Had a whole lot of fun going through the Indiana Jones Trilogy Box Set. Indiana Jones isn’t just the standard-bearer in adventure movies, it also holds a lot of sentimental attachment on my part, as it’s part of a few laserdiscs my family had since I was 9. So I’ve seen the films dozens of times. But since my laserdisc player got busted a few years ago, I haven’t seen them since. So it was terrific being able to watch them on DVDs, and finally going through supplementary material that was heretofore limited to a few paragraphs on the production.
I have to say, watching the 3 films after such a long time, really made me feel like a kid again. Certain scenes I still knew verbatim, but there are a few gags I’d forgotten about, and seeing them again, and being surprised by them again, just reminded me so much of why I love movies. The supplementary material I enjoyed just as much; I finally found out some backstory as to how these films I’ve loved since childhood came to be made. I was going to list the amusing anecdotes down but there are just too many, the best advice I can give all of you is to go through the box set yourselves, you definitely won’t regret it. Some of the highlights, though, were finally seeing what Short Round looks like now (like Stephen Chow, and still with a bit of an accent; I really hope he’s in Indy 4 even if I think Indy 4 itself is a bad idea), and seeing some of the behind-the-scenes footage shot during the production of the films. Witnessing a little bit of the flirtation between Steven Spielberg and Kate Capshaw (they marry a few years after Temple of Doom), the origin of the project (Indiana named after George Lucas’s dog, Spielberg agreeing to direct it on Lucas’s vacation from Star Wars), seeing Jim Steranko’s original concept paintings that defined the look of Indy (with the jacket, hat, and whip), how the mine chase in Temple of Doom was partly shot by a Nikon SLR shooting at a frame a second, that there are “hieroglyphs” of R2D2 and Threepio in the Well of Souls in Raiders, that the nightclub in Temple of Doom is called Obi Wan, that Dan Aykroyd had a bit part I never noticed before. Man, there’s just so much fun stuff, it’s amazing. And it really was a time when they had to invent a lot of things for the elaborate set and action pieces. There wasn’t much CGI, and I sort of miss that era. I very much prefer actual stunts to CGI, when possible. That’s partly why the fucking Mummy franchise is just bollocks compared to Indiana Jones. And did you know that the much-maligned Temple of Doom was responsible for the creation of the PG13 rating? It’s all there. Another reason why I enjoyed everything immensely is that these are films I know very well, and fell in love with, at a time when I wasn’t yet considering trying to be a filmmaker. So I wasn’t thinking about how they shot this scene, or how they pulled off that stunt or this special effect. Nowadays, if I’m watching a movie part of me is figuring out how they shot this, or how that scene was lit, and how good the dialogue is, and, especially since Keka, continuity errors. Seeing now, at the age of 23, how something I fell in love with at the age of 9 was made… it’s like magic. :)
(And I should say that I love Temple of Doom, even if it is my least favorite. When I was 9 that film frightened me to death. It’s more of a horror than an adventure film, but I think it fits in the canon perfectly and can’t imagine the franchise now without it. It felt like a necessary step between Raiders and the damn-near perfect Last Crusade, which goes down in my book as one of the best films ever made. It still brings a tear to my eye at certain scenes.)
Thursday, January 15, 2004
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Last week the U.S. began fingerprinting and photographing visiting foreigners arriving at air- and seaports. And a recent poll, conducted after Saddam's capture, revealed that 7 out of 10 Americans still think Saddam had something to do with 9-11. And so continues the spinning of American media, owned largely by Bush's buddies, while the White House itself gets caught in lie after lie after lie... even one about the poem Dubya supposedly wrote for his wife... tsk tsk... for shame, Dubya, for shame. Cribbing poetry? That's just a whole new low. Even for you.
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Apparently Brother Bear is the second-to-last traditional 2D animated film from Disney. The last one will be Home on the Range, whose trailer I've seen and it didn't really do anything for me. It certainly feels like an era's ending, although you have to be honest that their traditional 2D films haven't really been staggeringly good lately. It's pretty much been downhill since Hunchback, for me. There were a few good ones along the way (I quite like The Emperor's New Groove, and Neva likes Lilo & Stitch). Disney as an empire has been crumbling, it's on its last legs now and those will give way soon if they don't do something. One interesting piece of news I've read recently is that a majority of the employees from the animation division that they're shutting down are banding (or really just remaining) together to form a mini-animation studio of their own. It is hoped that this will mean they're free to do stories they really want to do, and not have to answer to higher-ups who really know nothing about storytelling, and won't have to pander to children as a main audience. So this could be exciting; they're like an indie production company, but in animation.
No one sees the Pixar films as Disney films, they're seen as Pixar films, and even their contract is soon going to be up with Disney, and word is they don't want to renew (so they can make all the profit they deserve), while EVERYONE knows Disney is desperate to keep Pixar happy, because really, they're all Disney's got left that's both excellent and making boatloads of money. I mean, has anyone noticed all these straight-to-video sequels they've been pumping out the past few years? All of it bollocks. The only way Disney is going to keep Pixar happy is by offering some record-shattering new contract. All advantages are on Pixar's side. The afterbirth that was Titan A.E. resulted in Fox dissolving its animation division, and when Warner mishandled the marketing of the wonderful The Iron Giant, Pixar immediately hired director Brad Bird (whose name I first noticed when he was working for The Simpsons), who's now doing the next Pixar film (The Incredibles).
--
Thank you God. New Shithouse strips (and an overhaul of the website, too).
And, sadly, Maria Schneider's Pathetic Geek Stories is leaving its home, The Onion. At least it's just to her own website.
Wednesday, January 14, 2004
Man, there are a couple of things I want to post about but time is short, things are busy, and I have a few lot of things I have to finish.
But Kill Bill comes out today, and your instructions are to buy the KEKA DVD (which has some great features), and the new Ciudad album, which is almost sold out of its first print run.
But Kill Bill comes out today, and your instructions are to buy the KEKA DVD (which has some great features), and the new Ciudad album, which is almost sold out of its first print run.
Tuesday, January 06, 2004
Wonder Woman was created by William Moulton Marston, who was also a doctor. A psychologist, I think. Anyway, he also invented what became the polygraph, the lie detector test. And what's Wonder Woman's weapon? The Golden Lasso, which is unbreakable. And if you're tied up in it, you are compelled to speak the truth. You can't lie. Interesting.
I've read that there's quite a lot of bondage subtext in those old Wonder Woman strips. She constantly ties up villains, or gets tied up herself. One article I read said that her creation was tinctured by Marston's being a psychologist. He's said to have mixed the bondage/Amazon woman/pin-up girl sexual appeal of a woman with the girl-next-door sensibility, and that this is why Wonder Woman is the only major female comic character to have endured the decades (she was created in the late '30s, I think), and remain a pop culture icon of sorts.
Just wondering about Wonder Woman because I've been enjoying the new creative team on her book, led by writer Greg Rucka. One of the interesting things he mentioned in an interview in preparation for the gig was that he had to research a lot because Wonder Woman by default is a kind of feminist icon, and the character has gone through several permutations over the decades because feminism itself has changed through the decades, and she has to "change" in kind to represent her context.
I was also wondering if this applied to Mars Ravelo's Darna, supposedly a carbon-copy Wonder Woman, but with different origins that tie her in to a socio-political context inherent in the third world. Who even remembers Darna now? The recent mini-series Mango Comics published didn't really show off her uniqueness, in my eyes. What is her significance to the common Filipina? Especially in this day and age?
I've read that there's quite a lot of bondage subtext in those old Wonder Woman strips. She constantly ties up villains, or gets tied up herself. One article I read said that her creation was tinctured by Marston's being a psychologist. He's said to have mixed the bondage/Amazon woman/pin-up girl sexual appeal of a woman with the girl-next-door sensibility, and that this is why Wonder Woman is the only major female comic character to have endured the decades (she was created in the late '30s, I think), and remain a pop culture icon of sorts.
Just wondering about Wonder Woman because I've been enjoying the new creative team on her book, led by writer Greg Rucka. One of the interesting things he mentioned in an interview in preparation for the gig was that he had to research a lot because Wonder Woman by default is a kind of feminist icon, and the character has gone through several permutations over the decades because feminism itself has changed through the decades, and she has to "change" in kind to represent her context.
I was also wondering if this applied to Mars Ravelo's Darna, supposedly a carbon-copy Wonder Woman, but with different origins that tie her in to a socio-political context inherent in the third world. Who even remembers Darna now? The recent mini-series Mango Comics published didn't really show off her uniqueness, in my eyes. What is her significance to the common Filipina? Especially in this day and age?
