My Christmas List

Someone once asked me: What if Christmas were celebrated everyday, would it still be special then? My thoughts? I don't think so. Christmas is special because it's a yearly one-time, big-time deal. The thought of waiting 364 days more before celebrating Christmas again makes the occasion extraordinary. One can argue the same thing about birthdays; but I think there's something more momentous in everybody observing the occasion at the same time rather than in a birthday being celebrated every 3 seconds and only by those who think the celebrator is special. Besides, I don't look forward to my birthday in the same way I do Christmas: Must be the dread of being a year closer to my grave - a morbid idea my English elementary teacher espoused, and which I adopted. Anyway, I love so many things about Christmas that this entry might come in parts. The list begins...

The Songs. Each year, I make a mental note of the first Christmas song I hear over the radio and that becomes my Christmas song for that year. I don't know when this 'tradition' started exactly, but it was inspired by the fact that Christmas in this country starts in September. I thus have four whole months of savoring or tolerating my song. It has not been a good haul this year: Last Christmas by Wham. I didn't think it was that Christmasy, but being the OC that I am, I gritted my teeth and made it my own.

My ultimate favorite is The Christmas Song. Although it evokes an American Christmas with its lyrics of 'chestnuts' and 'jack frost', I still consider it the perfect Christmas song. Simple and short, the song is able to convey anything and everything about Christmas, well, Western Christmas anyway. Indulge me...I love White Christmas. I particularly love Nat King Cole's version with its mix of jazz.

Another favorite is My Grown-up Christmas List, Kelly Clarkson's. I thought the melody was a bit melancholic for lyrics that speak of world peace. Be that as it may, I still love it. I'm not a fan of the song I'll Be Home For Christmas, but Josh Groban's version made me a convert. The song is everything a Josh Groban song should be - soothing voice, perfect delivery - but what I liked about his version are those voice overs by American soldiers who couldn't be home with their loved ones for Christmas. I thought this new addition made the song more significant.

Now on to the local scene, my very own Original Pilipino Music (OPM). Once in my pathetic life did I shriek over Gary Valenciano's Pasko Na, Sinta Ko. I lost interest when the nation adopted it as its National Christmas Anthem. I'm currently swooning over Ariel Rivera's Sana Ngayong Pasko. It's the same sad song as the former, but the latter's more upbeat. The sweetest Christmas love song ever is A Perfect Christmas by Jose Marie Chan. And no, it's not sad. One can go right ahead and think of her special someone while listening to this song without feeling overly dramatic. The melody isn't too slow as to be dragging, neither is the rhythm fast as to destroy the song's sweetness. I'm having difficulty downloading another Christmas OPM favorite: Even Santa Fell In Love by Lea Salonga. It has a nice, easy tune and I find the lyrics heart-warming.

To be continued...

Food & Cocktails

My dad was a bit concerned with my excursion to the hospital (Sick Sense, November 6 entry), so he advised me to go malling last weekend. I went malling, alright...and more.

Saturday, 12 noon

A guy friend and I had a Burgoo lunch. I'm a regular visitor of the restaurant, and although they serve a variety of sumptuous dishes, I have only tried the pizza and pasta recipes. We had garden fresh pizza (his choice) and baked macaroni (mine), both in regular sizes. Despite their being regular, the servings were hefty so both dishes were meant for sharing. In fact, all of their dishes are meant for sharing. That's how goodish the servings are.

Anyway, the food. What I really love about Burgoo pizzas are their very tasty dough. I notice that some people don't eat the end crust of the pizza, and I don't blame them for wasting away food. Some pizzas merely rely on their toppings for tastiness that the end crusts aren't given much attention. Not so with Burgoo. Whenever I eat pizza at this restaurant, I cut the end crust and save it for later. This part of the pizza is so delicious, you can eat it solo. The garden fresh pizza kind of reminded me of Shakey's veggie version; only the former's vegetables aren't that baked into the bread, so you can still taste their freshness. Although there are toppings you cannot make me eat - green peas, mushroom and black olives - I did enjoy the pizza. True to its name, the cheesy baked macaroni was really cheesy; there were bits of baked cheese oozing out from the pasta's holes. It was tasty too, although I could do with a little more salt.

My latest visit to Burgoo did not change my impression of the place. I frequent the branch located at SM North's The Block. The crew are still exceptionally friendly and the service still superb. What's unique about Burgoo is the doodling while waiting for the orders. The table is covered with white paper and the customers are given crayons to doodle with. One question though: Are the pieces of paper recyclable? After Burgoo, we checked out Beowulf. Although I didn't get to watch it in 3-D, it's the nastiest performance capture film. Ever.

8 in the evening

I met my closest friends at Mr. Kabab's for dinner. I'm not a fan of Meditteranean food, but for this restaurant, I'm making an exception. It's located along Quezon Avenue corner West Avenue, and was first introduced by an old friend, who, knowing my propensity to shun new dishes, insisted I try the restaurant's Keema. I fell in love with it. Whenever I visit the place, I always order Keema, a dish made of ground beef and spices. So it came as no surprise when I ordered Keema for dinner that night. My cousin loves their chicken recipes; she got one for herself. Their fruit shakes are the best...brings to mind that song by Kelis.

When you visit the place though, I suggest you take the cab because of the scarcity of parking spaces. The restaurant is packed on a gimik night too, so if you're an impatient person, this isn't the place for you. A word to the wise: Wait a bit more because it's worth it. Seriously.

10 in the evening

After dinner, my friends wanted to have a few drinks. I was a bit tired, so I wanted to bail out because 'a few drinks', in my friends' lingo, meant 'drinks until the wee hours of the morning'. I was right. We retired from the place at around 3. The place was Pacific Islander, located along Timog Avenue. I'm not into bar-hopping so I have no idea how the rates of cocktails go, but after looking at the menu, my friends declared the prices to be reasonably cheap. Their word is the law. The drinks may be cheap but they were delicious; the place is decent even, none of those rowdy people. The atmosphere is just right for a bar: Not too dark, not too bright. I had fun, I have to admit. I plan to bring my cousins there on my second visit.

I must mention a certain incident about Pacific Islander regarding its valet service. 10 minutes after we ordered, my friend realized that she didn't have her cellphone with her. Racking her brains, she remembered she left it on the passenger's seat of my car. True enough, there it was lying where she remembered it would be. I have to commend the guy who serviced my car; unfortunately, we didn't get his name. Such honest service deserves only the highest praise.

Sunday, 3 in the afternoon

Another guy friend and I went to Trinoma for an afternoon of pizza. Yes, pizza. This time, I opted for Yellow Cab, one of my favorite pizza establishments. If you're in a large company, this is the place to go because of their huge, and I mean huge, pizzas. It's not just the size though; this establishment can boast of yummy pizzas with generous toppings. My favorite from their range of flavors is the New York Classic - it's pepperoni heaven!

I wonder where I'll go next weekend?

Sick Sense

I hate hospitals. Nothing on doctors, though; it's just the hospitals I hate. Their antiseptic smell has death written all over my nostrils. I don't know why I have this abomination of hospitals. I have not seen anyone die in a hospital; neither do I have any real-life emergency drama, ER style, that has anything to do with hospitals. In fact, I don't remember any instance why I should feel traumatize with hospitals. Half of my family members belong to health-related services, with four more on the way. I can count with my one hand the number of times I have been in a hospital and those instances were merely due to my parents' insistence that I have a check-up. Better safe than sorry seems to be their motto when it comes to health. And those check-ups aren't life-threatening either. Maybe it's just one of those things you grow up to hate, like peanut butter sandwiches.

I find it really funny though, my hatred of hospitals. Up until high school, my greatest ambition was to become a doctor, a neurosurgeon, even. The reason why I took up Law, which is at the other end of the professional spectrum, and gave up my kiddie ambition of becoming a doctor altogether, was because the University where I passed my pre-medical course was too stifling. Meanwhile, the University where I passed my pre-Law course was too spacious - I had to ride a jeepney to get from one building to the other. Lousy way to choose a career, I know. Oh well, I knew I'd suck at being a doctor anyway.

For one, I'm terrified of hospitals, for reasons I cannot fathom. Second, I get queasy with the sight of blood, even my own. There was this one time, well, two times actually, when I had to have my blood taken for tests - one for hyperthyroidism, the other for anemia - I cried...both times. And I was in my late twenties already. Third, I realized that the only reason the medical profession appealed to me before was the starkly white doctor's hospital suit.

I had an emergency room experience today because of chest pains my mom made a big deal about. The process I had to go through was not at all pleasant. I had to share sections with men. Thank goodness for that really considerate intern or nurse, I don't really know the difference, he transferred me to the end of the room where I had a section all by myself. And better too, because the ECG involved sticking whatever to areas near my breast. I don't mind getting nude for doctors (it's an occupational hazard on their part), but getting nude for other patients is a whole different story. Anyway, there's nothing wrong with me except for an inflammation due to stress. Nothing that a nice warm bath and a relaxing vacation can't fix.

