Friday, February 29, 2008

The Day Out Saga



So I wigged out.


I've settled that the next best thing to an exotic holiday is lazying around the house with a good book in tow, an unpretentious cup of tea, and India Arie quietly declaring that she is Ready For Love in the background. Nothing beats a good dose of mush to keep your spirits up.

That is at least for three good hours.

I'm out of sorts today. I have no idea why. This emotional downturn couldn't have come at a better timing. Its Leap Day; and I'm already reaching out for this year's Sappy-Angry anthem. It's Urbandub's Guillotine right now. And I'm wailing "All Hope Is Gone, All Hope Is.." after closing the book on page 33 and muffling India Arie's optimism. I cant help it. I'm too old for this shit. I know. Urgh. I blame this on hormones. Hehe.

* * *

On a brighter note, I actually accomplished something today. I actually got out of the house. I seem to do less and less of that these days. I really have no reason steeping out the front door and actually walking three feet
away from the doorstep. Everything today is conveniently home-based ---working out (I really do.he.he.), fastfood mad-stuffing, connecting with friends from back home, and yes, work. Even my job is home-based. Oi! I really have to make an excuse to bask in the sun once in a while, don't I? He. He.


Day Out

Today, I decided to get myself a whack on the head and went out alone in this city without any itenerary. I used to love going out by myself -- spending hours just doing nothing, hopping from one record bar/bookstore to another and hogging a table to myself at some densely packed resto. Today, the thought of it all seems debilitating. I've been reduced to chicken feed. Its been two hours and I've already gotten bored. I'm running out of ideas here. In a span of less than an hour, I've already bought two books. Milan Kundera's Lightness of Being and Gabriel Garcia Marquez's Love In The Time Of Cholera. Three minutes out of the bookstore, I was already itching to poke these keys and oggle at some Asian popstar at Crunchyroll. I've gotten so used to being cooped up inside the house that I no longer know how it is to actually have fun in the real world.

I've already cancelled my reservations for Confessional this evening. I've no one to go with. Someone bailed out on me. I want to go but it really isnt so fun going to one and not having anyone to lay your complaints of the potential litany of social and political issues the film will entail. Aaaargh, how I wish to have an actual friend right now. Cha, you interested in teleporting here for the film showing this evening? he. he.

With the whole afternoon wide open, I'm thinking... what's the best way to stuff yourself mad with Happy? Hmmmm.... Any ideas?

Tuesday, February 26, 2008

Spell Angry

S'kay. Im entitled to shit on the universe once in a while, right? I know it doesnt do anyone good. It magnifies and transforms your Godzilla into a different monster altogether. You meet Space Alien Turbocharge Godzilla 5000 and its downhill from there for sure. Trust me, I've gone that road too many times and it aint pretty. It takes a while to regain your wits after losing your shit ( I just have to say that). After collecting your brains, you realize the horror of it all -- the complications of one nasty little comment and the bad press that will hound you for weeks on end. But really, is it really worth it? Do we really have to be angry to be, er, authentic? It's just downright messy.

I hate being angry. I dont like what I look like when I'm all wired. I've gone through its variations. There's funny-angry, when your eyes pop out of your nostrils (oh, its possible) and your voice quake to a shrill high. The sulky-angry, when your slight pout descends to the ground while your nerves quietly throb on your forehead. And the crazy-angry, when you just get, well, u-g-l-y. At the end of it all, you've somehow managed to morph into an imitation of a lesser life form (think: single-celled amoeba). Its never pretty with these things.

I have to be comforted by the thought that it is human after all to have these tiny spats with the world and with specific persons. Whatever it's worth, it's tough. No one wins when you're angry.

Wednesday, February 13, 2008

The Coffee Prince Monster

Ring Ring

What if you had a mental telephone? No, I’m not talking about the ability to read other people’s minds, but a real telephone --- only it exists in your mind. If you had to call someone, or if you had to call a random number, who would you like to pick up on the other end?

Ridiculous, ey? When I stumbled on this movie, I thought, if there’s dancing and cheeky fireworks, I promise not to giggle. Luckily, there was nothing remotely cheesy in this one --no dancing ( although I secretly hoped for a teeny bit) and definitely no gunpowder feast.

Calling You is a sincere and hopeful story of a young girl coming to terms with her identity and experiencing the heartache of a first love. It’s a short film that offers to send your heart in a flurry if you’re willing to shamelessly bawl at the end. It has no Disney ending. Like almost all Asian love stories, there is bound to be a tragic twist before the credits roll.

This gem is happy, sad and beautiful.

Mental telephones. Now that’s food for thought.

Hullo? Diiiyyyeeegooo?

