Untitled.

I had a rather interesting day at the office. Some slight squabbles are brewing between the north-south factions; I dare not get into particulars. Rumors cannot be helped, can they? And some people just don’t grow up, no matter how old they are. There was an Indian woman who came by, and left me afflicted with accent mimicry for the rest of the day. A friend told me I write like a younger version of Jessica Zafra, which I don’t know how to take since when I read her I can’t understand half of what she’s saying, albeit the fact that she is good with words. I spent a good hour of my life folding receipts while wondering how the UPD CRS will opt to destroy my life, armed with the seemingly harmless words “Priority: Regular.”

In other news: They have started taxing books. I thought it was a joke designed to annoy those of us who happen to like long strings of words bounded between titles and blurbs. Alas, it is not. This means higher prices for imported books (read: 90 % of books in this country) and a longer wait for new releases. Thank you, Department of Finance. You’re brilliant. I blame Twilight for this. Rowling didn’t do this damage... Or is it just the recession, now also known as zeitgeist?

In other, other news: The Manny Pacquiao craze has promptly left the country like a less-destructive version of Emong, only to be replaced with another craze, this time in the form of The Two Davids.

Mom: Andito na yung dalawang David!!!
Me: *monotone* Yey...

Suddenly, swine flu threats reputed to be extremely high in populous areas all but vanished in a puff of fanaticism. A lot of people went to the malls and watched their guest appearances, which I didn’t because (a) I had to go to work, and (b) even if I didn’t, I’m not a fanatic. I have yet to discover a cause for which I will brave the long lines toward a totem of pop culture.

Little thoughts from the randomness I like to call my life:

The Great Gatsby, by F. Scott Fitzgerald. A little dragging at the beginning, gets to the action towards the end. Sometimes shocking. Fitzgerald’s artistic ability shines through in every page. Serves up money, pain, haunting images and an unlikely friendship.

Slaughterhouse Five, by Kurt Vonnegut. My new favorite book. All I can say is BRILLIANT. Of all the World War 2 novels I’ve read, this is the best so far. Because it’s different. It’s filled with old ideas presented in new ways, and new ideas that make it unforgettable. Billy Pilgrim has come unstuck in time, indeed, and makes you wonder if you haven’t. MUST READ.

I am not finished with Lolita (Nabokov), and Conversations with the Devil (Jeff Rovin a.k.a Tom Clancy). Curse the human necessity for sleep.

...

The SpiderPigs have been talking incessantly about Meteor Garden, now that Boys Over Flowers is out. (Note: SpiderPigs is a collective name for the officemates, since we burst into “Spider pig, spider pig, does whatever a spider pig does” when we’re suffering from paper shock. If you don’t know that song, go watch the Simpsons Movie.)

So, what about Meteor Garden and Boys over Flowers? The consensus is that MG is the better version, although that might just be time sweetening the recollection.

Personally, I think the delivery of MG was better, not to mention the dubbing. But what do I know. I’ll leave this up to the real fans.

One SpiderPig thinks she wants to become a nun. I think that is in all plausibility, since I go into anaphylactic shock every time she talks about her church, i.e. every five minutes. She’s way too nice for her own good. She loves children, and she talks about it a lot, which is always enough to make me throw myself towards the nearest exit, where her words will not reach my aural cavities. Sorry, dear, I really can’t stand little runts, neither in 3D nor in spoken word. (Psycho-logist says I hate kids because I didn’t have playmates. I concur. Slightly.)

In Idol Land: Danny Gokey is out, Kris Allen and Adam Lambert are the final two. Is it me, or is it not as interesting as last year? I have all but lost the will to keep watching. I have nothing against gays, so that isn’t the issue. It’s just that Lambert does the same screechy thing over and over. Kris Allen, on the other hand, has a morsel of talent and a healthy helping of pretty boy charm. I want neither to win. See bitterness and negativity dropping from that sentence?

Sigh. I’m just a regular Simon Cowell with a dash of Ebenezer Scrooge and a pinch of Ambrose Bierce. I can’t help it. If it’s optimism versus pessimism, I’d rather be either proven right or pleasantly surprised, than be mistaken at the top of my lungs.