I still hate hospitals but I like watching television series pertaining to the medical field. That's probably the extent of my fascination for ERs, or ORs, or whatever else acronyms the health department come up with. But I have a huge respect for doctors, and there are times when I would still imagine myself in those white coat with a stethoscope hanging around my neck. When I meet doctors in hospitals, I cannot stop myself from gazing at them. They seem so...white. Only I prefer power suits and briefcases now. Much more colorful.

The Sweet Month of November

As of press time (hahaha!), I'm back to the stress and the city. It has been a wonderful vacation of doing nothing.

The month of October has been a good month, blog-speaking. I've managed to write reviews of movies and books. But the most wonderful thing that has happened to my blog is the makeover. Months have it been since my first entry in July and the look of my blog then was a bore. I still can't figure out how to paste pictures in my blog entries but I'm way, way satisfied with how my blog looks now.

As to the real world, still waiting for that job I applied for. I'm thinking of working on a transition job, as I like to call it, while waiting for the go ahead on the other job. Gives me something to do, and some dough to spend, in the meantime.

I've Got Mail

My parents and their friends were playing mah jong one night, so I had to retire to my room early. Since I only had a few more pages of Amy Tan's The Bonesetter's Daughter, I was through in a jiffy. I went to my brother's room (I used to share rooms with him, so some of my stuff's still there) in search of a book to reread. Instead, I found myself opening the dresser drawer and lo and behold! Stacks of letters saved from high school! I emptied the drawer of its contents, sought the privacy of my room, and was immediately consumed by a nostalgic air.

I once proclaimed myself to be the worst correspondent ever. I got relatives living and working abroad but I don't recall having written them letters. I might have sent them cards on occasions. But the letters I found in the drawer - from friends and relatives - is evidence that I was once a very diligent letter writer, at least to my high school friends. I would not have gotten so many missives if I had not written back. Why did the communication end? Who stopped writing to whom?

I recall that I was pretty excited when I received mails from those I left behind in the province; I couldn't wait to write back. I guess my excitement just waned, and the hassle of having to go to the post office added to the decline. While I was going through each letter, I regretted not having continued the communication, or opened it on my end if it had been their side who stopped. Even with the advent of email, there was silence on both our ends. Sure, I receive emails from friends, college and law school; a few from high school. But 'communication' has gone down to emails forwarded from whoever to whoever and which just happened to land in your inbox if you managed to be in somebody's contacts. One may argue that at least messages are being forwarded to me. Thank goodness for small blessings! Yeah, I meant that sarcastically.

There's still something different and profound in receiving a note written in longhand and mailed the good old-fashioned way; as if a lot of thought is put into the letter, into you as recipient.

I want to share a letter from a college friend. I don't remember the exact reason why she wrote me this note though. I might have whined to her about this guy I really liked who, unfortunately for him, did not like me back. Anyway, the letter:

My mother likes to tell me that a Bachelor's Degree in Political Science means very little when facing the real world. Much as I'd like to disagree with her (after all, who wants to hear that four years of frying in the fires of the UP academe amounts to nothing?), I have to admit that at the end of the day, she is right.

For example: One of the things UP never taught us was how to fall in love safely. Safe sex is easy and cheap, to be bought for the price of a condom or a packet of pills. But safe love is an anomaly, an oxymoron. There is no such things as a risk-less love; and even if there were, I'm pretty sure they didn't tell us about it while we were studying Rousseau and the Social Contract.

There are certain things we'd like to believe about love: That there is one person designed especially for us, that we will know beyond all doubt when we meet that person, and that all our troubles will melt away like ice on a hot Philippine summer day when we fall in love. We like to believe in bells ringing when we kiss, in theme songs, in moonlight romances and deep voices crooning everlasting love to the mellow strumming of a guitar.

But one thing UP taught us was how to be practical, and how to face reality. And this is reality:

There are no soul mates, no white knights, and no ideal men. There are no ringing bells, no perfectly-fulfilled fantasies, and no escape routes via the love boat. There is no man who will ever be able to live up to your ideal. No one man can be all you hope and dream of, all you want and need.

But there are men who are willing to try. These are the men you are looking for.

You are a beautiful friend, inside and out. In and of yourself, you are complete, and need look no longer for your 'other half'. There is no other half, only you, and you are sufficient. This is what the man who loves you will have to learn and admire about you.

Enjoy your single life to the fullest. Life as another person's 'significant other' will come soon enough.

My Town, My Home

I was born and raised in a town where everybody knows everybody, where secret is a non-existing word and where gossip mongers put even the most relentless paparazzi to shame. But for all its people-imperfections, my town is a picture of utmost serenity: Waking up to the sweet chirping of the birds and sleeping to the soft rustle of the breeze; and breathtaking beauty: Lush greens against a sky of the bluest blue.

Life in my town is slow, really slow. My mom complains that progress will never see the light of day here. Honestly, I don't care. After the stress of living in the city, I welcome the leisurely pace of my town.

The church bells ring at 5 in the morning, and the faithful walk to church for the mass an hour later. By that time, my town has woken up to the noise of the roosters and the smell of breakfast. My favorite are the pandesal, literally, salt bread. Then I would dip those tasty bread into a cup of hot tsokolate, chocolate drink made from pure cocoa. Incidentally, it's my most favorite drink ever and nobody does great tsokolate than my grandmother.

The rest of the day, my town displays a sense of busyness. Some of the people go to the nearby city - the province's trade and education center - while the rest stay behind and just go about their daily routine. Whenever I come home for vacation, I immediately proceed to my grandma's house, where a steaming kettle of hot tsokolate awaits me, after breakfast at my own house. The rest of my day is spent lazing about the house, helping my aunt man the store, and listening to my grandma's story of her youth.

The church bells ring again at 6 in the evening for the Angelus, then again at 8 in memory of our dead. By that time, the town is quiet. Rarely do you see people roaming the streets. All other fun activities are done inside the houses. My town is as still as the night.

When I was in High School, I could hardly wait to leave my town and begin my adventure in the city. I likened myself to Belle from Beauty and the Beast: There must be something more to this provincial life. When I finally arrived in the city, I sometimes thought to myself that I will never come home to my town, even during the summer and Christmas vacation. Funny, but after only a year of city adventures, I was counting the days 'til vacation so I could return to my town and relax. It just goes to show that even the best of us have to eat our words. Or the city is just too stressful for my taste.

I try to come home whenever I can, and whenever I want to relax. There were times when I would just come home for a day, then it was off to the city again. It turned out it was more tiring that way. So when it was announced that it was going to be a long Halloween weekend, I grabbed a ticket home. It has been a while since my last visit. And it has been ages since a really long vacation. Right now, I'm in front of my dad's computer...yes, in this town where my mom said there'll never be progress. Of course, I will not equate her progress to mean wireless networks. She means it politically, a topic I will never write about in this blog. Then again, I might.

I'm enjoying this vacation, a treat that'll probably never happen again in another five years. I'll let you know...if I'm still bloggin', that is.

An Arabian Day

It was a tension-filled afternoon (the cause of which I might write about someday), and to loosen up, I popped the Aladdin trilogy in the player.

Of all the Walt Disney cartoon adaptations of fairy tales and legends I've watched so far, none is as modern as Aladdin, from the dialogues to the songs. You wouldn't expect less from a cartoon where the Genie calls Aladdin 'Al', would you? So anyway, I was later treated to an afternoon of wise crackin', lamp rubbin' Arabian fun.

While the original was everything a Disney movie should be - smooth animation, witty dialogues, and the rich, rich colors - the second and third installments, while with stories as exciting as the original, paled in comparison. The colors were just dull. And what happened to the elaborate markings on the flying carpet? And where were the other thieves? A 40 thieves song-and-dance ensemble would have been pretty impressive. Surely sequels, while only for video release, deserve as much attention to details as the original?

However, whatever disappointment I had with the animation aspect was well compensated by the wise-cracking Iago and the simply funny Genie. The songs were lovely, too. I noticed that while this cartoon has every right to go pop vis-a-vis the songs, the singers delivered wonderfully with just the right amount of pop and classical; so unlike Cinderella II: Dreams Come True, where there was much wailing going on in the singing in a bid to make it pop.

The trilogy is worth the watch if only for those really funny dialogues and delightful songs...well, the second and third installments, anyway. The original: Definitely worth the watch for everything.

Major Blog Makeover

I had 'overhaul' in my mind for the title, but I thought 'overhaul' was such a strong word, so I opted for the 'makeover'. And what a makeover it is.

I finally managed to have ads on my blog, after a week of 'error on page'. But I cannot, for the life of me, understand why I seem to have difficulty in copying and pasting pictures for my entries to make them a tad more interesting; although my entries are interesting enough as they are, with or without pictures (hahaha!). I added some page elements too, considering that I've kind of branched out a bit to include reviews of my favorite movies and books. So on the right-hand side of my blog, there's a List. Inspired by John Grisham's The Last Juror, I added a Religion Corner, which will consist of Bible passages, or prayers to Saints, or anything that has to do with anything religious. I also added a Currently reading... corner. The title of the said corner pretty much gives you an idea what it is about, doesn't it?

I wanted to add pictures, wallpapers really, of my favorite movies at the end of the blog page, but I had difficulty in making them shrink to fit. What the heck. I might be adding a few more page elements for quotes whenever I feel like it.

