Thursday, November 09, 2006

HP 5 movie trailer out

Release of the theatrical trailer of "Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix" movie on November 17th! Also only in screenings of Warner Bros' "Happy Feet".

Thursday, November 02, 2006

UPD scribbled attempts, an anthology

FA Wall:
"nobody cares"
somebody answered: "not even the carebears?"
then another: "Not even Kier?"
then: "Not even Zoren?"
lastly: "Not even Zorro?"
(all written by different people)

AS chairs:
"Push button to eject seatmate."
"Push button to eject urself."
"Push button to kill teacher."
"Push button to eject teacher."
...Reply: "It's jammed! We're doomed!"

AS cubicle: "Donate your bulbol here.."
(stuck on the wall beside these words, a bubble gum)

AS chair : "You know bobo? Bobo is you!"

AS 1st floor CR: “If you forget the past, then you porget the purious..”

AS 1st floor CR again: "I'm a simple gay"
tapos me sumagot: “Sira! Dapat I'm simple and gay! Taga peyups kaba? Duh!"
tapos me sumagot ulit (with matching arrow pa na nakaturo dun sa reply): "Sira ka rin! Yung simple is used as an adjective tapos yung gay is used as a noun. Kaya ok lang yung simple gay nya!"

Chem chair: "Push button to spray acid on prof’s face."

Another chem chair: “You Boron!!!”

Bio chair: "Push cadaver to haunt teacher.”


Sa Men's CR, facing the urinal: "Hawak ko saking mga kamay ang kinabukasan ng bayan!"
Reply: "The future you are holding is very small."

sa cr sa may math building: "SUMAPI SA NPA!"
may sumagot: "PAANO?"

sa math building, sa likod ng isang “teacher’s chair” sa 3rd floor: "BABALA: asawa ni babalu"
sa math 3rd floor, sa isang upuan uli."You'll NEVER find what you're looking for."
May nag-reply: "Find x."

sa math 3rd floor, sa isa pang upuan uli.nakasulat sa armchair: "F*CK DA WORLD!"
ta's may sumagot: “F*CK U TOO!--WORLD"
3rd floor math cr: "kaibigan, pagkapatos mong umihi, paki PLUS mo naman, hehehe."

sa loob ng music room."Maam _______(music prof), boses palaka!"
tas may sumagot "Nakarinig ka na ba ng boses ng palaka?"
tas may sumagot uli: "Weh"
tas may nag-react uli "Oo, sabi kokak!kokak!"

Wall ng vinzons "Do not steal. The government hates competition."

men's cr sa Vinzon’s: "Remember: the hands that clean this toilet arethe same hands that cook your food."

men's cr, waaaay above the urinal: "If you can reach this, the fire department wants you!"

sa isang upuan: "F*ck nigs!"
may nagreply: "Who's nigs?"

sa isang lamesa ng main lib, filipiniana section: “UP STUDENTS HAS BECOME PATETHIC"
tapos may sumagot: "Mali pang grammar at spelling mo, halatang di ka taga-UP!"

Nietzsche: "God is dead"
God: "Nietzsche is dead!"

sa labas ng PNB: "In case of emergency break ass and push butt"

sa girls’ CR: "Bawal ang vandal Dito! ...Mommy said: First Aid Terramycin"

sa girls’ CR uli: “My boyfriend and I had sex and now I’m pregnant"
reply: "Pray to God"

Friday, September 15, 2006

Contemplathings II

1. the Collegian's campaign
2. Guillaume Canet, Marion Cotillard
3. siomai, fish balls
4. 2006 UAAP Cheerdance Competition
5. going home (I am at the Collegian office right now.)

Tuesday, September 12, 2006

Une Retractation!

I never watched Amelie (La Fabuleux destin d'Amelie Poulain) before, because I thought it was overrated--everyone was screaming hallelujahs about it, I thought there must be something wrong about it. How can a movie please so many people at so many similar points? If all my hard-to-please friends were impressed with it (which is what actually happened), I would have said there is something wrong with their neurons. Some street booze concoction coupled with Baygon must have done it. But all my hard-to-please friends and all my less artistically sensible acquaintances liked, no, adored the film. They can't all be smoking marijuana, can they? Jean-Pierre Jeunet must be more Saruman than me.

