Fathers and forgetful angels

Mamma Mia. Meryl Streep isn't a bad singer and uses her body as if she is not about to get a hip dislocation at any moment. Everyone in that film looked happy- even when they were sad, they were cheerful about it. I do not see Colin Firth as a gay man. Stelan Skarsgard kind of creeps me out. When Pierce Brosnan sings, there's a point at the beginning of the song where it sounds like he's still clearing his throat. The scenes these three men share are the most endearing, but the hilarious Julie Walters could give them a run for their money. People in musicals clearly haven't heard of paternity tests.

Hancock. A couple of questions. Why did Hancock get amnesia if he had healing abilities? I mean, it took Peter Petrelli a while to regain his memory but he managed it. Also, if Mary didn't want to be found out, why did she go on a rampage in downtown Los Angeles dressed in that fetching black outfit? Way to hide your superpowers. And also, why did she keep bringing up details about their past? The man has amnesia, woman. He has no idea what you're talking about. Which brings me to: why was she acting like everything was his fault? Didn't she abandon him for the last eighty years? Aaand, what did Hancock use to attach that huge heart on the moon? (Or was it paint?)

DARK KNIGHT NA BUKAAAAS!!! EEEEEEE!!!

And did those inmates feel awkward around each other after they got his head out of his ass?

I got you babe

I have developed a strong resistance towards anything productive. My turbulent adjustment to free time has caused most of my family considerable stress-- only Rako appears to understand my awkward evolution. His tolerance knows no limit, showing no apparent distress even when listening to my interpretations of songs by the Pretenders. That's love.

Here he is on guard dog duty.

Location chart

Looks like I'm going to be back in Baguio for the next four months. I took home most of my stuff from the House of M yesterday. I was sorely unprepared for major hakot, so in an act of desperation, I packed most of my readings and books in a black trash bag. There were mixed looks of amusement and disdain. Nicole and Lem sniggered when they saw my trash bag (Nicole when I was leaving Marikina, and Lem when I got to Baguio). The security guard at Victory informed me that I shouldn't stray too far from my bags because the resident basurero might mistake them for the morning trash. I think he was kidding.

Resurgent blogger? Not.

I feel I need to reach out. I haven't written in a while though, so this will come out in random bursts.

I space out a lot these days and feel sleepy even when I shouldn't be. One forgets how to socialize after being on field for a while. The seas and the mountains are more tame than the city.

Even when one misses their pine trees, the Universe will compensate somehow. I think of agoho trees growing on a cliff, all bending where the winds blow them.

Roger Federer. The French Open finals. (...hargh)

Been hanging out in Marvel 1602 (Thanks Fifi!) It makes for good dreams.

Regina Spektor makes a recent appearance in my life. Listen to the "The Call" on the Prince Caspian soundtrack. I realized how much I missed her and revisited Begin to Hope this morning (Come in to my world, I've got to show...show...show you...bum bum bum).

Skadoosh. Pandas kick kung fu ass.

My armpits are bleeding. And with this visual thought, I leave you.

Anger and a lesson in snot

I'm back in Manila now, and for reasons I probably will never admit, everything pisses me off. I have a feeling the people at home are beginning to suspect that there might be something up my nether region. This morning, I decided that I should try and manage my mounting rage. I fear that if I don't, I might lash out and break someone's face. Otherwise, I got nuthin' but love.

In more news, I'm recovering from the ravages of the Common Cold. I spent my last three days in Baguio with the flu.When my cough decided to go the distance, the depressing weather in the city decided to make a turn-around. I had my blankets up to my chin, and outside the damn birds were singing, the frickin' sun was shining, and the blasted sky was the perfect shade of ice blue. I didn't mind. Truly.

Here's some information you may have already realized for yourselves (but I'm going to write about anyway). Remember that when one is sick with the flu, it is usually best to drink plenty of fluids. I was wise to follow that advice and drank as much water as I could. Have you ever noticed that when your nose is jammed with snot, and you have water in your other breathing orifice, the effect is like drowning? It is an unpleasant, sputtering experience. Now, I am careful to blow my nose before I lift a glass of water to my mouth. Everyone should remember to do likewise.

Oh, and don't forget to wash your hands.

Puppy no longer

A new post in just one day! Surprised?

Just a quick one. Time warp.

I took this picture of Rako on April 8, 2007. It had just been a few days since we'd gotten him. Around this time, he'd already figured out how to get up the stairs and into the kitchen.


This one, I took of him on December 16, 2007. He already knows how to sit for food and use The Eyes to get treats. How far he has come.

Forgive the poor resolution. These were pictures off my phone, and its camera leaves a lot to be desired. Still, though, enjoy the doggie love.

I return with a story about a disappointing sweatshirt

Merry Christmas, everyone!

Sorry for the long silence. Most events in my life have been...internal. And that's no fun. (But anyway, here's a link to how I put my tangled emotions to good use.) I promised myself I would blog, though, so here I am. I missed you all! A couple of posts ago, I asked you to please support my piddling blog. Fruity put in a very enthusiastic response, and I'm hoping I'm still on her good side. (The last time I was online, I managed to read her post about slacker blogging and its wondrous inverse effects. If only we all were that lucky.) Sure I've slacked off for two months, but I still crave the blogging love. I attention-grub that way. This one bit of news that stuck is The Philosophical Bastard has gone off to greener domains. Still need to check that out. I'm home in Baguio now, therefore on dial-up. As far as Internet evolution goes, I'm still in the Dark Ages. This is long overdue, but thanks to Lisa for thinking to invite me to BlogRush. I have yet to realize the full potential of that service since I dropped off the blogging radar.

Blogging mojo, return! I know it will take more than that to get it back, but my desperation will force me to try anything.

Went and used most of my Christmas money this afternoon. For about three days I was really intent on this red hoodie I sighted at the John Hay Commissary. This thing drove me crazy. Truly, it occupied my thoughts for most of those three days. I went back there today to finally sate my desire for this coveted piece of clothing. It was disappointment, not satisfaction, that met me. I worked myself up so much, my poor expectant brain fabricated (haha) this vision of the perfect red sweatshirt. It was literally glowing in my mind. I felt that if I acquired the hoodie, it would be like getting bitten by a genetically-altered spider. It would become my secret source of power: the stone I would swallow for my boobs to grow to ridiculous proportions and the clothes on my back to magically transform into a two-piece outfit worthy of saving an imperiled world. That red sweatshirt would be like the earrings that turned a plain-looking orphanage mother to a bangin' rock star with a purple highlights. It was the sweatshirt to end all sweatshirts...in my head. When I saw it again this afternoon, I couldn't understand why it looked as forgettable as it did. I hauled myself into a cab, ended up in Session Road, and went window-shopping half-dazed.

To try and make up for that severe let-down, I stumbled into a bookstore. There, I found redemption in finding a long-searched-for title and 20% off on all items. Bookstores on sale are the most beautiful things in the world. The red sweatshirt disillusionment gave me clarity for books (and a solid pair of jeans). I'm slightly poorer than when I started out this morning, but I didn't do too bad. The Red Sweatshirt may have eluded me this time, but I will find it. Meanwhile, I will spend cheerfully on books and keep my eyes open for those hologram-generating earrings (Me and my friends are Kubi girls! Kubi! Kubi's my name!).

I'll be going about the rounds soon, folks. See you all in the commenting windows.