Anyway, I like the way my blog looks now. I'm seriously contemplating of changing the template once in a while (read: once a month), just for the heck of it. We'll see.

A Fairy Tale-y Day

It was a rather boring afternoon. I was looking through my movie collection when my eyes landed on the cartoon section. And there they were: The Cinderella Trilogy. Yes, folks, Cinderella is a trilogy.

I grew up to Walt Disney. My favorites are the fairy tale adaptations. Although Beauty and the Beast is my most favorite of the lot, Cinderella closely trails behind. Imagine then my delight when Disney decided to follow up Cinderella's story with its release of Cinderella II: Dreams Come True and Cinderella III: A Twist In Time. Everybody knows Cinderella's story; who doesn't? Probably the greatest fairy tale ever told, Cinderella has inspired more movies than any other fairy tale. She and the Prince living happily ever after is a good enough end for me. But in the tradition of sequels, I decided to get myself a copy of the second and third installments. It's nice to keep up with your favorite Disney characters.

Cinderella II: Dreams Come True is a collection of stories from the mice's perspective. There isn't much singing going on in this cartoon, unlike the original, but the animation is more luxuriant. The songs have a pop feel to them, but I didn't like them that much because Cinderella is, well, a classic. Leave the pop songs to, say, Aladdin. There isn't much magic going on in this installment either; except for the second story when Jaq, you know, the mouse, wished himself to be human. Other than that, none of those wand waving and 'bibbidy-bobbidy-boos'. Quite a disappointment, really. But still, Dreams Come True was cartoon fun.

Cinderella III: A Twist In Time is an exciting look at what could have happened if the slipper hadn't fit. The Fairy Godmother accidentally knocks her wand away and it lands right in front of Anastasia. Fascinated, Anastasia brings home the wand to her mother, who, instead of just magicking back her family's affluence, seeks revenge. She summons the forces of nature and turns back time to the day of the slipper-fitting. With constant waving of the wand, the stepmother manages to have the slipper fit Anastasia and the Prince to fall in love with the latter. The fun begins with Cinderella trying to convince the Prince that it was she he danced with at the ball, she he fell in love with.

There's sinister magic in this third installment; none of the innocence of the original. But I thought it was what made the cartoon exciting. At least there was magic. It was nice to hear Cinderella and the mice singing again. But what I really loved about this cartoon was the more active participation of the Prince. He was given more lines, more screen time, a meatier role: This was definitely his cartoon.

Next cartoon project: The Aladdin Trilogy.

Food Trippin' Weekend

It was one of those long weekends: Friday, the 12th, was declared a holiday, it being the end of the Ramadan. Somehow, though, I didn't feel the weekend was long enough. It's almost Monday and I'm like, 'Where did my long weekend go?' Well, where DID it go?

Thursday night was spent watching Season 9 of Friends. I had a blast! I laughed so hard I don't think I can wait long enough to buy the entire series. I laughed until the wee hours of Friday morning so, naturally, my Friday was spent sleeping the entire day off. And now I'm asking myself where my weekend went (rolls eyes).

At least Saturday was kind of productive. I had a haircut at David's, the parlor I always go to for a nice do. Then my cousin and I headed off for SM North and that was when the fun started. Hungry, we searched for a new joint to sample. Tokyo Cafe was right there along the passage from The Block to the cinemas, and the food looked sumptuous, so we dived right in.

I didn't notice the interiors but I do remember that the place was small, cozy small, that is. I noticed the really big Italian backdrop though so I sort of did a double to see if we entered the correct place. Yes, we did. It was time to order.

I'm not a fan of Japanese food, so I went for the safest: chicken recipes. I had the Chicken and Cheese Rolls, which is a new addition to the menu. It consists of fillets of chicken rolls stuffed with melted cheese, a potato something as a side dish, and a tiny bowl of sauce which tasted very much like the sauce of an Italian spaghetti. My cousin had the Shrimp Burger, and it was huge.

My dish was delicious. The chicken meat was tender, and there was no grease, at all. It's tasty with or without the sauce; I opted for without because I'm not that into Italian sauces. By the time my cousin and I were through with our orders, we were stuffed. The servings were meant for sharing and that's quite a relief because the dishes can be quite expensive for ordinary wage earners. Anyway, it was worth the visit and I'm thinking of visiting the place again for its pizza and pasta.

We decided to walk off our big bellies, so it was National Bookstore next. I got myself a copy of the Penguin Classics: Jane Austen's Persuasion and Fyodor Dostoevsky's Crime and Punishment. Yes, I kind of was influenced by the movie The Lake House. Anyway, I decided to head home because I had a send-off dinner to go to. Food, food, and more food!

That time around, it was Napoli's at Timog Avenue. We had the New York Classic Pizza and Seafood Marinara. It was not my first time to eat at the place. My friends and I frequent Napoli's if only because the servings are quite hefty, it's almost impossible to finish your orders. Of course, everything there is simply delicious, that goes without saying. So I was once again stuffed, which made me beg off Sunday breakfast.

Book focus:The Last Juror by John Grisham ( The Last Juror Paper )

The Lake House: Timeless Love Story

I am a Korean Wave follower, and one of the Korean movies that I really like is Il Mare. When I learned that the movie The Lake House was a remake of the Korean flick, I was a bit skeptical. For one, I'm not a fan of remakes, particularly the Asian to Hollywood type. Second, bizarre plots are Korean movies trademark, so I seriously doubted whether Hollywood could pull this off. Finally, Hollywood has a tendency of butchering artistically-made Asian films.

Anyway, the movie. The story begins with Dr. Kate Forster leaving a note for the new tenant of the picturesque house on the lake she just moved out from with a request to please forward her mail to her new address in Chicago.

Enter the new tenant, Alex Wyler, who comes across the letter and is somewhat baffled by its contents. Kate's letter mentioned paw prints by the front door, which aren't existing. The letter also mentioned a box in the attic, but the box simply isn't there. Besides, as far as Alex knows, before him, no one has lived in the lake house for years.

So Alex dismisses the letter, until that fateful day when a dog wanders in the lake house, steps on some paint, and leaves prints by the front door. Alex is reminded of the letter and in his curiosity to solve the mystery of the paw prints, decides to personally deliver his letter to Kate in the address stated in her first missive. The thing is, the building Kate is supposedly living in doesn't exist yet. The area has one of those 'On this site shall rise..' signs.

Alex comes to the conclusion that the lady might just be pulling his leg, stating an address that doesn't exist and a date that's all wrong. She dated her letter 2006, when it's the year 2004.

Kate decided to play the 'date' game with him: If he insists that it's 2004, then he better watch out for the spring snow. He scoffs at this, naturally. But then, it snows.

'Can this be happening?' he asks.

The continued correspondence between the two blossoms into a wonderful love affair which would have been perfect if not for a teeny, weeny detail: They live two years apart.

I love this movie, I don't quite know where to begin.

Everything about this movie was so calm - the directing, the actors' portrayals of their characters, the musical score - that I felt soothed despite the confusing premise. My skepticism had nothing to do at all with the perplexing premise. I initially knew that the movie was a remake of Il Mare so I expected the odd plot. Hence, I set aside all logical thoughts and suspended my disbelief; otherwise, I'd go crazy analyzing this movie and I haven't even started on the dog. This movie begs you to simply appreciate it for what it is: A love story with a powerful message that true love comes to those who wait.

My skepticism bordered more on whether Hollywood can pull off a bizarre plot characteristic of Korean movies. I was awed. I am now a remake convert, if just because of this movie. The director, Alejandro Agresti, made this movie his canvass, bringing in really amazing sites of Chicago, blending them with the actors' superb performances, and finishing it off with smooth transitions from the past to the present to the past. Needless to say, this movie was a work of art.

The movie hardly had scenes of Sandra Bullock and Keanu Reeves together, and this is supposed to be their characters' love story. Still, it worked for me because the actors have an inexplicable connection with each other, apart or together. Take Speed, for instance. In that movie, neither had the chance to at least gaze into each others eyes to establish the romance, but you feel the attraction is there. And if the actors' natural closeness isn't a plausible explanation to the effective love story, just look at the way they portrayed their roles. There was top-notch acting going on in this movie, even for Reeves who's usually stiff. Reeves felt wonderfully relaxed here that he had some quite powerful scenes - the train, Kate's birthday, the time when he browsed his father's memoirs. Both actors shone in this movie and I can't think of anybody else who'd portray their roles as perfectly as they did.

End result: The Lake House won both me and my quill. Why, it can't seem to stop writing praises about it! It was so masterfully directed, it is now my most favorite movie in the romance genre, so far.

The Housewife and The Politician

The online petition and the calls for apology by an affronted country are enough to express outrage over the racial slur made by the television series Desperate Housewives. I need not join the fray. But when my cousin swore she heard a local politician say 'Teri Tatcher' on air, I just couldn't let it pass without giving my two cents' worth. Here goes...

First, the housewife. I, who am located at the extreme end of the political spectrum, was personally insulted by the tasteless remark. And that's because I happen to be a Filipino. Imagine then the insult Filipino doctors might have felt considering that the remark pertained to them.