Friday, January 02, 2004
My monitor's tube has given up the ghost; it is dead and gone. But forsooth, it has served us well, since I was in late high school, methinks, or was it the beginning of college? Thereabouts. We dug up an older, smaller monitor and thankfully it's compatible. My dad won't shell out the 5k to get a new 17-inch monitor. I guess we aren't liquid. With the expansion of the farm it's been a little difficult. We have no drivers right now, so when school starts I'm going to be without a car again (Mom & Dad take a car each, and Lee drives himself to school now), so if I need to go out I have to wait for one of them to get home or commute. This also kind of explains why we haven't gotten the ATOZ's airconditioning fixed; the new compressor it requires is 16k. I doubt the cracked windshield will be replaced anytime soon either.
I remember one Christmas I got a lot of boxer shorts for some reason, not all of which fit. I mention this because this year, I've received 3 wallets. And how were your holidays? I'm not complaining, though, 2 are really nice, but I don't know when I'm going to use them.
I was at my relatives the other day. Mom's side. 3 of my mom's brothers live in the same village. We took a walk to my cousin's house, and they showed me their collection of pirated DVDs, which almost puts mine to shame. They've got shelves and shelves, and they're even labeled according to genre. My other cousin mentioned that he and his family don't even rent movies anymore, they just come over here and borrow.
In these kinds of family gatherings, the kids tend to separate into their groups, usually according to age range. Well, I was hanging out with my younger brother and our cousins his age (an average of 6 years younger). And while at the computer of one cousin, I started poking around and indeed, found the porn folder, which definitely puts mine to shame.
It got me thinking about how difficult it was to get porn while I was in high school: they were all bootleg VHS tapes, and borrowed magazines. Nowadays, you can get thousands of VCDs/DVDs on the street for around 50 bucks. The internet allows access to all kinds of filth at a few clicks. To say nothing of FHM and its competitors.
And now I'm wondering like a conservative fuddy-duddy: does all this warp our fragile little minds? I mean, the profusion, the ease of access, everything's too convenient now. It doesn't have that "edge" of being forbidden material anymore.
Because what I found on my cousins' harddrive was disturbing: it wasn't the porn (mostly small videos of XXX scenes), it was collections of videos of deaths. Or brutal accidents. The kind you can't air on TV. Now, I've seen an episode or two of Faces of Death in my time, but some of this was really sick shit. There was footage of a newscaster who put a gun in his mouth and blew out the top of his head, a woman crushed by a toppled chimney, a kickboxer who broke his leg, a skateboarder who broke his arm, and the worst was this Russian terrorist video where a guy's head was being held to the ground. They were in some forest, and it must've been cold because the terrorists were dressed like it and the captive's breaths could be seen when he exhaled. It's a pretty close shot of his head, when all of a sudden this knife plunges into his neck and the terrorist just keeps stabbing and stabbing like he's sawing off the neck. The captive of course is screaming, but his throat is literally coming apart and it's really more of a sickening, gurgling sound. The sound of an animal dying. The blood is just black, and gushing out stronger and faster than I expected, and it's just that much darker as it pours out onto the snow. There's a cut and the last bit of flesh connecting the head to the body is severed, then the head is being carried around by the terrorists.
Right after I saw this my 13-year-old cousin, the one whose computer this is (also the one I mentioned was on Friendster), tells me it's time to eat dinner, as if I didn't just watch someone murdered in close-up.
I'm 10 years older and I'm the one disturbed, whereas he doesn't even flinch.
The word desensitized somehow seems inadequate.
--
Wow. I realize that's actually a horrible post to open the new year. Sorry about that. I wasn't really planning on writing about it. Then again, that's how most of these posts go: I sit down with a vague idea of what I want to write about but more often than not it meanders onto another track. Well, at the very least, the post tends to become a surprise to me, too. Maybe it's a barometer for what my subconscious is stewing about.
Other posts are written way in advance, and actually take a little cultivation before I publish them. Some of the more sensitive ones, definitely.
--
This Christmas season has been, for me, really a kind of bleah one. Bland and unremarkable. More than other times, it seems, I didn't really feel the spirit of Christmas, and felt that it snuck up on me like some unremembered sibling's birthday. I'm strapped for cash, so most gifts are going to be late this time around (sorry, guys). In fact, come to think of it, everyone but Neva's gift is late.
Still, I hope everyone enjoyed their holiday season, no matter where they were.
Let's hope that the coming year will bring better things for all of us.
It has to.
PLEASE.
I remember one Christmas I got a lot of boxer shorts for some reason, not all of which fit. I mention this because this year, I've received 3 wallets. And how were your holidays? I'm not complaining, though, 2 are really nice, but I don't know when I'm going to use them.
I was at my relatives the other day. Mom's side. 3 of my mom's brothers live in the same village. We took a walk to my cousin's house, and they showed me their collection of pirated DVDs, which almost puts mine to shame. They've got shelves and shelves, and they're even labeled according to genre. My other cousin mentioned that he and his family don't even rent movies anymore, they just come over here and borrow.
In these kinds of family gatherings, the kids tend to separate into their groups, usually according to age range. Well, I was hanging out with my younger brother and our cousins his age (an average of 6 years younger). And while at the computer of one cousin, I started poking around and indeed, found the porn folder, which definitely puts mine to shame.
It got me thinking about how difficult it was to get porn while I was in high school: they were all bootleg VHS tapes, and borrowed magazines. Nowadays, you can get thousands of VCDs/DVDs on the street for around 50 bucks. The internet allows access to all kinds of filth at a few clicks. To say nothing of FHM and its competitors.
And now I'm wondering like a conservative fuddy-duddy: does all this warp our fragile little minds? I mean, the profusion, the ease of access, everything's too convenient now. It doesn't have that "edge" of being forbidden material anymore.
Because what I found on my cousins' harddrive was disturbing: it wasn't the porn (mostly small videos of XXX scenes), it was collections of videos of deaths. Or brutal accidents. The kind you can't air on TV. Now, I've seen an episode or two of Faces of Death in my time, but some of this was really sick shit. There was footage of a newscaster who put a gun in his mouth and blew out the top of his head, a woman crushed by a toppled chimney, a kickboxer who broke his leg, a skateboarder who broke his arm, and the worst was this Russian terrorist video where a guy's head was being held to the ground. They were in some forest, and it must've been cold because the terrorists were dressed like it and the captive's breaths could be seen when he exhaled. It's a pretty close shot of his head, when all of a sudden this knife plunges into his neck and the terrorist just keeps stabbing and stabbing like he's sawing off the neck. The captive of course is screaming, but his throat is literally coming apart and it's really more of a sickening, gurgling sound. The sound of an animal dying. The blood is just black, and gushing out stronger and faster than I expected, and it's just that much darker as it pours out onto the snow. There's a cut and the last bit of flesh connecting the head to the body is severed, then the head is being carried around by the terrorists.
Right after I saw this my 13-year-old cousin, the one whose computer this is (also the one I mentioned was on Friendster), tells me it's time to eat dinner, as if I didn't just watch someone murdered in close-up.
I'm 10 years older and I'm the one disturbed, whereas he doesn't even flinch.
The word desensitized somehow seems inadequate.
--
Wow. I realize that's actually a horrible post to open the new year. Sorry about that. I wasn't really planning on writing about it. Then again, that's how most of these posts go: I sit down with a vague idea of what I want to write about but more often than not it meanders onto another track. Well, at the very least, the post tends to become a surprise to me, too. Maybe it's a barometer for what my subconscious is stewing about.
Other posts are written way in advance, and actually take a little cultivation before I publish them. Some of the more sensitive ones, definitely.
--
This Christmas season has been, for me, really a kind of bleah one. Bland and unremarkable. More than other times, it seems, I didn't really feel the spirit of Christmas, and felt that it snuck up on me like some unremembered sibling's birthday. I'm strapped for cash, so most gifts are going to be late this time around (sorry, guys). In fact, come to think of it, everyone but Neva's gift is late.
Still, I hope everyone enjoyed their holiday season, no matter where they were.
Let's hope that the coming year will bring better things for all of us.
It has to.
PLEASE.
