20 Random Things About Myself:
1. I hate when my brothers squeeze the toothpaste tube right in the middle, and then NOT replace the cap.
2. We laugh at Kevin Bacon, his "Now what?" films and silly heartthrob roles, but I very secretly think he's HOT.
3. You know those ridiculous romantic scenes where lovers play around, usually with a hose, spraying water at each other or running along the beach in SLOW MOTION, with some old school funk / R&B or soul track playing in the background? I've always wished it would happen to me. ESPECIALLY the slow motion part.
4. Sometimes when my nails are long, the nail on my right index finger [which I use to write with] digs into my middle finger, so I wrap a tissue around my middle finger while I write to cushion it.
5. My favorite pair of shoes hurt like hell, but they look so fabulous that I wear them nonetheless.
6. I've memorized ALL the words to Air Supply's greatest hates BECAUSE I hate them.
7. I can't close my eyes when I'm singing a song because I always have to look at my fingers while I strum the guitar.
8. I list the books I've read, including the date I finished reading them, to get an average of how many books I read in a month. My average for the last three months is 3.
9. I buy cassette tapes [in Jeddah] at record stores because my CD player is not working [hasn't been for years now] and I've never gotten around to having it fixed. Tapes cost less, anyway, so it works for me.
10. I make most of my critical decisions in the shower.
11. I sneak out office supplies from my workplace: bond paper, board markers, glue sticks, paper clips, etc. The key word here is: UNCONSCIOUSLY. [sure]
12. I arrange the books on my bookshelves according to their publishing house[s], from Bantam to Random House.
13. My greatest fear in a Karaoke bar is that someone picks and sings the song that I've practiced singing for the longest time.
14. I am alternately embarrassed and insulted by bad films and bad actors. My favorite bad film is: Solaris, which starred George Clooney.
15. I have dreams of my best guy friend [nothing sexual, you pervert]. Sometimes I dream of him getting married [where I'm his best "man"], sometimes of him becoming a millionaire, sometimes of him getting shot.
16. I'm still very unsure of when and when not to use the word "whom".
17. My best guy friends think that my ultimate flirtation pick-up line is LAME. But it's worked for me EVERY SINGLE TIME.
"My one greatest dream is (to) ___________ [insert activity that guy-being-picked-up does best].
Worked once with a DJ at a club when I came up to him and said: "My one greates dream is to get inside a DJ's booth and get a panoramic view of the party below." That DJ has been a great family friend to this date, and we have been on guest lists at parties and getting free drinks ever since.
18. At "hard-core" Maranao parties, I can't think of anything to say beyond "How are you?" since everything you say to a Maranao can and will be used against you. Most of the time I just smile and pretend I don't speak Maranao.
19. I love MINT. Mint chocolates, mint on my tea, peppermint, mint lotion, mint shampoo, and mint green.
20. Sometimes I grin at myself in the bathroom mirror for about 5 minutes, then abruptly turn off the lights to freak myself out. I always expect someone standing behind me when I turn the lights back on.
Do you know a random thing about me that I don't? [Not you, Druggie, I know what you're going to say. Hahaha.]
Friday, November 18, 2005
Sunday, November 13, 2005
In Memory Of
Dear Nhurzy,
It hurts.
Everytime I hear your name it hurts me, a dull, numbing, physical pain.
I look at our photo albums, any album, and it hurts. It hurts when I go through all the photos I've accumulated throughout my entire life and I realize that for the first 15 years you were in every other photo.
It hurts like hell when everything in my life has a connection to you because of our shared history.
When I turn on the computer, when I open all my online accounts, my websites, and I see how you're ever-present, everywhere, it hurts.
Everytime I cry, there's a hollow, right in the middle of my heart, where it hurts the most.
Remember when we used to dance? The Pandanggo Sa Ilaw, was it? The Itik-Itik dance? The crazy dance steps you taught us?
Remember our stupid Boyzone parties at Suad's house? Where we'd spend all night watching their music videos? Oh, I remember now, you hated them. You were there to make fun of us and how we loved those "faggots".
Remember our football jerseys in Sophomore High? Go Lakers? You used to wear the jersey bunched up at the tummy and tied in a knot to show off your abs.
Remember the Detroit Pistons and the love of our life, Grant Hill?
Remember when we used to wear nothing underneath our abayas because no one would notice anyway? You taught us how to wear our tarhas a certain way, like a trademark, you me, Ice. You know, press it against our foreheads then tie it at the back? So we look gangsta while we walked around and around the school campus under the sweltering sun?
Remember our middle-finger photos?
Remember the videotapes we made? Spoof music videos, speeches, dedications, dancing, head-banging, monkeying around?
Remember the times we were all together as a family? Suad? Jehanifah? Latifah? Ayesha? You? Me? At Ayesha's house eating Indomie after skipping classes? The Busaw Family? Do you remember?
Do you remember how much fun we had?
Do you remember when we suddenly grew up? When we suddenly had breasts and our periods and suddenly Mozi was the "cutest" guy in the universe?
Do you remember your cats? All six or seven of them? I don't remember how many, but I'm sure YOU remember. You had names for every single one of them, remember? They were your babies.
Do you remember that time you and your baby sister came to spend a night in our house and she cried because we didn't have corn flakes and she wanted to eat corn flakes?
Remember how we used our brothers as postmen for our letters? Remember what your letters said? "Ness, if you really like Allan, I'm sorry but he just came to my house and asked me to have sex with him." Crazy-ass stuff like that. My father once received a letter from you on my behalf coz I wasn't home, and he was outraged. We were 13 years old then.
Remember the fights? When we fought? We were divided then. Latifah fainted. Suad and Jehanifah were screaming obscenities. Ice was just whimpering in the corner. You and I moved left and right and screamed obscenities, too. Putangina mo!! Miyabunu ka!! No one would come near us because we were the Maranao girls and our rage terrified the shit out of them.
Remember when you first came to Manila and you sent us that voice tape? You hated Manila. And your first day in your new school was a disaster. You sent us pictures. Lots of them. Then we sent you back a million voice tapes and a huge bottle of Jeddah's finest and cheapest shatta Hot Sauce, your favorite.
Do you remember when things changed in college? The incident with your ugly-ass maid? How we laughed about your foolishness?
You were always mischievous, but you were NEVER DISHONEST.
Do you remember when you came to our Manila townhouse and we locked ourselves in my room with two packs of Marlboro Lights? We didn't even have Coca Cola to cool our throats with, but it was alright, we couldn't afford it anyway.
Do you remember the last time we'd ever be together? Our reunion right before I came back to Jeddah not six months ago? At the karaoke bar with Jehanifah and Jiehan? Beer, song, and cigarettes? The stupid tambourines ever-present at Korean videoke bars? I was in my "tennis-slash-badminton" outfit then, because I had to pretend I was going out to hit some balls when I was really going out with my friends. Remember how you drove Jiehan's car?
Do you remember last week how we chatted on Yahoo? You were teasing me about my love life. I was teasing you about your new car. Dude, I love your car and I haven't even seen it. "Fuck you, Ness," you said.
Do you remember the last words you told me?
"Miyasokaran ka, Baboy. Love ya, Nessreen."
I didn't reply. I signed out because you were pissing me off royally, you freaking bitch.
Do you remember?
Because I do. It hurts to remember. I choke. I'm out of breath. With the pain.
Do you remember two days ago how Jehanifah and I talked on the phone and cried and laughed at the same time, saying how this sounded like the kind of prank you would pull on us to get our attention?
Do you remember how she and I, we said, "This is unreal. This is a dream. She can't be gone."
Do you remember last night how I cried and my parents didn't know what to do with me? My grief had taken residence in my room. It stayed with me and followed me around the house. I cried because I lost you. We lost you. I cried because I didn't know how painful it was for you and I wished and wished and cried and wished some more and prayed that you went quickly and painlessly.
Do you remember?
No?
You don't?
Is that why it hurts?
It hurts me that I have to ask for your forgiveness now. Forgive me for all the wrong I've done, for anything I've said to hurt you, for any gesture that made it look like I don't want you in my life anymore.
It hurts me like fucking hell that you will never read this.
We love you, sister girl. Always have, always will. We are family.
Rest in peace, Nhurzy. You're our number one girl. Sister. Friend. Soulmate. Yosi-Buddy. Family.
It hurts.
Everytime I hear your name it hurts me, a dull, numbing, physical pain.
I look at our photo albums, any album, and it hurts. It hurts when I go through all the photos I've accumulated throughout my entire life and I realize that for the first 15 years you were in every other photo.
It hurts like hell when everything in my life has a connection to you because of our shared history.
When I turn on the computer, when I open all my online accounts, my websites, and I see how you're ever-present, everywhere, it hurts.
Everytime I cry, there's a hollow, right in the middle of my heart, where it hurts the most.
Remember when we used to dance? The Pandanggo Sa Ilaw, was it? The Itik-Itik dance? The crazy dance steps you taught us?
Remember our stupid Boyzone parties at Suad's house? Where we'd spend all night watching their music videos? Oh, I remember now, you hated them. You were there to make fun of us and how we loved those "faggots".
Remember our football jerseys in Sophomore High? Go Lakers? You used to wear the jersey bunched up at the tummy and tied in a knot to show off your abs.
Remember the Detroit Pistons and the love of our life, Grant Hill?
Remember when we used to wear nothing underneath our abayas because no one would notice anyway? You taught us how to wear our tarhas a certain way, like a trademark, you me, Ice. You know, press it against our foreheads then tie it at the back? So we look gangsta while we walked around and around the school campus under the sweltering sun?
Remember our middle-finger photos?
Remember the videotapes we made? Spoof music videos, speeches, dedications, dancing, head-banging, monkeying around?
Remember the times we were all together as a family? Suad? Jehanifah? Latifah? Ayesha? You? Me? At Ayesha's house eating Indomie after skipping classes? The Busaw Family? Do you remember?
Do you remember how much fun we had?
Do you remember when we suddenly grew up? When we suddenly had breasts and our periods and suddenly Mozi was the "cutest" guy in the universe?
Do you remember your cats? All six or seven of them? I don't remember how many, but I'm sure YOU remember. You had names for every single one of them, remember? They were your babies.
Do you remember that time you and your baby sister came to spend a night in our house and she cried because we didn't have corn flakes and she wanted to eat corn flakes?
Remember how we used our brothers as postmen for our letters? Remember what your letters said? "Ness, if you really like Allan, I'm sorry but he just came to my house and asked me to have sex with him." Crazy-ass stuff like that. My father once received a letter from you on my behalf coz I wasn't home, and he was outraged. We were 13 years old then.
Remember the fights? When we fought? We were divided then. Latifah fainted. Suad and Jehanifah were screaming obscenities. Ice was just whimpering in the corner. You and I moved left and right and screamed obscenities, too. Putangina mo!! Miyabunu ka!! No one would come near us because we were the Maranao girls and our rage terrified the shit out of them.
Remember when you first came to Manila and you sent us that voice tape? You hated Manila. And your first day in your new school was a disaster. You sent us pictures. Lots of them. Then we sent you back a million voice tapes and a huge bottle of Jeddah's finest and cheapest shatta Hot Sauce, your favorite.
Do you remember when things changed in college? The incident with your ugly-ass maid? How we laughed about your foolishness?
You were always mischievous, but you were NEVER DISHONEST.
Do you remember when you came to our Manila townhouse and we locked ourselves in my room with two packs of Marlboro Lights? We didn't even have Coca Cola to cool our throats with, but it was alright, we couldn't afford it anyway.
Do you remember the last time we'd ever be together? Our reunion right before I came back to Jeddah not six months ago? At the karaoke bar with Jehanifah and Jiehan? Beer, song, and cigarettes? The stupid tambourines ever-present at Korean videoke bars? I was in my "tennis-slash-badminton" outfit then, because I had to pretend I was going out to hit some balls when I was really going out with my friends. Remember how you drove Jiehan's car?
Do you remember last week how we chatted on Yahoo? You were teasing me about my love life. I was teasing you about your new car. Dude, I love your car and I haven't even seen it. "Fuck you, Ness," you said.
Do you remember the last words you told me?
"Miyasokaran ka, Baboy. Love ya, Nessreen."
I didn't reply. I signed out because you were pissing me off royally, you freaking bitch.
Do you remember?
Because I do. It hurts to remember. I choke. I'm out of breath. With the pain.
Do you remember two days ago how Jehanifah and I talked on the phone and cried and laughed at the same time, saying how this sounded like the kind of prank you would pull on us to get our attention?
Do you remember how she and I, we said, "This is unreal. This is a dream. She can't be gone."
Do you remember last night how I cried and my parents didn't know what to do with me? My grief had taken residence in my room. It stayed with me and followed me around the house. I cried because I lost you. We lost you. I cried because I didn't know how painful it was for you and I wished and wished and cried and wished some more and prayed that you went quickly and painlessly.
Do you remember?
No?
You don't?
Is that why it hurts?
It hurts me that I have to ask for your forgiveness now. Forgive me for all the wrong I've done, for anything I've said to hurt you, for any gesture that made it look like I don't want you in my life anymore.
It hurts me like fucking hell that you will never read this.
We love you, sister girl. Always have, always will. We are family.
Rest in peace, Nhurzy. You're our number one girl. Sister. Friend. Soulmate. Yosi-Buddy. Family.
Monday, October 31, 2005
A Few Good Deaths
I've been having weird dreams lately, and I couldn't figure out what they were all supposed to mean, or if they had any meaning at all. But yesterday, I think I found my meaning. We could've perished in a domestic accident had it not been for my weird dream. In my dream, a friend and I were headed home from work and hailed a taxi. As soon as we got in, an awful smell immediately assaulted our olfactories. I signaled to my friend this discovery by waving my hand rapidly up and down whilst pinching my nose. It was an unnecessary gesture, as she already had her hand over both her nose and her mouth. It smelled of sweat and gym socks in that there cab, but we were already moving, and it was so hard to get a taxi in those parts. So we stuck it out. We were laughing quietly a little later when the smell changed. It became smoky, like barbecuing a pair of overused gym socks. I mouthed "Geez!!" to my friend who chocked back her laughter. The driver raised his eyes to the rearview mirror and looked at us. Suddenly, he turned into a burnt piece of flesh, and I screamed and screamed as a great smoke took over the whole cab.
Then I woke up. There WAS smoke in my room. I ran out to the hallway where there was MORE smoke. I stifled a scream, just so I wouldn't inhale too much of the smoke, and ran back inside my room where I grabbed my towel and wrapped it around my head [at this point, I felt very heroic and smart about grabbing the towel, like those gorgeous firemen in Third Watch would've asked me to]. I slowly made my way to the kitchen where, on the stove, a pot of shrimp was smoldering. My mom had fallen asleep while waiting for it to cook. Being a sissy, I ran to my mom's room, screamed my head off to wake her up, and told her that she needed to do something quick. My poor mom jumped up, turned off the fire, turned on the exhaust fan, and started to right the house. My brothers were in their room, which was right next to the kitchen, sleeping like babies.
So. Am I a hero, or what?
After that close brush with death, I felt so thankful for surviving the potential fire. I mean, if I was going to die at the age of 22, I would rather it be of something a little less domestic. Something more amusing, perhaps. My friend Marj suggested a few good deaths, to which I added my own:
* Death By Chocolate - But that's awfully over-rated, I say.
* Death By Repetitive Music-Playing
* Death By Potato Chips -Some of which are on the chin still at the time of death. But how unglamorous.
* Death By Korean Soap Operas -Possibly in the middle of a confrontation between the poor leading lady and the leading man's rich snob of a mom.
* Death By Lack Of Imagination
* Death By Arrogance
* Death By Excessive Celebration of Youth
* Death By Confusion
* Death By Conceptual Overload
* Death By Excessive Thought
* Death By Hardened-Booger Pursuit [i.e. pangungulangot]
"Dying is an art, like everything else.
I do it exceptionally well."
- Sylvia Plath (1932 - 1963); U.S. poet and novelist.
Then I woke up. There WAS smoke in my room. I ran out to the hallway where there was MORE smoke. I stifled a scream, just so I wouldn't inhale too much of the smoke, and ran back inside my room where I grabbed my towel and wrapped it around my head [at this point, I felt very heroic and smart about grabbing the towel, like those gorgeous firemen in Third Watch would've asked me to]. I slowly made my way to the kitchen where, on the stove, a pot of shrimp was smoldering. My mom had fallen asleep while waiting for it to cook. Being a sissy, I ran to my mom's room, screamed my head off to wake her up, and told her that she needed to do something quick. My poor mom jumped up, turned off the fire, turned on the exhaust fan, and started to right the house. My brothers were in their room, which was right next to the kitchen, sleeping like babies.
So. Am I a hero, or what?
After that close brush with death, I felt so thankful for surviving the potential fire. I mean, if I was going to die at the age of 22, I would rather it be of something a little less domestic. Something more amusing, perhaps. My friend Marj suggested a few good deaths, to which I added my own:
* Death By Chocolate - But that's awfully over-rated, I say.
* Death By Repetitive Music-Playing
* Death By Potato Chips -Some of which are on the chin still at the time of death. But how unglamorous.
* Death By Korean Soap Operas -Possibly in the middle of a confrontation between the poor leading lady and the leading man's rich snob of a mom.
