Woman in Tights

My try at pulling off the trend. Haha!

Thanks for the Pizza, Paul!

 

What a treat.

The entire staff had more than enough slices of pizza to get by the lenten season. Thanks to Paul Richierich! Burp. Sa uulitin.

 

Tet and Kat's Big Day- New Nurses

After the announcement of the new nurses, we wasted no time for the press conference and dinner tha followed. It was indeed an exciting night for the Akuts.

peryagabs day-out

Rezil, Vanessa , Cristine and I having a wonderful time. It didn't really matter where we went. We had such great fun catching up on each other, exchanging stories, and sharing life lessons (BIG words). Taken on February 25 '07 at Udang's, Bulua, CDO and Bo's Coffee, Ketkai. Enjoy!

A Peryagabs Holiday

I spent the whole day yesterday driving around the city, eating at Udang's, and slurping peppermint froccino with college friends Vanessa, Rezil and Christine, three of the limited population of the Peryagabs Club. Thanks to another member Carlo, who did not grace us ex-NBSBs* with his effervescent presence, the group was almost defunct. Meanwhile, we excuse the presence of the following: Marc-lot who under the laws of physics cannot teleport to CDO in time, but whose absence was sufficiently made up for by kilometric text messages and a brief phone call of well wishes; Janice,  who had to gobble, sans salt and pepper, a ginormous serving of laws and jurisprudence in preparation for the dreaded final exams; Marjane, who is in Norway breastfeeding as of press time (Congratulations,  mommy and daddy!), basking in the afterglow of childbirth; Mabel of California, in the afterglow of a four-year marital bliss; Febrose, who is presumably in Dubai working extra hard to be able to treat us to Bora upon her return; Mai_u, whose whereabouts are left to our flimsy conjectures; and our dear Seminarians Mike, Datoy, Antolin, etc., etc. who cannot take the day off from St. John Vianney lest they succumb to the corporeal temptations we, the Peryagab Girls, willingly pose. Roll Call having already been dispensed with, the details of the day follows. (I scrapped out the scandalous parts which, by the way, made up 90% of our day-out)

I left the house at twelve noon after watching bits of the Oscars. I noticed an anomaly in the car steering, so I stopped by a gas station to fill my tires with air (yes, there is a non-cosmic connection between the two). Then I picked up Rezil and Vanessa and we drove to Cristine's apartment. We decided to eat late lunch at Udang's which charges only a hundred pesos for all the seafood goodness of crabs, shrimps and mussels. So off we went. But before going to Udang's, we took an unexpected detour to Apovel to harass the no-show NBSB** Carlo. It was already past twelve and our stomachs were churning acid. When we made it to his house, Cristine and Vanessa introduced themselves to his Ate as the impregnated minions of the Carlo Cult seeking extra-judicial support from their babies' progenitor. His whereabouts, however, was left to our flimsy conjectures yet again. So we moved on with our lives, starting with lunch.

Finally, we made it to Udang's. The restaurant was a fab find by Rezil. Not only were we treated to gracious waitresses, we were also ushered inside by an umbrella-toting boy (since we were parked under a very angry sun and the five-meter walk to the resto promised death by heatstroke. Plus, we eyed a Korean pubescent cutie earlier at the gas station)! The mood was festive with colorful draperies hanging from the ceiling. We arrived just in time for new servings of chicken and spicy crabs. Yum-O!

After an hour of chitchat, we drove to Rosario Arcade looking for a generously airconditioned tambayan to ward off the heat spell. One coffee place looked really inviting so we went in and found seats at the back portion where we can see (and make fun of) every sampling of multitude wanting to buy coffee. Some came in with super short shorts, others came in with laptops and girlfriends in tow, and still others just, well, came in. Lucky for us, Cristine bought four tall glasses of peppermint froccino, which was the perfect cold drink to ease off our hot flushes and sleepy spells. Thanks Tin! What followed was an overflow of chitchat about the most profound, insanely baffling and extremely welcome distraction in life--Boys. With froccinos as our creamy witnesses, we poured out tales of love lost, love found, love not yet found, love lost and not yet found, and love found but almost lost---the categories are extensive, I'm sure you will fall in at least one. In the course of our confessions, I found out that Rezil and I shared more than we think we did way back in college. If I got  you curious on this one, I'm sorry I'm doing this on purpose for you to want to join us next time. Just make sure you are a certified Peryagab.  Hahaha!