For those who say that we're overreacting and that the remark was just probably a joke - nice try, fellows. Sure, I can take a joke, even if the joke's bordering on insult, provided that the person who delivers it is a true blooded Filipino. Teri Hatcher's character in the series is not a Filipino; hence, insulting a nation to which she does not belong hardly qualifies as a joke.

Let's look at it from the series' perspective: This doctor informs Hatcher's character that she's undergoing menopausal stage. Hatcher's character might have found this insulting given the stereotype and her ignorance on the concept of 'menopause'. So she insults the doctor back with a remark where she thought it'll probably hurt him the most - his education. The intention then of the character was not to make the doctor laugh. There was a clear intent to insult the doctor. Call me dense, but I cannot locate the joke there.

The scriptwriter had an array of retorts laid out before him but he went right ahead and used that which would insult a nation over a trivial thing as menopause, a process every woman goes through.

The network handling the series had already issued an apology and I fully quote the article:

"The producers of Desperate Housewives and ABC Studios offer our sincere apologies for any offence caused by the brief reference in the season premiere," a statement said. "There was no intent to disparage the integrity of any aspect of the medical community in the Philippines. As leaders in broadcast diversity, we are committed to presenting sensitive and respectful images of all communities featured in our programmes."

Thanks for even mentioning The Philippines in your series but if you have nothing nice to say about it, then leave our country alone (Chris Crocker mode on)!

Now, the local politician. He used to be an actor. Actor-politicians aren't new in my country. They breed, this particular specie. Anyway, he represents a beautiful Southern province. He doesn't really strike me as intelligent, but whatever my opinion on his intelligence is worth, it's probably less to the good people of this province. This gentleman rose from the ranks - councilor, a few positions more, then Congressman. He is probably a very efficient public servant for the people in this province to elect him as their representative.

So, what seems to be my problem with him? Well, he has already earned my displeasure for a statement he made on a certain issue (not the Desperate Housewives thingy). It's more of his meddling on an issue that's beyond his jurisdiction than his remark that annoyed me, really. Now, he gives his opinion regarding the racial slur and I'm cool with that. He's just doing what politicians do best - jumping into the bandwagon. But I'm thinking, 'what the heck?' The more people voice their outrage on this Housewives remark, the better. However, his saying the wrong name on air really irked me: 'Teri Tatcher'? C'mon! Ok, Congressman, repeat after me: Teri Hatcher.

Word to the wise: Be more knowledgeable of the facts of the issue you're commenting on; otherwise, just shut up.

I rest my case.

The Saint: Espionage or Romance?

A saint is someone invoked by Catholics to intercede for them. In my limited, yet accurate, knowledge of the lengthy process of Canonization, a truly remarkable person, living or dead, must perform at least three miracles to be canonized a saint. Vatican has yet to determine whether the miracles performed are, indeed, miracles.

Russia is in the midst of a political turmoil, and on top of that, its citizens are dying from extreme cold. What Russia needs is a miracle, and billionaire nationalist Tretiak is willing to perform that miracle. But to do so, he enlists the help of master thief and elusive disguise artist Simon Templar. The latter's assignment: Steal the cold fusion notes from Dr. Emma Russell, the genius behind the scientific phenomenon that could change the world. I will not even pretend to understand what this science mambo jumbo called cold fusion is all about.

Anyway, the assignment seems like a walk in the park for our very suave espionage hero. After doing a background check on his victim, discovering that she's one lonely romantic with a fascination for magic, Templar poses as dashing debonair Thomas Moore and seduces his way into Dr. Russell's brassiere - where she keeps her cold fusion notes. Piece of cake. What Templar wasn't ready for, which, however, was predictable from our end of the spectrum, was him falling in love with his prey.

In the game of cloak-and-dagger, surrendering your heart is one dangerous move.

At the end of the day, The Saint is a love story. But thank goodness for its espionage theme. And thanks too to the director for squeezing in thrilling chases and fascinating disguises just when the scenes between Val Kilmer's and Elizabeth Shue's characters become cheesy.

I am not underplaying the remarkable tactics and suaveness of Val Kilmer's character, which the actor portrayed impeccably. Neither am I disregarding the espionage theme of the movie, which I find really enthralling. The point is, Kilmer's character did a 360 degree turn when he meets Shue's character. From being cold and cynical, he becomes this dashing hero intent on protecting his woman. Remember the scene in that icy cold river? If a man can dive under that to save my medicine bottle, I'll marry him in a heartbeat.

And why am I gushing about this movie that's classified as an action thriller like it's some chick flick? Two words: Val Kilmer. This guy is hot! Sequels, please.

When a person constantly changes his name, personality and appearance, he may lose sight of the person he truly is. This movie appeals to me because of the subtle message of not being afraid of your past and your pain. Kilmer's character is running away from his past, from his pain, afraid that he will not be able to love and be loved. So when Shue's character was able to 'strip him naked', so to speak, he was afraid, yet fascinated. Who is this woman who does not know anything about him and yet knows him? And how did she find him, when even the best of the Interpol couldn't?

Simon Templar uses the names of Catholic saints to aid him in his close-call escapes, which are, in themselves, miracles. But the miraculous thing that ever happened to him is Dr. Emma Russell loving him, in spite of everything.

Ok, I'll stop here...it's getting a bit cheesy even for my quill.

Pimp My Ride and Public Commute

New York has the Subway. Hong Kong has the MTR. The Philippines has the MRT or Metro Rail Transit. I've ridden the MRT countless times but I can never, for the life of me, understand why I can't seem to get used to it.

I drive a 1992 Toyota Corolla XE. It has been in the family for 15 years. And in a culture that's a staunch believer of hand-me-downs, my car is a hand-me-down, from father, to brother, to me. I'm not complaining though. Except for minor scratches, which are barely visible unless you're nose to nose with the car, my car can still fetch a good amount when sold. Not that I have any plans to sell it. My mother won't let me. Being the first family car, it is protected by what we call 'sentimental value'.

I didn't get the car straight away. I had it only when I was in second year college. My parents decided that I should experience the wonders of public commute during my freshman year. This declaration was received in panic. Yeah, I rode public transport when I was in the province but this was the city! The city, for crying out loud! Do they really think I'd survive those jeepneys running like mad in the streets, those cabs that charge triple the regular fare? Turned out I was being overly dramatic. The jeepney rides weren't that bad. Except for my hair being in a constant mess when the jeepney roamed the Metro like there's no tomorrow, I was grateful that I had to put up with it for only 15 minutes, my house being so close to my University. The cab rides weren't all worked up as I pictured them to be. In fact, the drivers were quite friendly and rarely did I come across one who charged me an excess fare.

When I was finally given the keys to my car, surprisingly, I wasn't that excited. Sure, it would mean the end of my public commutes, but other than that, there was nothing else to it. I'm a homebody, and so is my car. When my destination does not have decent parking spaces or is somewhat new to me, I take the public transport. Other than these though, I drive whenever and wherever, which are far and between anyway.

Then came the MRT, a transport I highly recommend if you're not a fan of bumper to bumper traffic. The only problem, too many people. This is one huge matter in my case because I'm afraid of crowds, and I'm a self-proclaimed claustrophobic. Back when I was riding the MRT to work, I would go to the station an hour earlier so I could have the luxury of waiting for a vacant carriage.

It has been months since my MRT rides but I was forced a trip down my public commute memory lane because I rode the MRT yesterday. What's more, the station where we, my cousin and I, got on and off were full of people. Where did they all come from? The wonderful thing about the MRT, however, is its link to the malls. I was thus spared the horrors of being shoved by the crowd to the noisy streets of downtown Cubao.

I still prefer to drive to my destination, traffic notwithstanding. I'm patient anyway.

The Prince & Me: A Fairy Tale & More

The movie has the makings of a fairy tale: Dashing, handsome Eddie meets and falls for pretty, ordinary Paige Morgan. Of course it helps that Eddie happens to be the Crown Prince Edvard Valdemar Dangaard, a fact unknown to Paige.

Prince Edvard is every inch the irresponsible heir to the throne. To the utter disappointment of his parents, the King and Queen of Denmark, he whiles away his time racing cars and chasing women. In short, Prince Edvard is a paparazzi's dream.

Paige is from Wisconsin; a simple girl with a simple dream: To enter Johns Hopkins and work for Doctors Without Borders. She is every parent's dream child - intelligent, independent and responsible.

Their worlds collide when Prince Edvard, not quite ready to take over the 'family business' yet, decides to fly to Wisconsin, where he hears the girls are wild. He poses as Eddie, a foreign exchange student, and has a disastrous initial encounter with Paige: He, thinking she's just another wild college girl; She, adamant that he's a 'royal pain in the ass'.

The two get long eventually, as is to be expected from people who are constantly thrown into each other's company. They got along too well, in fact, that they find themselves falling in love. It is during this time that the now mature Eddie is recalled to Denmark to take on his princely duties, as his father is terminally ill. Stunned, Paige has to decide whether to stay and pursue her dreams or abandon her future and follow Eddie across the Atlantic.

