Mardi, 24 Fevrier.
Il fait tres tres chaud en Manille aujourd'hui! Je veux Decembre
encore, je n'aime pas l'ete... Mais j'aime les grandes vacances.
Alors. Je ne suis pas tres triste maintenant. (Blogspot n'a pas
l'accents!)
Je suis ecrire en Francais parce que je suis folle. Haha. Je suis dans
la lune?
*Je veux aller a la plage! Allons-y, avant nous sommes mort de la
part de la vague de chaleur.
J'ai les problemes au sujet de l'argent. Je me rappele le filme "Ah,
Si J'etais Riche." Si J'etais riche, je n'ai pas cet un problem,
manifestement.
Je dois etudier maintenant. Gaaah. Je deteste les maths.
Je manque quelqu'un... C'est impossible? Non. J'ai un coeur, mais
il n'est pas evident. Shhh. (Toi, nous avons parler... Je pense.)
Je ne suis pas s'apitoyer sur son sort, hourra moi!
Quio. :))
*Si vous parlez Francais, je suis vraiment desolee. J'ai grammaire mauvais.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Monday, February 23, 2009
Who's Oscar?
"LOS ANGELES – "Slumdog Millionaire" took the best-picture Academy Award and seven other Oscars on Sunday, including director for Danny Boyle, whose ghetto-to-glory story paralleled the film's unlikely rise to Hollywood's summit.
A story of hope amid squalor in Mumbai, India, "Slumdog Millionaire" came in with 10 nominations, its eight wins including adapted screenplay, cinematography, editing and both music Oscars (score and song)." --AP
When I watched this movie I didn't even know it was up for awards. I only learned afterwards when I googled it. I thought the movie was so powerful someone had to have noticed it. And evidently, someone did.
The Oscar crowd even gave the Slumdog cast and crew a standing ovation.
I didn't watch Milk, or any of the other movies, but I did watch Doubt, and I was rooting for Meryl Streep in the best actress category. But Kate Winslet took that one, for her performance in The Reader. Best Actor was Sean Penn (Milk).
My favorite presenters were Tina Fey and that dude from Cheaper by the Dozen whose name escapes me right now. Tina Fey is just hilarious. Sarah Palin, anyone?
Best speech: Penelope Cruz. Besides the fact that she's gorgeous and she almost fainted-- did I mention she's gorgeous? -- the Spanish at the end was beautiful. I didn't understand it, but it's what I remember.
My favorite performance in all that was Beyonce Knowles and Hugh Jackman's tribute to musicals. Picture Wolverine saying, "The musical is BACK!" Vanessa Hudgens, Zac Efron, and the couple from Mama Mia were also there. I really liked the transitions between the songs and characters from all the great musicals. (Sorry, Broadway geek speaking.) It was funny and quite well performed.
Who was that guy who sang the song from Wall-E? The one with the African background singers? Cripes they were awesome. I could almost see the gazelles running and the sun setting over the Savannah when I was listening to them. Kind of like a mental image of the orb Jolie was holding in Tomb Raider Cradle of Life.
Jai Ho is still playing in my head. (Best original song, by A.R. Rahman, also from Slumdog Millionaire.) I need a translation.
Speaking of translations... Marion Cotillard was also there! Cotillard as Edith Piaf in La Vie en Rose was tres, tres bien. Thank heavens for subtitles.
I wonder what would happen if Joel McHale hosted the Oscars. To those who don't know him, McHale is the Seacrest-bashing host of The Soup, a show that makes fun of other shows. It's what you get when you take all the dumb things that happen in a week's worth of TV and condense it into thirty minutes.
Oh well. I'm just really happy Slumdog Millionaire won. I hope Angels and Demons and the Inglourious Basterds (Hitler, Hitler!) both win something next year.
A story of hope amid squalor in Mumbai, India, "Slumdog Millionaire" came in with 10 nominations, its eight wins including adapted screenplay, cinematography, editing and both music Oscars (score and song)." --AP
When I watched this movie I didn't even know it was up for awards. I only learned afterwards when I googled it. I thought the movie was so powerful someone had to have noticed it. And evidently, someone did.
The Oscar crowd even gave the Slumdog cast and crew a standing ovation.
I didn't watch Milk, or any of the other movies, but I did watch Doubt, and I was rooting for Meryl Streep in the best actress category. But Kate Winslet took that one, for her performance in The Reader. Best Actor was Sean Penn (Milk).
My favorite presenters were Tina Fey and that dude from Cheaper by the Dozen whose name escapes me right now. Tina Fey is just hilarious. Sarah Palin, anyone?
Best speech: Penelope Cruz. Besides the fact that she's gorgeous and she almost fainted-- did I mention she's gorgeous? -- the Spanish at the end was beautiful. I didn't understand it, but it's what I remember.
My favorite performance in all that was Beyonce Knowles and Hugh Jackman's tribute to musicals. Picture Wolverine saying, "The musical is BACK!" Vanessa Hudgens, Zac Efron, and the couple from Mama Mia were also there. I really liked the transitions between the songs and characters from all the great musicals. (Sorry, Broadway geek speaking.) It was funny and quite well performed.
Who was that guy who sang the song from Wall-E? The one with the African background singers? Cripes they were awesome. I could almost see the gazelles running and the sun setting over the Savannah when I was listening to them. Kind of like a mental image of the orb Jolie was holding in Tomb Raider Cradle of Life.
Jai Ho is still playing in my head. (Best original song, by A.R. Rahman, also from Slumdog Millionaire.) I need a translation.
Speaking of translations... Marion Cotillard was also there! Cotillard as Edith Piaf in La Vie en Rose was tres, tres bien. Thank heavens for subtitles.
I wonder what would happen if Joel McHale hosted the Oscars. To those who don't know him, McHale is the Seacrest-bashing host of The Soup, a show that makes fun of other shows. It's what you get when you take all the dumb things that happen in a week's worth of TV and condense it into thirty minutes.