Saturday, December 20, 2003
Tuesday, December 16, 2003
Last Saturday my grade school batch had a quasi-reunion. Around 20 people showed up. This number out of a batch composed of 35 ain't so bad. And to think that it's been 10 years since we graduated! We haven't all been in touch through those years; some credit has to go to friendster and the mailing list for getting a lot of us back in contact. It was great seeing Brandon, for example, who I literally have not seen since graduation. But my grade school batch has been surprisingly close, moreso than a lot of other batches. Maybe it comes from the fact that we were such a small school. Or because we were the first batch that merged AM/PM, who were usually kept separate. It was great seeing everyone. Best of all, there were no uncomfortable silences, we all just started talking and updating one another as to what we've been doing, where we're working, where we went to school and what we took up, etc. Some of the parents were exchanging baby pics (there's more parents in my grade school batch than my high school class, for some reason. I guess I expected it to be the other way around). I had a lot of fun and laughed a hell of a lot as we reminisced through the night. Some of my classmates haven't changed much, some have, some have just grown/matured in the direction I predicted (sometimes not such a good thing).
My high school class are also pretty close. The mailing list is active (what little porn I see these days usually comes from there) and we make it a point to see each other at least several times a year. I bump into them here and there and when we see each other it's like no time has passed either. I remember during senior year everyone was getting sentimental about it being our last year together and we would go home at around 5-6 every evening even when we were dismissed early. We'd play basketball/table tennis, or just hang out inside/outside the classroom, usually ending with a rice/egg dinner (a 10-peso meal for poor me) at the now-gone Goodah. Good times.
Anyway, that night I couldn't sleep. I just kept thinking how lucky I was that both my grade school and high school batches were pretty close and still kept in touch, still liked to meet up and see each other and hang out. And I got to thinking about one of my greatest regrets: the fact that I didn't stay in touch with my classmates in the US when I was there for 4th grade. I made a bunch of good friends there, had a greater time than I probably should have, and like a motherfucking fool I didn't stay in touch with any of them. It might surprise some of you that probably my best friend there was a black girl named Lenelle Moise. She was one of the few people who had a twisted sense of humor, and we got to know each other because we took the same school bus home. Another good friend was Wade, and it really pains me that I can't remember his last name. This guy was a comic-book geek like me, and he joined my Tae Kwon Do class after I recommended it. He was so nice he moved up his birthday party a few weeks so I could attend it because I was about to go back to the Philippines. Melissa, who sat across me, I became friends with instantly because she was such a reader. When our Scholastic book orders would arrive every month we'd see whose stack of books was taller.
Man, the regret kills me. If I could get to my 10-year-old self I'd kick my ass for being so heartlessly stupid.
Anyway, so I couldn't sleep. I went online and tried to find everyone on friendster. This wasn't the first time I'd done this, but maybe they'd joined in the interim. Still nothing. So just out of curiosity, I looked up the website of the school, and found a list of faculty, and lo and behold, one of my teachers was still there! So now I've got her email address. I'm going to write her and see if she's in contact with anyone (I doubt it); at the very least she can hopefully give me a class list from one of the yearbooks. Then I'll look for them again. My virtual fingers are virtually crossed.
My high school class are also pretty close. The mailing list is active (what little porn I see these days usually comes from there) and we make it a point to see each other at least several times a year. I bump into them here and there and when we see each other it's like no time has passed either. I remember during senior year everyone was getting sentimental about it being our last year together and we would go home at around 5-6 every evening even when we were dismissed early. We'd play basketball/table tennis, or just hang out inside/outside the classroom, usually ending with a rice/egg dinner (a 10-peso meal for poor me) at the now-gone Goodah. Good times.
Anyway, that night I couldn't sleep. I just kept thinking how lucky I was that both my grade school and high school batches were pretty close and still kept in touch, still liked to meet up and see each other and hang out. And I got to thinking about one of my greatest regrets: the fact that I didn't stay in touch with my classmates in the US when I was there for 4th grade. I made a bunch of good friends there, had a greater time than I probably should have, and like a motherfucking fool I didn't stay in touch with any of them. It might surprise some of you that probably my best friend there was a black girl named Lenelle Moise. She was one of the few people who had a twisted sense of humor, and we got to know each other because we took the same school bus home. Another good friend was Wade, and it really pains me that I can't remember his last name. This guy was a comic-book geek like me, and he joined my Tae Kwon Do class after I recommended it. He was so nice he moved up his birthday party a few weeks so I could attend it because I was about to go back to the Philippines. Melissa, who sat across me, I became friends with instantly because she was such a reader. When our Scholastic book orders would arrive every month we'd see whose stack of books was taller.
Man, the regret kills me. If I could get to my 10-year-old self I'd kick my ass for being so heartlessly stupid.
Anyway, so I couldn't sleep. I went online and tried to find everyone on friendster. This wasn't the first time I'd done this, but maybe they'd joined in the interim. Still nothing. So just out of curiosity, I looked up the website of the school, and found a list of faculty, and lo and behold, one of my teachers was still there! So now I've got her email address. I'm going to write her and see if she's in contact with anyone (I doubt it); at the very least she can hopefully give me a class list from one of the yearbooks. Then I'll look for them again. My virtual fingers are virtually crossed.
Monday, December 15, 2003
This may seem a bit embarrassing but around lunchtime earlier today I was at the new Greenbelt 4 PowerBooks looking around and saw Gary Larson's The Complete Far Side, which to my surprise was more expensive at PB than Fully Booked (P6510, ouch). Anyway, this copy was open so I browsed through it. The table was near the cashier. I was just checking the pages, paper stock, binding, size of reproduction, etc., but came across one of my favorite strips, the one with William Tell's less fortunate son who had a humongous head. I started cracking up right then and there and for the life of me I COULD NOT STOP. I literally couldn't stop myself, but I was trying so hard my chest started hurting and tears started coming out my eyes but I just KEPT RIGHT ON LAUGHING. Finally the cashier girls were looking at me rather strangely and I decided to just put the book down and leave the store immediately. Even walking down the stairs I couldn't get rid of the stupid grin on my face and a girl who was going upstairs thought I was smiling at her. See the trouble you get into with humor?
You've gotta love The Far Side.
That book will be mine one day. Oh yes.
You've gotta love The Far Side.
That book will be mine one day. Oh yes.
Friday, December 12, 2003
Neva and I went to her younger stepbrother's concert last night at IS. That's International School. He's in the advanced band. Plays the trombone. It was more fun than I expected it to be, honestly. The kids are more talented than I thought, and the selection of pieces was also surprising, from the themes of Ghostbusters and The Addams Family to requisites like Ode to Joy and Carmen Suite.
Going to IS is like going to another country. When you're inside almost everyone you see is Caucasian. The Filipinos are the janitors and security guards, with a few students here and there. Everyone speaks with an American accent, or in a foreign tongue like when groups of Japanese students pass by speaking fast Japanese with their tousled hair. The school really looks like those American high schools you see on TV, with the lockers in walls and all that. IS is also home to some of the richest students in the country. Ambassadors, politicians, diplomats, businessmen, etc. send their kids here. There's an Olympic-looking track, an Olympic-looking pool, most of their hallways are airconditioned and carpeted, their library is gorgeous (3 floors, with a great selection), their Fine Arts Theater would rival most legit theaters, and their cafeteria have stalls from places like Delifrance, Café Mediterranean, and more.
I think I would have loved being a student there, if only for the amenities.
I can't help but wonder, though, if the students remain sheltered. I mean, the school's purpose seems to be, to me at least, to allow families who are stationed here the opportunity to send their kids to an institution that follows the educational systems of their respective countries (The Japenese School and The British School are across the street). But shouldn't part of the experience be allowing them to integrate with their host country? Angus, Neva's stepbrother, tells us that some of his fellow students aren't allowed in most malls, aren't allowed out of the house all that much, for that matter, for fear of kidnapping. So much so that Angus had to buy a stuffed toy for his friend to give to his crush, because he couldn't go to a mall. I wonder, when these kids go back to their respective countries, and get asked "How was the Philippines?", will they be able to give an answer? The school seems adamant in making sure it replicates the US as much as possible. I just wonder if the kids get the cultural exposure they should, actually living in the third world.
--
Always good for a laugh, these particular annual lists: Film Threat's Frigid 50, and The Onion's Least Essential Albums of 2003. In the case of The Onion, often I don't know the artists they're talking about, but man, no one comes up with better put-downs than the staff of The Onion. If you've been ignoring the numerous links to The Onion that I've put on this blog through the years, you might not know that while it's essentially a humor paper, their arts coverage (The Onion AV Club) is top-notch.
Oh, and the new Fruit Basket yogurt of Nestle is deelish.
