Still, there's something so alluring about the thought of just doing it (though not necessarily killing men after sex!) all else be damned. No constraints, no judging, no self-consciousness - just doing what feels right and natural.

Not ardently complaining about human civilization, though. After all, no matter how regal and awe-inspiring lions and tigers (and others of the animal kingdom) may be in their primal and instinctive state, they don't have books. And blogs. And beer. Beeeeer. Rawr!

Southbound dreams

2008-03-21T03:08:00.007+08:00

Last night a friend told me about a dream he had.

It was a convoluted dream with many twists and turns, and there's nothing out of the ordinary if you look at it from the dreamer's point of view. From a wakeful point of view, however, it was entirely weird. One of the highly entertaining parts of his dream involved Jesus driving a silver Chevrolet sedan with a decal that said "Do it." We laughed ourselves silly trying to decipher his dream, and we came up with a few good logical-sounding interpretations. They sound logical to us, at least, since we know about this friend's life situation, his goals and aspirations. But if we tell other people about our hypotheses, they'd think we were cuckoo.

**********

Summer has arrived here in the Philippines. That means muggy afternoons, when taking a cool shower helps only marginally since you start feeling hot again even as you towel off. Warm afternoons, like the one I had today, make me want to take a nap (come to think of it, so do rainy and cold afternoons; I guess naptime for me is non-climate-dependent). So I took a nap.

And had a dream.

I was walking along a beach with another dear friend. Nothing unusual in that, my country has a gazillion beaches. What was unusual was that the waves weren't dashing up onto sand from the ocean. No, the sea foam rushed up to dissolve on snow. I was scrunching snow in between my toes, instead of sand. Let me tell you, I've never known snow, never had a 3-D experience with it. I know I could probably approximate it with the frosty gunk that accumulates in some old-fashioned fridges, but it isn't the same. Snow is as alien to me as cunnilingus is to my friend who had the Jesus-driving-a-car dream (he's gay). Sure, I know about snow (the way he knows about cunny) - from reading about it or seeing it on TV or in the movies. But I have no first-person experience with snow (just like he doesn't have any personal experiences with pleasing a female orally). One of the differences between us is that I'd like to get to know snow up close and personal; he doesn't have the same sentiment about the female anatomy.

Anyway.

What struck me after waking up was how normal it felt, that feeling of walking-on-the-beach-in-the-snow thing in dreamworld. Never mind that it wasn't real - inasmuch as how we define reality anyway. In that moment, in that world in my subconscious, everything felt real. More than that, it felt right.

Would that this feeling of rightness is always present in the real world, our world of wakefulness, where shit happens - stuff that's out of our control. Reality sucks sometimes. My gay friend may never see Jesus navigating the streets of Manila in a Chevrolet sedan during rush hour. I may never experience making snowcastles on a beach. But as long as we have those feelings of normalcy (even about the outrageous) inside us - and have people close to our hearts to whom we can bare our souls, who will listen, who we can be ourselves with, no holds barred, who somehow help us transcend the colorlessness of many aspects of everyday life, with whom we can cry and laugh at all the doodoo that befalls us - then I have no complaints. Not too much, anyway.

Inner Music, a.k.a. Band Meme

2008-03-16T04:22:00.010+08:00

I've unwittingly been a denizen of the dungeons at Bloggingham Palace, no wonder I've been feeling a tad clammy. Wherefore my punishment? It seems I missed doing a meme doled out by the Queen of Memes, Mimi Lenox. It's been a few dozen years since she issued this particular royal meme decree (two months, actually) but I hope that this belated compliance on my part will be enough to free me from the dungeon, lovely stalactites and stalagmites it may have.

So what is this meme all about? Create a fictional band and album by visiting the following sites:

1. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Special:Random
The first article title on the page is the name of your band

2. http://www.quotationspage.com/random.php3
The last four words of the very last quote is the title of your album.

3. http://www.flickr.com/explore/interesting/7days
The third picture, no matter what it is, will be your album cover.

4. Use your graphics program of choice to throw them together, and post the result as a comment in this post. Also, pass it along in your own journal because it’s more amusing that way.

Given the instructions, I came up with this:

The name of the band, "Nautilida," comes from something like a mollusk. Pretty ocean thingy. You see them on beaches everywhere.

The full quote that arose with Instruction #2: "Very little is needed to make a happy life," by Marcus Aurelius Antoninus.

Photo credit for the "album" design goes to someone called Death and Gravity, for the image called "Solitude."

Nautilidus, or the nautilus shell as I recall, is an embodiment of the golden mean number, which in turn represents nature's intrinsic beauty. That's math, so I don't fully understand what it means (numbers and I don't get along). But I do recall that the golden mean number occurs naturally elsewhere in nature and in works of art and architecture.

I agree with Marcus Aurelius; he hit the nail on the head with his statement. We don't really need vast amounts of belongings or possessions or whatever else to make us happy. Sure, things or relationships or achievements can make us feel good, they can bring pleasure. But do they bring joy? What we have now, at this moment, is more than enough to bring happiness. Or if not happiness, then inner peace, which is even better in my opinion.

The picture "Solitude" is probably not something that many of us would equate with happiness. I mean, it doesn't have smiling faces or flowers or teddy bears or parties. But maybe the guy in the picture, his pensive demeanor and his solitude notwithstanding, is nonetheless happy. One can experience joy even in solitude. Maybe he's listening to a song, recalling a positive memory, or maybe he's just had great sex. Just because he doesn't have a goofy grin on his face and just because he isn't jumping around and screaming maniacally doesn't mean he isn't happy. Expressions of happiness can be subtle. I just wish we could see his eyes; they are a terrific indication of a person's state of being, I believe.

Or maybe he's feeling really shitty and wondering how he can make things better. I can certainly relate. Maybe you can too.

"Make a happy life." Easy to say, hard to do. Or is it? In spite of all the problems we encounter on a daily basis, I believe it's possible. Happiness comes from within, when we allow ourselves to enjoy what we have right now. Past and future don't exist. No mental trash about what was, what could have been, or what will be. Relish the moment, accept it and the happiness that comes with it, whether you're making a blog post or taking out the trash or listening to a dog's incessant woof-woof-woof or playing hide-and-seek with the moon that's peeking coquettishly behind the clouds or tenderly holding the hand of someone you love. Or when you're simply looking at a nautilus shell, even if you don't have a half-assed clue about the golden mean number, and don't care.

Lalalalalalaaaa...

2008-03-10T02:56:00.005+08:00

I don't know why this song keeps playing in my mind. I certainly don't have any memories of 1973 - I was just two years old then. But somehow this song triggers certain memories in a sort of roundabout way which I can't fully comprehend, much less explain.

It's been brought to my attention recently that too much thinking isn't good. It brings up too much mental noise that each and every one of us is better off without. Are memories - good or bad - part of that mental noise, contributing to pollution in the brain that distracts from the here and now, and are we better off without them? Descartes said, "I think, therefore I am." If I stop thinking, am I reduced to being nothing and nobody? Why is Descartes such an authority on thought and thinking anyway? (That's a rhetorical question, so don't bother answering.)

Here I go again. Thinking. Not good. Maybe. What do you think? If you're thinking at all?

Well, I think I want a beer. Sorry, I can't help thinking that thought!