Caffeinated Thoughts

Shag me, Dan

2005-08-14T12:38:00.000+08:00

Dan.

He is getting to be soooo oh-la-la blasted blasted *unprintable lustings*. The world has seen him get to be this sexy being who makes me drool. roaaawwwrrrrrrrr. Nobody should wonder why i'm dropping my shorts at the mere mention of he-who-must-be-fantasized.

Dan.

Dan.

Dan.

Oh geez. I have nothing better to do.... be back to watch him again after I grab some crotch, er, lunch.

Potter Mania

2005-07-19T12:20:00.000+08:00

Tens of thousands of people, of all ages, all around the world, were sitting down last Saturday, July 16, to read one book. The hype does get a bit wearing, but the fact that the world is getting this excited about a book can only be a good thing.

I couldn't resist joining the throng. My addiction to this series began, when a teacher-friend in college, lent me the first book of Harry Potter almost 5 years ago. Since then, anticipating for the next installment of this series has become a ritual. I was lucky enough to get my copy of the latest installment, the minute (well, nearly) it was available, and read it in a marathon speed-reading session that now culminates in the review you are reading.

For the sake of you who have not yet turned the last page, I will refrain from any major plot spoilers. However, readers who wish to remain totally ignorant of everything, however, inconsequential or cryptic would do better to read the book itself instead. I will only say this: Horcruxes!

So: Is it good enough?

Oh. My. God. Harry Potter is HARRY HOTTER!

On most levels, The Half-Blood Prince is more of the same old Potter, which is no doubt exactly what its child fans want. The standard of writing is as before: simple and a bit clunky—how you'd love to get in as an editor to tighten it up and straighten it out; the story lines are getting a bit repetitive in their twists and turns - one lot of magic seems much like another to an adult reader.

But the world of magic has moved on with the age of its characters. It does, as reported earlier, end with a funeral of an important character, with the emotions of those watching fully described (no don't worry, I'm not going to tell you who is interred). This may well upset some younger readers. There does, however, seem to be less gory action than in The Order of the Phoenix.

Boy-girl relationships are a large part of the story (which is I fear certainly going to put off boy readers). These are, however, curious. In their depiction of early teen, confused, messy, ties lasting days or weeks, the form seems accurate, but they are bloodless and passionless. That might, from a charitable view, be a deliberate attempt not to lose the younger readers, but I'm not sure it will work.

What is very different this time is a distinctly political tint. Most younger readers are going to be puzzled by the opening scene, not Privet Drive and the unlovely but entertaining Dursleys, but what looks very much like No. 10 Downing Street, where the Prime Minister is waiting anxiously after a terrible week. Then he's interrupted by his "magic" (and of course more powerful) compatriot, the Minister for Magic, or rather the former one, who's just fallen in a political coup:

"Fudge was looking distinctly careworn. He was thinner, balder, and greyer, and his face had a crumpled look. The Prime Minister had seen that kind of look in politicians before, and it never boded well."

That sounds very like descriptions of Tony Blair during his recent bad patches, and the Prime Minister waiting hopelessly in No. 10 while waiting for a more powerful government to tell him what is going on and what he should do —well the comparisons are obvious.

That continues even when we finally get to Privet Drive, where a purple leaflet lies on the floor of Harry's room, titled "Protecting Your Home and Family Against Dark Forces". It suggests a collection of obvious or ridiculous safety measures, much like the ones the British Government sent thudding through the Brits letterboxes after 9/11 and the most recent 7/7.

It is gently mocked soon after by Dumbledore:

"I received one myself," said Dumbledore, still smiling. "Did you find it
useful?"

"Not really."
"No, I thought not. You have not asked me, for instance, what is my favourite flavour of jam to check that I am indeed Professor Dumbledore, and not an imposter."
"I didn't ...," Harry began, not entirely sure whether he was being reprimanded or not.
"For future reference, Harry, it is raspberry ... although of course, if I
were a Death Eater, I would have been sure to research my own jam-preferences before impersonating myself."

The political references continue, on a lower key, through the rest of the book; the new Minister for Magic, effectively the magic world's prime minister or president, keeps trying to enlist, by devious means that Harry immediately sees through, his support to shore up the government's position. It is suggested that he might just be seen going in and out of the ministry a couple of times.