Oh well. I'm just really happy Slumdog Millionaire won. I hope Angels and Demons and the Inglourious Basterds (Hitler, Hitler!) both win something next year.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Slumdog Millionaire!!!
"Slumdog Millionaire is a film so upbeat and colourful that, by the time you’re relaying its infectious air of optimism to friends, you could forget that it features orphans, slaughter, organised crime, poverty, enslavement and police brutality."
It's like The God of Small Things without incest. It's like another genre of reality TV. It's like a crash course into a third world country, it's like a roller-coaster that can only be described as breathtaking. It's like a dream and a nightmare at the exact same time. It's like a thousand things, and yet, it rises above the rest as the one that you have to watch.
Two words: Slumdog Millionaire.
A movie set in India, starring Dev Patel and Freida Pinto, based on the book Q&A by Vikas Swarup, this Film of the Year contender is nothing short of extraordinary.
We've all heard of "Who Wants to be a Millionaire?" We've all probably taken a whack at answering those trivia-like questions. We've all cheered for a contestant, we've all felt sorry for those who couldn't cut it. But Jamal (Patel), the central character in this story, is more than just any contestant. You've probably heard of something like his story before: a young boy, his brother, orphaned in a world that doesn't want them. A first love lost, a foray into the enterprises that poverty entails, a rush for freedom. A stab at life. Rationality in irrationality. A present that longs for the past.
Slumdog Millionaire tells Jamal's story through three timelines: one is the present, in a police station; the second, the immediate past, as a contestant in Who Wants to be a Millionaire?; and the third, his childhood. The excellent direction definitely makes this movie (all hail Danny Boyle), even when some of the elements become predictable. And the cast... Oh, the cast. All I have is love.
Every question Jamal is asked, he is able to answer. But every answer has a story. A story that is painful yet beautiful, tragic and not. And that's what this movie tells, in a style that can only be described as masterful. It caters to the world audience while staying true to its Bollywood roots.
It's a story that goes on, long after the credits roll.
And here I quote John Berger:
Never again will a single story be told as though it's the only one.
Watch, watch. You won't regret it.
It's like The God of Small Things without incest. It's like another genre of reality TV. It's like a crash course into a third world country, it's like a roller-coaster that can only be described as breathtaking. It's like a dream and a nightmare at the exact same time. It's like a thousand things, and yet, it rises above the rest as the one that you have to watch.
Two words: Slumdog Millionaire.
A movie set in India, starring Dev Patel and Freida Pinto, based on the book Q&A by Vikas Swarup, this Film of the Year contender is nothing short of extraordinary.
We've all heard of "Who Wants to be a Millionaire?" We've all probably taken a whack at answering those trivia-like questions. We've all cheered for a contestant, we've all felt sorry for those who couldn't cut it. But Jamal (Patel), the central character in this story, is more than just any contestant. You've probably heard of something like his story before: a young boy, his brother, orphaned in a world that doesn't want them. A first love lost, a foray into the enterprises that poverty entails, a rush for freedom. A stab at life. Rationality in irrationality. A present that longs for the past.
Slumdog Millionaire tells Jamal's story through three timelines: one is the present, in a police station; the second, the immediate past, as a contestant in Who Wants to be a Millionaire?; and the third, his childhood. The excellent direction definitely makes this movie (all hail Danny Boyle), even when some of the elements become predictable. And the cast... Oh, the cast. All I have is love.
Every question Jamal is asked, he is able to answer. But every answer has a story. A story that is painful yet beautiful, tragic and not. And that's what this movie tells, in a style that can only be described as masterful. It caters to the world audience while staying true to its Bollywood roots.
It's a story that goes on, long after the credits roll.
And here I quote John Berger:
Never again will a single story be told as though it's the only one.
Watch, watch. You won't regret it.
I Am NOT Happy
I am not happy. And while the meaning of happiness has a
culturally-defined, geographically-determined and time-specific
nature, I simply mean I am utterly displeased with the way things
are going. With less than 40 days left in this sem and my grades
in perpetual detriment, I am really not happy.
Other I-am-not-happy reasons:
I failed a math test.
I'm poor.
I'm tired.
It's humid.
I don't have anyone to talk to.
I'm poor.
I feel stupid.
I haven't watched Life with Derek for months.
I have 4 papers left to write.
I'm poor.
I have two presentations to plan.
I have an exam on Thursday.
Anoop Desai did not make it to AI top twelve.
I commute for two-and-a-half hours for four days each week, and it's taking its toll on me.
My dog broke a paw.
My neighbors are noisy.
I need an attitude adjustment.
Did I mention "I'm poor?"
All this makes me a cranky seventeen year with sharp nails and a rusty samurai sword. Beware.
When people are not happy, they do a number of crazy things.
Some people write books, which is probably why Ambrose Bierce
came up with such a masterpiece. Happy people write things like
the Shopaholic series, not The Devil's Dictionary. Some people
book reservations in the nearest hotel with rooms of soft walls,
and some simply wallow in self-pity until they're suffering from
pity sickness. (The latter describes me.) Some people commit
suicide, which I think is The Ultimate Personal Experience. But
since the only experiences I'm interested in are the ones I can
write about afterward, I can't kill myself. Unless there is in
existence a genuine psychic who can channel my thoughts and
write them down. Now there's a bestseller.
Anyway, that's all I wanted to say: I am not happy. I can't come
up with a post with actual relevance in this state of mind. And
while I may laugh or smile or even joke when you talk to me, that
just means I'm being polite. I am not turning emo, either, because
I'd sooner hurt somebody else than hurt myself.
I have to end this now to start reviewing for Math and Chemistry.
And that is definitely not going to do any favors for my mood.
Why do I have to learn these things anyway? I don't care about
those triangles and those triple bonds. I have absolutely no use for
them in my life. They're a waste of my time and effort!
"People always question what they can't handle."
Shut up, voice of reason. I'm wallowing here.
culturally-defined, geographically-determined and time-specific
nature, I simply mean I am utterly displeased with the way things
are going. With less than 40 days left in this sem and my grades
in perpetual detriment, I am really not happy.