* Death By Lack Of Imagination
* Death By Arrogance
* Death By Excessive Celebration of Youth
* Death By Confusion
* Death By Conceptual Overload
* Death By Excessive Thought
* Death By Hardened-Booger Pursuit [i.e. pangungulangot]
"Dying is an art, like everything else.
I do it exceptionally well."
- Sylvia Plath (1932 - 1963); U.S. poet and novelist.
Monday, October 24, 2005
Hair Ye, Hair Ye
What does a good hairdresser have in common with a bad hairdresser?
For hair mavens such as myself, finding the right hairdresser is like finding the right guy. You want to rely on your instincts; you can always tell what the hairdresser is like from the moment you sit on her chair. The way she talks to you, the way she examines the shape of your face, the way she sifts through your hair and parts it this way and that.
So I don't understand why I went through with the haircut anyway. There were tell-tale signs right from the start. For one thing, she never asked me any questions about how I wanted it cut. She had a magazine ready, and as soon as I pointed out the hairstyle I wanted, a-snipping she went, no examination, no sifting, no "where do you usually part your hair?". And there I sat, submissive, cowed, while she scooped generous handfuls of my hair, snip snip snip. At one point, I started to resist. But she very quietly pushed me back into my chair, and carried on cutting away my life, my hair. See, I didn't think I could fight her off. She was very insistent and noiselessly rough. Of course it was when I got home safe and considerably far away from her evil, abusive clutches that I started entertaining thoughts of having her murdered. I mean, I was violated! She practically RAPED my hair!! No foreplay, no sweet nothings, just reckless clipping!
When I came into the beauty parlor, I had in my head visions of Drew-Barrymore-hair, Fever Pitch-style. After all, we had the same hair type, and so it would be so much easier for me to emulate her, sweeping bangs, waves, and all. What the witch [her name's JOSIE] gave me was 80s-inspired bangs. The type that reminds me of when I was 6 years old and my "dalaga" aunts would come visit us with their overpowering perfume, crimped hair, and bangs that looked like hats. The kind that makes you think of Madonna in Material Girl. Especially since I have frizzy hair. It's not all well and good, because this is just one of those trends that never made a comeback. And there's a reason why: it's horribly unflattering. I look like a freaking... maid. With outdated hair. I got out of the parlor with Helen Hunt's hairdo in her ancient sitcom Mad About You.
I am fuming, outraged, livid right now. But let me tell you something. Just like we never learn from past relationships with Asshole-Syndrome characters, we never learn from our mistakes with a terribly under-experienced hairdresser. You'll be reading about another horrible experience at yet another untried and untested beauty salon in six months, perhaps after i see yet another film that stars Drew Barrymore or Mandy Moore with that great, star-quality hair.
Oi, vei. Women.
"You have baked me too brown, I must sugar my hair."
-Lewis Carroll (1832 - 1898) British writer and mathematician.
They both possess the tremendous [and sometimes evil] power to change your life: One for the better, the other for a whole lot worse.
For hair mavens such as myself, finding the right hairdresser is like finding the right guy. You want to rely on your instincts; you can always tell what the hairdresser is like from the moment you sit on her chair. The way she talks to you, the way she examines the shape of your face, the way she sifts through your hair and parts it this way and that.
So I don't understand why I went through with the haircut anyway. There were tell-tale signs right from the start. For one thing, she never asked me any questions about how I wanted it cut. She had a magazine ready, and as soon as I pointed out the hairstyle I wanted, a-snipping she went, no examination, no sifting, no "where do you usually part your hair?". And there I sat, submissive, cowed, while she scooped generous handfuls of my hair, snip snip snip. At one point, I started to resist. But she very quietly pushed me back into my chair, and carried on cutting away my life, my hair. See, I didn't think I could fight her off. She was very insistent and noiselessly rough. Of course it was when I got home safe and considerably far away from her evil, abusive clutches that I started entertaining thoughts of having her murdered. I mean, I was violated! She practically RAPED my hair!! No foreplay, no sweet nothings, just reckless clipping!
When I came into the beauty parlor, I had in my head visions of Drew-Barrymore-hair, Fever Pitch-style. After all, we had the same hair type, and so it would be so much easier for me to emulate her, sweeping bangs, waves, and all. What the witch [her name's JOSIE] gave me was 80s-inspired bangs. The type that reminds me of when I was 6 years old and my "dalaga" aunts would come visit us with their overpowering perfume, crimped hair, and bangs that looked like hats. The kind that makes you think of Madonna in Material Girl. Especially since I have frizzy hair. It's not all well and good, because this is just one of those trends that never made a comeback. And there's a reason why: it's horribly unflattering. I look like a freaking... maid. With outdated hair. I got out of the parlor with Helen Hunt's hairdo in her ancient sitcom Mad About You.
I am fuming, outraged, livid right now. But let me tell you something. Just like we never learn from past relationships with Asshole-Syndrome characters, we never learn from our mistakes with a terribly under-experienced hairdresser. You'll be reading about another horrible experience at yet another untried and untested beauty salon in six months, perhaps after i see yet another film that stars Drew Barrymore or Mandy Moore with that great, star-quality hair.
Oi, vei. Women.
"You have baked me too brown, I must sugar my hair."
-Lewis Carroll (1832 - 1898) British writer and mathematician.
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
The Desk Has Spoken
What's on my desk:
* A glass full of colored paper clips.
* Post-its in leaf and arrow shapes.
* A Starbucks Arabia mug full of pens and pencils.
* Berlitz instructor's manuals for adults and kids.
* A Berlitz magazine.
* Ikea's 2005 catalogue.
* Arabian Woman and Emirates Woman magazines.
* Unmarked essays in a folder submitted by my freshman college students.
* Lemony Snicket: A Series of Unfortunate Events VCD I borrowed from BemBem.
* A tube of Mentos Mints.
* A lilac-colored lighter.
* A bunch of mismatched socks and stockings.
* Grocery receipts.
* Books: "Longman's Synonyms Dictionary" and "The Right Word At The Right Time".
* Juz 'amma [Qur'an] tapes my Mom left on it.
* My 2005 appointment diary.
* A mini Nivea hand lotion bottle.
* An oversized calculator.
* A red stapler that doesn't work.
* Index cards with a list of irregular verbs.
* A bag of 5-week-old nuts.
* A heart-shaped dish with potpourri.
* Folders and files.
* Scratch papers.
* A little notebook of quotations that I compiled.
* A picture of the Elephant Rock in Saudi Arabia that my student Yazeed gave me.
What I think they say about me:
* I'm an English teacher. [Tsk.] And apparently, not a very good one.
* I attempt to organize my stuff by using cliche office supplies. Some of which don't work.
* I'm in charge of matching the socks in the fresh-laundry basket but I've never gotten around to doing it.
* My students think I'm an elephant and therefore am interested in my fellow elephants.
* I read glossies when I should make lesson plans.
* I watch movies I've seen over and over again.
* I'm a boring, bored nerd.
What does your desk say about you?
* A glass full of colored paper clips.
* Post-its in leaf and arrow shapes.
* A Starbucks Arabia mug full of pens and pencils.
* Berlitz instructor's manuals for adults and kids.
* A Berlitz magazine.
* Ikea's 2005 catalogue.
* Arabian Woman and Emirates Woman magazines.
* Unmarked essays in a folder submitted by my freshman college students.
* Lemony Snicket: A Series of Unfortunate Events VCD I borrowed from BemBem.
* A tube of Mentos Mints.
* A lilac-colored lighter.
* A bunch of mismatched socks and stockings.
* Grocery receipts.
* Books: "Longman's Synonyms Dictionary" and "The Right Word At The Right Time".
* Juz 'amma [Qur'an] tapes my Mom left on it.
* My 2005 appointment diary.
* A mini Nivea hand lotion bottle.
* An oversized calculator.
* A red stapler that doesn't work.
* Index cards with a list of irregular verbs.
* A bag of 5-week-old nuts.
* A heart-shaped dish with potpourri.
* Folders and files.
* Scratch papers.
* A little notebook of quotations that I compiled.
* A picture of the Elephant Rock in Saudi Arabia that my student Yazeed gave me.
What I think they say about me:
* I'm an English teacher. [Tsk.] And apparently, not a very good one.
* I attempt to organize my stuff by using cliche office supplies. Some of which don't work.
* I'm in charge of matching the socks in the fresh-laundry basket but I've never gotten around to doing it.
* My students think I'm an elephant and therefore am interested in my fellow elephants.
* I read glossies when I should make lesson plans.
* I watch movies I've seen over and over again.
* I'm a boring, bored nerd.
What does your desk say about you?
Sunday, October 16, 2005
Enough About Me...
... let's talk about me. *Hihihi* As it turns out, I don't know myself half as much as these quizzes do! Let's see, shall we?
You're Andie Anderson(Kate Hudson - ('How to Lose A Guy In 10 Days')
You're smart, beautiful, and ambitious. You have
life going for you in every possible way.
You're true to yourself and to others. You may
make some mistakes along the way, but you don't
cover them up.
Your vintage styling and girl next door persona
makes you an instant trendsetter and everyone's
friend.
You feel just as confortable in silk and heels as
you do in blue jeans on the back of a Harley.You're a wonderful friend, looking for ways to
bring sunshine and laughter to people's lives.You take yourself seriously, but not too seriously.
You express yourself through a public medium,
encouraging feedback and honesty.
All in all you're the Ray of Light.
Which Romantic Comedy Heroine Are You?
** Won't you look at that. Kate Hudson. I wanna be like her when I wake up.
You're Andie Anderson(Kate Hudson - ('How to Lose A Guy In 10 Days')
You're smart, beautiful, and ambitious. You have
life going for you in every possible way.
You're true to yourself and to others. You may
make some mistakes along the way, but you don't
cover them up.
Your vintage styling and girl next door persona
makes you an instant trendsetter and everyone's
friend.
You feel just as confortable in silk and heels as
you do in blue jeans on the back of a Harley.You're a wonderful friend, looking for ways to
bring sunshine and laughter to people's lives.You take yourself seriously, but not too seriously.
You express yourself through a public medium,
encouraging feedback and honesty.
All in all you're the Ray of Light.
Which Romantic Comedy Heroine Are You?
** Won't you look at that. Kate Hudson. I wanna be like her when I wake up.
Thursday, October 13, 2005
What I've Learned From The People and The Things I Love
The most important things we can learn in life are in the people and things around us. It can be found in the periphery – in-between classes while waiting for the next professor, in those moments while you’re walking from here to your destination, or in brief elevator rides. It can be found in the seconds right before you burst into tears, or in the recurrent beat of a song. In this ultimate age of epiphany, I have unearthed a treasure of discoveries from those I love.
Friends
“It is important to our friends to believe that we are unreservedly frank with them, and important to friendship that we are not.” - MIGNON MCLAUGHLIN
I am blessed with a multitude of friends. From them, I have learned that we have various friends for the various aspects of our personalities. The only people I am ever truly honest with [outside of my immediate family, of course] are my three closest friends.
Jiehan and I get along because of our tastes in fashion and the other superficial aspects of life. We have always been dedicated to the cause of popularity for popularity's sake. I have always been obsessed with the tangibles and the superficial. This may not always be understood by my more philosophical friends, but Jiehan does, and she indulges me. Being slaves to the retail industry, we bond in beauty parlors during hour-long foot spas and hair treatments, reading glossies, watching MTV and fashion TV, and frequenting night-haunts in plush clubs of our generation, armed with our chandelier earrings and excruciatingly high stilletoes. We also have an unbreakable faith in Chinese soap operas.
Marjorie, on the other hand, is my ally. We share principles in life. We wax political, intellectual, and spiritual. Our friendship was concretized in college where, side by side, we fought for our rights and stood our ground against people who did us wrong. We were not always successful, but we can say we tried our best. If I was a lawyer, she’d be the judge in my courtroom. If she was a nurse, I’d be the doctor in her emergency room. I’ve spent N-Thousand hours on the phone with Marj, talking about the philosophical implications of The Lord Of The Rings, and the possible life and times of Arnobi The Rabbit, the mascot of a junior supplement that comes with a leading newspaper here, and Paalle Bukhari, the man who faithfully served us soggy French Fries with Vinegar and Hot Sauce for most of our high school life. We spent several thousand hours more at the Sunken Garden of our university, lying on the grass, staring at the night sky, and weeping at our insights, new-found convictions, and lack thereof. It seemed highly unlikely back when we were 9-year-olds together in our grade school, but we now find ourselves always in the same country at the same time.
To balance this relatively good side of my personality, I have Jehanifah to help me disturb the peace. The only existence we know is in trying to fix something, some situation, some crooked idea or other. So that when we run out of things to fix, we inexorably destroy something, anything, in order to fix it. Jehanifah is my partner in crimes of passion, like when we stole romance novels from her sister’s collection and from this other girl who happened to have the book we’d been looking for. Much later, we would steal out into the night and belt out sappy songs at the local Karaoke bar with much fervor, boozing and burning sticks in-between songs. She and I suffer from – and revel in – the curse of friction, being too alike at times and too different at others.
I have learned that there is enough love to go around. When you make a new friend, you don't necessarily lose an old one. It's time we never have enough of.
… to be continued...
Friends
“It is important to our friends to believe that we are unreservedly frank with them, and important to friendship that we are not.” - MIGNON MCLAUGHLIN
I am blessed with a multitude of friends. From them, I have learned that we have various friends for the various aspects of our personalities. The only people I am ever truly honest with [outside of my immediate family, of course] are my three closest friends.
Jiehan and I get along because of our tastes in fashion and the other superficial aspects of life. We have always been dedicated to the cause of popularity for popularity's sake. I have always been obsessed with the tangibles and the superficial. This may not always be understood by my more philosophical friends, but Jiehan does, and she indulges me. Being slaves to the retail industry, we bond in beauty parlors during hour-long foot spas and hair treatments, reading glossies, watching MTV and fashion TV, and frequenting night-haunts in plush clubs of our generation, armed with our chandelier earrings and excruciatingly high stilletoes. We also have an unbreakable faith in Chinese soap operas.
Marjorie, on the other hand, is my ally. We share principles in life. We wax political, intellectual, and spiritual. Our friendship was concretized in college where, side by side, we fought for our rights and stood our ground against people who did us wrong. We were not always successful, but we can say we tried our best. If I was a lawyer, she’d be the judge in my courtroom. If she was a nurse, I’d be the doctor in her emergency room. I’ve spent N-Thousand hours on the phone with Marj, talking about the philosophical implications of The Lord Of The Rings, and the possible life and times of Arnobi The Rabbit, the mascot of a junior supplement that comes with a leading newspaper here, and Paalle Bukhari, the man who faithfully served us soggy French Fries with Vinegar and Hot Sauce for most of our high school life. We spent several thousand hours more at the Sunken Garden of our university, lying on the grass, staring at the night sky, and weeping at our insights, new-found convictions, and lack thereof. It seemed highly unlikely back when we were 9-year-olds together in our grade school, but we now find ourselves always in the same country at the same time.
To balance this relatively good side of my personality, I have Jehanifah to help me disturb the peace. The only existence we know is in trying to fix something, some situation, some crooked idea or other. So that when we run out of things to fix, we inexorably destroy something, anything, in order to fix it. Jehanifah is my partner in crimes of passion, like when we stole romance novels from her sister’s collection and from this other girl who happened to have the book we’d been looking for. Much later, we would steal out into the night and belt out sappy songs at the local Karaoke bar with much fervor, boozing and burning sticks in-between songs. She and I suffer from – and revel in – the curse of friction, being too alike at times and too different at others.
I have learned that there is enough love to go around. When you make a new friend, you don't necessarily lose an old one. It's time we never have enough of.
… to be continued...
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
Trippin
Yup, ladies and cats, I'm still tripping about my teaching experience. I'm only realizing that teaching is a lot like acting on stage. You're up there, and all those people peering at you from behind their under-used books are under your mercy. You can cheat, steal, and lie. You can tell them your mother smuggled your brother in from Vietnam. You can give them grades based on your whims. [I did all that]. I'd like to share some of the best moments of my short experience.
** Earlier today, a student came up to me and said, "Teacher Nessreen, I miss you. I hate my new English professor. She's 57 years old and she doesn't know how to work an MP3 player." Aww. Sweet. All those times I was supposed to be teaching them gerunds but taught them how to browse the internet in English instead paid off. At least she hates the new professor more than she hated me.
** On one of review sessions with Level 1 English students, a girl was asked what she would say if she needed to ask information at the Heathrow airport in the UK. She said: "First, I would say, Execute me, Mister, can I ask?". Capital.
** Last summer, the cheekiest kid in my class [read: the student I hated most] asked me, tongue-in-cheek of course, "Teacher, what's the one thing you would like to eat right this moment?" I replied, "A big mac. Why? You gone whip it up, magic-like?" He didn't. What he DID do was call up someone on his mobile, and in 20 minutes, I had a Big Mac meal in my hands. Awwww. That was the best burger I had in my life. He was 9 years old. How can I hate him?
That's off the top of my head.
** Earlier today, a student came up to me and said, "Teacher Nessreen, I miss you. I hate my new English professor. She's 57 years old and she doesn't know how to work an MP3 player." Aww. Sweet. All those times I was supposed to be teaching them gerunds but taught them how to browse the internet in English instead paid off. At least she hates the new professor more than she hated me.