Going to IS is like going to another country. When you're inside almost everyone you see is Caucasian. The Filipinos are the janitors and security guards, with a few students here and there. Everyone speaks with an American accent, or in a foreign tongue like when groups of Japanese students pass by speaking fast Japanese with their tousled hair. The school really looks like those American high schools you see on TV, with the lockers in walls and all that. IS is also home to some of the richest students in the country. Ambassadors, politicians, diplomats, businessmen, etc. send their kids here. There's an Olympic-looking track, an Olympic-looking pool, most of their hallways are airconditioned and carpeted, their library is gorgeous (3 floors, with a great selection), their Fine Arts Theater would rival most legit theaters, and their cafeteria have stalls from places like Delifrance, Café Mediterranean, and more.
I think I would have loved being a student there, if only for the amenities.
I can't help but wonder, though, if the students remain sheltered. I mean, the school's purpose seems to be, to me at least, to allow families who are stationed here the opportunity to send their kids to an institution that follows the educational systems of their respective countries (The Japenese School and The British School are across the street). But shouldn't part of the experience be allowing them to integrate with their host country? Angus, Neva's stepbrother, tells us that some of his fellow students aren't allowed in most malls, aren't allowed out of the house all that much, for that matter, for fear of kidnapping. So much so that Angus had to buy a stuffed toy for his friend to give to his crush, because he couldn't go to a mall. I wonder, when these kids go back to their respective countries, and get asked "How was the Philippines?", will they be able to give an answer? The school seems adamant in making sure it replicates the US as much as possible. I just wonder if the kids get the cultural exposure they should, actually living in the third world.
--
Always good for a laugh, these particular annual lists: Film Threat's Frigid 50, and The Onion's Least Essential Albums of 2003. In the case of The Onion, often I don't know the artists they're talking about, but man, no one comes up with better put-downs than the staff of The Onion. If you've been ignoring the numerous links to The Onion that I've put on this blog through the years, you might not know that while it's essentially a humor paper, their arts coverage (The Onion AV Club) is top-notch.
Oh, and the new Fruit Basket yogurt of Nestle is deelish.
Thursday, December 04, 2003
RANDOMNESS
First, a brilliant strip:
Heh. That post below sort of does sound like it came from someone who hasn't slept.
So. Quiz Night was last Wednesday night at The Craic, a bar along Jupiter St (above Max's), and it's a regular thing, with different sponsors. I wish I was able to post about it on this blog before the night itself. Next time I will, promise. We're thinking about having Indiefilipino and Hey, Comics! sponsoring nights.
Everybody should get the new Ciudad album! Now! It's terrific. And there's 18 songs, more than your measly PhP200 worth. And there's a hidden track, to boot! I have to admit, upon my first listen I somewhat felt that a few songs lost a little of their rawness, their edge, but now I'm really loving it. It grows on me the more I play it. Maybe my initial thoughts had to do with the fact that Ciudad is a band I tend to see live a lot. This and Urban Dub's Influence have given me new hope in the local scene. Not that Ciudad is a new hope, they're an old hope, have always been great.
Click here for a great, eye-opening poem about 9-11.
--
That's a picture from the upcoming The Mirror of Love, to be released in February by Top Shelf. It's described as an epic poem about the history of same-sex love, and if there's anyone who could get me to read an epic poem about the history of same-sex love, it's my favorite writer. Actually, it's an old story he wrote back in the '80s, for a book that he himself published called AARGH! (Artists Against Rampant Government Homophobia) It was an anthology of stories, and the book's proceeds went to combat UK legislature (under Thatcher at the time) specifically targeting and victimizing homosexuals/lesbians. Moore himself isn't gay, but was in a "different" kind of relationship at the time, where he and his wife had a common girlfriend. This was shortly before the marriage fizzled and they divorced, his wife going with the girlfriend. It was an 8-pager back then, illustrated by Rick Veitch and Steve Bissette, if I'm not mistaken. I've not read it but I do have Moore's script for it, one of the few scripts of his I have. So I've read the "epic poem." The new edition takes the text and is given new visuals, c/o photographer/colorist Jose Villarrubia (who is gay), and it's now a 128-page book. Hardcover, with a bunch of supplementary material. If the other pictures are of this quality, then I can't wait.
First, a brilliant strip:
Heh. That post below sort of does sound like it came from someone who hasn't slept.
So. Quiz Night was last Wednesday night at The Craic, a bar along Jupiter St (above Max's), and it's a regular thing, with different sponsors. I wish I was able to post about it on this blog before the night itself. Next time I will, promise. We're thinking about having Indiefilipino and Hey, Comics! sponsoring nights.
Everybody should get the new Ciudad album! Now! It's terrific. And there's 18 songs, more than your measly PhP200 worth. And there's a hidden track, to boot! I have to admit, upon my first listen I somewhat felt that a few songs lost a little of their rawness, their edge, but now I'm really loving it. It grows on me the more I play it. Maybe my initial thoughts had to do with the fact that Ciudad is a band I tend to see live a lot. This and Urban Dub's Influence have given me new hope in the local scene. Not that Ciudad is a new hope, they're an old hope, have always been great.
Click here for a great, eye-opening poem about 9-11.
--
That's a picture from the upcoming The Mirror of Love, to be released in February by Top Shelf. It's described as an epic poem about the history of same-sex love, and if there's anyone who could get me to read an epic poem about the history of same-sex love, it's my favorite writer. Actually, it's an old story he wrote back in the '80s, for a book that he himself published called AARGH! (Artists Against Rampant Government Homophobia) It was an anthology of stories, and the book's proceeds went to combat UK legislature (under Thatcher at the time) specifically targeting and victimizing homosexuals/lesbians. Moore himself isn't gay, but was in a "different" kind of relationship at the time, where he and his wife had a common girlfriend. This was shortly before the marriage fizzled and they divorced, his wife going with the girlfriend. It was an 8-pager back then, illustrated by Rick Veitch and Steve Bissette, if I'm not mistaken. I've not read it but I do have Moore's script for it, one of the few scripts of his I have. So I've read the "epic poem." The new edition takes the text and is given new visuals, c/o photographer/colorist Jose Villarrubia (who is gay), and it's now a 128-page book. Hardcover, with a bunch of supplementary material. If the other pictures are of this quality, then I can't wait.
Wednesday, December 03, 2003
I have not slept for 42 hours, but I just wanted to say that I really enjoyed myself tonight at Quiz Night at The Craic on Jupiter; we helped raise 4K for a scholarship fund, and had great fun to boot.
My eyes are bleary and sting a little from being awake so long, and partly from the cigarette smoke earlier.
I gave up my opportunity to see Kill Bill for a good reason.
Caught Intolerable Cruelty instead. It's a lot of fun.
More tomorrow. I mean today. Ehhh-- when I wake up.
My eyes are bleary and sting a little from being awake so long, and partly from the cigarette smoke earlier.
I gave up my opportunity to see Kill Bill for a good reason.
Caught Intolerable Cruelty instead. It's a lot of fun.
More tomorrow. I mean today. Ehhh-- when I wake up.
Tuesday, December 02, 2003
THE GLORY THAT IS SHITHOUSE
More here.
If you can't appreciate the humor here... I'm sorry, how do we know each other again?
Sigh. Only about 60 strips. These are the kinds of great websites where you look up a little while later and realize 2 hours have passed.
More here.
If you can't appreciate the humor here... I'm sorry, how do we know each other again?
Sigh. Only about 60 strips. These are the kinds of great websites where you look up a little while later and realize 2 hours have passed.
Thank you once again to Steph, who provided the link to my new favorite website (and possibly the find of the year): Grouphug. It's nothing but anonymous confessions, and it's addicting as hell. It should be the new friendster, but I actually don't want too many people knowing about it because the bullshit factor will go through the roof. The entries can go from hilarious to sad at the drop of a hat. Some excerpts to pique your interest:
"Once i said that the BeeGees were not the best band ever, when clearly they are"
"i gave a turkey and ham sandwich, cookies, an apple and a banana to a bum who had no teeth"
"Even though my mother is delusional and has never approved of anything I have done, I love her.
I just can't bring myself to tell her."
"i went to a new kids on the block concert...with my sister and my parents...and I am a guy. please help."
"my cousin sexually abused me when i was 4 and he was 16. I dont remember it but i heard my mom telling someone. It's the reason my dad no longer talks to anyone on his side of the family. I feel like its my fault my dad doesn't have a family."
"I once helped beat up a retarded kid in grade school. Not because he was retarted but because he was annoying and nobody (teachers) would do anything about it. He'd speak out loud in class, pick his nose with impunity and wipe it on desk, make fun of you while you peed in the restroom, etc...