Other I-am-not-happy reasons:
I failed a math test.
I'm poor.
I'm tired.
It's humid.
I don't have anyone to talk to.
I'm poor.
I feel stupid.
I haven't watched Life with Derek for months.
I have 4 papers left to write.
I'm poor.
I have two presentations to plan.
I have an exam on Thursday.
Anoop Desai did not make it to AI top twelve.
I commute for two-and-a-half hours for four days each week, and it's taking its toll on me.
My dog broke a paw.
My neighbors are noisy.
I need an attitude adjustment.
Did I mention "I'm poor?"
All this makes me a cranky seventeen year with sharp nails and a rusty samurai sword. Beware.
When people are not happy, they do a number of crazy things.
Some people write books, which is probably why Ambrose Bierce
came up with such a masterpiece. Happy people write things like
the Shopaholic series, not The Devil's Dictionary. Some people
book reservations in the nearest hotel with rooms of soft walls,
and some simply wallow in self-pity until they're suffering from
pity sickness. (The latter describes me.) Some people commit
suicide, which I think is The Ultimate Personal Experience. But
since the only experiences I'm interested in are the ones I can
write about afterward, I can't kill myself. Unless there is in
existence a genuine psychic who can channel my thoughts and
write them down. Now there's a bestseller.
Anyway, that's all I wanted to say: I am not happy. I can't come
up with a post with actual relevance in this state of mind. And
while I may laugh or smile or even joke when you talk to me, that
just means I'm being polite. I am not turning emo, either, because
I'd sooner hurt somebody else than hurt myself.
I have to end this now to start reviewing for Math and Chemistry.
And that is definitely not going to do any favors for my mood.
Why do I have to learn these things anyway? I don't care about
those triangles and those triple bonds. I have absolutely no use for
them in my life. They're a waste of my time and effort!
"People always question what they can't handle."
Shut up, voice of reason. I'm wallowing here.
Friday, February 13, 2009
Friday the Thirteenth, February Fourteenth
Excerpts from two of the books I’m reading. (Yes I read based on my mood.)
“The great adventure of our lives. What does it mean to die when you can live until the end of the world? And what is ‘the end of the world’ except a phrase, because who knows even what is the world itself? I had now lived in two centuries, seen the illusions of one utterly shattered by the other, been eternally young and eternally ancient, possessing no illusions, living moment to moment in a way that made me picture a silver clock ticking in a void: the painted face, the delicately carved hands looked upon by no one, looking out at no one, illuminated by a light which was not a light, like the light by which God made the world before He had made light. Ticking, ticking, ticking, the precision of the clock, in a room as vast as the universe.”
--- Louis (Anne Rice, Interview with the Vampire)
“There are two kinds of visual memory: one when you skillfully recreate an image in the laboratory of your mind, with your eyes open (and then I see Annabel in such general terms as:
"honey-colored skin,"
"thick arms,"
"brown bobbed hair,"
"long lashes,"
"big bright mouth"); and the other when you instantly evoke, with shut eyes, on the dark inner side of your eyelids, the objective, absolutely optical replica of a beloved face, a little ghost in natural colors (and this is how I see Lolita).”
--- Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita
Friday the Thirteenth
I don’t want to spend too much space on retelling my day, so I’ll stick with the highlights.
---Lost a Scrabble game. Another Scrabble game, I should say.
---Our professor in Pan Pil 12 didn’t show up; turned out he wasn’t boycotting us (this time) ---because he was also absent from the other class.
---Failed a Math long test. Again. Ugh. Math is NOT a four letter word, people. I know being bad at Math doesn’t automatically make me dumb, (or does it?) but it’s just so annoying that I can’t get it right.
---Inducted a new member into the “SINGLE CIVIL STATUS FOREVER MOVEMENT:” Demi. Founder: me. Members: Katrina, Demi, and Kim. (Kim, you are in, right?) Finding members for this kind of group is not such an easy feat. It takes a certain ideological orientation. :))
---Lent Demi five books (Crichton, Brown, Sheldon, Deaver, Grisham), you know, basic bestsellers. So she can get out of the Twilight phase her peers over in PUP have led her into.
---Spilled hot gravy over my left hand, courtesy of a loosely capped thermos. HOMO ERRONEOUS.
---Got scolded at by my parents for failing Math. Doesn’t even matter that I got a 99 over 103 in Pol Sci, does it? (91, technically, since there were 8 bonus points: 5 for perfect attendance, 2 for corrections, and 1 for 3 political rights. I LOVE MY PROFESSOR :D )
---Saw a very dead person on the sidewalk. Not kidding. His body was positioned at an angle which suggested he either jumped, or was flung toward said sidewalk by a speeding car. Because normal spines don’t form shapes like that. (This was on the road between Shangri-la and Starmall).
February Fourteenth (or, Why I Don’t Like Valentine’s Day)
I’ll also try to keep this as short as possible.
“St. Valentine’s Day — a day to declare your affection for that special someone.
And what did Saint Valentine have to do with love notes and affection? Absolutely nothing! In fact, there’s a good chance he may never have existed.” (Brown P. Origin of Valentine’s Day may surprise us. The Enid News & Eagle, Enid OK, Published: January 16, 2008)
I am not a hopeless romantic. More accurately, I am not a romantic at all. When most people go “awww” I go “ewww,” and when they go “ewww” I go “bwahahaha!!!”
I think fairy tales are the worst expression of patriarchy, “Prince” should never be used in conjunction with “Charming,” and romantic comedies are a waste of resources.
I cannot utter the word “love” allowed without cringing, and I’d rather watch paint peel than read a romance novel.
I am also not the best person to discuss Valentine’s Day.
But since everybody is celebrating/ stressing over it, I thought I should at least contribute to the discourses.
So what do I think about Valentine’s Day?
It’s a highly commercialized holiday (which begs the question “Which holiday isn’t?”) with roots that have absolutely nothing to do with the inane romantic nonsense that people today associate it with.