Harry is even showing a nascent political sensibility. When tackled by the minister to become his instrument of spin he keeps returning to Stan Stunpike, the Night Bus conductor, who's been imprisoned for months even though everyone is sure his links to the dark forces were pure adolescent boasting. Almost the last action of the book is a confrontation between the minister and Harry:

"So," said Scrimgeour, his voice cold now, "the request I made of you at
Christmas -"
"What request? Oh yeah ... the one where I tell the world what a great job you're doing in exchange for -"
"-for raising everyone's morale!" snapped Scrimgeour.
Harry considered him for a moment. "Released Stan Stunpike yet?"
Scrimgeour turned a nasty purple colour highly reminiscent of Uncle
Vernon. "I see you are -"
"Dumbledore's man through and through," said Harry.
"That's right."

This is a new J.K. Rowling, and an interesting one: a satirical novel for grown-ups from her might be an interesting read. Having reached the penultimate book in the planned series, it is possible to start to imagine a writing life for Rowling after Harry Potter. There are hints in this novel that if she can branch out, break away from the boy wizard's spell, the results might be worth waiting for.

Hello Garci...I'm Sorry!

2005-07-15T11:48:00.000+08:00

Give It to Me, Garci ... Oh, Yeah, Oh Yeah!

You want resignation with that? Sex bomb this!

Ain't this hilarious?! Lol!

Burgis

2005-07-13T11:45:00.000+08:00

Any economist will tell you that the simplest way to measure the fiscal health of a nation is to measure the size of its middle class. Is it growing? Is it even existent? That is why I shall take the risk of being damned an elitista -- but what the hey, I am (char!) -- and express doubt about such typical Filipino pre-occupation with masa. Reading this in Sassy Lawyer's blog made me cringe, and made me take a deep breath, because it says all the things many of us wants to say, but can't. I'm still not that angry, and I definitely do not want a fascist state, but the whole rant still makes me take pause. Is there a Filipino middle-class ba? I once read somewhere that the problem with the Philippines is that its middle-class lives abroad, leaving only the very elite and the very poor scrambling and in constant war for power, like cockroaches in a dungheap.

Ay naku, will there be any solution to all of our problems?

Kalag!

2005-07-12T23:33:00.000+08:00

kalag!
wa gyud ko'y kalipay sa imuha karon
mura kag pahoy
ug ang imong espiritu gilawalawa ug gitaya.

mura kag pan burikat; gipasapasahan na sa hudno.
mura kag siyakoy; butangan ug kugmo pag likid.
mura kag bahaw; bahu ug kanunay gilangaw.

tamaan gani kag *****, magpaandam kug banda.
******* gani ka, magpakaon kug usa ka gatus nga tigulang ug ako silang pakantahon sa mga kantang kinakontrahan nimo.

ug pagkagabii, muadto ko sa imong ********* ug musayaw ko sa ibabaw.
ako pa gyung pa****on katong mga laking imong nagustuhan nga wa ka tagda; ang ilang ***** isabwag didto.

dayon manguli ming tanan ug kalimtan lang ka.

(don't worry; i'll have this deleted as soon as my fury subsides. and yeah, this does not pertain to you.)

New Look

2005-07-10T12:30:00.000+08:00

Tadah! A new look for my blog after nearly 3 hours of tweaking this new template. I think it looks good. What do you think, guys? :) Just wondering why some of the entries here got messed up...but still I love the new look..for now.

Drat!

2005-07-03T11:24:00.000+08:00

Drat! I saw him and I think the world began to twirl on the likeness of his image.

Drat! Why wasn't I able to glue myself to where I stood?
Why did I have to twirl with the world?

Drat! I swear my instincts about him was right.
I was beggining to like him when he was faceless;
and now that he bore a face to himself, my world began to twirl!

Drat! Why did I have to see him?
I don't want to complicate my already complicated life!

Drat! I like him!

Subject of my Affection

2005-06-11T12:39:00.000+08:00

Finally, he uttered his first nice words this morning: "Good morning, bai". And he had me at that greeting. He was doing his regular Saturday laundry when I arrived home from work.