By six pm, Rezil was off to a date with her boyfriend. Vanessa went off with her friend for a nightcap. Meanwhile, Cristine stayed at the coffee place to finish checking her students' written assignments. Go Ma'am! And dear gorgeous moi had to go to my cousins' thanksgiving party (re: nurses' board exam). So I kissed my girls goodbye and headed to the parking lot. To my horror I found two of my tires flat, as in, nada, no good, leave-it-at-the-parking-lot-and-get-back-to-it-later flat. Whew, and I thought nothing could ruin my day. Well, the flat tires really didn't ruin my day  because I left-it-at-the-parking-lot-and-let-my-father-get-back-to-it-later. How convenient. Plus, I befriended the guard to make sure he watches over it while I was away. I went to the party and became instant emcee. Clap clap. (Congratulations to my cousins Katy <placed 6th in the board> and Tetet. Cheers!)

By the end of the day I was exhausted from all the driving, chitchatting, eating and the collateral hosting I did. Whew! I hope there will be more days like yesterday. More national holidays, legislators!

Pictures of the day to follow when I get home. Have fun everyone!

Good times.

*No Boyfriend Since Birth

**Never Breastfed Since Birth

Sunday Afternoon

     It's a lazy Sunday afternoon.

    James Morrison is crooning from my speakers. He's singing Wonderful World, as if to lull me into a sub-context that losing weight is possible in this lifetime. Hah!

    On the subject of wonderful world, there's a little one behind these magical sound boxes slash speakers---a whole congregation of artists with guitars as shoulder candies. John Mayer is a personal favorite. I always summon him to transport himself from that little world and into myspace (translation : humid, laundry-cluttered area that is my room), but, alas, I go unheeded.

   Depressing situations like these call for ice-cream. I reach for my wallet and find that nothing in there would make for legal tender, unless the ice cream shop cashier person will accept expired shoe store loyalty cards in exchange for Double Dutch. With ice cream already out of the picture, I turn to other options, those a moocher like me can avail at the expense of my eight-hours-a-day be-labored father. Watching TV looks promising. So does sleeping. However, neither of  both activities satisfy a sweet tooth craving.

    But wait, did I not get my sweet food fix yesterday night? (See saliva stimulant------------------------------------------------>) And so, fuelled by the memory of the night past, I settle for TV. Teeny boppers in the likes of Kim Chiu are whoring the camera. I see Panky! A. Breath.Of. Fresh. Air. And I must say, this girl's talent needs no pimping. Just like John Mayer's and James Morrison's. A serious note and commentary on the side, the latter two do not bank on golden boy looks, proof that in the end, it is pure naked talent that counts. Contrast this to Jericho Rosales doing a Maroon 5. You get the drift.

    Oh, I like to go out and get some coffee and suman right now. But, for the sake of redundancy, a mention of the words " I", "am" and "broke" is in order. I can't even afford a cheap 3-in-1 coffee.

    With anything sugary coming my way in an already dim possibility, I move on, vehemently, to sleeping. Rock,paper,scissors. James must have thrown paper to John's scissors because it's John's turn to sing to me from behind the magic speakers. "Your body is a wonderland/ Your body is a wonder...."

How very sweet, John.

SEPARATED AT BIRTH

Who is more androgynous, Paolo Nutini or Winona Ryder?

Paolo Nutini

 

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Winona Ryder

 

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Tilda Swinton. (Haha!)