So one day, after school, we waited for him at the bus stop, and when he got off, we dragged him behind some trees and beat him within an inch of his life, telling him that if he ever did any of those things again, we'd come into his house at night and slit his throat.
If there was a plus side, this terrified him so badly, his behavior improved dramatically, and became fairly likeable until we all graduated high school and parted ways.
No one, including him, ever spoke of the incident."
"I stretch for about 1-2 hours a day so I will eventually be able to fellate myself. I'm getting close, because if I stick my tongue out real far, I can almost reach. I hope that I will be able to do it someday."
"i shaved my happy spot and now i have little red bumps. damn, it'd look so hot without the bumps! curses on you, bumps!"
"when i was younger, i'd planned out how to kill my mother. i always hated her. then one day, i just moved out and never went back. she has no idea how lucky she was.... it was a really good plan."
"My group of friends convinced a blonde that hobbits and stuff were real. It started out funny, now its just funny and sad at the same time"
"ive downloaded over 10GB of music. but i dont feel bad, most of the artists are dead."
There are some confessions that you can kind of "feel" are fake. Some are pretty rote; the most common one, for example, is basically a variation of "I masturbate X times a day." But the site as a whole is a revelation: it's like peeling the skin back on humanity and exposing just how petty, stupid, raw, vulnerable, manipulative, insane, and shallow we can be. But every now and then there's an entry that's got a glimmer of hope shining through the rubble.
I had a nice chat with Genie about it: there really is a feeling of... satisfaction, in reading some of the confessions. Though I somewhat feel as if I should feel guilty for it. Maybe it's perverted. Maybe it speaks to something shallow in me and, possibly, everyone. The anonymity, for example, helps us to believe each confession, just assuming that the honesty is there. Some confessions make you want to cry, and sometimes you wish that there was some way of communicating with that person to try to give them some reassurance, some hope, some solace.
One of the greatest things about the site is that at first, you think it's a peek into other people's lives and how fucked-up we all are, but if you start thinking about it, the site lets you find out things about yourself, in how you personally react to each confession. In that sense it doesn't even matter if the confessions are genuine or not. Your emotional responses are, regardless.
"Once i said that the BeeGees were not the best band ever, when clearly they are"
"i gave a turkey and ham sandwich, cookies, an apple and a banana to a bum who had no teeth"
"Even though my mother is delusional and has never approved of anything I have done, I love her.
I just can't bring myself to tell her."
"i went to a new kids on the block concert...with my sister and my parents...and I am a guy. please help."
"my cousin sexually abused me when i was 4 and he was 16. I dont remember it but i heard my mom telling someone. It's the reason my dad no longer talks to anyone on his side of the family. I feel like its my fault my dad doesn't have a family."
"I once helped beat up a retarded kid in grade school. Not because he was retarted but because he was annoying and nobody (teachers) would do anything about it. He'd speak out loud in class, pick his nose with impunity and wipe it on desk, make fun of you while you peed in the restroom, etc...
So one day, after school, we waited for him at the bus stop, and when he got off, we dragged him behind some trees and beat him within an inch of his life, telling him that if he ever did any of those things again, we'd come into his house at night and slit his throat.
If there was a plus side, this terrified him so badly, his behavior improved dramatically, and became fairly likeable until we all graduated high school and parted ways.
No one, including him, ever spoke of the incident."
"I stretch for about 1-2 hours a day so I will eventually be able to fellate myself. I'm getting close, because if I stick my tongue out real far, I can almost reach. I hope that I will be able to do it someday."
"i shaved my happy spot and now i have little red bumps. damn, it'd look so hot without the bumps! curses on you, bumps!"
"when i was younger, i'd planned out how to kill my mother. i always hated her. then one day, i just moved out and never went back. she has no idea how lucky she was.... it was a really good plan."
"My group of friends convinced a blonde that hobbits and stuff were real. It started out funny, now its just funny and sad at the same time"
"ive downloaded over 10GB of music. but i dont feel bad, most of the artists are dead."
There are some confessions that you can kind of "feel" are fake. Some are pretty rote; the most common one, for example, is basically a variation of "I masturbate X times a day." But the site as a whole is a revelation: it's like peeling the skin back on humanity and exposing just how petty, stupid, raw, vulnerable, manipulative, insane, and shallow we can be. But every now and then there's an entry that's got a glimmer of hope shining through the rubble.
I had a nice chat with Genie about it: there really is a feeling of... satisfaction, in reading some of the confessions. Though I somewhat feel as if I should feel guilty for it. Maybe it's perverted. Maybe it speaks to something shallow in me and, possibly, everyone. The anonymity, for example, helps us to believe each confession, just assuming that the honesty is there. Some confessions make you want to cry, and sometimes you wish that there was some way of communicating with that person to try to give them some reassurance, some hope, some solace.
One of the greatest things about the site is that at first, you think it's a peek into other people's lives and how fucked-up we all are, but if you start thinking about it, the site lets you find out things about yourself, in how you personally react to each confession. In that sense it doesn't even matter if the confessions are genuine or not. Your emotional responses are, regardless.
Sunday, November 23, 2003
COMING UP FOR AIR
Hmm. It doesn't feel like almost two weeks have passed since my last post. I'm only on Chapter 2 of Voice of the Fire. Mostly things have been sort of dull. I've been busy helping around with family business, so have stayed mostly at home. There haven't been any good movies in theaters in a long time, so I was delighted when Master & Commander finally came out (watch it; I was so glad that the trailer was made from material seemingly from the first 20 minutes only, so the rest of the film was a genuine surprise).
What really consumed me for a while was TV. On DVD, that is. Burned pretty quickly through both seasons of 24. There were 2 days in the 5-day period where I practically didn't leave my room at all except to use the bathroom and to go to the kitchen to get a meal. The second season is better, though there are more instances of situations where things would be so much simpler if characters just explained who they were and what they were doing. It could be used as a drinking game: take two shots every time someone gets tortured; take another two every time Jack Bauer says "I give you my word." If you correctly guess the next person to die, take another shot. I wonder if it's difficult for Elisha Cuthbert, having to portray perhaps the dumbest daughter in all of fiction. The "shock" at the end didn't feel as organic to me as the first season's, though. Here it felt rote, like it was a requirement instead of something that emerges naturally (but I'm told it's picked up on in the 3rd, current season).
Also finished the 3rd season of The Sopranos. Man, did I miss that show. It's a little mellow and somber compared to the previous seasons, but it's still the best show on television right now. No one writes better endings. And the use of music is wonderful. I was happy that the 3 commentaries were all from the people I was interested in: actor/writer Michael Imperioli (his is the best), actor/director Steve Buscemi, and creator/writer David Chase. Now I really wanna see the 4th season.
Also caught a bit of model animation: Robbie the Reindeer: Hooves of Fire and Creature Comforts. Robbie's terrific, really funny: a concept by Richard Curtis (who I've discovered is a friend of Neil Gaiman's since before Hugh Grant made him popular), where all proceeds go to the charity Comic Relief. All performers worked for free. I wonder though if the some of the humor flies over the heads of children. Creature Comforts is a collection of some of the early Aardman shorts. As expected, they're great. Will go through The Incredible Adventures of Wallace & Gromit next.
--
While I like Peter Travers's review of The Matrix Revolutions, I thought Keith Phipps's was the most dead-on.
--
Found this wrapped around a piece of chocolate:
I burn with passion and the secret flame of love burns my heart. - A. Beccadelli
Hmm. It doesn't feel like almost two weeks have passed since my last post. I'm only on Chapter 2 of Voice of the Fire. Mostly things have been sort of dull. I've been busy helping around with family business, so have stayed mostly at home. There haven't been any good movies in theaters in a long time, so I was delighted when Master & Commander finally came out (watch it; I was so glad that the trailer was made from material seemingly from the first 20 minutes only, so the rest of the film was a genuine surprise).
What really consumed me for a while was TV. On DVD, that is. Burned pretty quickly through both seasons of 24. There were 2 days in the 5-day period where I practically didn't leave my room at all except to use the bathroom and to go to the kitchen to get a meal. The second season is better, though there are more instances of situations where things would be so much simpler if characters just explained who they were and what they were doing. It could be used as a drinking game: take two shots every time someone gets tortured; take another two every time Jack Bauer says "I give you my word." If you correctly guess the next person to die, take another shot. I wonder if it's difficult for Elisha Cuthbert, having to portray perhaps the dumbest daughter in all of fiction. The "shock" at the end didn't feel as organic to me as the first season's, though. Here it felt rote, like it was a requirement instead of something that emerges naturally (but I'm told it's picked up on in the 3rd, current season).