** On one of review sessions with Level 1 English students, a girl was asked what she would say if she needed to ask information at the Heathrow airport in the UK. She said: "First, I would say, Execute me, Mister, can I ask?". Capital.
** Last summer, the cheekiest kid in my class [read: the student I hated most] asked me, tongue-in-cheek of course, "Teacher, what's the one thing you would like to eat right this moment?" I replied, "A big mac. Why? You gone whip it up, magic-like?" He didn't. What he DID do was call up someone on his mobile, and in 20 minutes, I had a Big Mac meal in my hands. Awwww. That was the best burger I had in my life. He was 9 years old. How can I hate him?
That's off the top of my head.
Monday, October 10, 2005
Life And Times
I am DONE teaching college girls up in here. The only good thing I had going was this office space I was loaned. On my last day, one of my students asked if I had really wanted to be a teacher ever since I was a kid. I did what any self-respecting non-teacher would've done: I swept my hand and snapped my finger at her face, and yelled "Heeeelllllll, naw!! Now, git! Git outta my face! You better work on that gotdamned book report before I whup you up and down with my grade book, you piece of shit." I mean, what, now I'm not good enough for them? Asking me all kinds of nasty shit like that? What was that question supposed to mean? That I hadn't been doing my job? That I hadn't been a good teacher to them and it showed? Well she'd right it gotdamned showed, they the worst students I had ever had the opportunity to teach! Hehe. Not really. I was just real hungry when she asked me. Afterwards, I was so guilty that I snapped at her that I went and did her book report for her. I buckled. I mean, something's gotta give, man.
Yalla, bye.
Thursday, October 6, 2005
Ramadhan Mubarak
Trendy Al-Fayhaa District, where Dar Al-Hekma is situated. This is probably the smallest house in the area. The rest are versions of Michael Jackson's Never-Never-Land. Now, if I can get into one of them and just count the rooms, I'd be happy. I imagine there are at least 14 rooms in this one. At the very least. Kullu 'amun wa antum bikhair!
Ramadhan 2005:
A chance to start over and maybe fast for the whole month for the first time in my life. I'm saying maybe. InshaAllah. It's not as commercialized this year as it was the past couple of years here in Jeddah, but the spirit is definitely out there. I have to work nights like a horse, but I'm fine with it. At least I get the days off, and I can finally catch Interview With A Vampire on Jeddah's very own HBO - MBC 2. Also, the Ramadhan sale season is just around the corner. That should be fun. The days are short for now, so we don't have to wait that long for iftar.
Ramadhan 2004:
Not even. I spent it with my brothers and Kaka Suge at our Manila townhouse, and it was crazy. I was working the graveyard shift at a call center, and there was a Muslim mohawk-hairstyled character who stalked me all over the office. I prayed Taraweeh at the Capitol Estates Mosque an amazing total of 2 times.
Ramadhan 2003:
Even crazier. Most nights were spent at the apartment that my brother Waleed shared with Dudut and Kaka Archie. I distinctly remember the lovely Oreo shakes Kaka Archie would whip up, the "Tram" card games with Kaka Sunny ["pi!" Sssssiiiinnnnoooonnnnggggg tatay mo, Kaka San-eh?], and sharing a pack of Marlboros with Kaka Omar to break our fast. Shameful. But good times.
Shariah has signed me up to be a member of her circle's book club. I'm pretty excited, because I've never been in a book club before. I'm not sure how it works, but I'm guessing book discussions [no duh]. It might be a little embarrassing once I fess up about my occasional Fabio indulgence. Currently, though, I'm reading Rani Manicka's Touching Earth, which I recommend to fellow book-people. It's a fantastic read on the search for truth, a quest we have all tried to embark on at one point or another.
In other news, my Dar Al-Hekma gig is almost up, and I am marra relieved, like you wouldn't believe. I've had it with bratty freshmen girls. For the record, Bitch, I did flash the middle finger at them, so many times in fact that my students have picked it up [you know how we flash the middle finger inside-out in Jeddah]. And for the finale, I am flunking two of the nastiest sumbitches in my class. Haha. They'll be kicked out of their program because of the F that I WILL give them. Thanks to you and me. I call it "making the world a better place". Sorry, Druggie, I couldn't resist. I wish I coulda been more like you.
Tuesday, September 27, 2005
Photo Op
For my brother Adnan, who's been asking for pictures.
Turtle Power
Anyone who's been to Sarawat [aka Souk Aj-Jiddah Ad-Dawlih], knows this old bastard. He's been around for the past two decades.
Chillin' At Chili's
I don't like the food at Chili's. In fact, I don't even like this cup of capuccino. But isn't it picture perfect?
The closest thing to an alcoholic beverage here in Jeddah: non-alcoholic malt. I remember back in high school, when my clique [Joan, Jiehan, Jehanifah, Michelle] and I would sneak out of the school grounds to get our daily dose of Lemon Barbican from the baqalah. This was before we discovered the alcoholic variety in college.
Paging Roger Bus-Riders...
Who can ever forget Roger the bus driver and the crazy-ass records he used to play on the bus radio? "Brother Louie Louie Louie...." used to haunt my dreams. It was in this bus that I made my first best friend: Sarah Saifullah, Pakistani national. She spoke English and I spoke Maranao. Friendship transcends language.
To Teach A Mockingbird: Kill It
"Those who can't do, teach. And flunk those who can."
I hate teaching. I was always meant to be a bad student, not a good teacher. My students hate me, and I hate them twice as much. I bore them, and they bore me. They judge me by my heritage, and I judge them back by their physical appearance. No love lost here, can you tell? My friend and colleague Summer tells me I haven't been teaching long enough to complain about it. I don't need to be in this profession for long to know that I'm just not cut out for the job. But, Goddamnit, it's the only job available to me in this country! The only thing I can't complain about is the pay. I know I sound like such a brat just saying this, but I guess it's my exhaustion speaking right now. And it's getting tired, I know, but I want out. The search is not over.
The dialogue at Dar Al-Hekma College earlier today was a complete rip-off, IMHO. Where do they come off calling it an open forum when all the questions posed were left unanswered and skirted? What a disappointment. It could've been a great step forward for Saudi women, especially since the cream-of-the-media-crop was present: BBC, Fox, CNN. But questions such as "Why does the American media continue to project Saudi society in a negative light?" were obviously not the ones they wanted asked. Ambassador Hughes sounded nervous and fake the whole time. I can just imagine my students' reactions to the whole affair tomorrow in class when we discuss their feedback. They're probably expecting me to defend The West, since I'm teaching them Western culture and linguistics. I hate teaching college students [in addition to hating teaching in general]. I want to be on their side, not up there on the spotlight.
My faulty memory is a disgrace. I met a lot of people earlier today at the college, most of whom I have already met at some dinner function or other, apparently. Is there any way to ask a person his/her name when he/she remembers yours? Apart from the awkward one?
I was seated beside this obnoxious American lady during the first half of the dialogue; she's been in Jeddah for a month and already she wants to leave. She says her tarha [veil] is considered a hazard in Wisconsin where she's from, because some thief or mugger may easily come up behind her and strangle her with it. Thus her extreme distaste for it. I don't think I've ever heard of anyone attacked in such a manner. Hmmm... Death By Tarha. I had to leave her by herself, I was very uncomfortable with the ocean of difference between her and myself.
I hate teaching. I was always meant to be a bad student, not a good teacher. My students hate me, and I hate them twice as much. I bore them, and they bore me. They judge me by my heritage, and I judge them back by their physical appearance. No love lost here, can you tell? My friend and colleague Summer tells me I haven't been teaching long enough to complain about it. I don't need to be in this profession for long to know that I'm just not cut out for the job. But, Goddamnit, it's the only job available to me in this country! The only thing I can't complain about is the pay. I know I sound like such a brat just saying this, but I guess it's my exhaustion speaking right now. And it's getting tired, I know, but I want out. The search is not over.
The dialogue at Dar Al-Hekma College earlier today was a complete rip-off, IMHO. Where do they come off calling it an open forum when all the questions posed were left unanswered and skirted? What a disappointment. It could've been a great step forward for Saudi women, especially since the cream-of-the-media-crop was present: BBC, Fox, CNN. But questions such as "Why does the American media continue to project Saudi society in a negative light?" were obviously not the ones they wanted asked. Ambassador Hughes sounded nervous and fake the whole time. I can just imagine my students' reactions to the whole affair tomorrow in class when we discuss their feedback. They're probably expecting me to defend The West, since I'm teaching them Western culture and linguistics. I hate teaching college students [in addition to hating teaching in general]. I want to be on their side, not up there on the spotlight.
My faulty memory is a disgrace. I met a lot of people earlier today at the college, most of whom I have already met at some dinner function or other, apparently. Is there any way to ask a person his/her name when he/she remembers yours? Apart from the awkward one?
I was seated beside this obnoxious American lady during the first half of the dialogue; she's been in Jeddah for a month and already she wants to leave. She says her tarha [veil] is considered a hazard in Wisconsin where she's from, because some thief or mugger may easily come up behind her and strangle her with it. Thus her extreme distaste for it. I don't think I've ever heard of anyone attacked in such a manner. Hmmm... Death By Tarha. I had to leave her by herself, I was very uncomfortable with the ocean of difference between her and myself.
Monday, September 19, 2005
Death by Film
5 Films I Watch A Lot:
5. Pulp Fiction. You know what, any movie by Quentin Tarantino is worth watching hundreds of times over, IMHO, of course. His films have a wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am feel about, sort of a no-bullshit bullshit approach. But Pulp Fiction was fantastic. I loved the soundtrack [Al Green's I'm So In Love With You], I loved the dialogue, I loved the humor, I loved Samuel Jackson's Ezekiel 25:17 speech, I loved Uma Thurman's OD scene, I loved Quentin's cameo, and I love John Travolta.
4. Snatch. Director Guy Ritchie is crazy. Cool, funny crazy. His films have a straightforward quality, just like Tarantino's, and I like that. Swept Away starring his wife Madonna was good, even though the people over at the Box Office didn't. His earlier film Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels is almost as good as Snatch, except it didn't star Brad Pitt and his crazy-ass Gypsy accent. This is probably the only film [before Troy] I liked that starred Brad Pitt because I really don't like Pitt in heartthrob roles. I wasn't bothered to watch Legends of The Fall, and I hated Meet Joe Black and Pitt's stupid peanut-butter-licking character. Sorry. Anyway, Benicio del Toro also starred in Snatch, and it featured his now-famous squint. The only other person who can squint as well as del Toro does is the original squint-er Bruce Willis, who in turn lent his squinting prowess in Pulp Fiction.
3. Face Off. Because I love John Travolta. I just do.
2. City of God. Man, that was some serious film-making there. Every time I watched it, I learned something new, some new insight, some new emotion, some new poignant conclusion, what-have-you. Plus, the soundtrack was fantastic. You can never go wrong with James Brown.
1. Pretty Woman. Who doesn't watch Pretty Woman over and over again, anyway? It's the classic Cinderella Story, made so much more special because it seems absolutely impossible and far-fetched.
5. Pulp Fiction. You know what, any movie by Quentin Tarantino is worth watching hundreds of times over, IMHO, of course. His films have a wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am feel about, sort of a no-bullshit bullshit approach. But Pulp Fiction was fantastic. I loved the soundtrack [Al Green's I'm So In Love With You], I loved the dialogue, I loved the humor, I loved Samuel Jackson's Ezekiel 25:17 speech, I loved Uma Thurman's OD scene, I loved Quentin's cameo, and I love John Travolta.
4. Snatch. Director Guy Ritchie is crazy. Cool, funny crazy. His films have a straightforward quality, just like Tarantino's, and I like that. Swept Away starring his wife Madonna was good, even though the people over at the Box Office didn't. His earlier film Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels is almost as good as Snatch, except it didn't star Brad Pitt and his crazy-ass Gypsy accent. This is probably the only film [before Troy] I liked that starred Brad Pitt because I really don't like Pitt in heartthrob roles. I wasn't bothered to watch Legends of The Fall, and I hated Meet Joe Black and Pitt's stupid peanut-butter-licking character. Sorry. Anyway, Benicio del Toro also starred in Snatch, and it featured his now-famous squint. The only other person who can squint as well as del Toro does is the original squint-er Bruce Willis, who in turn lent his squinting prowess in Pulp Fiction.
3. Face Off. Because I love John Travolta. I just do.
2. City of God. Man, that was some serious film-making there. Every time I watched it, I learned something new, some new insight, some new emotion, some new poignant conclusion, what-have-you. Plus, the soundtrack was fantastic. You can never go wrong with James Brown.
1. Pretty Woman. Who doesn't watch Pretty Woman over and over again, anyway? It's the classic Cinderella Story, made so much more special because it seems absolutely impossible and far-fetched.
Sunday, September 18, 2005
Of Cowardice And Imminent Doom
Well, there you have it. A Filipina works so hard she busts her non-existent balls and where does it land her? A spot at the American presidential kitchen as chef. Congratulations. My hardworking fellow countryman is your fellow countryman's chef, cook, maid, ho, and whatever else degrading work you can hide behind a euphemism. I'm sorry if I sound very cynical or negative about it, but if I hear anyone telling me to look at the bright side of it one more time, I will burn my eyebrows, so help me. President Gloria is doing all the looking-at-the-bright-side for all of us, at that UN meeting where the microphones picked up her blushing comments to the American Presidents praises. Isn't it sad that we're doomed to be kitchen-people for the rest of our lives just because we happened to be the little-brown-brothers of our Caucasian superiors? We need our very own Martin Luther King, Jr. if that's the case.
I can't believe this guy, I swear to God. Bitch, you gotta help me. He was YOUR BOYFRIEND, too!! Hahaha. Okay, here's the lowdown on the downlow. Ten years ago, I had this nauseating crush on one of my distant cousins. You know, the cousins you have that are 400 times removed you wonder if you're even related at all? He was very good-looking at the time. Understand that he was maybe 13 years old back then. He had a striking resemblance to Ahmed Ash-Sharif, this Arab popstar. Anyway. Fast forward to a hundred years later. He has now become this obnoxious, dumb-ass, Usher-looking muthafucka who slings soap-opera one-liners my way every now and again. The worst part is that he keeps calling me Coz. The thing is, he's ten years late. If he'd thrown his bullshit at me when I was as dumb as he is now, I would've swooned and sacrificed my youngest brother's blood to a makeshift altar of his image I would've made in my room. So. How do you stave off unwanted attention and disgusting amorous advances? I mean, if he looked anything like Andy Garcia in The Godfather III, I wouldn't mind him calling me Coz, you know?
If any of y'all have information about this guy, please notify me immediately. He is wanted for causing personal unrest. His full name is Ragheb Alama, and he can be identified easily because his songs contain nothing but Habibi and Bahebbak, words that are potentially terrorrist-ic.
I can't believe this guy, I swear to God. Bitch, you gotta help me. He was YOUR BOYFRIEND, too!! Hahaha. Okay, here's the lowdown on the downlow. Ten years ago, I had this nauseating crush on one of my distant cousins. You know, the cousins you have that are 400 times removed you wonder if you're even related at all? He was very good-looking at the time. Understand that he was maybe 13 years old back then. He had a striking resemblance to Ahmed Ash-Sharif, this Arab popstar. Anyway. Fast forward to a hundred years later. He has now become this obnoxious, dumb-ass, Usher-looking muthafucka who slings soap-opera one-liners my way every now and again. The worst part is that he keeps calling me Coz. The thing is, he's ten years late. If he'd thrown his bullshit at me when I was as dumb as he is now, I would've swooned and sacrificed my youngest brother's blood to a makeshift altar of his image I would've made in my room. So. How do you stave off unwanted attention and disgusting amorous advances? I mean, if he looked anything like Andy Garcia in The Godfather III, I wouldn't mind him calling me Coz, you know?
If any of y'all have information about this guy, please notify me immediately. He is wanted for causing personal unrest. His full name is Ragheb Alama, and he can be identified easily because his songs contain nothing but Habibi and Bahebbak, words that are potentially terrorrist-ic.
Thursday, August 25, 2005
I am....BATMAN
Twinkle, twinkle, little bat!
How I wonder where you're at!
Up above the world you fly!
Like a tea-tray in the sky!
- Lewis Carroll (1832-1898)
British writer and mathematician
Alice's Adventures in Wonderland
How I wonder where you're at!
Up above the world you fly!
Like a tea-tray in the sky!
- Lewis Carroll (1832-1898)
British writer and mathematician
Alice's Adventures in Wonderland
After watching four Batman movies one after the other in one sitting, I've decided that I've gathered enough vital information to make my own Batman movie. I know I am no Joel Schumacher or Tim Burton, but I know of no rule against wearing their shoes.
So, to make my very own Batman installation, I will need the following:
** Your support. Bear with me, it's going to be a box office hit.
** A Leading Man, of course. To play Batman. He would have to:
1. Be good-looking - the man every woman wants, and every man wants. To be, that is. I'm thinking along the lines of Post-Troy Brad Bitt. If Kevin Costner wasn't so old now, I would consider him for this part. We should remember that Bruce Wayne is eternally 30-something, so it was probably a mistake casting George Clooney who was fast-approaching 50 at that time. Val Kilmer was okay, except there was something disturbing about his nose... Oh, well.
