Shrine in the Ether

Avril is getting married and Sum 41’s Deryck Whibley is the dad, I mean, groom to be.

Eh? Isn’t there a law that prevents punk rockers from falling in love? If there isn’t, someone please tell congress to pass one. Love conquers pain, emptiness, frustration and a host of other negative emotions. How can one be sufficiently ‘punk’ without the necessary angst and resentment that make punk music so perfect for sulking in a corner whining why life couldn’t be better?

Sure, most would contend she’s not even really punk but at least she doesn’t sing about flowers, rainbows and butterflies…We already have enough Carrie-oke Bot Underwoods to ensure us fifty million generations worth of songs like those.

Meanwhile, everyone else seems to be falling in love: TomKat,
Paris squared, Bennifer 2…heck, even Bubble Boy managed to hook up with a girl despite being in a goddamn bubble! Well the movie was released a few years back but still…

he could be a love doctor, you know?

What could I be doing wrong??? Would I also need to be demented, loose or just plain pathetic to find erm, My Happy Ending?!

I’m usually articulate and quite droll, or so people tell me…so I hate it when I get into a situation when someone insults me subtly, or even ourightly for that matter, and I couldn’t come up with a suave, witty retort to stun the offending party. By the time I get my thoughts together, too late, the moment had passed and the spiteful bitch (or bastard…) had long walked away, smugly relishing her (or his) triumph.

In the working world, you do get to meet certain nasty characters who probably spend inordinate amounts of time concocting the brew of your eventual downfall. Yep, even if you don’t compete with these people and quite frankly, do not look at your job as some sort of battle to the top of the corporate ladder.

Personally, I couldn’t care less if my job title is officially, “Royal Crap Cleaner” or “Executive Girl Friday” as long as it’s something I find worth doing and have not come to vehemently fear, come Monday morning. I am not interested in position or power and god help me if I ever need to wear a power suit (even if it’s Prada or Armani) for work. I would rather have my limbs dismembered by a throng of horses and cast into the sea to be chewed on by sharks. In case you're wondering, no, I'm not such a slob to come to the office clad in whale-print jammies, hell I don’t even wear those for bed, but casual chic is about as far as I would go. If I can have things my way though, no one can pry me from my board shorts and Havaianas if they use a vise-grip.

Just the other day, I had been asked to open a local bank account (yep, I'm civilized enough to have a bank account, in fact I have two but they both have been opened in another country) wherein to deposit my fee for something I worked on. As it was already late and quite inconvenient to do so, I asked whether it was possible to just transfer the money to my sister’s bank account instead. In a totally patronizing manner, the woman I was talking to ‘explained’ that they couldn’t pay someone who didn’t do the work and asked me to, ‘think’ as if to insinuate that my request suggested that I do not have a brain. Whada??? It was just a suggestion, hello? And I beg to disagree that the idea was blatantly idiotic. Even if that's the case, there’s a nice way to say so if it is unworkable. In my daze (a mixture of sleep deprivation and information overload on some research I’ve been working on) however, I was able to mutter nary a peep and felt so maligned after that, that I sunk into the depths of perdition the whole day. If only I knew exactly what to say…

So, I was quite excited when I stumbled upon THIS site full of random Biblical (yep, you read it correctly) curses to spout against any malevolent intruder.

Wouldn’t you just love to tell someone off with, “Harken, thou Mesopotamian harlot, for you will be as welcome as a fart in the queen's bedchamber?” I know I would…

I can't wait to see the likely mayhem that may ensue...Sweet.

What is the whole world up to?

I turn my back for a moment to focus on myself for a little while and there comes one surreal occurrence after the other. Like the rules have been changed without my knowledge not that my opinion would have mattered but still…

I was still awake at 1am this morning anticipating the beginning of the Formula 1 Indianapolis Grand Prix at 2am, as what happens when they are held on the other side of the world. Yep, never mind that I have to be up at 6:30, about a couple of hours after the race would have ended, and would most likely be spending the rest of the day in a drunken trance. If you’re anything like me, an F1 fanatic who would watch live races at whatever time of the day come hell or high water, the sleep deprivation is well worth it. That’s saying a lot knowing how I’m like a cat (or a koala) who likes sleeping for 14 hours at a time. It’s just not the same watching the replays; I would feel rather stupid cheering or cursing any happenstance knowing that it took place some time ago.

Well, turned out I stayed up late for nothing this time. 7 out of the 10 teams withdrew from the race, my beloved Mc Laren included, after they failed to reach an agreement with the FIA on the issue of tires and chicanes.