Since last month, I have been eyeing our new cute neighbor. His white polo shirt and khaki pants informed me that he goes to that university in Carbon (Adelante!). This morning, he was in shorts and white sando. Thanks to the sweltering heat of the sun, the sweat running from his forehead down to his chest makes me secretly wish that he remove the piece of clothing covering his upper torso. A cousin who goes to same school told me he is their department's Prince Charming, in fact, he was crowned last year's Mr. JPIA. Looking at him, he surely has the right attributes- he stands around 5'10", smooth fair skin, good looks and just the right bulges in all places where they should be (hihihi!).

I would chance on this same guy almost everyday (and why not?! we're in the same compound!). And I would take nice and long glances at his always smiling face. Then I felt some stirring somewhere in my lower section and I'd turn away.
I noticed him to have a flair of confidence, a way with humor when he talks and a solid laugh. He had a nice nice smile. Plus he had the appeal of those I crushed on when I was in high school.

I realized I already had a big crush on him.

But I told myself to take it easy and forget it as I'd fall dangerously close to being disappointed.

He usually hangs around in our compound's gate entrance and he always gave me that ready smile to which the stirring somewhere in my lower regions would turn into marsh-mallow melting magnitude. Any chance of conversation would be zapped as he or I or would always have company. I was starting to be contented of just crushing on him. It's already been more than a month of stealing glances at him and I still didn't know his name!

Then finally this morning. Upon handing the pedicab driver my fare, I fumbled for the front gate's key in my pocket only to realize that I forgot to bring it with me as I went out of the house going to work last night. I had no choice but to call for the people's attention inside the house to open the gate.

Then while I was waiting for our househelp, I saw him at the corner of my eye striding towards the gate. It seemed like the freezing spell had been cast as I felt the world stood still as he walked towards me.

I turned around fully to take a good look at him, then he looked at me and said "Good morning, bai" in his booming and now sexy voice. (As I already have reasons to tag his voice sexy.) To which I greeted him back and we both smiled at each other. *kilig!*

He opened the gate and I was standing in front of him. For a split second of indecision, I was tempted of striking conversation with him and get his name. The world seemed to freeze again as I was too conscious at him with an amuse look now maybe sensing my uneasiness. Then with a flick of stupidity I turned my back at him, walked towards the door of my house and watched him smiled at me as I went inside. Torpe. Torpe. Torpe.

Oh well, there will be other days. At least I know that he now is friendly with me and his smile never falters when he sees me.

Bottomline: I have to get his name and take it downhill from there.

Hellaciousness

2005-06-02T07:23:00.000+08:00

I dance and giggle for:

hubagang ate oy...

but I love this better:

gahiang kuya oy...

These I write if everything else is too heavy to put to paper er, blog. Heaviness in part to silence and an absentee warlord.

Meanwhile, I have to keel on my TWON inbox and work on at least 31 tickets for today!

Kristeta the Irrepressible

2005-06-02T06:27:00.000+08:00

This is so funny! Who knew Kristeta had an LJ?

Blah!

2005-05-29T12:52:00.000+08:00

Friendster is evil. I spent five freaking hours in the shit last Sunday, and was flabbergasted by the company of friends and major (and minor?) acquaintances that I keep, in a kind of Six Degrees game. Heck, even Damon Sattler's in it!

I actually signed up a long, long time ago, but never really gave any of it a shit before. Now, I just want to know, what's the fuss ba? Why's everybody really into it? Even minor Manila celebrities? And who shall I find when I venture into its murky waters? My high school crush? Errr...

Bless me Father, for I have sinned...

2005-04-24T03:01:00.000+08:00

Now I've seen everything. Real (and very cute) Roman Catholic priests -- as calendar pin-up models. Now I know what George Michael meant when he sang, "Let me be your father figure."

Makes you want to go and be a seminarian, eh?

According to Piero Pazzi, the photographer: "I know the priests are handsome, but what’s wrong with that? If I was doing a cat calendar I couldn’t show old moggies with no teeth."

Uh-huh.

Waiting for rain...