2. Have nice, distinct lips, for when he's wearing his mask and the damsels in distress are staring pointedly at them. Perhaps no one can better Michael Keaton in that area.
3. Be tall. Batman was always referred to as the 6-foot-something bat. Tom Cruise is, of course, out of the question.
4. Have a six-pack and a nice rear end, for those close-up frames while he's getting into his bat-suit.
5. Have a prominent jaw to flatter his masked mug.
6. Have a troubled, pre-occupied look about him, so that he is contrived as someone of grave importance to the society, someone very wealthy and intelligent, and also very busy and sought-after. This would divert the attention from what it is exactly that he does when he's not flying around [for example, we can't help but wonder how it is that he maintains his Wayne Enterprises when all he does is sulk about how his parents were murdered 700 years ago]. A pair of Gucci eye-glasses and a pencil with a rubber end that he can bite on in contemplation would be crucial for this facial expression.
7. Have a quick wit and a sense of humor. He should be able to pepper his conversations with smooth puns and mild sexual innuendoes.
8. Know the exact moment to utter key one-word commands to non-living things, like his study furniture and his automobiles, to name just a few. Lock. Chair. Shields. Women. Oops.
9. Master robot-like actions with his head and shoulders to support his apparently very heavy head gear, so that he looks like he's going to keel over any moment from the weight of his pointed ears.
10. Know how to suppress smiles and laughter because, after all, Bruce Wayne [and Batman] isn't a stupid, smiley dolt. He is a very serious and intriguing man.
11. Look like a man who is very at-ease with the prospect of having a slave... no, scratch that... a 'gentleman' butler, that he manages to retain by occasionally referring to as 'family'.
** A villain is of great import, too, of course.
1. The villain part should be played by an actor of high-caliber, such as the ones in past Batman films: Christopher Walken, Danny de Vito, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Tommy Lee Jones, and of course, the father of all Batman villains, Jack Nicholson. For my movie, I'm thinking John Travolta, who outdid himself in Face-Off as a maniacal baddie. I mean, his ridiculous [and disarming] chin alone is all the make-up he needs! John Malkovich is a good choice, too, but he's too mean. Batman might not be able to fight him off.
2. The main villian should have had a horrible childhood so that he grows up to be a freak of sorts. This family background is essential, because it's the only way Batman would get through to him, having had a horrible childhood himself. Towards the end, they would swap sob stories right before the villain is hied off to Arkham Asylum where he would either disappear in obscurity among other former villains, or emerge later in a spin-off movie where he gets the chance to give a dragged-out version of his sob story.
3. I would be needing a Co-Villain to stretch the script and provide Batman with more opportunities to impart wise-ass one-liners seconds before he doles out punches and high-power kicks. The co-villain would emerge right after Batman's first encounter with the main villain. He must have a psychological problem [as does everyone else in the movie, anyway]; someone who is actually angry at Bruce Wayne and not Batman. The co-villain would eventually team up with the main villain [whose target is Batman] and together, they discover that GASP Batman and Wayne are one and the same! [Oooh, love that rhyming. Will include in script.] There are two kinds of villains:
a. Male Co-Villain = someone absolutely outrageous, who desires nothing more than world domination. Or Gotham City domination. Same thing. To play this part, I want an actor capable of over-the-top theatrics, like Jim Carrey was in Batman and Robin. Someone viewers love to hate, like Alan Cumming [oh, but he's too cute], or someone viewers just HATE, like Ben Stiller.
b. Female Co-Villain = someone very sexy. At the beginning, she is actually a well-meaning woman who wants good things to happen to the world, but is ultimately wronged and killed by a man. She comes back to life as a sinister, vengeful, and darkly stunning she-villain, so she should be someone who has miles and miles of leg and looks good in designer villain garb and goth make-up. I would consider Milla Jovovich or Rachel Weisz. She would have a plain-looking alter-ego, so she should also be able to pull off huge-rimmed glasses and disheveled hair. The female co-villain is very crucial to the script, because she could double as the love interest of both the main villain and the hero. Cut costs, if you know what I mean. After all, I'm casting high-profile actors here.
4. All the baddies should master the requisite evil laugh. Buhuwahahaha... Muhuwahahaha... Or something like that. Maybe take lessons from the poster-child of villainhood himself, Dr. Evil.
5. I would be needing a slew of supporting thugs and outlaws in motorbikes, dressed up in face paint and muted versions of the main and co-villain's suits, whichever one they're supporting.
6. Villain's characters should be based on a mutated animal, plant, or anything else from nature. I'd probably base one on a monkey [Mojo-Jojo style], and another on a sequoia tree [Yawn].
** Now, it gets ridiculous by the minute, so I would need another person to add to the fast-growing Bat Family. Let's call this person a Co-Hero. I mean, of course, there would be moments when our hero is suddenly trapped and seemingly doomed. This is Bat-Brother or Bat-Sister's cue to come crashing down some glass ceiling or other and save him. Also, I need this Co-Hero to cause inner conflict. The Co-Hero should be someone younger, with a rebellious streak and a smart-alecky nature, who'd fall madly in-love with another Bat-Person [another spin-off idea]. Colin Farrell comes to mind. If it's to be a girl, who better to play the role than It-Girl Mandy Moore?
** How would Batman and his posse go from one place to another without their bat-mobiles? Of course, we would need them. I don't want to be James Bond-ish about it, so I guess I'll just keep the classic Bat-Mobile and Bat-Bike. Maybe have Mercedes Benz or Honda sponsor the whole affair, so that the new Co-Hero may have his or her own Bat-Wheels. We can't have any of them riding shotgun in His Royal Batness' coupe, can we?
** Alfred is getting old. He needs a replacement. Besides, he won't be able to cope with not one, not two, not three, but four [possibly even five, God help him] deranged humans prancing about as bats. But we all love Alfred. Plus, he knows everything; his know-how is priceless. So I'll maybe just give him an assistant. I'm sure Lara Croft wouldn't mind my borrowing her butler. She can afford another one after the success of her last movie.
** There should always be a love angle. After all, Bat-Wayne is very attractive, a ladies' man, a man's man, a man-about-town, a most eligible bachelor. The leading lady would be someone interested in the mysterious and possibly very kinky Batman but is invariably drawn to the filthy, filthy rich Bruce Wayne ["Tricky, tricky... Hmm... Let's see... Who shall it be?"] She would be a journalist, a reporter, or an expert on something, maybe on monkeys and sequoia trees. Catherine Zeta-Jones fits the profile. Glamorous, vogue, stunning. A classic Wayne-trap, he loves to wear beautiful women to dinner galas. She should be smart, yes, but not smart enough to notice that GASP Batman and Wayne... are one and the same! [sorry, just had to say it again], even though she has kissed, spoken to, and been up-close and personal with both, more than anyone else in the film.
** Now, I would have to use gloomy Gotham City as the backdrop, of course, which is really a cross between Chicago and New York City. The city would, as usual, come with the same incompetent, lazy policemen who depend on the Winged One to do their job.
** To top off my movie, I would employ The Neptunes to produce and perform every single musical score on the film. The original Batman was successful with the talents of The Artist Formerly Known As Prince And Also Formerly Known As An Unpronounceable Symbol But Is Now Known As Just Prince [I have utmost respect for the one man who could pull off a name like that. Boo-Yah, Master Chief!]. The Neptunes Who Were Formerly Unknown should be able to give the chase and fight scenes a rock feel, pipe in some sexy beat for the female villain's entrance, and then finish with a catchy rock-hiphop theme for the credit roll.
Fantastic. Absolutely marvelous. I can just see it now. The opening credits. The fabulous premiere gala. The red carpet. The swift celebrity interview with Joan Rivers. The rave reviews. The movie awards. The MTV music video. The behind-the-scenes documentary. The magazine cover and feature. The action figures and merchandise. The offer for yet another sequel. "Batman Lives". "Batman: A True Underdog Story." "Batman's World." "Batman and Batwoman".
Phew. Well. I gotta go give Joel Schumacher's shoes back, he'll be wanting them.
There you go, Schumacher, my man. See ya, wouldn't wanna be ya.
Friday, August 19, 2005
The Writer's Club
I derive pleasure in making new friends, even more so when they turn out to be wonderful writers. Here, an example of honest, free thinking.
Thank You God
By Sayeeda Ihsan Walker
I thank you God for I all that has been,
I have no regrets you always make me win.
Every place I go,
there are people I get to know,
people I learn to love,
and people that help me grow.
Sometimes I feel bad, frustrated and mad.
But with God by my side I overcome all rough tides.
I thank you my lord, I thank you so true,
for none of this could have been if it weren’t purely for you.
I have been through difficulty times and again,
and in various situations I thought it would never end.
But I was so wrong.
I thought I couldn’t take it, I thought I would be torn,
only to learn that it all made me strong.
I thank you God again.
My gratitude will never end.
I thank you God, and still I thank you again.
** There are many things in my life that I forget to be thankful for. But there are also many things in my life that remind me to be. I'm thankful for both.
Thank You God
By Sayeeda Ihsan Walker
I thank you God for I all that has been,
I have no regrets you always make me win.
Every place I go,
there are people I get to know,
people I learn to love,
and people that help me grow.
Sometimes I feel bad, frustrated and mad.
But with God by my side I overcome all rough tides.
I thank you my lord, I thank you so true,
for none of this could have been if it weren’t purely for you.
I have been through difficulty times and again,
and in various situations I thought it would never end.
But I was so wrong.
I thought I couldn’t take it, I thought I would be torn,
only to learn that it all made me strong.
I thank you God again.
My gratitude will never end.
I thank you God, and still I thank you again.
** There are many things in my life that I forget to be thankful for. But there are also many things in my life that remind me to be. I'm thankful for both.
Kiss The Clouds
" 'Scuse me while I kiss the sky." - Jimi Hendrix, Rockstar
A big movie producer wants to cast you in his film and lets you pick your role… what would you pick?
-- Highly unlikely, but in the event that said big-time producer does approach me for a role in a film, I'd like to be cast in an independent movie, preferably as a slacker of some kind. Or maybe a role in a talkie movie, like Before Sunrise, or What To Do In Case Of Fire, or Reality Bites, the ultimate talkie movie. I've tried acting and I know I rival the acting prowess Arnold Schwarzenegger [whose famous one-liners are delivered with such bad acting as to propel him into superstardom], and being in a movie where I would play a role that is similar to my real-life personality will not put considerable strain on my skills. However, to push my luck, I would most likely ask to be in a movie version of a musical play, like Moulin Rouge, or Chicago, or Le Boheme, preferably one that has a love scene with a very good-looking [and very gay, doesn't matter] leading man. Hahaha.
If you had a chance to spend one whole day with a TV character, who would it be?
-- I would spend a lifetime Sex and The City's Mr. Big. That way, I wouldn't have to rant and rave about wanting my Mr. Right to be handsome, smart, rich, well-traveled, and rich. Wait, did I mention RICH? Haha. But for one whole day, I'd hang out with Ariel of The Adventures of Ariel and Maverick, or Chandler Bing of F-R-I-E-N-D-S, because each one has a reliable sense of humor.
If you had to talk about something for 2 hours, what would it be about?
-- For 2 hours or more, I would talk about a subject that wouldn't elicit indignant response from the audience - myself. By talking about me, I wouldn't have to worry about saying something wrong, and if I did say something wrong, that would be my problem. I'm tired of conforming to other people's ideas of what I SHOULD or SHOULDN'T say concerning one issue or another.
If you could choose one person who would remain youthful forever, who would it be?
-- Myself. I'd like to say my sister, but if she would remain youthful forever while I wouldn't be around to notice, it would just defeat the purpose. I'm sure she'd say the same. In any case, I'm terrified of old age, so I'd prefer to stay 21 forever. If it means I should become a vampire in the process, so be it.
At a moment’s notice, you were given a chance to step into a “talent duplicator machine” which could duplicate any person’s talent and make it yours for life. What talent would you pick and whose?
-- I would pick music-making and song-writing. Pushing it, I would pick any one of the Beatle's talents. Or any rockstar's for that matter. I believe I have the trappings and makings of a proper rockstar, anyway, except for the talent in actually becoming one. I am addicted to self-destruction, for one thing, I am very excessive on all counts, I go through extreme moods [I'm either very hyper or very out-of-it, I've never travelled the middle road], and I'm in love with lifestyles that would invariably lead to an untimely death [by some peciular event or other] by the age of 27.
If you had to live in another country, where would you go?
-- I would live in Cuba, where I could dance wild and unbridled and not be taunted crazy.
You get transported into Cartoon Land and get to pick any cartoon identity to have as your own. Which cartoon character would you choose?
-- I would be Dumbo, with flappy ears, a friend dedicated to my cause, and the gift of flight. Also, I'd like to experience the Pink Elephants in the event I encounter a basin full of intoxicating liquid while I grapple with a bad case of hiccups.
If you had a choice to pick one person in the world, from the past or present, who wouldn’t die, who would you pick?
-- I would pick contemporary mystic Osho. I have a lot of questions on his teachings that I'm sure only he could answer, although judging from his personality, I'm sure he would say that I would find the answers within myself.
If you were invisible for a day, what would you do?
-- I would go to the king's palace, spook him for a while till he shat himself, then coerce him into signing over his wealth to me.
If you were chosen to be the first person to relocate to Jupiter, and could only bring five personal items, what would they be?
-- A music player [in case Jupiter turns out to be very quiet], a state-of-the-art camcorder, a book, a pair of huge, dark sunglasses, and a sleeping bag.
What, for you, is the most memorable line from a movie and from what movie?
-- Off the top of my head, it's from the cartoon A Shark Tale, where Leni The Shark appears from a makeshift dressing room and declares in a sing-song voice: "I'm Sebastian, the whale-washing dolphin!"
If you had to be an animal, what would you want to be?
-- I would want to be a tiger = fiercely beautiful, and above it all.
Complete this sentence: I am the only person I know who…
-- contradicts herself every few seconds.
Your ideal man/woman?
-- Like everyone else who wouldn't admit it, my ideal man is someone who has my best traits and has the opposite of my worst characteristics.
How would you want to be remembered by?
-- The definitive girl of her generation, who always pushes her luck by being more ambitious than she should be.
A big movie producer wants to cast you in his film and lets you pick your role… what would you pick?
-- Highly unlikely, but in the event that said big-time producer does approach me for a role in a film, I'd like to be cast in an independent movie, preferably as a slacker of some kind. Or maybe a role in a talkie movie, like Before Sunrise, or What To Do In Case Of Fire, or Reality Bites, the ultimate talkie movie. I've tried acting and I know I rival the acting prowess Arnold Schwarzenegger [whose famous one-liners are delivered with such bad acting as to propel him into superstardom], and being in a movie where I would play a role that is similar to my real-life personality will not put considerable strain on my skills. However, to push my luck, I would most likely ask to be in a movie version of a musical play, like Moulin Rouge, or Chicago, or Le Boheme, preferably one that has a love scene with a very good-looking [and very gay, doesn't matter] leading man. Hahaha.
If you had a chance to spend one whole day with a TV character, who would it be?
-- I would spend a lifetime Sex and The City's Mr. Big. That way, I wouldn't have to rant and rave about wanting my Mr. Right to be handsome, smart, rich, well-traveled, and rich. Wait, did I mention RICH? Haha. But for one whole day, I'd hang out with Ariel of The Adventures of Ariel and Maverick, or Chandler Bing of F-R-I-E-N-D-S, because each one has a reliable sense of humor.
If you had to talk about something for 2 hours, what would it be about?
-- For 2 hours or more, I would talk about a subject that wouldn't elicit indignant response from the audience - myself. By talking about me, I wouldn't have to worry about saying something wrong, and if I did say something wrong, that would be my problem. I'm tired of conforming to other people's ideas of what I SHOULD or SHOULDN'T say concerning one issue or another.
If you could choose one person who would remain youthful forever, who would it be?
-- Myself. I'd like to say my sister, but if she would remain youthful forever while I wouldn't be around to notice, it would just defeat the purpose. I'm sure she'd say the same. In any case, I'm terrified of old age, so I'd prefer to stay 21 forever. If it means I should become a vampire in the process, so be it.
At a moment’s notice, you were given a chance to step into a “talent duplicator machine” which could duplicate any person’s talent and make it yours for life. What talent would you pick and whose?
-- I would pick music-making and song-writing. Pushing it, I would pick any one of the Beatle's talents. Or any rockstar's for that matter. I believe I have the trappings and makings of a proper rockstar, anyway, except for the talent in actually becoming one. I am addicted to self-destruction, for one thing, I am very excessive on all counts, I go through extreme moods [I'm either very hyper or very out-of-it, I've never travelled the middle road], and I'm in love with lifestyles that would invariably lead to an untimely death [by some peciular event or other] by the age of 27.
If you had to live in another country, where would you go?
-- I would live in Cuba, where I could dance wild and unbridled and not be taunted crazy.
You get transported into Cartoon Land and get to pick any cartoon identity to have as your own. Which cartoon character would you choose?
-- I would be Dumbo, with flappy ears, a friend dedicated to my cause, and the gift of flight. Also, I'd like to experience the Pink Elephants in the event I encounter a basin full of intoxicating liquid while I grapple with a bad case of hiccups.