Valentine’s Day is said to be rooted in the Roman festival Lupercalia, celebrated in honor of Lupa, the she-wolf who suckled the infant orphans Romulus and Remus. Romulus and Remus are said to be the founders of Rome. (Lupercalia literally means “Wolf Festival.”)
During Lupercalia, in honor of Juno Februata, the names of young women were put into a box and names were drawn by lot. The boys and girls who were matched would be considered partners for the year, which began in March. Yes, that means partners they’re supposed to be making babies with. You have to give the Romans props for creativity.
If you’re going to argue that the “names drawn by lot” that they did to pick their sexual partners was the “romantic” part, just picture yourself in that setting. Yes, veeeery romantic.
To Christianize this (in their eyes) decidedly pagan ritual, the church officials changed the name to St. Valentine’s Day, and replaced drawing the girls’ names with drawing saints’ names. No, they don’t make babies with the saints. They emulate the life of the saint they get. Nifty, huh? Unfortunately, this didn’t work and fell out of practice soon after.
“SAINT, n., a dead sinner revised and edited.” –Ambrose Bierce
Another proposed provenance of V Day is the story that Europeans believed that on February 14th the birds began to choose their mates. “The tradition of birds choosing their mates on St. Valentine's Day led to the idea that boys and girls would do the same. Now when a youth drew a girl's name, he wore it on his sleeve, and attended and protected her during the following year. This made the girl his valentine and they exchanged love tokens throughout the year. This practice had many alterations and changes through the years.”
Let’s go to Saint Valentine, and just why he’s supposed to be a hopeless romantic.
“Until 1969, the Catholic Church formally recognized eleven Valentine's Days. The Valentines honored on February 14 are Valentine of Rome and Valentine of Terni. Valentine of Rome was a priest in Rome who suffered martyrdom about AD 269 and was buried on the Via Flaminia. Valentine of Terni became bishop of Interamna (modern Terni) about AD 197 and is said to have been killed during the persecution of Emperor Aurelian. He is also buried on the Via Flaminia, but in a different location than Valentine of Rome.
No romantic elements are present in the original early medieval biographies of either of these martyrs. By the time a Saint Valentine became linked to romance in the fourteenth century, distinctions between Valentine of Rome and Valentine of Terni were utterly lost.” (Wikipedia)
“St Valentine was persecuted as a Christian and interrogated by Roman Emperor Claudius II in person. Claudius was impressed by Valentine and had a discussion with him, attempting to get him to convert to Roman paganism in order to save his life. Valentine refused and tried to convert Claudius to Christianity instead. Because of this, he was executed. Before his execution, he is reported to have performed a miracle by healing the blind daughter of his jailer.” (Legenda Aurea)
There. That’s probably the part people found romantic.
Fast forward to why Valentine’s Day is as eerily cheesy as it is today.
“The reinvention of Saint Valentine's Day in the 1840s has been traced by Leigh Eric Schmidt. As a writer in Graham's American Monthly observed in 1849, "Saint Valentine's Day... is becoming, nay it has become, a national holyday."[28] In the United States, the first mass-produced valentines of embossed paper lace were produced and sold shortly after 1847 by Esther Howland (1828-1904) of Worcester, Massachusetts. Her father operated a large book and stationery store, but Howland took her inspiration from an English valentine she had received, so clearly the practice of sending Valentine's cards had existed in England before it became popular in North America. The English practice of sending Valentine's cards appears in Elizabeth Gaskell's Mr. Harrison's Confessions (published 1851).”
But that’s not all. Do you know why the world (well, the capitalists, at least) cannot afford to disillusion the populace about the truth regarding Valentine’s Day?
It’s an industry in itself.
“110 million roses, the majority red, will be sold and delivered within a three-day time period.
California produces 60 percent of American roses, but the vast number sold on Valentine's Day in the United States are imported, mostly from South America.
15% of U.S. women send themselves flowers on Valentine's Day.
About 1 billion Valentine's Day cards are exchanged each year. That's the largest seasonal card-sending occasion of the year, next to Christmas.
One-third of all Valentine cards are accompanied by gifts.
Romantic cards are the best-sellers. Victorian era-influenced cards are prominent this year.
More than 50 percent of cards are sold the week of the holiday, with the largest and most elaborate Valentine cards sold 48 hours before February 14.
70 percent of those celebrating the holiday give a card, followed by a telephone call (49 percent), gift (48 percent), special dinner (37 percent), candy (33 percent) restaurant meal (30 percent), and flowers (19 percent).
Teachers will receive the most Valentine's Day cards, followed by children, mothers, wives, and then, sweethearts. Children ages 6 to 10 exchange more than 650 million Valentine's cards with teachers, classmates, and family members
Hallmark has over 1330 different cards specifically for Valentine's Day.
Conversation Hearts: In 1866, candy manufacturer NECCO made the first "Conversation Hearts." According to NECCO, eight billion of these little candies are sold between January 1 and February 14.
More than 35 million heart-shaped boxes of chocolate will be sold for Valentine's Day.”
Translation: Moneeeeeeeeeeeey.
Now really, think of how much people would lose in stocks if people suddenly refused to celebrate Valentine’s Day. Oh those poor, poor capitalists. Oh the irony.
I refuse to celebrate “Valentine’s Day” because:
--- It brings about increased levels of insecurity and insanity in single people who actually care about these so-called relationships. These people’s friends *cough, cough* then receive their wailing calls, bottled tears and uber irritating text messages about looove. Which then makes the said friends throw their communication devices against the wall in disgust. Then, when said devices break, they will have to buy new ones. Which obviously sucks for these friends.
---It brings about the worst of the sexual binaries. Seriously. Some people *cough, cough* become prone to shuddering and are forced to suppress their gag reflexes when they hear female peers talking about what they “expect.”
---People who do not conform to the couples-are-happy-singles-are-sad trend are thought to be abnormal. Which some people don’t mind, since they are almost, but not quite, entirely unlike “abnormal.” But it would be nice if stereotypically-minded people opened their eyes for once.