The movie may be classified as a romantic comedy but it manages to be more than that with its theme of female empowerment. It's easy enough to say that this movie is a fairy tale: An ordinary girl finally meets her prince charming, who, in actuality, is a prince. But the movie is not your ordinary fairy tale because we have a character, in the person of Paige Morgan, who does not dream of castles or princes, but dreams of medical school and working in places that aren't exactly tourist destinations. In fact, Eddie himself admitted that he finds Paige intimidating; he, of the royal blood, who has had a fair share of intimidating people.

The fact that Paige and Eddie ended up together in the end does not lessen the female empowerment theme the movie carries. The DVD has an alternate ending which, I later learned from director Martha Coolidge in her commentary, was the originally intended ending. In the alternate, Paige turned her back on Eddie, returned to Wisconsin, and realized her dreams. Some, and even I on occasions, think that this is the appropriate ending given the movie's strong pull towards women who realize their dreams. But Coolidge decided to have the lead characters back together because of their strong love for each other. And I must say I totally agree, not because I'm a sucker for happy endings. The movie laid down the love foundation perfectly that the fairy tale ending looked like the originally intended ending and the alternate, well, just an alternate. Besides, the prince was willing to compromise so all is well. It is possible to have your cake and eat it too.

Another factor for the fairy tale ending would be the sizzling chemistry between Julia Stiles and Luke Mably. Anyone who saw this movie cannot just ignore the obvious on-screen attraction and opt for the alternate ending. I surfed the net for news of an off-screen romance between the leads but Stiles already has a boyfriend and it isn't Mably. Still, I was thrilled when I came across this interview on Mably:

Thinking back, what’s your favorite memory from shooting "The Prince & Me?"

Lots of it. There was so much to do in the movie, but I really enjoyed doing the stuff with Julia. I really miss seeing her face every day. I think she’s a really special actress, a very exciting actress to work with. (Source)

I'm not laying down my quill on these two just yet.

Octoberfest

September being the Bar Exam month, naturally, all entries in my blog for the month of September have been anything and everything about the Bar Exams.

From September 1, a Saturday, and the next Saturdays thereafter (for four Saturdays), I had been driving my cousin to the Manila Diamond Hotel, where her school's barristers were billeted. Then on Sundays (for four Sundays), I had been waiting for her at the EGI Tower, a commercial/residential building right beside the bar exam venue. The first Sunday was spent entirely at the Tower; I got really bored. Luckily, the cafeteria I was waiting at sells second-hand books and I got myself a copy of The Bonesetter's Daughter by Amy Tan. The second Sunday saw me roaming the stalls of Harrison Plaza. I spent a good 3 hours scouring for books at Book Sale and National Bookstore. I roamed the whole of the Metro on the third Sunday for a church that said mass at 2 in the afternoon. Unfortunately, there wasn't one nearer the bar exam venue so I had to drive all the way to St. Peter's, a church located in front of our subdivision. The last Sunday, I got lost after buying flowers for my cousin. I couldn't find the road that will lead me right into Espana. I drove straight from Dangwa, until I found myself caught in traffic at the area where Chinese General Hospital is located. After a few more wrong turns, I stopped for directions and I was able to keep my mind mentally clear this time for the directions given by a friendly gasoline attendant. Whew.

So what will the month of October bring me? Hopefully, an appointment at that job I applied for; more interesting entries; and a more open me.

Bench & Bar III

Yesterday was the last Sunday of the Bar exam. Highly anticipated by everybody from the law profession, this last Sunday of the bar was as raucous as ever, the 'noise ban' notwithstanding. I wondered earlier how the Salubong would be this year, considering the order from the Supreme Court (SC) that all kinds of noises be prohibited, as the bar exams are to be regarded with respect and dignity as a court proceeding. But, hey, you cannot put a good party down.

It was the Salubong I have witnessed through my years in law school - bands, beer, party, noise, noise, and more noise. As early as 4.30 in the afternoon (exams officially finish at 5), I can hear shouts from across the street as fraternities, sororities, and schools cheer for their barristers who are emerging, one by one, from the exam venue. The rain did not hamper the festive spirits. When the clock struck 5, all hell broke loose, so to speak. The many school bands lining Taft Avenue started playing their respective music, the result of which were discordant sounds. I could not make out any particular tune. In fact, I did not think these bands even had a tune in mind: Play any tune; the louder, the better.

I opted to wait inside EGI Tower, our (my cousin and I) meeting place. My cousin warned me the week before that she and her friend would not emerge from the exam venue until the Salubong is over. From where I was sitting, I could see people running with beer cans in tow - to pour on their barristers; as if the barristers weren't wet already (it was raining). Ladies were scurrying with bouquets in their arms. Children from the Tower came down to watch the spectacle, dancing to the beat of the drum, their eyes alight with all the noise around them, thinking, maybe, that this event is one big parade.

The street party has considerably died down when my cousin and her friend came out. There were still vestiges of the event, though. Schools singing their hymns before proceeding to wherever to continue their party. Barristers and their supporters taking last minute pictures along the avenue; I even witnessed this group who stalled traffic for a good camera angle.

It was fun, the Salubong. I was expecting a subdued crowd, with the SC order and all. But I guess you cannot break a good tradition and this is definitely a good tradition.

This Worm's Books Nooks

Being a bookworm, the very first thing I visit when I find myself in the mall is a bookstore. Rarely, however, do I go out of my way to haunt a bookshop, unless I'm itching to get myself some books. Below is a list of the bookstores and shops I visit, and by visit I mean browse for, and sometimes, buy, books, whether I just happen to be at their locations or I go out of my way to visit them.

National Bookstore. Of course, there's always reliable, ol' National Bookstore, where you can find all the books you ever want, if they have it on stock, that is. But more often than not, they have your books on stock. They're celebrating their 65th anniversary, by the way, and thus going on sale until the 16th. Anyway, the branch I often visit is the SM North branch. I grew up buying my school stuff from this bookstore, as it sells not only books but school and office supplies, decorations for every occasion, and even movie and music discs. Yes, it has become a variety/convenience store, but still the place to go for brand-new books. The noise, however, prevents you from browsing in peace. The best you can do when you shop at this bookstore is have a title or author in mind before you enter the shop, ask a saleslady where the book's located, and immediately pay for it.

Fully Booked. It's the recently-opened bookshop at the same mall, SM North. I like this bookshop better than the former because it's library-quiet, and it's a bookshop. Thousands of books are properly lined up along shelves that fill up the entire shop. You're free to browse for as long as you want if you don't mind standing for hours while doing so. There's a children's/young adults' corner that gives off a cozy atmosphere, one can actually sit on the carpeted floor and start reading. There are more interesting titles, and I don't know if the books are more pricey than those at National Bookstore. I never got to comparing the price. I'm looking forward to a lasting partnership with this shop though. Yet another shop to go for brand-new books.

Books for Less. I visit the one located at Commonwealth Avenue. It has a safe and convenient parking space, right in front of the shop. Don't expect newly-released bestsellers to be on hand though; and if you're looking for famous titles or authors, you'll be in for a bit of a disappointment. The titles and authors sold by this bookshop are somewhat unheard of. But once or twice, I see a few names and titles I'm familiar with. The books are a bit pricey for a second-hand shop but they are in good condition so the price is probably worth it. Although I'm reluctant sometimes to shell out such amount for a book who's author I haven't heard of. They also serve you coffee when you've purchased this much amount of books, although I can't enjoy such freebie as I don't drink coffee. But you're free to while away the time in the shop (it has tables and chairs), and that's what I like about it. You can even read your newly-bought book inside the shop while having a cup of coffee. I don't know if a shopper ever finished a book in the shop, though. I think whiling away your time that long is unacceptable already.

Books & Mags Ever Gotesco. Again, I visit the one located at Commonwealth Avenue. The shop, if it can be properly called a shop, as it consists mainly of shelves of books situated at the far side of the mall's 4th floor, sells second-hand books at really low, low prices. I got a copy of Robert Louis Stevenson's Treasure Island for $0.19. That's how ridiculously low the prices are. But you have to take the risk when you buy from this shop. The books have the names of their previous owners written on the page; yellowed parchments; sometimes, underlined or highlighted texts; and if you're unlucky, torn pages. Word to the wise: thoroughly check the book you're holding to assure it's the least damaged of the lot. Plus, you have to really scour the shop for quality titles because those that stand-out are romance novels. Still worth a visit though, if you're feeling a bit stingy. As to the books' condition...nothing that a plastic cover can't fix.

University of the Philippines Bookshops. I got two: one located at the University's shopping center; the other, at the College of Social Sciences and Philosophy (CSSP).

The former: It's located on the 2nd floor of the first stall to your right when you enter from the University Cooperative side. It sells really good titles, but a bit pricey for a student on a meager allowance. The books look and smell old. It's worth the visit and the price if only because of the quality titles. And if you don't mind an old-looking and -smelling book.