Also finished the 3rd season of The Sopranos. Man, did I miss that show. It's a little mellow and somber compared to the previous seasons, but it's still the best show on television right now. No one writes better endings. And the use of music is wonderful. I was happy that the 3 commentaries were all from the people I was interested in: actor/writer Michael Imperioli (his is the best), actor/director Steve Buscemi, and creator/writer David Chase. Now I really wanna see the 4th season.
Also caught a bit of model animation: Robbie the Reindeer: Hooves of Fire and Creature Comforts. Robbie's terrific, really funny: a concept by Richard Curtis (who I've discovered is a friend of Neil Gaiman's since before Hugh Grant made him popular), where all proceeds go to the charity Comic Relief. All performers worked for free. I wonder though if the some of the humor flies over the heads of children. Creature Comforts is a collection of some of the early Aardman shorts. As expected, they're great. Will go through The Incredible Adventures of Wallace & Gromit next.
--
While I like Peter Travers's review of The Matrix Revolutions, I thought Keith Phipps's was the most dead-on.
--
Found this wrapped around a piece of chocolate:
I burn with passion and the secret flame of love burns my heart. - A. Beccadelli
Tuesday, November 11, 2003
I've begun Alan Moore's sole (to date) prose novel, Voice of the Fire. It's a novel that moves through time as opposed to place. 12 chapters, each set in his hometown of Northampton, each set in a different time period, each with a different narrator. The last chapter is narrated by Moore himself as he takes a walk through modern-day Northampton, thinking about the book. The famously-impenetrable first chapter is not as difficult as I had expected. Let me explain: it's narrated by a caveman. What Moore did is he kind of approximated a language that would be used at the time (obviously nothing close to accurate because the differences would be too insurmountable to make sense to a present-day reader), coming up with a glossary of about 1000 words, and restricted himself to using those words only. So for a lot of people, it's really difficult to slog through. I have to read r e a l l y s l o w l y, sometimes even talking out loud. At times I don't get the minute specifics of what he's saying, but there's a general understanding as I go through it. But since it's Moore, it is, of course, utterly fascinating to me. In the beginning, the caveman describes "gray sky-beasts" and I thought, okay, some kind of prehistoric flying animal. Later on he mentions herds of sky-beasts going "from one end of the world to the other," and I realize that he's talking about clouds. Later on, a mention of a black spirit-friend who accompanies him, but disappears during the "dark" (night)-- this is his shadow, which they treat as a separate creature within his tribe. At one point he comes across the body of his dead mother, and his first instinct is to fuck her. Why? To keep her warm. He's surprised that she's stiff and cold to the touch. You can't argue with caveman logic.
It's not dissimilar in that sense to Flowers for Algernon, and reminds me of one of the functions of storytelling: to make you see the world through another's eyes. We've become inured to it because most of what we've seen recently is something close to our own level of understanding. Even if it's set in Middle-Earth. But here, the lens is skewed, and there's nowhere else through which to look, so you're really forced to understand things the caveman way. Certainly, reciting out loud, and slowly, at that, helps.
It's such a thrill to discover these things. :)
--
Awww... too sweet for words. :)
Sunday, November 09, 2003
LOT/EK (low-tech) is an architectural firm comprised of Ada Tolla & Giuseppe Lignano. One of their ideas is the MDU, or Mobile Dwelling Unit. Basically, they took one of those shipping containers you see stacked on docks and turned it into a makeshift apartment/workspace/office, with expandable slots. The idea is you can have your MDU shipped to anywhere in the world, and live there for a few months before moving on to your next country of choice. A portable home.
I think it would be interesting to do that: travel around the globe with an MDU. Just to see what it would be like, and to see the rest of the world, of course. Wherever you go, at least you'll sleep someplace familiar.
Go to the website for more information and pics. They don't allow remote linking.
--
"The photographs in this suite are the result of mean averaging every Playboy centerfold foldout for the four decades beginning Jan. 1960 through Dec. 1999. This tracks, en masse, the evolution of this form of portraiture."
If you look carefully at each for a while, it sort of becomes eerily familiar (though maybe this observation of mine will only apply to other men who've gone through more than one issue of Playboy in their lives). It also occurred to me that one might feel like they're staring into the souls of dozens of now-dead Playmates. Like something's going to burst out, catch hold of your gaze and drag you in.
--
And check out this sweet image:
One of my favorite covers of the year, for The Losers # 6, art by Jock. And for a series, almost all their covers are excellent (so far). Click on the image to see the version with the logo.
I think it would be interesting to do that: travel around the globe with an MDU. Just to see what it would be like, and to see the rest of the world, of course. Wherever you go, at least you'll sleep someplace familiar.
Go to the website for more information and pics. They don't allow remote linking.
--
"The photographs in this suite are the result of mean averaging every Playboy centerfold foldout for the four decades beginning Jan. 1960 through Dec. 1999. This tracks, en masse, the evolution of this form of portraiture."
If you look carefully at each for a while, it sort of becomes eerily familiar (though maybe this observation of mine will only apply to other men who've gone through more than one issue of Playboy in their lives). It also occurred to me that one might feel like they're staring into the souls of dozens of now-dead Playmates. Like something's going to burst out, catch hold of your gaze and drag you in.
--
And check out this sweet image:
One of my favorite covers of the year, for The Losers # 6, art by Jock. And for a series, almost all their covers are excellent (so far). Click on the image to see the version with the logo.
Friday, November 07, 2003
LINKORGY
Check out Yuko Shimizu. Lovely, clean art. Beautiful, warm colors. Interesting graphics. Mind-bending stuff. And guess what? She does comics! Also check out her series Alphabet of Desire.
Found her through Design Is Kinky, who've also featured Farel Dalrymple of Pop Gun War.
--
Over lunch I heard someone get killed.
We were listening to an AM radio station replaying an interview that was interrupted by death this morning. A Col. Villaroel was being interviewed via cellphone when they were attacked at NAIA. He and his aide-de-camp were killed. You could hear the gunshots, and people screaming. Someone somewhere screamed "Ayaw naming mamatay! (We don't want to die!)"
But the strange thing is that Col. Villaroel's son is a pilot, who was at that moment about to land, but was told to stay aloft (as were all incoming planes. Must've been a hell of a headache for air traffic controllers). He was supposedly cursing the delay, not realizing it was the murder of his father that was the cause.
These strange things happen ALL THE TIME.
Check out Yuko Shimizu. Lovely, clean art. Beautiful, warm colors. Interesting graphics. Mind-bending stuff. And guess what? She does comics! Also check out her series Alphabet of Desire.
Found her through Design Is Kinky, who've also featured Farel Dalrymple of Pop Gun War.
--
Over lunch I heard someone get killed.
We were listening to an AM radio station replaying an interview that was interrupted by death this morning. A Col. Villaroel was being interviewed via cellphone when they were attacked at NAIA. He and his aide-de-camp were killed. You could hear the gunshots, and people screaming. Someone somewhere screamed "Ayaw naming mamatay! (We don't want to die!)"
But the strange thing is that Col. Villaroel's son is a pilot, who was at that moment about to land, but was told to stay aloft (as were all incoming planes. Must've been a hell of a headache for air traffic controllers). He was supposedly cursing the delay, not realizing it was the murder of his father that was the cause.
These strange things happen ALL THE TIME.
Wednesday, November 05, 2003
Genie is a genius.
Arcee, her costume, is the female Autobot from TransFormers. And, it being a cartoon from the '80s, you just know she's the female because a) she's pink, b) she's got lipstick, and c) she's got breasts. Of course, her being a robot, I don't know what the breasts are actually FOR, and it would've been nice if, in the series, they showed a proper function and purpose for the breasts, like a storage area for oil or something...
Click on the picture to watch them dance. And by the way, that's her twin brother Regan as Optimus Prime.
--
Ah, finally finished ER Season 1. It's sometimes grueling to watch 5 episodes straight because the average episode can be pretty emotional already, but 5 in a row can be devastating on your tear ducts. Was also pleasantly surprised to see the Quentin Tarantino episode is in here. I thought it was in Season 2. Been noticing also how some of these episodes are structured. Two of my favorite episodes, "Blizzard" and "Love's Labor Lost," have opposing structures: the former shows a calm before the storm, then a disaster with many cases having to be handled at the same time, and the latter begins calmly but then sticks to one, long, grueling case, that keeps you tense throughout until the bitter, tragic end.