---Genuine sentiments are reduced to cute little sayings on Hallmark cards; efforts are based on how much gifts cost, and normal relationships are incited to fast-forward in time for this non-legitimate holiday. “V Day deprives people of their fundamental right to choose when to express their feelings.” (Jessica Zafra)
---For a lot of people, V Day means sex, and sex (unprotected, that is) means an exponential growth in population. More hotel and motel profit, definitely. RH Bill much? I don’t care what your bible says, I care about practicality.
---Relationships are (or so I’ve observed) incredibly complicated fragile things with many stages, such as denial, anger, fear, bargaining, acceptance—okay, so those are the stages of death. But V Day introduces a new factor into the equation, which makes even the well-adjusted among us unleash their inner neuroses.
---PDA alert!!! So much pheromones being made during the days leading up to V Day! I don’t know how many couples I saw HHWW. Or HHWD -- driving. Or HHWE—eating. Or HHWR—reading. Or... you get the idea. (Top tip from Nat Geo: drink an anti-depressant like Prozac so your dopamine levels return to normal. It dampens the sex drive and dulls the libido.)
---Traffic. Road traffic, network traffic, etcetera traffic. I don’t even know how to explain why lines are quadrupled and public transportation becomes more of a hassle than usual.
---I further capitalism enough as it is.
---So. Many. Hearts. On the windows, on the walls, on people’s clothes... The “heart,” as far as I know, is a gross looking pump whose arteries get clogged from fat. Not a cute little shape THAT IS EVERYWHERE.
Me: We had to hold little plastic hearts during the Sharon taping...
R: Really? So what was it like coming in contact with a heart for the very first time?
Touché.
--- And my main reason: I DON’T UNDERSTAND IT. I have made a resolution since last year to not celebrate/observe anything I don’t understand. Because that’s pretty irrational. “Let’s observe Ash Wednesday.” “Why?” “Because the church said so.” Okaaay. And V Day is one of those “celebrations” I just don’t get. Like Christmas—but that’s another story for another time. (P.S. The V Day reason “it’s a celebration of love” doesn’t work because you can celebrate love everyday, as opposed to, say, celebrating your birthday, or Easter Sunday everyday. Argument: if you celebrate something everyday, then it isn’t very special anymore. Counter argument: Whatever happened to “love will never run out,” and “infinite love,” and “I will always love you”? Why not celebrate it everyday instead of concentrating all your efforts in a single day? It’s like, celebrate on February 14 and you can be insensitive for the rest of the year... You had a great V Day anyway. That’s also like saying, “Let’s celebrate Independence Day on one day by wearing the Philippine flag, so to speak, and be Brown Americans for the rest of the 364 days—It won’t matter, we had a great Independence Day.”)
---People who then proceed to talk about the foolish qualities involved with V Day are declared bitter and loveless. As for me... Bitter, no. Loveless, yes. It’s either biological or psychological: either I can’t sustain the levels of dopamine needed and my serotonin level cannot leave ‘normal’, or I’m just too wrapped up in myself to notice anything else. See, the mantra is: unless everything in my life is up to par, I have no business meddling in others’.
I’m not about to coerce anyone into not celebrating this event, since that is purely your prerogative. (Aaand you can file a case against me in court if I did. A human rights violation case is not easy to talk yourself out of.)
So. Have a joyous celebration of the Roman (pagan) holiday of Lupercalia, and/or the mating season of birds, and/or St. Valentine of Rome/Terni’s feast day.
Why so many people want to celebrate a she-wolf, the founding of Rome, avian practices, and saints that have nothing to do with romance as "heart's day" is way beyond me.
“The great adventure of our lives. What does it mean to die when you can live until the end of the world? And what is ‘the end of the world’ except a phrase, because who knows even what is the world itself? I had now lived in two centuries, seen the illusions of one utterly shattered by the other, been eternally young and eternally ancient, possessing no illusions, living moment to moment in a way that made me picture a silver clock ticking in a void: the painted face, the delicately carved hands looked upon by no one, looking out at no one, illuminated by a light which was not a light, like the light by which God made the world before He had made light. Ticking, ticking, ticking, the precision of the clock, in a room as vast as the universe.”
--- Louis (Anne Rice, Interview with the Vampire)
“There are two kinds of visual memory: one when you skillfully recreate an image in the laboratory of your mind, with your eyes open (and then I see Annabel in such general terms as:
"honey-colored skin,"
"thick arms,"
"brown bobbed hair,"
"long lashes,"
"big bright mouth"); and the other when you instantly evoke, with shut eyes, on the dark inner side of your eyelids, the objective, absolutely optical replica of a beloved face, a little ghost in natural colors (and this is how I see Lolita).”
--- Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita
Friday the Thirteenth
I don’t want to spend too much space on retelling my day, so I’ll stick with the highlights.
---Lost a Scrabble game. Another Scrabble game, I should say.
---Our professor in Pan Pil 12 didn’t show up; turned out he wasn’t boycotting us (this time) ---because he was also absent from the other class.
---Failed a Math long test. Again. Ugh. Math is NOT a four letter word, people. I know being bad at Math doesn’t automatically make me dumb, (or does it?) but it’s just so annoying that I can’t get it right.
---Inducted a new member into the “SINGLE CIVIL STATUS FOREVER MOVEMENT:” Demi. Founder: me. Members: Katrina, Demi, and Kim. (Kim, you are in, right?) Finding members for this kind of group is not such an easy feat. It takes a certain ideological orientation. :))
---Lent Demi five books (Crichton, Brown, Sheldon, Deaver, Grisham), you know, basic bestsellers. So she can get out of the Twilight phase her peers over in PUP have led her into.
---Spilled hot gravy over my left hand, courtesy of a loosely capped thermos. HOMO ERRONEOUS.