The latter: It's located near the orange-painted cafeteria, at the back of the CSSP. The store owner's friendly and will even give you further discounts if you're an old or returning customer. I like to think of this shop as a cheaper version of the pricey bookstores listed above. The books look like they're brand-new and some of the books I bought from this shop look like their pages have never been turned. It's quite hard to believe they're second-hand. Thus, the price is well worth it; never mind if it's just a hundred peso cheaper than the price of a brand-new book. It's open only during weekdays though and that's quite disappointing because I only have time during the weekends to gallivant. But if you really want to own books that look like new for a lesser price, hurrying over at 6 in the afternoon during weekdays is a walk in the park.

Rude Awakening

It was the second Sunday of the bar. I joined the queue at the hotel's registration desk to check-out. And so there I was, minding my own business, when I heard this foreigner complaining about his registration in a voice loud enough to drown the hotel lobby's noise.

It was nasty the way he shouted and berated the front desk attendants, saying awful things like 'You don't understand English!' From the little that I could catch of their exchange, it seemed like it was the travel agency's fault why the rude foreigner's registration had gone awry. Things got a bit heated up prompting the front desk attendants to call security. The foreigner scoffed at the security guy, even challenging him to 'go right ahead and cancel me!' I don't know what he meant by 'cancel'.

Anyway, the security guy just stood at one corner of the lobby in case things got out of hand. His presence however didn't help ease matters and even made the foreigner angrier than ever. He even said the 'F' word to the attendants! So rude! This foreigner was with a Filipina who, pardon my discourtesy but I'm just stating facts here, didn't seem sophisticated. She was trying to appease the foreigner and I sensed a bit of embarrassment on her part for being in this predicament. I was not able to stay longer than I would have wanted to see how things turned out but I do hope, for her sake, that she apologized to the attendants in behalf of the foreigner.

The incident irked me big time because, admittedly, I admire the courtesy and discipline of foreigners and sometimes compare them to Filipinos, especially when I'm stuck in traffic, with my countrymen being at the lowest level in the comparison chart. Yet here is one proof that there are exceptions to the rule. Here is one proof that foreigners can be pretty nasty. I had spent two Sundays at the hotel in question and the staff had been nothing but friendly. And to insinuate that they don't understand English is the biggest blow. English is this country's second language. Not that I'm comparing or anything but let's face it - this country speaks better English than any of its neighboring countries. In fact, the citizens of this country can speak better English than those from English-speaking nations. And the 'F' word! One thing is sure, that foreigner was no gentleman.

My day didn't stop with the hotel incident. It extended to the late hours in the afternoon.

I was patiently waiting for my cousin at the exam venue when these fraternity guys had a near altercation. I recognized the guys as belonging to fraternities from the only law school at Mendiola (hahaha!). These two fraternities have always been on each other's nerves since time immemorial. I thought I would be experiencing a full-blown brawl, but cooler heads intervened, plus the place is always swarming with security.

I don't understand why fraternities have to hate each other. Is this an unwritten rule - 'Thou shall love only thy fraternity brothers and hate all who do not belong to our fraternity'? Absurd.

Anyway, I can't say that it was a boring Sunday. Although I was hoping that the incidents which broke the boredom could have been more pleasant rather than enveloped with rudeness and hatred.

Bench & Bar (Part II)

Two of the most exciting events during the duration of the Bar exams are the send-off and the salubong. The former begins on the first Sunday morning of September, which is the first day of the exam, and takes place every Sunday morning thereafter; the latter, on the fourth Sunday afternoon, the last day of the exam, after the barristers have tackled their very last subject, Legal Ethics.

What happens during a send-off? When the barristers are lined-up along Taft Avenue to enter the exam venue, their schools send them off with as much hoopla as they can possibly manage - street dances, school bands, confetti, and the ever reliable shout-yourself-hoarse. It's one street party out there during the first Sunday, when the send-off is at its noisiest. I remember my very first send-off as a law student. It was raining then. My friends and I hailed a cab from the hotel where the barristers were billeted. By the time we got to Taft Avenue, a street party was in progress. The barristers from different law schools were lined-up already and their well-wishers were shouting their support. When we spotted our school's barristers from the entrance line, we shouted ourselves hoarse wishing them good luck. It was crazy fun that not even the rain can stop. Only when all the barristers have entered the exam venue would there be quiet. Some well-wishers would choose to stay at the 'camp' site, designated rendezvous point, for the whole day to wait on their barristers; others would while away the time by going to nearby malls, then return to the site at 5 in the afternoon; others would just go home, never to be seen for the next two Sundays, then return with a vengeance during the salubong.

What happens on a salubong? Salubong is the Filipino term for meeting someone at a certain place on a given day and time. This is what happens during the last Sunday of the bar. At 5 in the afternoon, supporters, family members and friends of the barristers gather along Taft Avenue, waiting for the examinees to emerge from the exam venue. The salubong is crazier and noisier than the send-off. It's a street party like you've never seen before. Schools would outshine one another with different gimmicks, the most rambunctious of which would be a concert right in the middle of the street. But the most watched gimmick, until the higher authorities banned it, was the 'freedom run' by members of the Alpha Phi Omega fraternity, wherein naked guys would run the length of Taft Avenue in the name of whatever national issue comes to mind. Imagine a packed street and guys running naked along that street. It's more like walking as these poor guys cannot find enough space for them to run. I would say spectators got an eyeful.

This year, however, the send-off was unusually quiet. In yesterday's news (The Philippine Star), it was reported that the Supreme Court "issued a guideline prohibiting the conduct of noisy activities in the perimeter" of the exam venue. I quote fully the newspaper report:

"According to the Supreme Court, the standard to be followed during the examinations will be that of a court hearing."

The news report went on further to say that the guideline shall be strictly enforced and "those who will be caught in violation could be cited for contempt of court."

This guideline did not stop the friends and families of the barristers to go to Taft Avenue and wish their barristers good luck anyway, although with lesser noise as possible. I wonder how this year's salubong would be like considering that the "prohibition will be enforced during the examination hours from 8 a.m. to 5 p.m. for four consecutive Sundays"?

Bench & Bar (Part I)

Hello September!

The month of September is significant for three reasons:

First, it's the start of the Christmas season, at least in this country. I don't know why this is. Maybe because this month is the first month that has the 'ber' stuck to its end.

Second, on a more personal level, this month signals the start my spiritual growth. I have resolved to exercise the spiritual gift of self-control.

Third, the significance of this month is felt more than ever by the people in the law profession. September is what we call 'Bar Month'. During this month, for four Sundays, and as early as 5 in the morning, thousands upon thousands of hopefuls line up along Taft Avenue to take the bar exams. And while the examinees are inside De LaSalle University, the exams venue, students and professors from law schools all over the country wait outside and join in the mad festivities called the 'Bar Operations', or barops, in legal parlance (wink, wink).

I have participated in the barops since my first year in law school - as a volunteer for the first two years, and as a member of the Academic Committee for the remaining years. I am once again thrown into the barops, this time as a runner for my cousin who's taking this year's bar. I was told that the bar operations was conducted from way back, but by fraternities. So blessed were those who belonged to fraternities, for they were taken cared of by their fraternity brothers. Then someone decided to make the bar operations a school activity. Before long, schools have been conducting their Centralized Bar Operations, comprised of student volunteers. I don't know if this information is precise, and I will not bother to verify. All I know is that from the time I started law school, the Centralized Bar Operations was there.

It's crazy to be a part of the bar operations. Barops covers a lot of fields: hotel, review materials, logistics. When I was a volunteer, I had it easy because I was merely required to be in the hotel where my school's barristers were billeted, just in case I was needed for an errand. There wasn't much errand to run then. But when I signed up for the Academic Committee, I lost precious sleep for four Saturdays. Being in the Academic Committee meant not sleeping on a Saturday night because we had to listen to lectures and take notes. From these lectures, we would deliberate which were the most important points that need to be placed on the Last Minute Tips. The Last Minute Tips are review materials we would distribute to the barristers at 4 in the morning on the day of the exams, before the barristers leave the hotel for the exams venue. Then, and only then, could we go home to catch up on some Zzz's. Mind you, we still had graded recitations on Mondays.

For those barops members stationed at the hotel, their Saturday noons would be devoted to barristers registration. Their evenings would be spent running errands for barristers with special requests. Sleep would probably be a few minutes nap. Then it's off to wake-up calls and breakfast deliveries. The fun does not stop when the barristers are off to the exams venue because these members have to stand guard over the barristers' luggage until check-out.

Despite the sleepless nights and bitching barristers, the barops is something that every law student should experience. In my honest opinion, you're not a genuine law student if you haven't experienced at least a Sunday of bar operations.

Goodbye August (A Month's Worth of Blog)

I have spent the whole month of August feeding bits of information about myself to the World Wide Web. And I must say: so far, so good. While it was not my life's mission to spill the beans on myself when I started this blog, this has been the closest I can get to an autobiography. Besides, I'm still hiding behind the name Crazy Insomniac. I was, and still am, apprehensive to be writing about myself, my thoughts, my deepest secrets over at the Internet. I don't even keep a diary. But I want to think that I'm finally opening up, albeit gradually. Easy does it.

Anyway, my life's not that interesting to warrant a blog. But hey, it's a free world and the blog's free.