2005-04-23T15:11:00.002+08:00

God, I miss the beaches of Moalboal! This humidity is a kind of murder. The way it kills you, it first invades your skin, boils everything underneath till you die in the pressure cooker of your own body. Your nose and your throat throb threateningly with the promise of summer colds -- that festering thing. You become constantly thirsty, and sometimes delirious, but there is no respite, even under the shade of a tree, even after drinking glasses of water filled to the brim with ice cubes. The heat simply will not go away; it stays and follows you around, like a bad dream, delighting in the torture of your slowly weakening body. You must have taken your 3,098,346th shower today. To no avail, still. You must have ransacked your wardrobe for the skimpiest piece of summer wear. To no avail, still.

You wish someone can take you away to some place cold and comfortable.

If you have airconditioning, take me, I'm yours.

Summer Breeze

2005-04-16T06:58:00.000+08:00

Summer breeze, makes me feel fine!

Yay! We're heading to the beach..we'll be visiting my maternal grandparents' hometown, Moalboal. Been years now since I've last set foot on this town and to think I am just a li'l 4 hours away.

...and boy, are we gonna rock!

Swim!
Sun!
Fun!

Infidel

2005-04-16T06:06:00.000+08:00

I should try to make a straight face. Im so good at being an infidel and it has crouched efficiently into my skin like a second nature. Im not worried about it anymore and it doesnt bother me. and that bothers me. Im not supposed to be dabbling in any affair, but I am. uncontrollably. I know I have to stop being an infidel but I cant. I dont see myself stopping. Im such a sinful man. and I dont believe in confessing to priests. so Ill have my sins stuffed in my guiltbag for a while.damn.

I hope I can straighten out my life before everything blows over in my face, in my life, big time! I cant afford to be caught dead with my pants down.

Throb

2005-04-09T01:35:00.000+08:00

throb, its in my head
throb, its in my heart
throb, its in my pulse
throb, its not in my anatomy

Semana Santa

2005-03-23T20:12:00.000+08:00

Arrived here in the office 2 hours earlier than my scheduled training tonight. Traffic was relatively smooth all through my ride from the south except for a minor build up along the Waterfront intersection (sounding like a traffic reporter). It's Semana Santa I remember, the usual prusisyon takes centerstage this Lenten season. The sight of it brings nostalgia of my childhood days yet it now seems so remote and it bothers me.

I'm thinking of a sabbatical...

I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings

2005-03-19T07:41:00.000+08:00

The free bird leaps
on the back of the wind
and floats downstream
till the current ends
and dips his wings
in the orange sun rays
and dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalks
down his narrow cage
can seldom see through
his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and
his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings
with fearful trill
of the things unknown
but longed for still
and is tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom

The free bird thinks of another breez
eand the trade winds soft through the sighing tree
sand the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn
and he names the sky his own.

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing

The caged bird sings
with a fearful trillof things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.

Maya Angelou

Paradox of Life

2005-03-18T12:48:00.000+08:00

Sometimes, I browse over my Connexion list, and I chance upon faces and names that get me asking: "Who the heck are you?" A guy named Ricardo, for instance. Why is he my "friend"? I look at his photos, and I have no recollection of him, at all -- nothing, nada. Just an uncomfortable blank. And he's not even cute, so I guess I could not have invited him.

You know, just like you would those beautiful, anonymous faces you invite to make a kind of pretty wallpaper for your Connexion, Friendster, Myspace, et.al. list. I bet most of you do not even know 80 of your "Friendsters" -- most of them strangers begging to be noticed with their pretty faces or perfectly toned physique, and nothing else.

Sometimes, it's not about connecting with friends at all, although that happens. It's also about maintaining cliques, and looking good and getting noticed. In a sense, it has become a kind of sport -- for me, for you, and for many others who have made this thing an addiction of sorts: there is an unconscious race to get to the 500 or so maximum finish-line. Why? No one knows why.

Welcome Post

2005-03-10T12:47:00.000+08:00

This weblog is my online journal. You'll find my opinions on a variety of topics as well as links to other things on the web that I find interesting. When the spirit moves me, I may also include longer essays.

I'll make changes to this site on a regular basis, sharing news, views, experiences, photos...whatever occurs to me. Check back often!