---Got scolded at by my parents for failing Math. Doesn’t even matter that I got a 99 over 103 in Pol Sci, does it? (91, technically, since there were 8 bonus points: 5 for perfect attendance, 2 for corrections, and 1 for 3 political rights. I LOVE MY PROFESSOR :D )
---Saw a very dead person on the sidewalk. Not kidding. His body was positioned at an angle which suggested he either jumped, or was flung toward said sidewalk by a speeding car. Because normal spines don’t form shapes like that. (This was on the road between Shangri-la and Starmall).
February Fourteenth (or, Why I Don’t Like Valentine’s Day)
I’ll also try to keep this as short as possible.
“St. Valentine’s Day — a day to declare your affection for that special someone.
And what did Saint Valentine have to do with love notes and affection? Absolutely nothing! In fact, there’s a good chance he may never have existed.” (Brown P. Origin of Valentine’s Day may surprise us. The Enid News & Eagle, Enid OK, Published: January 16, 2008)
I am not a hopeless romantic. More accurately, I am not a romantic at all. When most people go “awww” I go “ewww,” and when they go “ewww” I go “bwahahaha!!!”
I think fairy tales are the worst expression of patriarchy, “Prince” should never be used in conjunction with “Charming,” and romantic comedies are a waste of resources.
I cannot utter the word “love” allowed without cringing, and I’d rather watch paint peel than read a romance novel.
I am also not the best person to discuss Valentine’s Day.
But since everybody is celebrating/ stressing over it, I thought I should at least contribute to the discourses.
So what do I think about Valentine’s Day?
It’s a highly commercialized holiday (which begs the question “Which holiday isn’t?”) with roots that have absolutely nothing to do with the inane romantic nonsense that people today associate it with.
Valentine’s Day is said to be rooted in the Roman festival Lupercalia, celebrated in honor of Lupa, the she-wolf who suckled the infant orphans Romulus and Remus. Romulus and Remus are said to be the founders of Rome. (Lupercalia literally means “Wolf Festival.”)
During Lupercalia, in honor of Juno Februata, the names of young women were put into a box and names were drawn by lot. The boys and girls who were matched would be considered partners for the year, which began in March. Yes, that means partners they’re supposed to be making babies with. You have to give the Romans props for creativity.
If you’re going to argue that the “names drawn by lot” that they did to pick their sexual partners was the “romantic” part, just picture yourself in that setting. Yes, veeeery romantic.
To Christianize this (in their eyes) decidedly pagan ritual, the church officials changed the name to St. Valentine’s Day, and replaced drawing the girls’ names with drawing saints’ names. No, they don’t make babies with the saints. They emulate the life of the saint they get. Nifty, huh? Unfortunately, this didn’t work and fell out of practice soon after.
“SAINT, n., a dead sinner revised and edited.” –Ambrose Bierce
Another proposed provenance of V Day is the story that Europeans believed that on February 14th the birds began to choose their mates. “The tradition of birds choosing their mates on St. Valentine's Day led to the idea that boys and girls would do the same. Now when a youth drew a girl's name, he wore it on his sleeve, and attended and protected her during the following year. This made the girl his valentine and they exchanged love tokens throughout the year. This practice had many alterations and changes through the years.”
Let’s go to Saint Valentine, and just why he’s supposed to be a hopeless romantic.
“Until 1969, the Catholic Church formally recognized eleven Valentine's Days. The Valentines honored on February 14 are Valentine of Rome and Valentine of Terni. Valentine of Rome was a priest in Rome who suffered martyrdom about AD 269 and was buried on the Via Flaminia. Valentine of Terni became bishop of Interamna (modern Terni) about AD 197 and is said to have been killed during the persecution of Emperor Aurelian. He is also buried on the Via Flaminia, but in a different location than Valentine of Rome.
No romantic elements are present in the original early medieval biographies of either of these martyrs. By the time a Saint Valentine became linked to romance in the fourteenth century, distinctions between Valentine of Rome and Valentine of Terni were utterly lost.” (Wikipedia)
“St Valentine was persecuted as a Christian and interrogated by Roman Emperor Claudius II in person. Claudius was impressed by Valentine and had a discussion with him, attempting to get him to convert to Roman paganism in order to save his life. Valentine refused and tried to convert Claudius to Christianity instead. Because of this, he was executed. Before his execution, he is reported to have performed a miracle by healing the blind daughter of his jailer.” (Legenda Aurea)
There. That’s probably the part people found romantic.
Fast forward to why Valentine’s Day is as eerily cheesy as it is today.
“The reinvention of Saint Valentine's Day in the 1840s has been traced by Leigh Eric Schmidt. As a writer in Graham's American Monthly observed in 1849, "Saint Valentine's Day... is becoming, nay it has become, a national holyday."[28] In the United States, the first mass-produced valentines of embossed paper lace were produced and sold shortly after 1847 by Esther Howland (1828-1904) of Worcester, Massachusetts. Her father operated a large book and stationery store, but Howland took her inspiration from an English valentine she had received, so clearly the practice of sending Valentine's cards had existed in England before it became popular in North America. The English practice of sending Valentine's cards appears in Elizabeth Gaskell's Mr. Harrison's Confessions (published 1851).”
But that’s not all. Do you know why the world (well, the capitalists, at least) cannot afford to disillusion the populace about the truth regarding Valentine’s Day?
It’s an industry in itself.
“110 million roses, the majority red, will be sold and delivered within a three-day time period.
California produces 60 percent of American roses, but the vast number sold on Valentine's Day in the United States are imported, mostly from South America.
15% of U.S. women send themselves flowers on Valentine's Day.
About 1 billion Valentine's Day cards are exchanged each year. That's the largest seasonal card-sending occasion of the year, next to Christmas.
One-third of all Valentine cards are accompanied by gifts.
Romantic cards are the best-sellers. Victorian era-influenced cards are prominent this year.
More than 50 percent of cards are sold the week of the holiday, with the largest and most elaborate Valentine cards sold 48 hours before February 14.
70 percent of those celebrating the holiday give a card, followed by a telephone call (49 percent), gift (48 percent), special dinner (37 percent), candy (33 percent) restaurant meal (30 percent), and flowers (19 percent).