Yesterday, in a Faculty Center broom cupboard that fancies itself to be an audio-visual room, I realized there is something wrong with me. I finally saw Amelie and realized the following things:

1. Jeunet is a god.
2. I am falling in love with Audrey Tautou and Mathieu Kassovitz, at the same time.
3. I am a living fossil of the Homo erectus.

Thursday, September 07, 2006

Bits and Peaches

I made a separate blog for my literary attempts. No one publishes me? I am publishing myself.

1. Meredith Brooks
2. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
3. High School friends
4. KulĂȘ general meeting tonight (whenever is it going to start?)
5. math quiz tomorrow
6. siomai
7. "Jessica Zafra" on Blogger
8. The Gospel of Judas by Simon Mawer
9. Harry Potter 6, Gale Paras
10. Tiffy Uy
11. peaches in cream
"How happy is the blameless Vestal's lot! The world forgetting, by the world forgot. Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind! Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd. (Alexander Pope)" ■

Saturday, August 26, 2006

Contemplathings I

1. lunch
2. dorm facilities in UP Diliman
3. the possibility of a 'point of realization of being gay'
4. the possibility of a 'point of realization of being straight'
5. Jamie Cullum's music
6. Frodo and Sam in Mordor
7. suicide ■

Friday, August 25, 2006

Anyone got the loony bin's number?

I think I'm ready for the sanitorium. I have two news articles to draft (deadline: 7 pm tonight), and my legwork is far from sufficient. My reaction paper on Socrates' "Apology" is weeks due. I just found out that I managed to flunk my second long exam in Calculus; the next exam is in two weeks, and I still don't know what a bleeping antiderivative is. And by the way, my mother's birthday is today. ■

Thursday, August 24, 2006

My latest love-hate relationship

It is an ordinary weekday and I leave home early for my Math class; 6:30 it has to be, unless I want to get caught in The Morning Traffic Jam and burst an artery even before I see the bloodcurdling face of my adorable Math professor.

So I take the jeep that would take me to the nearest MRT station. I pay the discounted fare, but the driver would not believe I am a student. Students do not wear shorts and rubber thongs to school, he argues. I patiently explain to him that I almost always wear them to school, and guess what, Manong, there are now universities that do not require students to wear uniforms. Our conversation, rather, our earth-shaking debate, ensues, but in the end, I flash him my ID and he shuts up.

Inhale. Exhale. I do not need The Morning Traffic Jam to make my day, after all.

The jeep drops me off at Guadalupe where I will be taking the MRT. I line up at the station to buy a ticket, but first I have to figure out the ends of the long, tangled queues. And of course there are those homos who have an uncanny ability to cut through lines. After struggling against these people, I finally find myself inside the train, my face wedged between the underarm of someone who has been avoiding water and soap lately and the hairy chest of someone reminiscent of Undertaker.

While my senses reconstruct its definition of ‘sour’, I hallucinate. In my mind, I see the MRT bigwigs relaxing in a pool of cash, their hands holding goblets of wine, their pinkies sticking out daintily. I wonder why I think of that.

At Quezon Avenue station, I get off the train, and take a jeep that would finally bring me to UP. Thankfully, I do not have to go through another encounter with a jeep driver, as UP is already near and jeep drivers in the area no longer find the sight of a student in shorts and rubber thongs strange.

I arrive at UP, at long last. At around 5:00 pm, though, after classes and my work at the university paper, I suffer everything again—this time, in reverse: a jeep ride, the MRT, a jeep ride again.

Only when I arrive home and writing in my journals do I start to forgive all the troubles of commuting. See, I have always been under the illusion that I am a writer, and these traumatic experiences have always provided good material for my attempts at crafting short stories. I may be mad when I reckon with difficult drivers, smelly underarms, and MRT bigwigs in a pool of cash, and I may seem mad, too, when I write about it. But deep inside, I am learning to laugh at the foibles of the human character, including my own.

I write—foisting perhaps my (mis)adventures of the day to some character in my story, or maybe better, using Mr. Stinky-Underarms himself as a character. I don’t know, but it somehow makes me see the pleasurable trauma of commuting.

The next day, I will take the road again, and commit blasphemy as I swear to the heavens each time I endure the tortures of commuting once more.

As of the moment though, I write, and smile. ■

Thursday, August 17, 2006

at last, something. ■