I don’t know really who to blame. Michelin is certainly at a fault having recognized the tires’ weakness just the night before but all the teams, save for fucking Ferrari, agreed to go through with the race, if only the FIA would bend the rules a little. They could have let the teams on Michelin to change into tougher tires, or added a chicane to slow down IMS’ deadly turn 13. Both are of course, against the rules but given that the teams in ‘danger’ are willing to give up their grid positions, even possible championship points, it could have been considered just so the fans who made an effort to see the race (and tickets certainly don’t come cheap) could have seen a decent show. Note that a component failure in Indianapolis could be especially fatal and this is not the kind of entertainment anyone would have wanted to see but so is a six-car race among mid-fielders.

Leave it to Ferrari to live up to its party pooping reputation having rendered the 2002-2003 series unwatchable (although it’s not their fault to be quite so dominating then), and now being the lone team not to agree to the majority proposal. The ironic thing is it’s not like Ferrari is a paragon of virtue by any measure. They have broken many rules before but they seem to be keen to such schemes only if the situation would work on their favor. Not that they would have been gravely discriminated if they had consented to the tire change or the addition of a chicane having been offered priority status in the grid and the points system.

On second thought, even with all the teams on the circuit, it would still have been a farce of a race if one team on Michelin finishes in a podium position but cannot lay claim on the win. But then again, people pay good money to watch WWF and we all know it’s a sham of a fight. It’s entertaining, fake blood and hilariously complex signature moves notwithstanding. I could have seen Kimi win the race and not get any points for it but I would still have enjoyed the journey. Hell, he could have retired mid-race and it would still have been better than not seeing any racing at all. Is that too much to ask for? Apparently, it is for the FIA and Ferrari.


He’d be in my next party…as the main course!

The prancing horse, and possibly Max Mosley (FIA President), ought to be barbecued in my next backyard party.

I just found out that Luigi Santiago, a TV director, was shot dead at the V-Bar (GLorietta 2) at around 4:10 am on Wednesday, June 8. I don't exactly know the man but I did work with him once when I was still with ABS-CBN in 2002. Not that he would remember if he were still alive.

He was the director for a music video whose talents I had to shoot for a spiel for a promo campaign. And although I remember for the shoot to have lasted two days, with none of us getting more than forty winks, I have exchanged nary a sentence with the guy. Still, I feel like he's someone I've known. I even had a little crush on him which lasted for about a year. I just can't believe he's dead. The guy is only 26, my age.

Life is really fleeting. We shouldn't be taking it for granted. In my friend, Ten's words of advice: "Grab it by the lapels..."

Xiaxue is hot, hot, hot in Singapore. Who, you say? According to media reports, she's Asia's best blogger for two years in a row, has millions of readers all over the world and has guested in at least half a dozen TV shows. In fact, I've seen at least a couple of those guestings and whack me over the head with a rubber chicken but she didn't impress me one bit. She seemed like a clunky old Hoover to me - useless and empty. The girl is a raven-haired Pamela Anderson who shares the same passion for platform boots, tight tees, kabuki make up and big hair. But hell, some people could be poor conversationalists but turn out to be brilliant writers so I thought I'd give her a chance. And give her a chance, I did.

The page opened to a shell pink, blue and tan layout complete with a full body portrait of Xiaxue (click at your own risk...god, I'm actually giving the girl free publicity...not that she needs any more...) in her Anime-inspired get-up of suede knee-highs, tiny white mini and a baby tee, orthopedic armbands and hoop earrings big enough for Tinkerbell to jump through, sprawled seductively on a couple of satin pillows on the floor. The image took no less than half the page. Whadaa???

I feel queasy already, I in fact, barfed a little, okay, a lot, in my mouth...Bing and Bong are about the only things more cutesy patootsie...and although I had the urge to hurl the computer out the window, or towards my annoying officemate, who is nearer, I decided not to quit right there...After all, I had to read at least a few of her blogs to be able to give a fair analysis. What can I say? I try to be just and merciful...*cough* So read her blog, I did. (Er, I know I'm totally turning into a Sith...or something...)

Anyway, midway through the first post, a ranting of some sort about another Singaporean girl who supposedly posted naked pictures of herself in her own blog, I was as baffled as a waffle as how that facsimile of a sham of a blog could be adjudged the best by any measure. Sure, tastes, standards and preferences vary widely but I still don't see why so many would want to read hopelessly mediocre musings that I found neither amusing nor introspective. Indeed, upon reaching the end of Xiaxue's kilometric babbling that left my brain in bubbles, I have basically vowed to dedicate my life to hunting her down and making her pay for polluting the net with poorly written pathetic ramblings posing as legitimate treatises on the wondrous aspects of human life. How about a kebab-like death? Basting optional...

Given that the country is a city of barely 4 million, and that Xiaxue's limelight-hungry mugs are all over cybercity (and beyond), I prolly wouldn't need to
waste more than a few days of my life to accomplish this task. Quite frankly though, I don't even think it's worth my efforts to try. I'd really rather watch paint dry.


You can run but you can't hide in such a small country...