If you had a choice to pick one person in the world, from the past or present, who wouldn’t die, who would you pick?
-- I would pick contemporary mystic Osho. I have a lot of questions on his teachings that I'm sure only he could answer, although judging from his personality, I'm sure he would say that I would find the answers within myself.
If you were invisible for a day, what would you do?
-- I would go to the king's palace, spook him for a while till he shat himself, then coerce him into signing over his wealth to me.
If you were chosen to be the first person to relocate to Jupiter, and could only bring five personal items, what would they be?
-- A music player [in case Jupiter turns out to be very quiet], a state-of-the-art camcorder, a book, a pair of huge, dark sunglasses, and a sleeping bag.
What, for you, is the most memorable line from a movie and from what movie?
-- Off the top of my head, it's from the cartoon A Shark Tale, where Leni The Shark appears from a makeshift dressing room and declares in a sing-song voice: "I'm Sebastian, the whale-washing dolphin!"
If you had to be an animal, what would you want to be?
-- I would want to be a tiger = fiercely beautiful, and above it all.
Complete this sentence: I am the only person I know who…
-- contradicts herself every few seconds.
Your ideal man/woman?
-- Like everyone else who wouldn't admit it, my ideal man is someone who has my best traits and has the opposite of my worst characteristics.
How would you want to be remembered by?
-- The definitive girl of her generation, who always pushes her luck by being more ambitious than she should be.
Tuesday, August 9, 2005
Winter Of Discontent
This is a post from my best girl Bitch, whose blog you may access here for more of this witty repartee. The whole selection below is the main reason we get along - beat conversations and clever comebacks.
I N T R O D U C T I O N
Reality is an illusion that occurs due to lack of alcohol. True. Twenty four hours in a day, twenty four beers in a case... coincidence, I think not. We never know how good a quote is till we live it. I know this because I have. Your opinions and interpretations are not welcome, maybe I’ll listen to your logic and reason on this matter when it comes out on CD. When you say? tomorrow perhaps. In just two days, tomorrow will be yesterday. I’m not crazy, this is just a disguise. Read on…to.. Uranus. Where your prison-mate launches his probe.
Troy: So what do you say, Lelaina?
Lelaina: I'm not a valedictorian but I play one on tv.
Troy: We all know you slept your way to the podium.
Vicky: My favorite part about graduating now will be dodging my student loan officer for the rest of my life. He will be in cahoots with the Columbia Record and Tape Company guy... been after my ass for years.
Lelaina: Well, I know this sounds cornball but I'd like to somehow make a difference in people's lives.
Troy: And I... I would like to buy them all a Coke.
Lelaina: Hey Sammy, what's your goal?
Sammy: My goal is... I'd like a career of something.
Vicky: Here’ s the deal, I’m gonna take Sam against his will and straighten him out because I truly believe that if we can get two women on the Supreme Court, we can get at least one on you, Sam.
Lelaina:: Quick, Vicky, whats your social security?
Vicky:: Uhm... 851-259-357.Troy:: Very impressive.
Vicky:: Thats the only thing I really learned in college... Sometimes I get that not so fresh feeling.
Lelaina: Vicky, he will turn this place into a den of slack.
Troy: What the hell is your problem?
Lelaina: I have to work around here and unfortunately, Troy, you are a master at the art of time suckage.
Troy: Oh well I'm sorry Miss poster-girl for the worker's party but until I get that uh toe-hold in the burger industry I've got a little time to suck. I'd rather check into a shelter then deal with her shit.
Vicky: It's cool, Troy, you can stay. Welcome to the maxi-pad.
Sammy: Yeah, with new dry-weave it actually pulls moisture away from you.
Troy: Well, should I get married, should I be good, should I astound the girl next door with my velvet suit and my faustushood and not take her to movies but to cemeteries and tell her stories of werewolf tongues and four clarinets... What 'Hey, That's My Bike' would like to do as a band is travel the countryside like Woody Guthrie.
Sammy: Or Richard Simmons. You know, how in his commercials he surprises people jogging...
Troy: As you can see, I have the occasional run-in with an anti-Hey-That's-My Biker and to those people I say nobody... nobody can eat 50 eggs.
Troy: If I could bottle the sexual tension between Bonnie Franklin and Shnyder, I could solve the energy crisis.
Vicky:: Excuse me, don’t Bogart that can, man.
Troy:: What are you, retarded?
Vicky:: No, I’m rhyming.
Lelaina: Troy, aren't you excited?
Troy: I'm bursting with fruit flavor.
Sammy: I just do not understand why this moment needs to be Memorexed.
Troy: Sammy, don't you realize this is your one oppurtunity to play a small part in what is destined to be greatness? Lainy here is going to revolutionize Good Morning Grant.
Sammy: Oh my God I am so sorry, I had NO idea.
Lelaina: Oh yeah, look whos mocking. All you do around here, Troy, is eat and couch and fondle the remote control.
Troy: I am not under any orders to make the world a better place.
Lelaina: Well, then what good are you?
Troy: You're a pathological optimist.
Lelaina:: You’re pathological.
Vicky:: Oh why don’t you guys just do it and get it over with, I’m starving.((phone rings))
Troy: Hello, you've reached the winter of our discontent.
Vicky: We're going to eat gas.
Troy: Did he dazzle you with his extensive knowledge of mineral water or was it his in-depth analysis of Marky Mark that finally reeled you in? I just would have liked to have been there to watch how you rationalized sleeping with a yuppie-head cheeseball on the first date.
Lelaina: He's not a yuppie.
Troy: He's the reason why Cliff's Notes were invented.
Lelaina:: Why are you acting like a jealous boyfriend all of a sudden?
Troy:: I... am not acting like anything. I am calmly reading.
Troy: There's no point to any of this. It's all just a... a random lottery of meaningless tragedy and a series of near escapes. So I take pleasure in the details. You know... a quarter-pounder with cheese, those are good, the sky about ten minutes before it starts to rain, the moment where your laughter becomes a cackle... and I sit back and I smoke my Camel Straights and I ride my own melt.
Vicky:: The free clinic AIDS test: the right of passage for our generation. We’re so lucky, c’mon!
Sammy: You got fired? I mean, that just screws up my whole idea of good and evil and God.
Troy: One of these days I'm gonna wake up, before noon-
Lelaina: Yeah right.
Troy: I'm gonna turn on the tv and there Bryant Gumble will be and he'll say, 'Today we have with us the Pulitzer-prize winning documentarian Lelaina Pierce. Lelaina, after your first film, 'Why Barbie is Bad', you seemed to have forgotten all about your best friend, Troy Dyer.'
Lelaina: Troy... who? What was that name again? Oh, right through the heart!
Troy: I'll probably be working at Whole Foods you know, playing warehouses and hanging around places like the Radio Shack screaming that I used to know you and you'll be there in the lights and all beautiful and shit.
Lelaina: Oh, Troy, no no no no no, that would never happen. They'd never HIRE you at Whole Foods.
Troy:: See Lainy, this is all we need. A couple of smokes, a cup of coffee, and a little bit of conversation. You and me and five bucks.
Lelaina:: You got it!
Lelaina: I mean, these job interviews, Troy... The word “vivesection” a staggering understatement. I mean, can you define irony?
Troy:: Its when the actual meaning is the complete opposite from the literal meaning.
Lelaina: My God, where were you when I needed you today?
Vicky: All right, we're just trying to pay bills here, OK? So Troy, if you've got any money...
Lelaina: Money? Oh but whats money to an artist? To a philosopher? Its just green coloered paper that floats in and out of his life likfe snow. Its not anything you actually have to I don't know, work for, is it Troy?
Troy: No not if you have daddy's little gas card.
Lelaina: You shut up, I busted my ass to find a job, any job. You won't even bother showing up for interviews.
Troy: What is it that you want from me, huh? You want me to get a job on the line for the next 20 years til I'm granted leave with my gold-plated watch and my balls full of tumors because I surrendered the one thing that means shit to me. Well you can just exhale because its not gonna happen, not in this lifetime.
Lelaina:: Don’t just dick around the same coffee house for 5 years! Don’t dick around with her or with me! Try for once in your life do something about it! But you know what, you better do it now and you better do it fast because the world doesn’t owe you any favors. And whether you know it or not you’re on the inside track to loserville USA... just like him.
Vicky:: He’s weird. He’s strange. He’s sloppy. He’s a total nightmare for women... I can’t believe I haven’t slept with him yet.
Sammy:: Maw!
Vicky:: I’m right here, son.
Sammy:: Ma, I have to tell you some... thing. I am a homo... sexual.
Vicky:: Oh... Christ. Is there a support group that I can join to help me come to terms with my own homophobia?
Sammy:: Yes, there is a group which is named PFLAG. Parents and Friends of Lesbians and Gays.
Vicky:: Oh... Oh, PFLAG. I’m beginning to like the sound of that.
Sammy:: What you just witnessed here is a preenactment of events that are about to take place.
Sammy:: I wanna be there too. I want to feel miserable and happy and all of that.I mean I want... I want... I want to be let back in the house.
Troy: What happened to your normal clothes?
Michael: Wow, Lelaina, look at you. You look... Where'd you get that dress?
Lelaina: Um... I don't know, I just bought it. But I think I'm gonna go change...
Michael: No don't, you look beautiful. You look like... you look like...
Troy: A doily.
Michael: Have I stepped over some line in the sands of coolness with you, because excuse me if somebody doesn't know the secret handshake with you.
Troy: There's no secret handshake. There's an IQ prerequisite, but there's no secret handshake.
Lelaina:: I just don’t understand why things just can’t go back to normal at the end of the half hour like on the Brady Bunch or something.
Troy:: Well, ‘cause Mr. Brady died of AIDS. Things don’t turn out like that.
Lelaina:: I was really gonna be something by the age of 23.
Troy:: Honey, the only thing you have to be by the age of 23 is yourself.
Lelaina:: I don’t know who that is anymore.
Troy:: I do. And we all love her. I love her. She breaks my heart again and again but I love her.
Vicky:: Lainy... sex is the quickest way to ruin a friendship, c'mon.
Lelaina: Well, congratulations, Troy Dyer. Welcome to the world of the emotionally mature. It's a very nice place to visit. Hey, you might run in to Michael he lives here.
Troy: Oh yeah, Michael Michael. He's so mature because he lets you navigate that entire relationship. Well, I'm sorry Lelaina, but you can't navigate me. I might do mean things and hurt you and I might run away without your permission and you might hate me forever and I know that scares the shit out of you because I'm the only real thing that you have.
Lelaina: Yeah, well that ain't real much.
Michael: Nice job. Very well done.
Troy: I don't want to hear it from you.
Michael: Oh, I forgot, I'm not qualified to talk to you. I'm sorry I can't be Mr. look a me I'm Buddha on the mountaintop. Know what you are man, you know what you remind me of? You're like that guy, you know, with the hat and the bells you know...
Troy: Court Jester.
Michael: Yeah, where everything is so easy to laugh at from a safe distance back in clevercleverland. You know what happens to him? They find his skull in the grave and they go- Oh, I knew him... and he was funny. And the guy, the Court Jester, dies all by himself.
Troy: Where'd you hear that, a Renaissance festival? Besides, everyone dies all by himself.
Michael: If you really believe that, who are you looking for out here?
Troy: What happened is that um, I kinda got this arcane glimpse of the universe and the best thing I can say about that is... I don't know.
Answering Machine: At the beep, please leave your name, number and a brief justification of the ontological necessity of modern man's existential dilemma and we'll get back to you.
I N T R O D U C T I O N
Reality is an illusion that occurs due to lack of alcohol. True. Twenty four hours in a day, twenty four beers in a case... coincidence, I think not. We never know how good a quote is till we live it. I know this because I have. Your opinions and interpretations are not welcome, maybe I’ll listen to your logic and reason on this matter when it comes out on CD. When you say? tomorrow perhaps. In just two days, tomorrow will be yesterday. I’m not crazy, this is just a disguise. Read on…to.. Uranus. Where your prison-mate launches his probe.
Troy: So what do you say, Lelaina?
Lelaina: I'm not a valedictorian but I play one on tv.
Troy: We all know you slept your way to the podium.
Vicky: My favorite part about graduating now will be dodging my student loan officer for the rest of my life. He will be in cahoots with the Columbia Record and Tape Company guy... been after my ass for years.
Lelaina: Well, I know this sounds cornball but I'd like to somehow make a difference in people's lives.
Troy: And I... I would like to buy them all a Coke.
Lelaina: Hey Sammy, what's your goal?
Sammy: My goal is... I'd like a career of something.
Vicky: Here’ s the deal, I’m gonna take Sam against his will and straighten him out because I truly believe that if we can get two women on the Supreme Court, we can get at least one on you, Sam.
Lelaina:: Quick, Vicky, whats your social security?
Vicky:: Uhm... 851-259-357.Troy:: Very impressive.
Vicky:: Thats the only thing I really learned in college... Sometimes I get that not so fresh feeling.
Lelaina: Vicky, he will turn this place into a den of slack.
Troy: What the hell is your problem?
Lelaina: I have to work around here and unfortunately, Troy, you are a master at the art of time suckage.
Troy: Oh well I'm sorry Miss poster-girl for the worker's party but until I get that uh toe-hold in the burger industry I've got a little time to suck. I'd rather check into a shelter then deal with her shit.
Vicky: It's cool, Troy, you can stay. Welcome to the maxi-pad.
Sammy: Yeah, with new dry-weave it actually pulls moisture away from you.
Troy: Well, should I get married, should I be good, should I astound the girl next door with my velvet suit and my faustushood and not take her to movies but to cemeteries and tell her stories of werewolf tongues and four clarinets... What 'Hey, That's My Bike' would like to do as a band is travel the countryside like Woody Guthrie.
Sammy: Or Richard Simmons. You know, how in his commercials he surprises people jogging...
Troy: As you can see, I have the occasional run-in with an anti-Hey-That's-My Biker and to those people I say nobody... nobody can eat 50 eggs.
Troy: If I could bottle the sexual tension between Bonnie Franklin and Shnyder, I could solve the energy crisis.
Vicky:: Excuse me, don’t Bogart that can, man.
Troy:: What are you, retarded?
Vicky:: No, I’m rhyming.
Lelaina: Troy, aren't you excited?
Troy: I'm bursting with fruit flavor.
Sammy: I just do not understand why this moment needs to be Memorexed.
Troy: Sammy, don't you realize this is your one oppurtunity to play a small part in what is destined to be greatness? Lainy here is going to revolutionize Good Morning Grant.
Sammy: Oh my God I am so sorry, I had NO idea.
Lelaina: Oh yeah, look whos mocking. All you do around here, Troy, is eat and couch and fondle the remote control.
Troy: I am not under any orders to make the world a better place.
Lelaina: Well, then what good are you?
Troy: You're a pathological optimist.
Lelaina:: You’re pathological.
Vicky:: Oh why don’t you guys just do it and get it over with, I’m starving.((phone rings))
Troy: Hello, you've reached the winter of our discontent.
Vicky: We're going to eat gas.
Troy: Did he dazzle you with his extensive knowledge of mineral water or was it his in-depth analysis of Marky Mark that finally reeled you in? I just would have liked to have been there to watch how you rationalized sleeping with a yuppie-head cheeseball on the first date.
Lelaina: He's not a yuppie.
Troy: He's the reason why Cliff's Notes were invented.
Lelaina:: Why are you acting like a jealous boyfriend all of a sudden?
Troy:: I... am not acting like anything. I am calmly reading.
Troy: There's no point to any of this. It's all just a... a random lottery of meaningless tragedy and a series of near escapes. So I take pleasure in the details. You know... a quarter-pounder with cheese, those are good, the sky about ten minutes before it starts to rain, the moment where your laughter becomes a cackle... and I sit back and I smoke my Camel Straights and I ride my own melt.
Vicky:: The free clinic AIDS test: the right of passage for our generation. We’re so lucky, c’mon!
Sammy: You got fired? I mean, that just screws up my whole idea of good and evil and God.
Troy: One of these days I'm gonna wake up, before noon-
Lelaina: Yeah right.
Troy: I'm gonna turn on the tv and there Bryant Gumble will be and he'll say, 'Today we have with us the Pulitzer-prize winning documentarian Lelaina Pierce. Lelaina, after your first film, 'Why Barbie is Bad', you seemed to have forgotten all about your best friend, Troy Dyer.'
Lelaina: Troy... who? What was that name again? Oh, right through the heart!
Troy: I'll probably be working at Whole Foods you know, playing warehouses and hanging around places like the Radio Shack screaming that I used to know you and you'll be there in the lights and all beautiful and shit.
Lelaina: Oh, Troy, no no no no no, that would never happen. They'd never HIRE you at Whole Foods.
Troy:: See Lainy, this is all we need. A couple of smokes, a cup of coffee, and a little bit of conversation. You and me and five bucks.
Lelaina:: You got it!
Lelaina: I mean, these job interviews, Troy... The word “vivesection” a staggering understatement. I mean, can you define irony?
Troy:: Its when the actual meaning is the complete opposite from the literal meaning.
Lelaina: My God, where were you when I needed you today?
Vicky: All right, we're just trying to pay bills here, OK? So Troy, if you've got any money...