--
I'm sorry, but this is just damn addicting! I know it's wrong, and there are a lot that are obviously untrue, but still...
--
Got Urban Dub's 2nd album, Influence. Haven't heard all of it yet, but what I have sounds good. It came with a newsletter about Cebu bands. And from the newsletter, you really get the feeling that the Cebu music scene is a very close-knit community. There were announcements of birthdays, profiles of bands, announcements of where their music was used (a mention of First Time, I noticed), an ad for Influence, and a "catalog" of previous releases, like a real label. Which floored me, in a way, because I don't know anything about the Cebu music scene besides Dub and Sheila & The Insects. They're really putting out a lot of releases, and it kinda makes me sad that that kind of community togetherness isn't as apparent here in the capital of the country.
--
And something interesting sent my way by Steph, whose CMJ stories are maddening, as will be Quark's, I'm sure, next we meet.
Monday, November 03, 2003
On Saturday my maternal relatives and I went to Cavite, where my grandfather is buried. I got stuck in the van with all the old people: my parents, my mom's siblings and/or their wives, two kids, and my grandmother. And it's interesting to be stuck in a situation like that for 2 hours. It's not my idea of a good time, but I can't say that I regret these experiences because sometimes I need to be reminded of how older people speak, especially with the generation gap. They tend to be slower, and are amused at the smallest things. It was also enjoyable for me seeing them rediscover old (to me) jokes through text messaging. You know, those jokes like "What do you call a scary vagina? Spuki." Some of them I haven't thought of since, uh, college.
During these kinds of family outings I always have a book, in the usually likely event that it'll be dead boring. If I'm not reading, I'm just messing around with some of my younger cousins, exchanging jokes, etc. We were ribbing my 13-year-old cousin who's on Friendster, because it says he's looking for a "serious relationship." Haha.
I also found out that Mars Ravelo is buried in the same graveyard as my lolo. My mom showed me.
Sunday was a nightmare. We were to go to Manila Memorial Park in Sucat, where my paternal grandparents are buried. We left the house at around 3, went to Max's where we'd meet my dad. He was 3 hours late because of the traffic. So we left at around 7PM, and in the middle of horrible traffic, got a flat. We changed the tire, I got a cut that I didn't notice until it was bleeding. What should've been a short distance was another 40 minutes of traffic horror. Finding parking inside wasn't as difficult as we'd expected but we had to drive a long way around because of some traffic scheme to keep vehicles moving. I can see the sense of it, but that doesn't make it any less frustrating, since our destination was pretty near the gate and we had to go all around the park.
I'm frustrated with a number of things: there are no clear signs to get to the comfort room. Every staff member I ask gives a confused answer. I find it myself. None of the lights are on, so I'm walking in the darkness when there aren't any lit candles. When I get there the women's is closed and so there's a long line of women outside the men's. When I get in there's no running water, so the trek was useless because I wanted to wash my cut. I walk back to where my grandparents are buried and bitch to my mom, who was wondering where the ladies' room was. She says that this used to be a good place, because it was run by foreigners. When the management became Pinoy it went to hell. What exactly are we paying for when we know the candles and flowers will be stolen tomorrow, when the lights aren't even ON? When there's no running water in the bathroom? I wouldn't be so incensed if it weren't so obvious. The cemetery, in this country, at least, is busiest on these 2 days. They should have prepared water, checked everything, including the lights, bulbs, etc. One of the park employees said that most of the lights were off because squatter children had climbed up and stolen the bulbs.
Without light reading my book was out of the question, and I'd nearly finished it in Max's anyway (The Best of Ray Bradbury: The Graphic Novel). So I was looking around, trying to observe people, which is what I tend to do when there's nothing to do. To my surprise and disgust, the yuppies behind us talked about nothing but Friendster, with faux-American accents, at that. Utterly irritating. Worse yet, they actually knew someone I know, one of my Comm blockmates now in the UK. At one point the pretentious bitch one was lecturing her idiot brother, saying "Not unhappy means you're happy," and I was rolling my eyes. My mom saw this and asked me "Does a double-negative make a positive?" I noticed the yuppies had shut up, maybe hearing my mom's question. I replied, loud enough for them to hear, "No. Saying I'm not unhappy just means I'm not unhappy. It doesn't mean I'm happy, either. I could be ambivalent."
Later on, a young couple arrives. They're curious because they're going around looking for a tombstone, reading everything around them. This is because THERE'S NO FUCKING LIGHT. Anyway, when they finally DO find the one they're looking for, all they do is set up two candles, light them, and walk away. No prayers, nothing. I wanted to ask them why they even bothered.
As opposed to this lone young woman tending to two graves. She had the candles and flowers set up. She was there before we arrived. I found her the most interesting. I kept wondering about the circumstances: is she an only child? Or is this her husband and son? Why was no one else with her? She just sat there pensively, watching the flames. Right before we left, she left, too, but removed the melted wax from the stones.
The epitaph on the tombstone of the person above my lolo reads: "Death is cruel loss and sad/but love I do not grudge/keep him love." I really hope mine has at least correct grammar. I like the idea of Alan Moore's suggestion: "Where'd everybody go? Why'd it get so dark?" And I remember fondly one of my favorite parts of John Berendt's Midnight in the Garden of Good & Evil, where a Savannah poet had a bench made for his tombstone on top of the hill where he was buried, so people could sit and see the ships in the distance. He had the words "Cosmic Explorer" engraved; it was the name of one of the ships he saw. I was walking around looking at birth dates, death dates, epitaphs. A four-year old kid. A baby that died the day it was born. Sons that died before fathers, with an empty grave beside them. Meaning the mom's still alive. I found that sad, for some reason. The son had my favorite epitaph in the surrounding area. It reads "Looking forward to that bright morning when we will be together again." It's really touching. When I look, the son has the same birthday as me, but six years older. He would've been 29 if he were still alive.
--
It's still strange when I discover ex-teachers of mine having blogs. And I'd be remiss if I didn't tell you all to check out CD's online gallery, which is so impressive it's intimidating. It's amazing to actually know such talented people. She has an exhibit opening this Wednesday, 6 PM, 4F Megamall. I forgot which gallery, though; just look around for her name (or a group of people milling about with drinks in hand).
During these kinds of family outings I always have a book, in the usually likely event that it'll be dead boring. If I'm not reading, I'm just messing around with some of my younger cousins, exchanging jokes, etc. We were ribbing my 13-year-old cousin who's on Friendster, because it says he's looking for a "serious relationship." Haha.
I also found out that Mars Ravelo is buried in the same graveyard as my lolo. My mom showed me.
Sunday was a nightmare. We were to go to Manila Memorial Park in Sucat, where my paternal grandparents are buried. We left the house at around 3, went to Max's where we'd meet my dad. He was 3 hours late because of the traffic. So we left at around 7PM, and in the middle of horrible traffic, got a flat. We changed the tire, I got a cut that I didn't notice until it was bleeding. What should've been a short distance was another 40 minutes of traffic horror. Finding parking inside wasn't as difficult as we'd expected but we had to drive a long way around because of some traffic scheme to keep vehicles moving. I can see the sense of it, but that doesn't make it any less frustrating, since our destination was pretty near the gate and we had to go all around the park.
I'm frustrated with a number of things: there are no clear signs to get to the comfort room. Every staff member I ask gives a confused answer. I find it myself. None of the lights are on, so I'm walking in the darkness when there aren't any lit candles. When I get there the women's is closed and so there's a long line of women outside the men's. When I get in there's no running water, so the trek was useless because I wanted to wash my cut. I walk back to where my grandparents are buried and bitch to my mom, who was wondering where the ladies' room was. She says that this used to be a good place, because it was run by foreigners. When the management became Pinoy it went to hell. What exactly are we paying for when we know the candles and flowers will be stolen tomorrow, when the lights aren't even ON? When there's no running water in the bathroom? I wouldn't be so incensed if it weren't so obvious. The cemetery, in this country, at least, is busiest on these 2 days. They should have prepared water, checked everything, including the lights, bulbs, etc. One of the park employees said that most of the lights were off because squatter children had climbed up and stolen the bulbs.
Without light reading my book was out of the question, and I'd nearly finished it in Max's anyway (The Best of Ray Bradbury: The Graphic Novel). So I was looking around, trying to observe people, which is what I tend to do when there's nothing to do. To my surprise and disgust, the yuppies behind us talked about nothing but Friendster, with faux-American accents, at that. Utterly irritating. Worse yet, they actually knew someone I know, one of my Comm blockmates now in the UK. At one point the pretentious bitch one was lecturing her idiot brother, saying "Not unhappy means you're happy," and I was rolling my eyes. My mom saw this and asked me "Does a double-negative make a positive?" I noticed the yuppies had shut up, maybe hearing my mom's question. I replied, loud enough for them to hear, "No. Saying I'm not unhappy just means I'm not unhappy. It doesn't mean I'm happy, either. I could be ambivalent."