 

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Of Paintings and the Hermeneutical Consciousness

I could draw before I could write the alphabet. The first time my mother allowed me to hold a pencil and  a piece of paper , I had the feeling that they were going to be the most amazing toys.  Barbie dolls just couldn’t  give me the same excitement my doodle works did.  I remember how happy I felt showing my mother my first  portrait of  Little Red Riding Hood. My mother expected a less than perfect drawing by her five year old daughter, but nevertheless, she was always proud every time I turned in a new work.  The relationship I had with my  toys went on.  My love for drawing extended to painting.    

 

         They say a painting is worth a thousand words. I’d say it’s also worth a thousand feelings--happiness, sadness, love, hatred, fury, and excitement—which are better expressed visually when no words could capture them. Every painting has a story to tell, and every artist has a peculiar way of telling it.  An artist could show you just a white speck in the middle of a black canvas, tell you a meaningful story behind it, perhaps one of solitude, and you could either appreciate it or regard it as nothing but a white paint on a black canvas. The feedback an artist gets from his audience is either positive or negative as a painting can attract or repel. Above the layers of paint, some people just cannot always get into the work of art, especially those who find the art form strange, or those who simply couldn’t  connect.  I am not an exception. I once looked at an artwork and I could not tell what the lines and the chiaroscuro intended to convey.  Sometimes paintings don’t speak to me as if in a conscious  effort to alienate me, keep me out.  My own prejudices of how a painting should be are responsible for such alienation.  In Gadamer’s words, “ This alienation into aesthetic judgment always takes place when we have withdrawn ourselves and are no longer open to the immediate claim with that which grasps us.”  My prejudices withdraw me from understanding the painting. 

       But prejudices are not necessarily bad. They actually give me somewhere to begin with. Begin with what? With questions. Gadamer holds that, “The real power of hermeneutical consciousness is  our ability to see what is questionable.”  I have learned that to ask is to understand, not to find fault.  I ask  because I want to understand, not because I want to invoke and keep whatever prejudices I have.  Asking allows me to get into the painting and appreciate it, not just look at it. To appreciate, in this sense, is neither to appraise nor  to undermine,  but to perceive the meaning so that the work becomes a little more familiar and less alienating. I then submit to, neither control nor take hold of,  whatever underlying meaning I get from our familiarization with that which grasps us. It is in questioning therefore that one overcomes  alienation.  Such is the power of our hermeneutical consciousness in  a world of  meanings and interpretations.

         

     A painting can be alienating, especially to anyone who has not been exposed to it or any painting for that matter.  An instructor once told a class in hermeneutics that a real artist is one who is not afraid of what people will say about his work.   Such artist must have truly  believed in the real power of hermeneutical consciousness.

 

Painting: What the Water Gave Me, Frida Kahlo

I love you

The past eleven months have been a rocky time for me and for the people around me who cannot bear to see me sad and wallowed in tears, if I ever let them see me cry. Hence, I'm am going to take on this self-imposed task of thanking all of you who have held my hand and never let me go down the drain. Through you, I regained all the faith in me that, yes, I can survive tragedy. WE can survive the tragedy of losing a person we all knew and loved--Tamtam. "Surviving" being the operative word, most of us have not been healed of all wounds, if there is such a thing as complete healing at all.

      To Tam's family, the strength and tenacity you have shown is overhelming. I see beauty shining forth from your souls as you share with me your love for your lost son. All your kindness I can never repay.

 

Photo courtesy of Brigitta Panyiczki

Marina Bychkova's Doll

    Dolls do not have genitals.

    Unless it's Marina Bychkova's. This doll is not meant for playing or make-believe. Concealed under her ebony hair and delicately beaded gown are bruises suggestive of corporeal suffering and life lost forever. Nontheless, her beauty will draw you in. She was molded by hand to be admired. Displayed. Put in a glass coffin, as a necrophiliac would  in the name of love and an insanely immense reverence of his corpse bride.  She is a beautiful, sensual, existential work of art.

 

(For more of Bychkova's dolls, visit the www.enchanteddoll.com.) 

my bead necklaces

I started making and selling these necklaces two years ago with the help of my father's pliers (the heavy ones, for the lack of a more fitting tool) and my mother's exquisite sales talk. What started as a hobby turned into my debut enterprise (which is dormant at the moment as my job eats most of my time). The photos here are of pieces sold out to friends, classmates and father's colleagues, and some I gave out to friends on their birthdays. I hope to rekindle this passion of mine someday soon, but for the meantime, I'm posting these for anyone who might give this curly-haired amateur tips on beadworking. Enjoy!