August is almost over. And what have I done for the past month? Nothing much. Still waiting for the approval of my job application. And to make the wait tolerable, I read books, watch movies and surf the Net - the usual stuff. I also run errands for my mom in between.

I'm currently reading John Grisham's The Chamber. It's a 1994 novel, I know, but I haven't read this one yet. I'm collecting the author's works, remember? I'm just through with The Broker, and while it may not be Grisham's best, it's still a good read, thanks partly to the witty dialogue.

When I feel lazy opening a book, I pop in videos, but it's mostly Walt Disney these past days - Beauty and the Beast (my favorite) and Aladdin. I'm contemplating Mulan later in the day.

Television? Not much. Internet? Just surfing. I'm looking into Julia Stiles and I plan to write something about my favorite romcom movie The Prince & Me soon. I know my reviews are over at the other blog, but I can't help it with this movie. I'll probably be writing reviews of what I find worthwhile in this blog once in a while.

Anyway, this entry looks like a summary of the past month and a taste of my entries for the next month. Hmm, I think this is going to be a monthly thingy. I hope September will be more eventful so I can have an interesting summary.

My Last (Or Latest) Indulgence

I finally got myself a copy of J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter and The Deathly Hallows, the last installment in the phenomenal Harry Potter series. The urge to get myself a copy was so strong that although the book was way beyond the thousand peso mark, I went ahead and got one anyway. Incidentally, it's probably P47 to a dollar, so the book costs approximately 28 dollars. This installment happens to be my first ever Harry Potter book, one I can call my own. I've read all six installments but they are all owned by my cousin. I intend to get myself the complete series, now that National Bookstore, the pricey bookstore I go to, is on sale. There's also a new bookstore at the mall I frequent, Fully Booked. I'll probably be writing an entry on the bookstores I get my books from soon.

I'm not a cheapskate. I'm not wanting when it comes to money. I was just taught to live frugally and I guess I exercise sufficient control when it comes to spending. There are times when I shop impulsively. But then again, I don't shop much. The only time I splurge on clothes is during the Christmas season. Whenever I feel like shopping, it's usually for books, CD's, and Vcd's/DVD's, my indulgences. But even with these, I exercise control. I don't jump right ahead and buy them as soon as they're out on the market. I wait for them to go on sale. As I've said in my earlier entry, I scour second-hand bookstores for quality titles. There are good finds in excellent condition you'd think I bought them from a pricey bookstore. As to Vcd's/DVD's, I wait until they go on sale, then I buy by the bulk. The most expensive DVD I have is 300, bought two weeks after its official release. For the sum of 16 dollars, I get a free movie art book.

I take special care in handling things that you wouldn't hesitate to lend me your rarest titles. Which is why I hate it when people return my stuff and I find pages puked on or discs mutilated - I'm exaggerating, but you get the idea.

My biggest indulgence would probably be completing the Friends series. I got the ninth season, courtesy of my aunt. A series costs about $20, so it'll probably be a slow project as I'm willing to shell out that amount once a month. I got nine more seasons to go, and at the rate of a season a month, my collection of this television series will be completed in nine months. Not bad. Slowly but surely, I always say.

The OC

No, this is not about the television series; I have not watched a single episode of it. Neither is this about the Orange County. This entry is about my obsessive-compulsive behavior, or what I proclaim to be my obsessive-compulsive behavior.

According to my not-so-extensive research,

Obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD) is an illness that causes people to have unwanted thoughts (obsessions) and to repeat certain behaviors (compulsions) over and over again. We all have habits and routines in our daily lives, such as brushing our teeth before bed. However, for people with OCD, patterns of behavior get in the way of their daily lives.

Most people with OCD know that their obsessions and compulsions make no sense, but they can't ignore or stop them. (Source)

The article enumerates some of the common obsessions and compulsions, among them 'concern with order, symmetry (balance) and exactness' and 'ordering and arranging items in a certain way', respectively. Admittedly, I have certain obsessions and compulsions that are a bit odd when compared to a 'normal' person, all of which concern order, symmetry and sometimes neatness. I have not gone to the extreme of the behavior, however.

I arrange my CD's, Vcd's/DVD's alphabetically, and get irked when people do not return them in their proper places after borrowing them. I am a strong advocate of the saying 'A place for everything and everything in its place'. But like I said, I have not gone to the extreme. I can live with the fact that my Babel DVD is still in my cousins' room weeks after they have finished watching it.

I plan to arrange my clothes according to color: one shade on one side, another shade on another side...you get the picture. I say plan because my cousin (whom I share rooms with) and I have the intention of overhauling our room. So this color-coding scheme of clothes will have to wait until I buy the closet I want.

I don't know if it's just me, but I never watch a movie sequel unless I've watched the previous installment, the sequel's story having absolutely nothing to do with the previous story notwithstanding. The consequence: I miss out on the movie in the cinemas, but I don't go to the cinemas that often anyway. Not much of a loss there. In fact, I'd rather watch movies on DVD in the comforts of my home.

Finally, I get irritated when items are crookedly positioned - a ball pen on the table, books on the shelf, pillows on the bed. My cousin's idea of fun is to disarrange items in our room and watching me with delight as I fight the urge to fix them. Needless to say, I always lose.

This OC behavior does not extend to my life, I'm so glad to say. Yes, I make plans and I stick to them as much as I can. I do not go berserk however when things do not go as planned. In fact, some people describe me as spontaneous. Now that is not the trait you would want to attach to a person who is a self-proclaimed order freak.

Oh well, I guess people have their peculiarities.

Picky Eater

I love to eat, and I'm fortunate to have been blessed with a body that does not bloat despite my pigging out. I likewise enjoy watching the Lifestyle Network's chefs in action, particularly Jamie Oliver. Boy, that hot guy can whip up dishes in my kitchen anytime. Surprisingly, I hate to cook. There's a teeny weeny cooking bone in my body that says 'can fry eggs.' Sadly, that's the extent of my culinary skills. And nope, I don't have any plans of enrolling in a culinary school ever. I pity the guy I'm going to marry.

As is so clearly mentioned in this entry's title, I am a picky eater. My friends and I like to sample different restaurants, but I only choose those innocent-looking or -sounding recipes on the menu. I don't have an adventurous palate. Once I've tried a dish, and liked it, it'll be that dish for an eternity until I'm brave enough to try out a different one. The safest that someone can offer are burger and fries. For sophistication, it's anything Italian.

Incidentally, I was browsing the McDonald's website and am quite surprised to see that nowhere in the search bar for country/market is Philippines found. I mean, this country practically has a McDonald's in every available nook or cranny. After a few seconds of relentless searching, I found the local McDonald's website. Don't bother clicking on it: HTTP Error 404. Why did I mention this chain? This is where I get my monthly dose of burger, fries and sundae.

I'm contemplating writing over at the other blog about the food and restaurants I've tried and visited. I don't think it'll be effective though, being a picky eater. Besides, if ever I do eat out, it'll probably be the same restaurants, and the same dishes, as before. Hence, there isn't much to write when it comes to topics of food and restaurant. Whatever I've eaten and wherever I've eaten it, I'll just probably write it here as a diary entry.

My Dream House

I want a place of my own, that's for sure. A friend or relative might have mentioned ages ago that it's not really important for the girl in this country to have a place of her own; nor would she be chastised for still living with her parents even when she has reached the age when she should have moved out, as per Western standards. In fact, neither is it important for the guys. It's usual in this culture to have families stay in one roof. I belong to a closely-knit family so I know what I'm talking about. It's less appealing if the guy were still living with his parents and so much more dreadful if you move in with him though. I'd definitely go for a guy who has his own pad but despite the independence, still manages to keep in touch with his family.

I grew up at my grandma's (mother's side) house, and though my parents have moved out and built a house of our own, I can still be found at my grandma's. My family would have breakfast at home, then it was off to grandma's for the whole day. Right now, I'm living with my elder brother and my cousins, all from my mom's side of the family. During my primary and secondary years, I lived with my aunt and her children, and some of my other cousins, who went to the same school I did. So I guess you can say I practically grew up in a crowded house. They may be family, but still, I long for the time when I could have a place of my own,with just me in it. Plus, I have this really crazy idea that having a place of my own means I have somewhere to go to in case the relationship with my guy doesn't work out - sort of a sanctuary.

Anyway, this country's getting a bit liberal so it's not really surprising for a single woman to have her own house. So, how would my dream house look like? I'm caught between a luxurious mansion and a cozy cottage. When I watched The Holiday, I fell in love with Kate Winslet's house. The house and everything around it felt like it ought to be on a Christmas card. I'm picturing myself bundled up on the sofa, with a good book and a mug of hot chocolate. Then when they showed Cameron Diaz's house, I was awed by the design - simple and modern. I envied the media room, with its state-of-the-art flat TV and countless DVD's lining the shelves. So my dream house would be a hybrid of modernity and coziness, with a nasty media room containing a really cool entertainment system, and a cozy study with shelves and shelves of books.

I'm currently looking at different designs here. They got a wide range of collection, many of which caught my eye. It'll be a long way before I get to buy my own house, but I'll get there.