Not wanting to tolerate another wretchedly abysmal entry, I finally decided to check out the other girls boobs, er, I mean blog and as I did so, I thought I died and went to heaven. And no, it's not what you think why...

Finally! A young Singaporean with a good grasp of English grammar, usage and syntax and proper use of colloquialisms, idiomatic expressions and even slang. It also helps that the entries are very personal, candid and radical and often deliciously sarcastic. Now, this is someone who has substance between her ears and who actually has something to say not just some cesspool of sentimental claptrap pretending to be intelligent. And although, SPG's (that's her screen name) world is not something I can truly identify with, it's something I won't mind, and maybe even enjoy, reading about.

I feel like snapping the neck out of the first chicken that will cross my path, which should make sense if I live in a farm but the closest this country has to anything even remotely rustic is their MRT early in the morning (or any time of the day for that matter...) No it isn't too crowded or too old ...the system really is efficient and modern but why does it feel like walking into a Fear Factor challenge everytime I commute in the morning?

What's with the whole aversion to soap and shampoo, people??? A swipe of Ban under the arms wouldn't hurt, too...and a spray of Sui Love, while I'm at it...Jeez...and I thought even the Ayoreos have already learned how to use that plastic stick with bristles on one end that clean your mouth, you know?

I hope it's not too much to ask but it's a tropical country and not the Antarctic for heaven's sake! There's no excuse not to wash up when even the slightest of movement can bleed your groins dry...

Now where's that chicken...

I really need to go so I'm keeping this extra short...I just really had to share this link with my readers as it had me in stitches when I saw it...The serious, matter-of-factly, Negosiyete tone that the 'researcher' responsible for this piece used is what made it hilarious...or I was just bored, which is more likely, but whatever...

In any case, I still don't understand why any guy would want to friggin' wear THIS. I know I wouldn't not even for a costume party and that's saying a lot especially from someone who has once dresssed as a "Tomb Reindeer" (Tomb Raider with antlers...)for a Christmas party, which no one really understood although I still think that concept was grand...and a Can-Can girl which everyone thought was my impression of one of Jack the Ripper's victims...yep, my costume ideas tend to be weird although I prefer 'witty'...Besides, it shouldn't really be called a "bra" as the procedure for making it requires filling the cups with stuffing...that qualifies that thing as prosthetic breasts, then, doesn't it?

OMG. The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants is now officially a movie (released June 1) . Yes, the series is perhaps intended for young adults but it didn’t stop me buying every volume every time it came out, anyway. The bookstore was having a sale on “children’s books” the first time and being someone who cannot resist discounts, especially 30% ones (and higher) I just had to purchase the first installment.


The Cover that had me running to the check-out counter...

I mean, who wouldn’t be intrigued about the story’s premise? Four girls passing around a single pair of jeans for each to wear (two weeks at a time) throughout their first summer apart as a way of keeping contact, without washing them! I don’t know about you but it sounded like an interesting science experiment to me. Like when you put a Quarter Pounder in a glass jar for 10 weeks to see what kind of lower life forms would grow on it, just as Morgan Spurlock did in Super-Size Me (in the edited out segment “Smokin’ the Fry”). By the time fall arrives, the pants would probably have mushrooms growing on the crotch area which may not be too bad if your kitchen specialty is Pasta al Funghi.

Further, I’m a sucker for drama and complications and the story has plenty albeit predicaments that I personally wouldn’t be bothered to spend even one second worrying about. Think forbidden desires, dying friends, problem parents and long distance love…they just sound gravely consequential but trust me, they’re not. Sure the heroines are pre-college kids and you don’t expect them to worry about inflation, famine, death and destruction. It’s just that at around the same age, I couldn’t care less if a barracuda swallowed me whole while I was getting a tan, (as long as I get straight A's all the time...What? I was a geek...) so I can’t relate much. Then again, I find that I’m always an exception to well, lots of rules. I seem to defy categorization. I’m probably the reason why statistical computations always have a margin for error…+/-2.5…or I may just be plain spacey. Period.

In all fairness to author, Anne Brashares however, she did write a reasonably exciting narrative that managed to hit a nerve…although, I worry that it might simply have been poked by one of the book’s edges – my copies are hardbound – when I fell asleep while reading in bed. As for the movie, I checked out the trailer but it hardly captivated me. There’s something wrong with the casting, I think. America Ferrara is probably too old to play Carmen (although she did look younger in the movie) and Alexis Bledel certainly doesn’t look Greek enough, in fact, not at all, to be Lena. The girl who plays Tibby seems to lack the charisma to pull-off the role of a jaded ingénue and the actor in the role of my fave character, Bee just doesn’t leave an impression. I forgot all about her while I was still watching the trailer…talk about being forgettable. And with a rating of 6 out of 10 in a movie review site, my judgment is probably not too far off the mark.

Consider yourself forewarned, not that you would have been interested in the first place.