Tuesday, February 12, 2008

Long Pause

Every now and then, we fall victim to the dread of the long pause.

It is that five or --- rarely--- ten-second uncomfortable silence when your brain decides to impulsively go on holiday. In that space of time, you are alone to fend for yourself. No back-up plan, no reserve magic trick, no heat, no water.

You watch the other person cower at your gaze, or rather, watch yourself shrink back to your cave. You think to yourself --- with whatever fragment your brain bothered to leave for motor skills--- this long pause, this looooong paaauuse, wars could have stopped during this long pause. Babies could have been born during this long pause. Diego Luna could have been dialing your number during this long pause. You could have been crowned Queen of the Universe during this long pause. The world could have stopped spinning during this long pause.

It's a wretched thing this long pause.

Monday, February 11, 2008

Eyeballs In Alcohol

I’ve realized, after seeing (bits and parts) of the Suicide Club, I am not that grown-up nor hip enough to sit through a movie that promises a bloodbath.

Sure, I could stomach Battle Royale or Azumi, the least, but Suicide Club and all of its fake blood left me squeamish. When I do finally get the nerve to finish it without hitting the fastforward button post-haste, I would have to soak my eyeballs in alcohol after it’s over.

Suicide Club is a disturbing Japanese movie that came out after the Ring series (I think) and came out in 2002, when everyone was too thrilled enough to jump into the Asian Horror bandwagon. Its notorious moment is at the beginning of the movie when 54 schoolgirls leap into their deaths into a speeding train. With that prelude, that’s saying something about the number of horrifying deaths that follow.

It exploits over-the-top violence to back up what it seems as art and social commentary, but in the end, at least on my part, it was just an absurd mess. It was purely for shock and awe. Whatever relevant point the movie wanted to come across, it was lost at the sight of rolled up skin the audience was treated to.

Sunday, February 10, 2008

Moving up

I’ve finally decided that I will enjoy these last few remaining days of being unattached and unperturbed by the modern world’s nuisances for a healthy young modern girl like me -- i.e. stress. I am willing to treat this downtime as a period for learning and discovery. What’s ironic is that this couldn’t have come in a better time. It’s parallel with the imperialist US’s recession. What a way to mark this significant period of quarter life. Hope this is temporary. I want to work dammit. He. he.


To celebrate this newfound freedom, I've switched homes...well, kinda. I've moved over to multiply too. Here's the link: tin the optimist

Hope to see you there!

The New Obsession

Low quality video streaming has become this week’s mild obsession. Crunchyroll.com is to blame for it. I love that site.

In an attempt of rekindling my interest in human history and restoring my faith in commercialism, I did the next best thing to college education. I went to see the movies.

I now honestly can say that I love Asian cinema and television. I am a convert.

Its amazing how much ridiculous and socially brazen plotlines Asian filmmakers can think of. The kind of material I’ve come across so far has managed to thrill, shock and confuse me altogether. We are a diverse continent, but the myriad of cultural differences we have makes you think: how can a slight change in location bring about such alienation? Okay, stupid question. But you have to agree, granted that it is heinous to judge a country not on its own terms but off of another‘s cultural standards, still, we cant help ---- as people who don’t know any better---- quiz the social norms of another based on our beliefs and our personal truths. That is at least what I did. Seeing a Japanese schoolgirl getting the hots for a man thrice her age in youth-oriented programming (and vice versa) isn’t necessarily amusing. In my side of the world, that’s what we call perversion. However, I am resolute in enlightening this half-assed wit.

I’ve developed a system. I go through the morbidly tasteful and frighteningly beautiful movies --- which really are the bulk of my serious education. I then wash them all down with fun, frilly and happy-scary dramas at the end of the day to rid of the heebie-jeebie vibes I get from watching heads decapitated. On some days I just go straight and enjoy a series with a Disney ending. It’s a solid, foolproof plan for people like me who have yet to develop profound sensibilities for sitting through Battle Royale without cringing. And yes, I have seen it. Beyond the bloody gore, it is what its fans claim it to be --- a brilliant cinematic feat. The Japanese do not kid around with the switchblade, I tell you. Go and see it. It is that good.

I can’t seem to finish All about Chou Chou though. I just know the kids in the movie spiral into a horrible fate. Call me crazy, but I’m not ready to see it just yet. Maybe in a week or so, after I've stuffed my brain with enough pop sugar of Coffee Prince and the Yukan Club.


Friday, February 08, 2008

Tokyo Tokyo

Tokyo snores.

The cat has talents, mind you.

It bites unwanted guests, melts you into goo with one look, and now, apparently, snores.

I fear it might be a symptom for something deathly serious. I hope not.




Who cannot resist a face like this?