Later on, a young couple arrives. They're curious because they're going around looking for a tombstone, reading everything around them. This is because THERE'S NO FUCKING LIGHT. Anyway, when they finally DO find the one they're looking for, all they do is set up two candles, light them, and walk away. No prayers, nothing. I wanted to ask them why they even bothered.
As opposed to this lone young woman tending to two graves. She had the candles and flowers set up. She was there before we arrived. I found her the most interesting. I kept wondering about the circumstances: is she an only child? Or is this her husband and son? Why was no one else with her? She just sat there pensively, watching the flames. Right before we left, she left, too, but removed the melted wax from the stones.
The epitaph on the tombstone of the person above my lolo reads: "Death is cruel loss and sad/but love I do not grudge/keep him love." I really hope mine has at least correct grammar. I like the idea of Alan Moore's suggestion: "Where'd everybody go? Why'd it get so dark?" And I remember fondly one of my favorite parts of John Berendt's Midnight in the Garden of Good & Evil, where a Savannah poet had a bench made for his tombstone on top of the hill where he was buried, so people could sit and see the ships in the distance. He had the words "Cosmic Explorer" engraved; it was the name of one of the ships he saw. I was walking around looking at birth dates, death dates, epitaphs. A four-year old kid. A baby that died the day it was born. Sons that died before fathers, with an empty grave beside them. Meaning the mom's still alive. I found that sad, for some reason. The son had my favorite epitaph in the surrounding area. It reads "Looking forward to that bright morning when we will be together again." It's really touching. When I look, the son has the same birthday as me, but six years older. He would've been 29 if he were still alive.
--
It's still strange when I discover ex-teachers of mine having blogs. And I'd be remiss if I didn't tell you all to check out CD's online gallery, which is so impressive it's intimidating. It's amazing to actually know such talented people. She has an exhibit opening this Wednesday, 6 PM, 4F Megamall. I forgot which gallery, though; just look around for her name (or a group of people milling about with drinks in hand).
Saturday, November 01, 2003
I went diving last Monday. Actual scuba diving. And had a lot of fun. :) I was a little worried at first; I assumed I'd have difficulty because I have sinusitis, and if you know or have it, then you know what a bitch it can be: occasional hay fever, sneezing fits with sudden temperature changes, crippling headaches. But surprising everyone, especially myself, I took to it pretty well, though I basically had to equalize every 5 seconds. I didn't panic, swallowed water only once (pressing the purge button surprised me with the force of the pressure), and though we were expected to stay no deeper than 10 feet, I got to 25 feet. :) And for my open water dive, we got to go to a wreck! Just a small fishing boat off the shore of one of the smaller islands, with the top portion of the mast sticking above the surface of the water. But underwater it's fascinating. A bush of sea urchins had made their home around the anchor. Corals were beginning to form on the exposed side of the hull, fish swimming all around. I enjoyed the feeling of weightlessness, and just floating lazily around while taking in all the sights. I saw large blue starfish, an eel that scared the shit out of me, clown fish, and all sorts of other fish I couldn't identify (though I saw Dori and Gill from Finding Nemo). It amused me that clown fish are actually pretty aggressive, and defend their homes pretty stubbornly; one bit Neva near her lip. Another, darker fish seemed to be barking at me like a dog. All in all, a lot of fun and a rewarding experience. Thanks to Neva and her family for inviting me along. They're almost all divers, so I was the odd duck. They even went night diving while I-- uh, slept. Neva said it was terrific, though the current was very strong, and it was beautiful when you turned off your flashlight because some of the fish were luminous. Another amusing fact was that she'd bump into sleeping fish who just float around, waking them up with a start.
If you're thinking of diving too, tell us and we'll hook you up with our instructors, Hernel and Joy Castillo, who were very cool and accomodating.
--
Am going through the first season of ER on DVD. I used to love this show, and probably still would if I didn't gradually disconnect all ties to watching television. But the first season brings back a lot of memories, and I remember learning a lot about structure from the show (especially the episode "Blizzard"), and it was one of the first shows that was almost dizzyingly fast with near-constant dialogue, presaging the arrival of Sports Night and The West Wing. It feels like I'm reconnecting with old friends I haven't seen in a while: Susan Lewis, John Carter, etc… and I'm glad that Neva's enjoying it as well. Best of all, I finally got to see the pilot episode and other episodes I missed. :)
DVD, how I love ya. Neva mentioned to me the other day how DVD was really made for people like me, because I love going through everything, so special features are a very important factor for me in considering whether to buy a DVD or not (especially since they're fucking expensive). So I almost always only buy those 2-disc sets (for films I really love), otherwise the less-than-legal versions can be mighty tempting… I remember when I last had fever I went through all 4 commentaries of both Fight Club and Seven in the same day.
--
"But that's the beauty of writing. It's all just words. If you can find the right words for a place, you can conjure it out of the air."
I've finished the bulk of The Extraordinary Works of Alan Moore. Certainly, if you're a fan of Alan Moore then you'll love the book; it pretty much goes through his entire career. But there's still a lot of questions that editor George Khoury didn't ask, and they didn't go as in-depth into the works and thought/working processes as much as I would've liked. So it's still not the ultimate book on Alan Moore, but it's the closest we've seen. What comes to light is how, amazingly, so much of Moore's material still remains out of print. It's a damn shame. Some of my favorite parts are in the introduction and afterword, which were written by Moore's daughters. Hilarious stuff about what's it like having him for a dad.
"I am primarily a writer. That is what I'm best at. I love to manipulate words, and to manipulate consciousness by manipulating language. That's what I've always been interested in."
--
And here's a nice little gallery: artistic interpretations of literary figures. All sorts of good art, including a sketch by Neil Gaiman.
Check out Adi Granov's site. Some really interesting stuff. Strikes me as definitely European, of the Heavy Metal/Humanoids variety. I wonder what he'd look like doing interiors. I've only seen covers so far.
If you're thinking of diving too, tell us and we'll hook you up with our instructors, Hernel and Joy Castillo, who were very cool and accomodating.
--
Am going through the first season of ER on DVD. I used to love this show, and probably still would if I didn't gradually disconnect all ties to watching television. But the first season brings back a lot of memories, and I remember learning a lot about structure from the show (especially the episode "Blizzard"), and it was one of the first shows that was almost dizzyingly fast with near-constant dialogue, presaging the arrival of Sports Night and The West Wing. It feels like I'm reconnecting with old friends I haven't seen in a while: Susan Lewis, John Carter, etc… and I'm glad that Neva's enjoying it as well. Best of all, I finally got to see the pilot episode and other episodes I missed. :)
DVD, how I love ya. Neva mentioned to me the other day how DVD was really made for people like me, because I love going through everything, so special features are a very important factor for me in considering whether to buy a DVD or not (especially since they're fucking expensive). So I almost always only buy those 2-disc sets (for films I really love), otherwise the less-than-legal versions can be mighty tempting… I remember when I last had fever I went through all 4 commentaries of both Fight Club and Seven in the same day.
--
"But that's the beauty of writing. It's all just words. If you can find the right words for a place, you can conjure it out of the air."
I've finished the bulk of The Extraordinary Works of Alan Moore. Certainly, if you're a fan of Alan Moore then you'll love the book; it pretty much goes through his entire career. But there's still a lot of questions that editor George Khoury didn't ask, and they didn't go as in-depth into the works and thought/working processes as much as I would've liked. So it's still not the ultimate book on Alan Moore, but it's the closest we've seen. What comes to light is how, amazingly, so much of Moore's material still remains out of print. It's a damn shame. Some of my favorite parts are in the introduction and afterword, which were written by Moore's daughters. Hilarious stuff about what's it like having him for a dad.
"I am primarily a writer. That is what I'm best at. I love to manipulate words, and to manipulate consciousness by manipulating language. That's what I've always been interested in."
--
And here's a nice little gallery: artistic interpretations of literary figures. All sorts of good art, including a sketch by Neil Gaiman.
Check out Adi Granov's site. Some really interesting stuff. Strikes me as definitely European, of the Heavy Metal/Humanoids variety. I wonder what he'd look like doing interiors. I've only seen covers so far.