Mr. Nutini

Will somebody please do the Heimlich manuever on me right now? I am choked in awe of this wonderful singer. Ok, ok. I'm obsessed at the moment with you-know-who. Geez. Why don't drool-worthy guys like Paolo exist in my side of the planet? Theories or dissents,anyone? I'd be glad to hear them. Comment below. Click! Click!

These Shoes Are Made For Strutting

Hey I put some new shoes on
And suddenly everything's right
I said, hey, I put some new shoes on
And everybody's smiling, it's so inviting

Oh, short on money but long on time
slowly strolling in the sweet sunshine
And I'm running late and I dont need an excuse
Cause I'm wearing my brand new shoes

-Paolo Nutini, from the song "New Shoes"

 

I spotted this pair at Limketkai  five hours ago while Maureen and I were looking for shoes to buy. Ladies and gentlemen, the shoes that have been douched in earwax. Hahaha! I didn't buy this pair, but only because the fabric can easily catch dirt, and that's not a good thing if you're commuting twelve kilometers from home to workplace. I love the polka dots though...so Chinese-y New Year! Have a happy Sunday everyone!

MY HAIR IS A BEEHIVE

No, my head's natural fauna does not yet manufacture honey up there. But when it does, I'll avoid walking under the sun lest I caramelize.

Today is a very humid day. Mr. Weather finally convinced me to put my bobby pins to good use for three reasons: first, so that once and for everything, I mean, once and for ALL, people will see that I, too, have a neck.(Is that you grinning, Tin?); second, so that mosquitoes can at least feast on my nape instead of my cellulite-packed thighs and therefore significantly lower their risk of heart disease; and third, which is my favorite, so that I'll look two inches taller even on flats. Hence, the updo.

On less humid days, however, I look like this:

 

 

 

 

 

This is just a case of blue-black-hair-dye-gone-bad. Apparently, blue and black have not decided who gets majority coverage. I don't mind. After all, indecision is a commonplace in my nutty little head. Enough said.

My bobby pins are still in my hair, taut and secure, and I have no plans of taking them off until my next shower.

Before I go to sleep,  let me just say, this is not a tribute to my hair. Or to bees. Or to Marge Simpson.

This is a tribute to bobby pins, in case I didn't make it so obvious.

An OMG moment

Hello!

At 3pm today I did a pretty good job operating the LCD slides for the Court's 72nd anniv thanksgiving mass. When Lady Justice T. came to the hall where the mass was to be held, I volunteered a necessary information to the perfectionist boss: The LCD projector was already set up. I got a nod of contentment. Then mass started. Dutifully, I (softly) hammered the keys of my laptop to project the lyrics of the songs. Time for "Maawa Ka" came. I  told Lady Justice T., to her disappointment, that I could not display the lyrics slide for the song because I supposed it was non-existent. But a stanza later into the song, I found the slide and instinctively projected it via LCD. So there. I just destroyed my credibility with a click of my computer. I know it doesn't sound that bad, but if you're on probee status like me, you'd freak out if you miss minute details of even the simplest of jobs.

Speaking of jobs, guess what? I had a boob job.

Nah. I just wanted to wake you up.

Want to read a really entertaining blog? Visit www.bluelightspecials.blogspot.com. This is written by a very close friend of mine Tin Omamos who fumes over the trappings and angst of the quarterlife.(Did i get that right?)

Oh wait. I almost forgot my OMG moment! Gae, Tin, hold your horses, because I just had the chance to hold hands with the dandy toastmaster par excellence-slash-Justice Borja for the entire duration of the Lord's prayer(somebody stop me before I get into trouble). I swear, all I did was pray!

Oh, I'm so sleepy to get into curly sue mode .So goodnight! I hope you'll have a happy weekend!