Lelaina: Money? Oh but whats money to an artist? To a philosopher? Its just green coloered paper that floats in and out of his life likfe snow. Its not anything you actually have to I don't know, work for, is it Troy?
Troy: No not if you have daddy's little gas card.
Lelaina: You shut up, I busted my ass to find a job, any job. You won't even bother showing up for interviews.
Troy: What is it that you want from me, huh? You want me to get a job on the line for the next 20 years til I'm granted leave with my gold-plated watch and my balls full of tumors because I surrendered the one thing that means shit to me. Well you can just exhale because its not gonna happen, not in this lifetime.
Lelaina:: Don’t just dick around the same coffee house for 5 years! Don’t dick around with her or with me! Try for once in your life do something about it! But you know what, you better do it now and you better do it fast because the world doesn’t owe you any favors. And whether you know it or not you’re on the inside track to loserville USA... just like him.
Vicky:: He’s weird. He’s strange. He’s sloppy. He’s a total nightmare for women... I can’t believe I haven’t slept with him yet.
Sammy:: Maw!
Vicky:: I’m right here, son.
Sammy:: Ma, I have to tell you some... thing. I am a homo... sexual.
Vicky:: Oh... Christ. Is there a support group that I can join to help me come to terms with my own homophobia?
Sammy:: Yes, there is a group which is named PFLAG. Parents and Friends of Lesbians and Gays.
Vicky:: Oh... Oh, PFLAG. I’m beginning to like the sound of that.
Sammy:: What you just witnessed here is a preenactment of events that are about to take place.
Sammy:: I wanna be there too. I want to feel miserable and happy and all of that.I mean I want... I want... I want to be let back in the house.
Troy: What happened to your normal clothes?
Michael: Wow, Lelaina, look at you. You look... Where'd you get that dress?
Lelaina: Um... I don't know, I just bought it. But I think I'm gonna go change...
Michael: No don't, you look beautiful. You look like... you look like...
Troy: A doily.
Michael: Have I stepped over some line in the sands of coolness with you, because excuse me if somebody doesn't know the secret handshake with you.
Troy: There's no secret handshake. There's an IQ prerequisite, but there's no secret handshake.
Lelaina:: I just don’t understand why things just can’t go back to normal at the end of the half hour like on the Brady Bunch or something.
Troy:: Well, ‘cause Mr. Brady died of AIDS. Things don’t turn out like that.
Lelaina:: I was really gonna be something by the age of 23.
Troy:: Honey, the only thing you have to be by the age of 23 is yourself.
Lelaina:: I don’t know who that is anymore.
Troy:: I do. And we all love her. I love her. She breaks my heart again and again but I love her.
Vicky:: Lainy... sex is the quickest way to ruin a friendship, c'mon.
Lelaina: Well, congratulations, Troy Dyer. Welcome to the world of the emotionally mature. It's a very nice place to visit. Hey, you might run in to Michael he lives here.
Troy: Oh yeah, Michael Michael. He's so mature because he lets you navigate that entire relationship. Well, I'm sorry Lelaina, but you can't navigate me. I might do mean things and hurt you and I might run away without your permission and you might hate me forever and I know that scares the shit out of you because I'm the only real thing that you have.
Lelaina: Yeah, well that ain't real much.
Michael: Nice job. Very well done.
Troy: I don't want to hear it from you.
Michael: Oh, I forgot, I'm not qualified to talk to you. I'm sorry I can't be Mr. look a me I'm Buddha on the mountaintop. Know what you are man, you know what you remind me of? You're like that guy, you know, with the hat and the bells you know...
Troy: Court Jester.
Michael: Yeah, where everything is so easy to laugh at from a safe distance back in clevercleverland. You know what happens to him? They find his skull in the grave and they go- Oh, I knew him... and he was funny. And the guy, the Court Jester, dies all by himself.
Troy: Where'd you hear that, a Renaissance festival? Besides, everyone dies all by himself.
Michael: If you really believe that, who are you looking for out here?
Troy: What happened is that um, I kinda got this arcane glimpse of the universe and the best thing I can say about that is... I don't know.
Answering Machine: At the beep, please leave your name, number and a brief justification of the ontological necessity of modern man's existential dilemma and we'll get back to you.
Wednesday, July 27, 2005
Pray Just To Make It Today
I was watching a talk show on The Filipino Channel the other day, and they were talking about issues relevant to the present generation. They presented the usual: pre-marital sex, designer drugs, yuppie work, porno, the media, higher learning, friends, independence, whatnot. What struck me was the last question posed by the host to his young guests:
"With youth on your side, what is it you pray for?"
I was brought back to my wild-child days, when I would "party like it's 1999", going home when the clock strikes 5am, wasted like a muthah. There was one night when everything just changed for me. I had been having rough times with my status at the time, university issues were bogging me down, I was quarreling with my close friends and my brothers, and I had hit a record low with my self-image. It was approximately 4:30 in the early morn, I was in the car on the way home from a reggae party, smoke in my eyes, when a song came on the radio. It was a Bone Thugs N Harmony track, a remake of an old song that goes: "Take, take me home... Coz I don't remember... Take, take me home..." I'd started to cry then, all those unshed tears of confusion rolling down my cheeks from my heavily made up eyes. I didn't know what I was living for anymore. Everything was just downhill, whatever I did. I realized that I was chasing that original high I discovered so many years ago, when I'd first lived by myself, on my own for the very first time, away from my parents and free to do whatever I wanted. I was all too suddenly lost, after being so sure of myself, youth's arrogance propelling me to self-righteousness and overconfidence. I got home at around 5am, and I prayed like I had never prayed before in my whole life. I prayed for the most of 2 hours.
I prayed for Guidance, for Someone to hold my hand.
I prayed for Divine Intervention.
I prayed for the proverbial light found at the end of that pitch-black tunnel.
I prayed for a window to open somewhere, knowing full well that when a window opens, a door closes with a resounding Bang.
I admit I prayed for more parties at the back of my mind, I prayed for weight-loss, I prayed for better hair, a new wardrobe, more spending money.
I prayed for wisdom.
I prayed for unconditional love.
I prayed like a muthah.
I prayed to God to take, take me home, coz I don't remember.
With youth on my side, I prayed for youth to end.
With youth on my side, I prayed to God.
"With youth on your side, what is it you pray for?"
I was brought back to my wild-child days, when I would "party like it's 1999", going home when the clock strikes 5am, wasted like a muthah. There was one night when everything just changed for me. I had been having rough times with my status at the time, university issues were bogging me down, I was quarreling with my close friends and my brothers, and I had hit a record low with my self-image. It was approximately 4:30 in the early morn, I was in the car on the way home from a reggae party, smoke in my eyes, when a song came on the radio. It was a Bone Thugs N Harmony track, a remake of an old song that goes: "Take, take me home... Coz I don't remember... Take, take me home..." I'd started to cry then, all those unshed tears of confusion rolling down my cheeks from my heavily made up eyes. I didn't know what I was living for anymore. Everything was just downhill, whatever I did. I realized that I was chasing that original high I discovered so many years ago, when I'd first lived by myself, on my own for the very first time, away from my parents and free to do whatever I wanted. I was all too suddenly lost, after being so sure of myself, youth's arrogance propelling me to self-righteousness and overconfidence. I got home at around 5am, and I prayed like I had never prayed before in my whole life. I prayed for the most of 2 hours.
I prayed for Guidance, for Someone to hold my hand.
I prayed for Divine Intervention.
I prayed for the proverbial light found at the end of that pitch-black tunnel.
I prayed for a window to open somewhere, knowing full well that when a window opens, a door closes with a resounding Bang.
I admit I prayed for more parties at the back of my mind, I prayed for weight-loss, I prayed for better hair, a new wardrobe, more spending money.
I prayed for wisdom.
I prayed for unconditional love.
I prayed like a muthah.
I prayed to God to take, take me home, coz I don't remember.
With youth on my side, I prayed for youth to end.
With youth on my side, I prayed to God.
Friday, July 22, 2005
The Craft
The Busaw Family [1997-1999]
1. Nhuraphy
2. Jehanifah
3. Suad
4. Nessreen
5. Ayesha
6. Omelhayr
7. Jiehan [Special 'Surprised' Guest]
It's amazing the wealth of old shoeboxes.
As I've matured...
I've learned that you cannot make someone love you. All you can do is stalk them and hope they panic and give in...
I've learned that one good turn gets most of the blankets.
I've learned that it takes years to build up trust, and it only takes suspicion, not proof, to destroy it.
I've learned that whatever hits the fan will not be evenly distributed.
I've learned that you shouldn't compare yourself to others - they are more screwed up than you think.
I've learned that it is not what you wear; it is how you take it off.
I've learned that you can keep vomiting long after you think you're finished.
I've learned age is a very high price to pay for maturity.
I've learned that we are responsible for what we do, unless we are celebrities.
I've learned that artificial intelligence is no match for natural stupidity.
I've learned that 99% of the time when something isn't working in your house, one of your kids did it.
I've learned that there is a fine line between genius and insanity.
I've learned that I don't suffer from insanity, I enjoy it.
What have YOU learned?
Thursday, July 21, 2005
Old Classmate
HAVE YOU BEEN GUILTY OF LOOKING AT OTHERS YOUR OWN AGE AND THINKING, "SURELY I CAN'T LOOK THAT OLD?"
I WAS SITTING IN THE WAITING ROOM FOR MY FIRST APPOINTMENT WITH A NEW DENTIST. I NOTICED HIS DDS DIPLOMA, WHICH BORE HIS FULL NAME. SUDDENLY, I REMEMBERED A TALL, HANDSOME, DARK-HAIRED BOY WITH THE SAME NAME HAD BEEN IN MY HIGH SCHOOL CLASS SOME 40-ODD YEARS AGO. COULD HE BE THE SAME GUY THAT I HAD A SECRET CRUSH ON, WAY BACK WHEN??
UPON SEEING HIM, HOWEVER, I QUICKLY DISCARDED ANY SUCH THOUGHT. THIS BALDING, GRAY-HAIRED MAN WITH THE DEEPLY LINED FACE WAS WAY TOO OLD TO HAVE BEEN MY CLASSMATE. HMMM,...OR COULD HE??? AFTER HE EXAMINED MY TEETH, I ASKED HIM IF HE HAD ATTENDEDCENTRAL HIGH SCHOOL.
"YES. YES, I DID. " HE GLEAMED WITH PRIDE.
"WHEN DID YOU GRADUATE?" I ASKED.
HE ANSWERED, "IN 1957. WHY DO YOU ASK?"
"YOU WERE IN MY CLASS!" I EXCLAIMED.
HE LOOKED AT ME CLOSELY.
THEN, THAT UGLY, OLD, WRINKLED SON-OF-A-BITCH ASKED,
"WHAT DID YOU TEACH?"
I WAS SITTING IN THE WAITING ROOM FOR MY FIRST APPOINTMENT WITH A NEW DENTIST. I NOTICED HIS DDS DIPLOMA, WHICH BORE HIS FULL NAME. SUDDENLY, I REMEMBERED A TALL, HANDSOME, DARK-HAIRED BOY WITH THE SAME NAME HAD BEEN IN MY HIGH SCHOOL CLASS SOME 40-ODD YEARS AGO. COULD HE BE THE SAME GUY THAT I HAD A SECRET CRUSH ON, WAY BACK WHEN??
UPON SEEING HIM, HOWEVER, I QUICKLY DISCARDED ANY SUCH THOUGHT. THIS BALDING, GRAY-HAIRED MAN WITH THE DEEPLY LINED FACE WAS WAY TOO OLD TO HAVE BEEN MY CLASSMATE. HMMM,...OR COULD HE??? AFTER HE EXAMINED MY TEETH, I ASKED HIM IF HE HAD ATTENDEDCENTRAL HIGH SCHOOL.
"YES. YES, I DID. " HE GLEAMED WITH PRIDE.
"WHEN DID YOU GRADUATE?" I ASKED.
HE ANSWERED, "IN 1957. WHY DO YOU ASK?"
"YOU WERE IN MY CLASS!" I EXCLAIMED.
HE LOOKED AT ME CLOSELY.
THEN, THAT UGLY, OLD, WRINKLED SON-OF-A-BITCH ASKED,
"WHAT DID YOU TEACH?"
Friday, July 8, 2005
Food For Thought
What Brand..
1. Shampoo and Conditioner:
= Pantene and Clairol Herbal Essences Conditioner
2. Shirt:
= NafNaf
3. Pants:
= Miss Selfridge
4. Bags:
= Sequinned oriental number I got at a Chinese store
5. Lotion:
= Good old Jergens
6. Shoes:
= None in particular
7. socks:
= Esprit du Corps
8. Toothpaste:
= Signal [Jeddah brand]
9. Facial cleanser:
= Johnsons Clean & Clear
10. Make-up:
= The Body Shop and Nivea
11. Wallet:
= My mom's vintage Dior
12. School Bags:
= A huge, red Mango bag with 100 pockets and an even bigger Miss Selfridge beach bag in black. I need it for work.
13. Pens:
= Staedler's felt tips in all colors
14. Slippers/Sandals:
= None in particular
15. Underwear:
= Her Hanes
16. Watch:
= Pink Gucci sportswatch [rip-off]
17. Pillow Case/Bed sheet:
= My mom makes them
18. Furniture:
= Ikea
19. Caps:
= Roxy
20. Magazines:
= Emirates Woman and Arabian Woman glossies
21. Car:
= None, I don't drive.
22. Chocolate:
= Cadbury and Kinder
23. Candy
= Mentos
24. Medicine:
= Prozac. Hehe. Panadol.
25. Popcorn:
= Don't care.
26. Motorcycle:
= Honda [I wish]. None, I don't have a bike.
27. Cologne/Perfume:
= The Body Shop's Indian Summer at the moment
28. Swimwear:
= Khalid's stained shorts. Haha.
29. Jewelry:
= Italian white gold
30. Hotel/s
= Radisson
[*] Listening to: My old tapes from High School. Found them in an old shoebox.
[*] Talking to: Rahima
[*] Craving: for a trip to the beach
[*] thinking of: work
[*] hating: the network
[*] can you swim: No.
[*] do you like tomatoes?: Fresh, I do. Tomato flavored chips, hell no. Tomato ketchup, not really.
[*] how many TVs in the house?: One in my room, one in my parents'.
[*] how many telephones?: 4
WHO...
-makes you smile:
-- My friends and brothers
-pays your cellphone bills:
-- I do.
-do you think loves you:
-- People I love.
-do you want to punch :
-- No one at the moment.
-is the first on your phonebook :
-- My brother Adnan
WHAT ..
-don't you like about in this life:
-- The box we're put in.
-do you want to do right now :
-- Watch "Reality Bites". My best girl Bitch reminds me again.
- is it that makes you smile :
-- Old photographs
-bothers you :
-- Money matters
-colour signifies your personality :
-- Yellow
-do you like in your house:
-- Everything.
WHEN ..
-did you last see your school:
-- My high school? The other day. I seldom miss it, we live close by.
-will you get serious with your life :
-- I don't think so.
-did you do your last prank:
-- Wednesday night at work. I snuck out a book from the waiting area.
HOW ..
-would you define love:
-- I don't. It's not worth defining.
-do u want your burial to be :
-- Light.
-often do you listen to music:
-- Too often. Just not as often as Yahya, who has songs in his head all the time. Haha.
1. Shampoo and Conditioner:
= Pantene and Clairol Herbal Essences Conditioner
2. Shirt:
= NafNaf
3. Pants:
= Miss Selfridge
4. Bags:
= Sequinned oriental number I got at a Chinese store
5. Lotion:
= Good old Jergens
6. Shoes:
= None in particular
7. socks:
= Esprit du Corps
8. Toothpaste:
= Signal [Jeddah brand]
9. Facial cleanser:
= Johnsons Clean & Clear
10. Make-up:
= The Body Shop and Nivea
11. Wallet:
= My mom's vintage Dior
12. School Bags:
= A huge, red Mango bag with 100 pockets and an even bigger Miss Selfridge beach bag in black. I need it for work.
13. Pens:
= Staedler's felt tips in all colors
14. Slippers/Sandals:
= None in particular
15. Underwear:
= Her Hanes
16. Watch:
= Pink Gucci sportswatch [rip-off]
17. Pillow Case/Bed sheet:
= My mom makes them
18. Furniture:
= Ikea
19. Caps:
= Roxy
20. Magazines:
= Emirates Woman and Arabian Woman glossies
21. Car:
= None, I don't drive.
22. Chocolate:
= Cadbury and Kinder
23. Candy
= Mentos
24. Medicine:
= Prozac. Hehe. Panadol.
25. Popcorn:
= Don't care.
26. Motorcycle:
= Honda [I wish]. None, I don't have a bike.
27. Cologne/Perfume:
= The Body Shop's Indian Summer at the moment
28. Swimwear:
= Khalid's stained shorts. Haha.
29. Jewelry:
= Italian white gold
30. Hotel/s
= Radisson
[*] Listening to: My old tapes from High School. Found them in an old shoebox.
[*] Talking to: Rahima
[*] Craving: for a trip to the beach
[*] thinking of: work
[*] hating: the network
[*] can you swim: No.
[*] do you like tomatoes?: Fresh, I do. Tomato flavored chips, hell no. Tomato ketchup, not really.