My Favorite Things

I was watching The Sound of Music days ago and, of course, came across the song My Favorite Things. The movie made me pop The Phantom of the Opera and West Side Story into the player, the result of which was my treating myself to an afternoon of musical. While I was watching the Phantom, I tried so hard to convince myself that the lead actor played King Leonidas in 300. Maybe it was the mask and the fact that in 300, Gerard Butler sported a beard, that I found it difficult to see the similarity and gave up angling my head from side to side just to get the view I wanted and convince myself that, yeah, they look the same.

Anyway, my favorite things. There's none, really. Unless I take into account the fact that I'm a collector, although not in the strictest sense of the word. I mean, yes, I collect DVD's and Vcd's of my favorite movies or movies I think are worth immortalizing in my CD cases. I collect Cd's of my favorite music artists. I collect books written by my favorite authors or books which I consider to be good reads. It's not so much as collecting as buying, though. I would want to think that I'm simply buying these things because I want to watch the movies all over again, or listen to the songs one more time, or read the books yet again. I was not a collector to begin with. I just want to collect when I feel like collecting then give up after a few days. The end result: I haven't collected anything that's worthy to be called a collection. Except maybe the DVD's, Vcd's, Cd's, and books I got for myself.

I started buying or collecting DVDs/Vcd's when this guy from somewhere (not from the Philippines; another story for another day) gave me Vcd's as a form of pasalubong - tokens you give to someone when you've gone traveling or when you're from a place different from the recipient. Apparently, he's a DVD aficionado. And I sort of caught the bug. I started buying Vcd's for myself; then I progressed to DVDs. My limited financial resources affect my decision on whether to buy the DVD or just the Vcd of the movie though.

The music came with the former. But I don't buy Cd's as much as I buy DVD's/Vcd's, mainly because I hear the songs played repeatedly over the radio, plus I can download the music anytime. So the choice of Cd's are usually limited to the most favorite artists.

My mom's a bookworm. I don't know if you can inherit that but I've definitely been a bookworm for as long as I can remember, and I'm crediting my mom for it. As much I loved to read when I was younger, I didn't buy books for myself then. So the books I read were borrowed from friends and, of course, the books my mom let me read. Whenever my mom and I would pass a bookstore, she would persuade me to go find a book of my own but I'd always say that I'd just borrow hers when she was through. The collecting started when my cousin's guy friend lent me a John Grisham book. The next thing I knew, I would scour second-hand bookstores for quality titles. I also buy my books from those really pricey bookstores but not if I can help it.

I do plan to start collecting articles; what those articles are, I do not yet know. I'm thinking different Santa Claus images. I'm thinking snow globes. I'm thinking match box cars. Oh, I almost forgot: I got two movie posters, both gifts. I don't know if that'll count. And there's something else: I haven't got any space to put the articles on once I start to collect. The DVDs/Vcd's/Cd's are crammed in one corner of the room, neatly arranged in their cases. The books are stuffed in storage boxes as there's no space for a decent bookshelf. Maybe the reason why I haven't collected collectible articles yet is because I have no place to display them. Or maybe I'm just making excuses for not starting to collect. Or maybe I'm not really a collector collector.

Around The World

In the movie The Prince & Me, Julia Stiles' Paige Morgan had a world map on one side of her bedroom wall. She had color-coded pins tucked to the map - red (I don't really remember the colors), were for those places she had been to, and green were for those she wanted to visit. By the way, the movie is my most favorite in the romcom genre.

Anyway, I like to travel. The extent of my 'travels' though has been a tour of Hong Kong a month before the turnover ten years ago, and that has been the only instance when I went out of the country on a tour. The rest of my travels were local - the recent being a weekend getaway to Cebu and Bohol with my friends, the memorable trek to Sagada with my dad and my brother, visits during summer to cool Baguio, a boat ride to the Hundred Islands of Pangasinan, and a view of the Ilocos Region from the back of my dad's pick-up.

I want to see more of this country and definitely more of the world. I long for the time when I can just jump on the plane and let it whisk me off to some really cool place and I would document everything. I don't want to simply click around with my camera; I want to know something about the place. I want my travel scrapbook to be a travelogue.

Of course my desire to travel is just simply that, a desire. I can't afford to travel. Not yet. But when I do land the job I applied for, I'll be saving a portion of my salary for travel expenses. In fact, the very first thing I'm going to buy with my salary is a digital camera. What's the use of a travelogue without one?

Another idea that fascinates me is to live in another country, alone. Not permanently, though. I know The Philippines will always be home. It'll just be cool to live anywhere but here for a while.

Afraid Of The Dark

I don't how or when it happened; it just did. I am a self-proclaimed night blind person. One day, I was pretty confident walking around in extremely dark places. The next day, I'm afraid of entering a dark room, even with a dim light on.

It makes it quite difficult for me to drive at night even with my high beam on. I couldn't go to the cinemas alone, not that I would want to go alone, takes out all the fun. The point is, in the cinemas, there are lights just bright enough to guide the viewer to his seat. In my case, I can't see a thing. I stoop really low so I could see the stairs, or I have to have someone guide me through the steps.

I share a room with my cousin, so even if the lights are turned off, I could get some sleep. But when I spend the night alone, I leave the lights open, or I have a night light on. Since my cousin is on vacation, I had the lights turned on full blast since Sunday. And to assure myself of a good night's sleep, I watch movies or read books. So far, so good.

Skeleton In My Closet

Several, if not all people, have skeletons in their closets. I know I have one rotting away in mine. I want to get rid of it -yank it from my closet and bury it deep, deep in the ground.

I know of a woman who has more than once posed as a guy over at a chat room. She created this smart, aloof chat guy and soon women were flocking. A few seriously wanted to have more than a chat relationship with this cyber guy, but she was able to hold them all off. Except for this most recent victim. Their relationship transcended the borders of chat rooms. She was able to talk to her, and how the latter manages to sound like a guy I could barely fathom. But they talk. And the talks led to something else, something sexually else.

It's not normal, at least in my standards. Questions abound, the first and probably most pressing is: Should she tell the other woman that she's a, well, woman herself? Or cut communication altogether and live by the adage that what the other woman doesn't know won't hurt her? Naturally, the woman created a whole new universe for this cyber guy she created and she fed it all to her victim, who was gullible enough to believe everything. The victim has even gone too far as to fall in love with the cyber guy.

Another question: Why pose as a guy in the first place? And why take it this far? She should have stopped when things got a bit steamy. I mean, how could one possibly be aroused by the fact that the person on the other end of the line is of the same gender as herself? If you belong to the third sex maybe, then yes, but this woman is straight - likes men and men alone. It's a bit sick, really. No, let me take that back. It's major sick. I don't ignore the possibility that she could be a lesbian, or have the tendency to be, but I know her through and through. My knowledge of her personality makes me confident enough to say that she is straight.

She should kill the cyber guy and erase his universe from her thoughts. She should live her life in the real world and not hide behind these imaginary people her creative mind conjures. Maybe she needs psychiatric help.

I've put this into writing in the hopes that should she feel the urge, she just has to check this blog and fight that urge. I'm burying the skeleton. I hope she doesn't undig its grave.

Home Sweet Home

I'm a homebody. My idea of fun is reading a good book within the confines of my home. Or watching a decent movie in the comforts of my room. Or surfing the net in the safety of my abode. Sure I go out once, maybe twice, a week. And the extent of my going out is visiting the mall located in front of my house, or the one located in the heart of where all the traffic is - a good 20-minute drive from my place. Not to give the impression that I'm a bore, because I'm not, I also have fun with friends. And 'fun with friends' is an occasional lunch or dinner during the weekends, when we can squeeze it in our schedules. But given the choice of hanging out or just staying home, I'd choose the latter, hands down.

I had my share of wild days. Back when I was in college, the hardest liquor I drank was tequila and the wildest adventure I had was the gay bar. My friends and I would go to karaokes located all over the Metro and order hard drinks. Gone are those days. I guess when you age, your interests change. And what was then the ultimate fun is now the ultimate bore. My friends and I prefer a tranquil lunch or dinner in a decent restaurant, then maybe grab a Starbucks coffee later to catch up on gossip.

Anyway, yesterday was spent watching all three installments of The Lord of the Rings in my room. I really love this movie. Hard to believe it has been 4 years since the last installment. Today will probably be another marathon of...Harry Potter perhaps.

All About Me

Call me Crazy Insomniac...for now. If we become friends, then you can call me CI. I'm 28 years old, a female, and currently unemployed. I'm a lawyer, by the way.

I while away my time by reading books, surfing the net, watching movies and the television (if there's something decent on air). Right now, I'm half way through with John Grisham's The King of Torts. Something 'bout the American mass tort system. Good read. This morning, cousins and I watched 300, nastiest CG I've ever set my eyes on. As to television, it's mainly 24. I simply adore Kiefer Sutherland. I've liked him even before he was hot-shot Jack Bauer.

Anyway, right now, I'm in front of my computer, making a blog. I've never done blogs that hold a personal content before. Something 'bout spilling my thoughts over the World Wide Web which scares me to bits. I have a separate blog for my movie, TV series, and book reviews.

But this blog will be all about me.