Teachers will receive the most Valentine's Day cards, followed by children, mothers, wives, and then, sweethearts. Children ages 6 to 10 exchange more than 650 million Valentine's cards with teachers, classmates, and family members
Hallmark has over 1330 different cards specifically for Valentine's Day.
Conversation Hearts: In 1866, candy manufacturer NECCO made the first "Conversation Hearts." According to NECCO, eight billion of these little candies are sold between January 1 and February 14.
More than 35 million heart-shaped boxes of chocolate will be sold for Valentine's Day.”
Translation: Moneeeeeeeeeeeey.
Now really, think of how much people would lose in stocks if people suddenly refused to celebrate Valentine’s Day. Oh those poor, poor capitalists. Oh the irony.
I refuse to celebrate “Valentine’s Day” because:
--- It brings about increased levels of insecurity and insanity in single people who actually care about these so-called relationships. These people’s friends *cough, cough* then receive their wailing calls, bottled tears and uber irritating text messages about looove. Which then makes the said friends throw their communication devices against the wall in disgust. Then, when said devices break, they will have to buy new ones. Which obviously sucks for these friends.
---It brings about the worst of the sexual binaries. Seriously. Some people *cough, cough* become prone to shuddering and are forced to suppress their gag reflexes when they hear female peers talking about what they “expect.”
---People who do not conform to the couples-are-happy-singles-are-sad trend are thought to be abnormal. Which some people don’t mind, since they are almost, but not quite, entirely unlike “abnormal.” But it would be nice if stereotypically-minded people opened their eyes for once.
---Genuine sentiments are reduced to cute little sayings on Hallmark cards; efforts are based on how much gifts cost, and normal relationships are incited to fast-forward in time for this non-legitimate holiday. “V Day deprives people of their fundamental right to choose when to express their feelings.” (Jessica Zafra)
---For a lot of people, V Day means sex, and sex (unprotected, that is) means an exponential growth in population. More hotel and motel profit, definitely. RH Bill much? I don’t care what your bible says, I care about practicality.
---Relationships are (or so I’ve observed) incredibly complicated fragile things with many stages, such as denial, anger, fear, bargaining, acceptance—okay, so those are the stages of death. But V Day introduces a new factor into the equation, which makes even the well-adjusted among us unleash their inner neuroses.
---PDA alert!!! So much pheromones being made during the days leading up to V Day! I don’t know how many couples I saw HHWW. Or HHWD -- driving. Or HHWE—eating. Or HHWR—reading. Or... you get the idea. (Top tip from Nat Geo: drink an anti-depressant like Prozac so your dopamine levels return to normal. It dampens the sex drive and dulls the libido.)
---Traffic. Road traffic, network traffic, etcetera traffic. I don’t even know how to explain why lines are quadrupled and public transportation becomes more of a hassle than usual.
---I further capitalism enough as it is.
---So. Many. Hearts. On the windows, on the walls, on people’s clothes... The “heart,” as far as I know, is a gross looking pump whose arteries get clogged from fat. Not a cute little shape THAT IS EVERYWHERE.
Me: We had to hold little plastic hearts during the Sharon taping...
R: Really? So what was it like coming in contact with a heart for the very first time?
Touché.
--- And my main reason: I DON’T UNDERSTAND IT. I have made a resolution since last year to not celebrate/observe anything I don’t understand. Because that’s pretty irrational. “Let’s observe Ash Wednesday.” “Why?” “Because the church said so.” Okaaay. And V Day is one of those “celebrations” I just don’t get. Like Christmas—but that’s another story for another time. (P.S. The V Day reason “it’s a celebration of love” doesn’t work because you can celebrate love everyday, as opposed to, say, celebrating your birthday, or Easter Sunday everyday. Argument: if you celebrate something everyday, then it isn’t very special anymore. Counter argument: Whatever happened to “love will never run out,” and “infinite love,” and “I will always love you”? Why not celebrate it everyday instead of concentrating all your efforts in a single day? It’s like, celebrate on February 14 and you can be insensitive for the rest of the year... You had a great V Day anyway. That’s also like saying, “Let’s celebrate Independence Day on one day by wearing the Philippine flag, so to speak, and be Brown Americans for the rest of the 364 days—It won’t matter, we had a great Independence Day.”)
---People who then proceed to talk about the foolish qualities involved with V Day are declared bitter and loveless. As for me... Bitter, no. Loveless, yes. It’s either biological or psychological: either I can’t sustain the levels of dopamine needed and my serotonin level cannot leave ‘normal’, or I’m just too wrapped up in myself to notice anything else. See, the mantra is: unless everything in my life is up to par, I have no business meddling in others’.
I’m not about to coerce anyone into not celebrating this event, since that is purely your prerogative. (Aaand you can file a case against me in court if I did. A human rights violation case is not easy to talk yourself out of.)
So. Have a joyous celebration of the Roman (pagan) holiday of Lupercalia, and/or the mating season of birds, and/or St. Valentine of Rome/Terni’s feast day.
Why so many people want to celebrate a she-wolf, the founding of Rome, avian practices, and saints that have nothing to do with romance as "heart's day" is way beyond me.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
I'm bored so I'm bashing Twilight. :))
... "Let us frolic." Yep, sounds like Meyer alright.
I'm supposed to be in an ACLE class right now. (ACLE: Alternative Classroom Learning Experience.) It happens in UPD once per sem, but I really don't feel like attending anyway. I just finished my Political Science midterm exam, which was needless to say a lot like drinking bitter gourd juice, and I need some downtime...
... And what better way to relax than to bash something so unspeakably, unabashedly, meyerrifically horrendous? Hahaha. Here I go again. The world should come up with a novel worse (if that's possible) than Twilight so I'll have something else to bash. Until then...
Take that, Stephenie Meyer!!!