[*] how many TVs in the house?: One in my room, one in my parents'.
[*] how many telephones?: 4
WHO...
-makes you smile:
-- My friends and brothers
-pays your cellphone bills:
-- I do.
-do you think loves you:
-- People I love.
-do you want to punch :
-- No one at the moment.
-is the first on your phonebook :
-- My brother Adnan
WHAT ..
-don't you like about in this life:
-- The box we're put in.
-do you want to do right now :
-- Watch "Reality Bites". My best girl Bitch reminds me again.
- is it that makes you smile :
-- Old photographs
-bothers you :
-- Money matters
-colour signifies your personality :
-- Yellow
-do you like in your house:
-- Everything.
WHEN ..
-did you last see your school:
-- My high school? The other day. I seldom miss it, we live close by.
-will you get serious with your life :
-- I don't think so.
-did you do your last prank:
-- Wednesday night at work. I snuck out a book from the waiting area.
HOW ..
-would you define love:
-- I don't. It's not worth defining.
-do u want your burial to be :
-- Light.
-often do you listen to music:
-- Too often. Just not as often as Yahya, who has songs in his head all the time. Haha.
Monday, June 27, 2005
Tag, You're It
Three names you go by:
1. Diana
2. Ness
3. Bakbak [Mranao word for 'hammer', given me by my nephews because of my affinity for big mobile phones]
Three screen names you have had:
1. Baby Rockstar
2. Jiana Banana
3. Pugad Baboy
physical things you like about yourself:
1. Feet
2. Eyebrows
3. Hair
physical things you don't like about yourself:
1. Fingernails [too small]
2. Cellulite [god-dayym]
3. knees
Three parts of your heritage:
1. Mranao
2. Filipino [Mranao]
3. Yemen
Three things that scare you:
1. Old age
2. Betrayal
3. The sea
Three of your everyday essentials:
1. Marlboros
2. Moisturizer
3. Writing
Three of your favorite musical artists:
1. Sergio Mendez
2. Sting
3. Lauryn Hill
Three of your favorite songs:
1. No Me Ames by Marc Anthony featuring Jennifer Lopez
2. On & On by Erykah Badu
3. Fuego de Noche by Ricky Martin
Three things you want in a relationship:
1. Respect
2. Space
3. Conversation [typical female]
Three lies and truths in no particular order:
LIES:
1. Saudi women are oppressed.
2. Love lasts.
3. Michael Jackson is innocent [on all 10 counts!].
TRUTH:
1. Mranao is my native language.
2. Men and women complement each other.
3. Michael Jackson is the king of pop.
Three physical things about the opposite sex that appeals to you:
1. Hands
2. Eyes
3. Smile
Three of your favorite hobbies:
1. Writing
2. Movies
3. Karaoke
Three things you want to do really badly now:
1. Pee
2. Shop for clothes
3. Eat dinner
Three careers you're considering/you've considered:
1. Music
2. Film
3. Advertising
Three places you want to go on vacation:
1. Cuba
2. Venice
3. France
Three kid's names you like:
1. Asher
2. Kimora
3. Yasmine
Three things you want to do before you die:
1. Bungee
2. Skinny-dip
3. Fall
Three ways that you are stereotypically a boy:
1. I don't care much about anything.
2. I eat a lot.
3. I hate boyband Westlife.
Three ways that you are stereotypically a girl:
1. I talk a lot.
2. I buy glossies every month [not Cosmopolitan anymore, though].
3. I moisturize.
Three celeb crushes:
1. Viggo Mortensen
2. Johnny Depp
3. Ewan McGregor
***My turn to tag... People that I would like to see take this quiz:
1. Bitch
2. Petra
1. Diana
2. Ness
3. Bakbak [Mranao word for 'hammer', given me by my nephews because of my affinity for big mobile phones]
Three screen names you have had:
1. Baby Rockstar
2. Jiana Banana
3. Pugad Baboy
physical things you like about yourself:
1. Feet
2. Eyebrows
3. Hair
physical things you don't like about yourself:
1. Fingernails [too small]
2. Cellulite [god-dayym]
3. knees
Three parts of your heritage:
1. Mranao
2. Filipino [Mranao]
3. Yemen
Three things that scare you:
1. Old age
2. Betrayal
3. The sea
Three of your everyday essentials:
1. Marlboros
2. Moisturizer
3. Writing
Three of your favorite musical artists:
1. Sergio Mendez
2. Sting
3. Lauryn Hill
Three of your favorite songs:
1. No Me Ames by Marc Anthony featuring Jennifer Lopez
2. On & On by Erykah Badu
3. Fuego de Noche by Ricky Martin
Three things you want in a relationship:
1. Respect
2. Space
3. Conversation [typical female]
Three lies and truths in no particular order:
LIES:
1. Saudi women are oppressed.
2. Love lasts.
3. Michael Jackson is innocent [on all 10 counts!].
TRUTH:
1. Mranao is my native language.
2. Men and women complement each other.
3. Michael Jackson is the king of pop.
Three physical things about the opposite sex that appeals to you:
1. Hands
2. Eyes
3. Smile
Three of your favorite hobbies:
1. Writing
2. Movies
3. Karaoke
Three things you want to do really badly now:
1. Pee
2. Shop for clothes
3. Eat dinner
Three careers you're considering/you've considered:
1. Music
2. Film
3. Advertising
Three places you want to go on vacation:
1. Cuba
2. Venice
3. France
Three kid's names you like:
1. Asher
2. Kimora
3. Yasmine
Three things you want to do before you die:
1. Bungee
2. Skinny-dip
3. Fall
Three ways that you are stereotypically a boy:
1. I don't care much about anything.
2. I eat a lot.
3. I hate boyband Westlife.
Three ways that you are stereotypically a girl:
1. I talk a lot.
2. I buy glossies every month [not Cosmopolitan anymore, though].
3. I moisturize.
Three celeb crushes:
1. Viggo Mortensen
2. Johnny Depp
3. Ewan McGregor
***My turn to tag... People that I would like to see take this quiz:
1. Bitch
2. Petra
Wednesday, June 15, 2005
The [Cigarette] Butt Of It
Sure, this refers to the opposite of the J.Lo Butt, to mean having an ass the size of a cigarette, but what I am referring to at the moment is the Marlboro variety. After extensive research and continual discourse with people from the smoking genre [at the proverbial round table, of course], I have come to several conclusions. These will be discussed at length subsequently. If you are a smoker, you might agree to some or all of my assumptions. On the other hand, if you are NOT a smoker, I'm sure you'll have a smirk on your face the size of Mars, OR you'll leave a comment that says otherwise. In any case, I have a Desclaimer Portion that should cover my own cigarette butt [the rear end variety] quite nicely. I think.
Adolescent Burning
When we finally become a teenager and move on up to high school, we get these notions of being free and independent. It's probably from watching too much American TV, where kids move into the garage, have boyfriends and girlfriends by the age of 13, sneak in some beer into an otherwise innocent 14th birthday party, lose virginities "technically" by 15, and drive their own cars by 16. These notions are manifested on to the one single thing that we can do, not being Americans [actors or otherwise] and all that, which is smoking. As with everything associated with being a teenager, the whole process of smoking on the sly is very clumsy, and done with a nervous, clammy hand. Frantic whispers of "hide it, hide it, HIDE IT!!!", crumpled soft-packs passed on from one guilty friend to another, jittery hands trying to light the stick, dry coughing, spitting [tastes yucky, dunnit?], laughing nervously in excitement, and finally, beaming, triumphant. Rebels without a cause. It's one way of saying, "Man, this is my life and I'll do anything I well please with it." Also, this habit makes the adolescent feel like he's up there with the big boys; you know, griping about life, smoking, stuff.
Idealistic Huffing and Puffing
So now you're all past that. You're in your early twenties, post-adolescent idealism on turbo, especially in a university. Your cigarette now symbolizes your contemplation, your thoughts, and your radically idealistic views. You migh've been smoking since high school, or you might've just started hanging out with a bunch of ardent activists, anarchists, or artists, whichever group you feel is the coolest, all of whom are smokers. Not to mention that by this time, you will have discovered that you can smoke a variety of other things. Since you can now smoke in public without you parents climbing up your ass about it, your cigarette acquires more functions. It becomes your social companion. Per esempio, you're at a club, just shaking what ya momma gave ya, and then you get tired and want to catch your breath for a moment. You'll most probably look dorky just standing there while your friends are all out on the dancefloor going crazy. No one's talking to you [yet], so what do you do? Whip out the magic stick! You'll look like you have a purpose in life [to smoke yourself senseless], your hands are busy, AND someone will most probably ask you for a light, never mind if it's some weirdo, butt-ugly mthfcka.Academic-wise, let's say you're at a study group. You have your group mates, who are normal people, and then you have that nerd who does all the talking and all the work [who happens to be the self-appointed leader, as well]. You will take a break sometime after Nerdy runs out of stupid ideas, so you take out your cigarettes and smoke instead of discussing Nerdy's weekend plans. Smoking then also fills up those blanks while you're writing a paper, those lulls while you're discussing literature, symbolism, Marxism, and the breaking down of society through Pilates with your friends; that stillness when you're drunker than who-shot-John after a night of binge-drinking; and the silence on your end of the phone when you call up your old folks for money and your momma's just banshee-ing at you.
Delayed Teenage Rebellion
Anyone smoking after the college phase falls on this one. This overdue teenage rebellion is depicted mostly by frustrated housewives who find themselves stuck on a dead-end, especially concerning marital issues, unfulfilled aspirations, and a generally it's-all-too-late attitude. Although women who smoke in public aren't that big a deal anymore nowadays, some societies still look down on women who do, except if she is a housewife. It's probably her only respite from the daily turmoil of raising a usually ungrateful family, so spare her a little. Don't be surprised to see a woman with an apron and hair-rollers chainsmoking in her balcony at midday. As for men, smoking into their mid-thirties is just a case of a habit he can't break, like perpetually checking out younger women.
Why We Should NOT Be Smoking
Oh, you know why.
Disclaimers
The brand of cigarettes one consumes will depend entirely on the country where one is residing at the moment of consumption. [No duh]. Marlboro TM was referenced here just in case by some yet-unknown miracle, some higher-up from said company comes across this blog and decides to sponsor me in my ventures. Who knows, I might get to visit that legendary Marlboro Country.
I never smoked in high school.
I am not promoting smoking as a pastime. I am merely stating unknown, well-known, and made-up facts.
I am not a non-smoker.
Pass me one, cowboy.
Adolescent Burning
When we finally become a teenager and move on up to high school, we get these notions of being free and independent. It's probably from watching too much American TV, where kids move into the garage, have boyfriends and girlfriends by the age of 13, sneak in some beer into an otherwise innocent 14th birthday party, lose virginities "technically" by 15, and drive their own cars by 16. These notions are manifested on to the one single thing that we can do, not being Americans [actors or otherwise] and all that, which is smoking. As with everything associated with being a teenager, the whole process of smoking on the sly is very clumsy, and done with a nervous, clammy hand. Frantic whispers of "hide it, hide it, HIDE IT!!!", crumpled soft-packs passed on from one guilty friend to another, jittery hands trying to light the stick, dry coughing, spitting [tastes yucky, dunnit?], laughing nervously in excitement, and finally, beaming, triumphant. Rebels without a cause. It's one way of saying, "Man, this is my life and I'll do anything I well please with it." Also, this habit makes the adolescent feel like he's up there with the big boys; you know, griping about life, smoking, stuff.
Idealistic Huffing and Puffing
So now you're all past that. You're in your early twenties, post-adolescent idealism on turbo, especially in a university. Your cigarette now symbolizes your contemplation, your thoughts, and your radically idealistic views. You migh've been smoking since high school, or you might've just started hanging out with a bunch of ardent activists, anarchists, or artists, whichever group you feel is the coolest, all of whom are smokers. Not to mention that by this time, you will have discovered that you can smoke a variety of other things. Since you can now smoke in public without you parents climbing up your ass about it, your cigarette acquires more functions. It becomes your social companion. Per esempio, you're at a club, just shaking what ya momma gave ya, and then you get tired and want to catch your breath for a moment. You'll most probably look dorky just standing there while your friends are all out on the dancefloor going crazy. No one's talking to you [yet], so what do you do? Whip out the magic stick! You'll look like you have a purpose in life [to smoke yourself senseless], your hands are busy, AND someone will most probably ask you for a light, never mind if it's some weirdo, butt-ugly mthfcka.Academic-wise, let's say you're at a study group. You have your group mates, who are normal people, and then you have that nerd who does all the talking and all the work [who happens to be the self-appointed leader, as well]. You will take a break sometime after Nerdy runs out of stupid ideas, so you take out your cigarettes and smoke instead of discussing Nerdy's weekend plans. Smoking then also fills up those blanks while you're writing a paper, those lulls while you're discussing literature, symbolism, Marxism, and the breaking down of society through Pilates with your friends; that stillness when you're drunker than who-shot-John after a night of binge-drinking; and the silence on your end of the phone when you call up your old folks for money and your momma's just banshee-ing at you.
Delayed Teenage Rebellion
Anyone smoking after the college phase falls on this one. This overdue teenage rebellion is depicted mostly by frustrated housewives who find themselves stuck on a dead-end, especially concerning marital issues, unfulfilled aspirations, and a generally it's-all-too-late attitude. Although women who smoke in public aren't that big a deal anymore nowadays, some societies still look down on women who do, except if she is a housewife. It's probably her only respite from the daily turmoil of raising a usually ungrateful family, so spare her a little. Don't be surprised to see a woman with an apron and hair-rollers chainsmoking in her balcony at midday. As for men, smoking into their mid-thirties is just a case of a habit he can't break, like perpetually checking out younger women.
Why We Should NOT Be Smoking
Oh, you know why.
Disclaimers
The brand of cigarettes one consumes will depend entirely on the country where one is residing at the moment of consumption. [No duh]. Marlboro TM was referenced here just in case by some yet-unknown miracle, some higher-up from said company comes across this blog and decides to sponsor me in my ventures. Who knows, I might get to visit that legendary Marlboro Country.
I never smoked in high school.
I am not promoting smoking as a pastime. I am merely stating unknown, well-known, and made-up facts.
I am not a non-smoker.
Pass me one, cowboy.
Monday, June 13, 2005
In Naught We Trust
My mother once told me when I was very young to not give all of myself away, not even to my bestest best friend. "Leave some of you to yourself," she said. Mystery was what she called it. Leave a little 'mystery', because baring yourself completely to someone else will one day be your downfall once that someone tells someone else, whether or not as an act of cruelty. I was maybe in the 4th or 5th grade when she told me this, and my best friend back then was Sarah, a Pakistani whose father was my father's banker. We shared erstwhile life-and-death secrets, the kind that only ten-year-olds find life-threatening, like secretly hating the most popular girl in class. I could not imagine Sarah ever betraying me by making public these 'mysteries', so I ignored my mother's warning, dismissing it as one of those generation gaps we had, like when she'd start with the 'when I was your age, I made my own clothes' speech. Dude. Mom.
But I think I'm beginning to understand her now. No, Sarah never did betray me, although if she did, it's all good, because I became the popular girl everyone hated the very next year [sure]. But I'm sure she never did. But some people will deliberately find situations where anything you said CAN and WILL be used against you. Even among best friends, it can happen. A minor spat should do the trick, easy. To protect yourself, you shouldn't give away too much. Leave some of you to yourself.
I've just been watching films that made me realize that as well. In the Spanish [or was it Mexican?] film Y Tu Mama Tambien, Julio did not know that Tenoch, his childhood best friend who had rich parents, would use his foot to open the toilet lid and to flush afterwards beacuse he daren't touch anything with his hand. On the other hand, Tenoch didn't know that Julio always lit a match inside the bathroom after pooping to mask the smell [great idea, though]. These are mysteries they chose to keep, probably because they believed it may be used against them someday.
In the Mandy Moore starrer Chasing Liberty, and the similarly-plotted First Daughter starring Katie Holmes, the girls fell in love with men who turned out to be their secret bodyguards [who were in plainclothes, of course, not the Men In Black thingamajig]. And who can forget that incredibly distressing film "Unfaithful", where the perfect wife suddenly gets into an extra-marital affair? Betrayal is always portrayed in films, being the center of all life's dramas. Filmmakers have a penchant for breaches of trust, infidelity, treachery, and what-have-yous. And most of the time, the ones who betray you are the ones you least expect to. [Of course, or else it wouldn't be as painful... Hmmm... No duh.] So in this day and age, who can we trust?
Nobody.
Case in point, I was just reading an article about bigtime music producer Rodney Jerkins. All I could think about was 'how could anyone trust a man whose name's letters spell jerk, nerd, and dork?' Look at the artists he churned out: Mariah "I'm-Having-A-Breakdown-Because-I'm-A-Horrible-Actress" Carey, Jennifer "Obviously-Still-Puffy's-Bitch" Lopez, Britney "Please-Watch-My-Loser--Reality-TV-Show" Spears, with all due respect to these divas who, at one point in my life, I trusted with all my life. Of course, Jerkins' name couldn't have been the direct cause of these women's theatrics, but still. It's an issue. [With me, anyway. I'm sick like that.]
So like I's said.
Nobody.
Fact, not even ourselves. I mean, I wouldn't trust myself, no sir. I'm a chronic liar.
So sure, it justifies the cause of commitment-phobes, but hey. It's always good to be cautious. They say sometimes we have to just let go and break the glass, so to speak. But most of the time, I say keep it reined in. Keep your secrets in a safe, bullet-proof place. Knamean?
"Sadness is everyone's secret." --John Dufresne
But I think I'm beginning to understand her now. No, Sarah never did betray me, although if she did, it's all good, because I became the popular girl everyone hated the very next year [sure]. But I'm sure she never did. But some people will deliberately find situations where anything you said CAN and WILL be used against you. Even among best friends, it can happen. A minor spat should do the trick, easy. To protect yourself, you shouldn't give away too much. Leave some of you to yourself.
I've just been watching films that made me realize that as well. In the Spanish [or was it Mexican?] film Y Tu Mama Tambien, Julio did not know that Tenoch, his childhood best friend who had rich parents, would use his foot to open the toilet lid and to flush afterwards beacuse he daren't touch anything with his hand. On the other hand, Tenoch didn't know that Julio always lit a match inside the bathroom after pooping to mask the smell [great idea, though]. These are mysteries they chose to keep, probably because they believed it may be used against them someday.
In the Mandy Moore starrer Chasing Liberty, and the similarly-plotted First Daughter starring Katie Holmes, the girls fell in love with men who turned out to be their secret bodyguards [who were in plainclothes, of course, not the Men In Black thingamajig]. And who can forget that incredibly distressing film "Unfaithful", where the perfect wife suddenly gets into an extra-marital affair? Betrayal is always portrayed in films, being the center of all life's dramas. Filmmakers have a penchant for breaches of trust, infidelity, treachery, and what-have-yous. And most of the time, the ones who betray you are the ones you least expect to. [Of course, or else it wouldn't be as painful... Hmmm... No duh.] So in this day and age, who can we trust?
Nobody.
Case in point, I was just reading an article about bigtime music producer Rodney Jerkins. All I could think about was 'how could anyone trust a man whose name's letters spell jerk, nerd, and dork?' Look at the artists he churned out: Mariah "I'm-Having-A-Breakdown-Because-I'm-A-Horrible-Actress" Carey, Jennifer "Obviously-Still-Puffy's-Bitch" Lopez, Britney "Please-Watch-My-Loser--Reality-TV-Show" Spears, with all due respect to these divas who, at one point in my life, I trusted with all my life. Of course, Jerkins' name couldn't have been the direct cause of these women's theatrics, but still. It's an issue. [With me, anyway. I'm sick like that.]
So like I's said.
Nobody.
Fact, not even ourselves. I mean, I wouldn't trust myself, no sir. I'm a chronic liar.
So sure, it justifies the cause of commitment-phobes, but hey. It's always good to be cautious. They say sometimes we have to just let go and break the glass, so to speak. But most of the time, I say keep it reined in. Keep your secrets in a safe, bullet-proof place. Knamean?
"Sadness is everyone's secret." --John Dufresne
Monday, June 6, 2005
On The Job
What I love most about FHM is that section on odd jobs. Ok, so I also read it because of the interesting [sure] articles, and also to find out to what extent the editors can stretch an average guy's sexual fantasies. Anyway. FHM Philippines once featured a guy who was responsible for those crossword puzzles in our dailies. He gets maybe less than half of what the FHM editor-in-chief himself earns in a week [and less than half the action as well, I presume]. Sure, Mr. Crossword Puzzle claims to love what he does, but Mr. FHM Chief loves the girls he does. Nowadays, it's not just about loving what you do [that's so 90s]; it's really more about the perks you get from a job you love to do. Of course, that's just next to impossible. I'd love to see the day.
Coming back to Jeddah and lounging around my parents' house like a fat cheshire cat, although quite satisfying, made me think about getting myself a job over here. First of all, because I need to earn myself some Benjamins [ermm... or Malik Fahads, I guess]; second, because it's really the inevitable next step since I've already made a fool of myself in high school, and studied [sure] and partied in college. Now, how's about a career path? I've tried getting jobs before - I've worked as a call center agent back in Manila [come on, who hasn't?], disc-jockeyed on the radio back in college, and taught English to Southeast Asian exchange students in our univ [who all ended up learning Filipino cuss words, geez.]
All those jobs I did for the sake of experience. It builds character, they said. Sure, I learned some stuff: Dj-ing for a radio station doesn't mean you're a star. There's a reason why only your voice is heard and your face not shown to the public. And it's not because you have a striking resemblance to Catherine Zeta-Jones [or even Michael Douglas at his worst]. And yes, Dr. Love sounds sexy, but he's not Mr. Aussie-Hot-Pants in real life, he's really a 48-year-old, fat Manong Dodo [or Faraj].
When teaching English to non-native speakers [a.k.a. people who know diddlysquat about English], let them experience the words, not just learn them. Very good example would be Vandim, Cambodian, 22 years old, Cambodian minister's son, and a very receptive young man. He wanted to know what the equivalent of "sak-e" [Japanese liquor] was in English. I was a college student then, so I raised my fist and cried "Beer!!" [Interesting fact: college students around the world are known for drinking too much beer while reading too much English literature]. So I marched him and his classmates down to the nearest bar and poured beer onto their hands [in classic Hellen Keller fashion, of course] and said to them in faint whispers, "Beer, my friends... Beer." I charged them 350 pesos per hour each, plus beer. They are now fairly good in English, and all the Bud-wiser. Also, I learned that real emotion transcends language, so what you can't get across with words, do so with frantic hand gestures. There will always be the language barrier, sure, but a middle-finger flash is a middle-finger flash in most southeast Asian cultures.
In a call center office, always stay away from the ugly people. They are NOT beautiful on the inside, don't listen to their moms. Strike up a superficial friendship with the gay circle. The exclusive club is penetrable, and a fag-hag is really like being a movie star, especially since [and only if] you're a woman. If you're not a "she", and you don't look anything like Johnny Depp or Keanu Reeves, stick to the ugly people. During coffee or puff breaks, avoid talking about yourself - it will be done when you leave. Always go to office parties; otherwise, they'll assume you're fat. If you want to get promoted, flirt. If you want enemies, flirt. If you want to be popular, flirt. If you want to be cheap, flirt. It's a lose-lose situation. Or win-win, however which way you look at it. Anyways, it's not worth it if you want to hit yourself on the head with an ace each time you wake up to a working day. The pay will NOT compensate for your misery, and having benefits such as medical insurance [which probably has a million loopholes anyway so that you will STILL need to pay your hospital bills in case of an emergency] is not called 'having perks'. So what if you can go to that high-end gym across your building once a month for free? You still hang with the ugly people.
So continues the never-ending quest for a better job. There's a few interesting jobs I've come across. I once had an officemate who's responsible for the captions on photos we see in lifestyle and home design magazines. She is asked to write up interesting descriptions of lace curtains and mahogany furniture. Her imagination stops at 'floral' and 'exquisite'. I mean, how many adjectives can you come up with to describe lace? Another good friend of mine works as a geologist [I can't believe I have a real-life friend who has such an important [sounding] job!]. I'm not sure of what it is he does, but he studies rocks and rock formations on-field. And he gets paid handsomely. I know someone whose daughter was employed as a young princess' playmate. In return for her services, she's toured all over the world. [Imagine playing with a princess, geez. She'll always win, and she's still royalty. No fun.] My friend Rice works as a bartender in a reputable nightspot, and once a week, she juggles her drink-bottles for the customers [ermm.. I didn't mean that metaphorically]. Fact, she was last year's state champion for bottle-juggling!
When we were younger, it's simple enough. I used to think about the people who wrote dictionaries. What a cool job they have, eh? And how about those cartographers? How hard is it to make a map? I dreamed of being a bus driver or a taxi driver when I was little. I used to think to myself, that'd be so cool, going places, meeting people AND getting paid to do so! Perks and Pay. But then we get older. Enter the social status and prerequisite college degree [even to be a cafe barista, one has to have college papers] and the desire for prestige and money and an impossibly unanimous nod of approval from a discriminating society. It's become complicated. Oi Vei.
But one thing I know's for sure:
Damn, the Custodian of the Two Holy Mosques has the best job. Perks included.
Coming back to Jeddah and lounging around my parents' house like a fat cheshire cat, although quite satisfying, made me think about getting myself a job over here. First of all, because I need to earn myself some Benjamins [ermm... or Malik Fahads, I guess]; second, because it's really the inevitable next step since I've already made a fool of myself in high school, and studied [sure] and partied in college. Now, how's about a career path? I've tried getting jobs before - I've worked as a call center agent back in Manila [come on, who hasn't?], disc-jockeyed on the radio back in college, and taught English to Southeast Asian exchange students in our univ [who all ended up learning Filipino cuss words, geez.]
All those jobs I did for the sake of experience. It builds character, they said. Sure, I learned some stuff: Dj-ing for a radio station doesn't mean you're a star. There's a reason why only your voice is heard and your face not shown to the public. And it's not because you have a striking resemblance to Catherine Zeta-Jones [or even Michael Douglas at his worst]. And yes, Dr. Love sounds sexy, but he's not Mr. Aussie-Hot-Pants in real life, he's really a 48-year-old, fat Manong Dodo [or Faraj].
When teaching English to non-native speakers [a.k.a. people who know diddlysquat about English], let them experience the words, not just learn them. Very good example would be Vandim, Cambodian, 22 years old, Cambodian minister's son, and a very receptive young man. He wanted to know what the equivalent of "sak-e" [Japanese liquor] was in English. I was a college student then, so I raised my fist and cried "Beer!!" [Interesting fact: college students around the world are known for drinking too much beer while reading too much English literature]. So I marched him and his classmates down to the nearest bar and poured beer onto their hands [in classic Hellen Keller fashion, of course] and said to them in faint whispers, "Beer, my friends... Beer." I charged them 350 pesos per hour each, plus beer. They are now fairly good in English, and all the Bud-wiser. Also, I learned that real emotion transcends language, so what you can't get across with words, do so with frantic hand gestures. There will always be the language barrier, sure, but a middle-finger flash is a middle-finger flash in most southeast Asian cultures.
In a call center office, always stay away from the ugly people. They are NOT beautiful on the inside, don't listen to their moms. Strike up a superficial friendship with the gay circle. The exclusive club is penetrable, and a fag-hag is really like being a movie star, especially since [and only if] you're a woman. If you're not a "she", and you don't look anything like Johnny Depp or Keanu Reeves, stick to the ugly people. During coffee or puff breaks, avoid talking about yourself - it will be done when you leave. Always go to office parties; otherwise, they'll assume you're fat. If you want to get promoted, flirt. If you want enemies, flirt. If you want to be popular, flirt. If you want to be cheap, flirt. It's a lose-lose situation. Or win-win, however which way you look at it. Anyways, it's not worth it if you want to hit yourself on the head with an ace each time you wake up to a working day. The pay will NOT compensate for your misery, and having benefits such as medical insurance [which probably has a million loopholes anyway so that you will STILL need to pay your hospital bills in case of an emergency] is not called 'having perks'. So what if you can go to that high-end gym across your building once a month for free? You still hang with the ugly people.
So continues the never-ending quest for a better job. There's a few interesting jobs I've come across. I once had an officemate who's responsible for the captions on photos we see in lifestyle and home design magazines. She is asked to write up interesting descriptions of lace curtains and mahogany furniture. Her imagination stops at 'floral' and 'exquisite'. I mean, how many adjectives can you come up with to describe lace? Another good friend of mine works as a geologist [I can't believe I have a real-life friend who has such an important [sounding] job!]. I'm not sure of what it is he does, but he studies rocks and rock formations on-field. And he gets paid handsomely. I know someone whose daughter was employed as a young princess' playmate. In return for her services, she's toured all over the world. [Imagine playing with a princess, geez. She'll always win, and she's still royalty. No fun.] My friend Rice works as a bartender in a reputable nightspot, and once a week, she juggles her drink-bottles for the customers [ermm.. I didn't mean that metaphorically]. Fact, she was last year's state champion for bottle-juggling!
When we were younger, it's simple enough. I used to think about the people who wrote dictionaries. What a cool job they have, eh? And how about those cartographers? How hard is it to make a map? I dreamed of being a bus driver or a taxi driver when I was little. I used to think to myself, that'd be so cool, going places, meeting people AND getting paid to do so! Perks and Pay. But then we get older. Enter the social status and prerequisite college degree [even to be a cafe barista, one has to have college papers] and the desire for prestige and money and an impossibly unanimous nod of approval from a discriminating society. It's become complicated. Oi Vei.
But one thing I know's for sure:
Damn, the Custodian of the Two Holy Mosques has the best job. Perks included.
Friday, June 3, 2005
Manila Girl
I have been putting off my writing for about a week now. Writing equals facing myself. I wasn't ready to face myself yet, and still am not, but there are these butterfly words all around me and I'm afraid if I don't write them down, they're just going to flutter away [Salma once said butterfly could've come from flutter-by, which sounds like a more suitable name for... butterflies, I guess.]
I've just been watching Filipino romantic movies [they're not romantic in the least, but we like to think that they are]. I wasn't going to, but I said, What The Hell. "Now That I Have You" stars John Lloyd Cruz and Bea Alonzo [my brothers will never forgive me for watching this AND writing about it] and it had its funny moments, but what I really watched it for was the Metro Manila setting. I miss the big, bad city. Sniff.
Things I miss about Le Manille:
* the freedom to go anywhere as a woman, wearing anything I'm in the mood for - pyjamas, baby shirts, even abayas [but only if I want to], my uncle's old sneakers, whatever.
* speaking Filipino; giving instructions directions, orders [I'm very bossy] in Tagalog with no fuss or big deal.
* at the beach of swimming pool, frolicking with male friends and relatives with no malice. Or little, anyway.
* women driving
* cars with tinted windows and windshields
* fitting rooms at clothing stores
* clothing stores with the latest collections
* commuting, riding the metro, taking a cab. Alone.
* going out to the little sari-sari store beside our house when I'm feeling all closed in inside
* smoking anywhere. As a woman.
* accessible cafes, restaurants, etc.
* finding anything and everything at the National Bookstore
* the heavily made-up salesladies at the Shoe Mart Department Stores
* readily accessible pirated/bootlegged DVDS [Yeah!!]
* FM radio stations and the pissant DJs
* commercial jingles on national TV
* SONGHITS!! [weekly magazines for music hits' guitar chords]
* cheap ukay-ukay [flea market] bookshops in Cubao
* city hotspots with the beautiful people and pulsating hiphop beats
* fashionable and witty gay people
* gayspeak and my gay posse [fag-hag!]
* sports complexes and gyms with Capoera and Tae-Bo. Sniff. I'm fat.
* San Miguel City, baby, yeah!
* Starting the week on Mondays
* spotting local celebrities at parties
* going to international artists' concerts
* book or album launches at Tower Records
* BILLIARDS, man.
* the sound of tricycles and motorcycles 24-7
* cat-fights [hehe]
* generally being a loser in a shit-hole apartment
That's just naming a few. Still, I'm saying I just miss them stuff. I don't necessarily want to go back anytime. Not just yet.
I've just been watching Filipino romantic movies [they're not romantic in the least, but we like to think that they are]. I wasn't going to, but I said, What The Hell. "Now That I Have You" stars John Lloyd Cruz and Bea Alonzo [my brothers will never forgive me for watching this AND writing about it] and it had its funny moments, but what I really watched it for was the Metro Manila setting. I miss the big, bad city. Sniff.
Things I miss about Le Manille:
* the freedom to go anywhere as a woman, wearing anything I'm in the mood for - pyjamas, baby shirts, even abayas [but only if I want to], my uncle's old sneakers, whatever.
* speaking Filipino; giving instructions directions, orders [I'm very bossy] in Tagalog with no fuss or big deal.
* at the beach of swimming pool, frolicking with male friends and relatives with no malice. Or little, anyway.
* women driving
* cars with tinted windows and windshields
* fitting rooms at clothing stores
* clothing stores with the latest collections
* commuting, riding the metro, taking a cab. Alone.
* going out to the little sari-sari store beside our house when I'm feeling all closed in inside
* smoking anywhere. As a woman.
* accessible cafes, restaurants, etc.
* finding anything and everything at the National Bookstore
* the heavily made-up salesladies at the Shoe Mart Department Stores
* readily accessible pirated/bootlegged DVDS [Yeah!!]
* FM radio stations and the pissant DJs
* commercial jingles on national TV
* SONGHITS!! [weekly magazines for music hits' guitar chords]
* cheap ukay-ukay [flea market] bookshops in Cubao
* city hotspots with the beautiful people and pulsating hiphop beats
* fashionable and witty gay people
* gayspeak and my gay posse [fag-hag!]
* sports complexes and gyms with Capoera and Tae-Bo. Sniff. I'm fat.
* San Miguel City, baby, yeah!
* Starting the week on Mondays
* spotting local celebrities at parties
* going to international artists' concerts
* book or album launches at Tower Records
* BILLIARDS, man.
* the sound of tricycles and motorcycles 24-7
* cat-fights [hehe]
* generally being a loser in a shit-hole apartment
That's just naming a few. Still, I'm saying I just miss them stuff. I don't necessarily want to go back anytime. Not just yet.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)