KING NOT A FAN OF TWILIGHT AUTHOR
Movie & Entertainment News provided by World Entertainment News Network (www.wenn.com) 2009-02-04 02:48:02 -
Horror writer STEPHEN KING has served up a fright for TWILIGHT author STEPHENIE MEYERS, insisting she "can't write worth a darn". King, the writer of classics like Carrie and Misery, has gone public with his critique of in-vogue Utah-based novelist Meyer in the upcoming issue of USA Weekend magazine. He starts by complimenting J.K. Rowling on her Harry Potter books, and then slates Meyer. He says, "Both Rowling and Meyer, they're speaking directly to young people... The real difference is that Jo Rowling is a terrific writer and Stephenie Meyer can't write worth a darn. She's not very good.
Mwahahaha. Nyahaha. Bwahahahaha. :)))
" I didn't take my husband's last NAME when we got married. Do you honestly think I'd like a story about a girl considering changing SPECIES for a guy? No offense to any of you, but as a feminist, I just can't go there... " - Meg Cabot, author of Princess Diaries
Wala lang. Since I'm being random I thought I should post that. Excellent point. I never did like Meg Cabot, but now she's not so bad. :D
"Ah, hyperbole. Where would Twilight be without you? Just take a look at some of these quotes:
“Stephenie Meyer, a Mormon housewife turned novelist, is the new queen of fantasy.” [1]
“Meyer has, like one of her vampires, turned into something rare and more than merely human: a literary phenomenon.” [1]
“I’m not usually a vampire book reader, but I haven’t read a book in a long time that had as much sexual tension and creepy terror throughout as Twilight by Stephenie Meyer.” [2]
Wow, Twilight must be awesome! The media never inflates steaming piles of shit into idols, right? All it does is report the truth, and the truth is that Twilight is the bestest, most famous book ever! If you are nodding your head in agreement, please have your sarcasm meter checked. It is broken."
I came across this Twilight Review, and thought it was really good. You know what I mean by REALLY GOOD, oui?Read it at http://www.anti-shurtugal.com/wordpress/?p=53 .
How do I end this post?
Hmmm.
There that should do it. :)))
Monday, February 2, 2009
Like Watching TV. But Not Really.
Everyone was pretty much annoyed at the short notice. The "Sharon" taping we were required to attend for the GE course Pan Pil 12 was announced two days prior to it, but being the obedient *cough* students that we were, we all attended anyway.
On the way there, a friend and I almost got lost. Then we chanced upon a traffic aid who directed us to the nearest entrance, with the side comment, "Walang Wowowee ngayon ah." Okaaaaaaaaaay.
Call time was at 6 p.m., in front of Studio 10 of the ABS-CBN complex. I applaud ABS for their security: every corner had a guard, and every entrance had ID card... machines (you know, like the ones you see in MRT and LRT stations). I almost had the urge to shout "bomb!" just to see how they'd take it.
While we were on standby, my classmates were on celebrity lookout. I wasn't. The celebrities I wanted to see were not likely to be in those studios, since TV Patrol shoots in an entirely different part of the complex. Some familiar "artistas" passed, but I somehow couldn't remember their names.
At around 7, they let us in to the studio itself, which was the first surprise. I didn't know that studios were small like that. TV magic makes them seem so large. Sharon's set was bedecked with jewel curtains, which I thought was rather pretty. Then again, I was under extreme stress (I had a test first thing the next morning) so my idea of pretty may have been a bit altered. Retrospectively, I seem to remember the heavy studio lights more, since I envisioned a short story about them. (Hint: they succumb to gravity and make someone a paraplegic.)
The Megastar herself arrived at around eight, surrounded by guards, make-up artists, writers, you name it. After that, the first part of the taping (for February 8) commenced with a song number by Sharon: "Pasaway." The segment guests were Nyoy Volante, Erik Santos (I think... is there an Eric Bautista?) Sheryn Regis and Bugoy. They sang Billie Jean, an R&B song whose title nor lyrics I cannot remember, Single Ladies, and When You Believe--respectively.
And here I should mention that when the cameras stopped rolling was when things got interesting. It was a talk show, and the "talk" continued even when it was off the air, and PAs swarmed the stars, dabbing here and there, carrying bags of make-up. I always thought that the portrayal of off-cam events in sitcoms is an exaggeration. Now I know better.
It didn't take that long, about an hour or so. Afterward, we went to the bathroom, and on the way back we ran into Bugoy. He was genuinely congenial, and we even had a picture taken with him. We caught a glimpse of the other guests in their dressing rooms. I wonder if anyone was being a diva.
The second segment (for February 15) was for, as you may have guessed, Valentine's Day. They gave us (the audience) little plastic hearts on sticks, which is as corny as it sounds. Worse, we had to wave them while Sharon sang... I can't remember which song.
The guests for that segment were Ara Mina, Kaye (the comedian), Chocolate (another comedian) and Smokey Manaloto (am I spelling this correctly?), whose name's provenance still prompts speculation.
Needless to say, as this was a Valentine's day "celebration," I was rolling my eyes a lot. The only good thing was that Chocolate was there to insert humor into the mush. He had "hirits" that were hilarious. I especially wanted to throw up when Ara Mina was talking about her lovelife. Please. I could have lived my entire life without listening to something so inexplicably shudder-inducing.
(Valentine's Day is not even a real holiday. And just who among the 8 Saint Valentines are you alluding to anyway? None of them celebrate their feast day on the 14th of February...)
Then Senator Kiko Pangilinan turned up bearing sacrifice, I mean, flowers and a teddy bear, and he and Sharon displayed... affection on national television. I gather people thought it was sweet. I thought it was, for lack of a better word, EW.
The whole thing finished before 11, and we were all pretty tired. I was extremely glad it was over. Most of us had tests the next day.
Some GEs really do require an amazing amount of effort. Imagine, I actually sat through an entire Valentine's Day special.
All in all, it was kind of fun. Not my preferred activity, but hey. First time for everything.
I guess it was like watching TV on a really big television set. Like it, but not really. There were life-sized people and for once I couldn't see the commercials.
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