Happy Birthday, Harry Potter!
You should be 25 now. Do I believe that you'll live past twenty-five? I hope so. I wish for you to have a family of your own, which you had terribly missed in your childhood and something that the Weasley family could not fill up with.
To Joanne Kathleen Rowling: Happy 40th Birthday! Thank you for the gift of this young wizard.
Sunday, July 31, 2005
Friday, July 29, 2005
Can I take a bath without getting wet?
Ever heard of a tale wherein the moral of the story was to make sure you take a bath everyday? I haven’t come across any, even from the famous Aesop’s fables. Well, then I finally read one and would like to share it with you. You’ve heard of it in your younger years, probably even saw the made-for-TV adaptations or if you’re lucky a film. It is Jack and the Beanstalk. What? You may say: Where in freakin’ hell does taking bath figure out in this story? Bear with me and let Roald Dahl tell you about it.
It’s the same thing: Jack and his mother were broke; he sold the cow for one lousy bean; his mom couldn’t believe his stupidity, so she threw the bean out on the rubbish-dump and beat him with the handle of a vacuum-cleaner. The following day – well, you know what happened to the bean – it grew so tall.
Young Jack cried, 'Mum, admit it now!
'It's better than a rotten cow!'
The mother said, 'You lunatic!
'Where are the beans that I can pick?
'There's not one bean! It's bare as bare!'
'No no!' cried Jack. 'You look up there!
'Look very high and you'll behold
'Each single leaf is solid gold!'
By gollikins, the boy was right!
So the mother told her son to climb up and cut of the leaves. Jack went up almost all the way to the top, stops when…
A ghastly frightening thing occurred –
Not far above his head he heard
A big deep voice, a rumbling thing
That made the very heavens ring.
It shouted loud, 'FEE FI FOFUM
'I SMELL THE BLOOD OF AN ENGLISHMAN!'
Jack was frightened, Jack was quick,
And down he climbed in half a tick.
Do giants really say such non-sense (FEE FI FOFUM)? Crazy Grimm Brothers! His mom nagged him that it was no wonder that the giant smelled him, as he never bathes and stinks big time. So the mother decided that she should got up instead; however, not long after, Jack heard a frightful crunching sound and the giant muttering, “'By gosh, that tasted very nice. Although, I wish there weren't so many bones.”
He murmured softly, 'Golly-gosh,
'I guess I'll have to take a wash
'If I am going to climb this tree
'Without the Giant smelling me.
'In fact, a bath's my only hope...
He rushed indoors and grabbed the soap
He scrubbed his body everywhere.
He even washed and rinsed his hair.
He did his teeth, he blew his nose
And went out smelling like a rose
Once more he climbed the mighty bean.
The giant did not smell him at all. After a few gathering of golden leaves upon the boughs, he was an instant millionaire.
'A bath,' he said, 'does seem to pay.
'I'm going to have one every day.'
I’ll tell my son of this story this way, not the classic one, as this one tells more of a concrete lesson.
It’s the same thing: Jack and his mother were broke; he sold the cow for one lousy bean; his mom couldn’t believe his stupidity, so she threw the bean out on the rubbish-dump and beat him with the handle of a vacuum-cleaner. The following day – well, you know what happened to the bean – it grew so tall.
Young Jack cried, 'Mum, admit it now!
'It's better than a rotten cow!'
The mother said, 'You lunatic!
'Where are the beans that I can pick?
'There's not one bean! It's bare as bare!'
'No no!' cried Jack. 'You look up there!
'Look very high and you'll behold
'Each single leaf is solid gold!'
By gollikins, the boy was right!
So the mother told her son to climb up and cut of the leaves. Jack went up almost all the way to the top, stops when…
A ghastly frightening thing occurred –
Not far above his head he heard
A big deep voice, a rumbling thing
That made the very heavens ring.
It shouted loud, 'FEE FI FOFUM
'I SMELL THE BLOOD OF AN ENGLISHMAN!'
Jack was frightened, Jack was quick,
And down he climbed in half a tick.
Do giants really say such non-sense (FEE FI FOFUM)? Crazy Grimm Brothers! His mom nagged him that it was no wonder that the giant smelled him, as he never bathes and stinks big time. So the mother decided that she should got up instead; however, not long after, Jack heard a frightful crunching sound and the giant muttering, “'By gosh, that tasted very nice. Although, I wish there weren't so many bones.”
He murmured softly, 'Golly-gosh,
'I guess I'll have to take a wash
'If I am going to climb this tree
'Without the Giant smelling me.
'In fact, a bath's my only hope...
He rushed indoors and grabbed the soap
He scrubbed his body everywhere.
He even washed and rinsed his hair.
He did his teeth, he blew his nose
And went out smelling like a rose
Once more he climbed the mighty bean.
The giant did not smell him at all. After a few gathering of golden leaves upon the boughs, he was an instant millionaire.
'A bath,' he said, 'does seem to pay.
'I'm going to have one every day.'
I’ll tell my son of this story this way, not the classic one, as this one tells more of a concrete lesson.
Thursday, July 28, 2005
The sure way of getting nothing for something
I got another revolting rhyme to share; this time it’s the story of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. Odd isn’t it that she’s living with little men.
Okay, so Snow White (I’d be disappointed with my parents if they had given me a name like that) lost her Mum and his King father remarried after writing an ad at every magazine in the Kingdom looking for a Queen. The new queen, Ms. Maclahose, brought to the castle with her a "magic talking looking glass" that provides the correct answer to any question you ask. The Queen asked the mirror everyday for ten years "Who is the fairest of them all?" And for ten years, she get the answer that it was herself; but suddenly one day it changed and said it was Snow White who was prettier. Well, you know the drill: she ordered a huntsman to kill her in the woods; he let her go and gave the Queen a bullock’s heart which she ate, by the way. Snow White hitches a ride to the city and got a job as a cook and maid for seven little men, who are all ex-jockeys and they spend and lose all their money betting on horses. Suddenly, Snow White was struck with a great idea.
Young Snow-White hitched another ride,
And then, when it was very late,
She slipped in through the Palace gate.
The King was in his counting house
Counting out his money,
The Queen was in the parlour
Eating bread and honey,
The footmen and the servants slept
So no one saw her as she crept
On tip-toe through the mighty hall
And grabbed the mirror off the wall.
What else do you think this bunch of gamblers would ask an honest mirror? They then used it to predict the winner of the next day's horse race.
Thereafter, every single day,
The Mirror made the bookies pay.
Each Dwarf and Snow-White got a share,
And each was soon a millionaire,
Which shows that gambling's not a sin
Provided that you always win.
Oh, how my husband love that last part of the poem.
Wednesday, July 27, 2005
The happily ever after
I just bought another Roald Dahl work, Revolting Rhymes. Actually, the contents of this book can be found in some areas of the net, but there’s nothing like owning the real thing; besides, this way I get to help the author earn some more (like he needs my few bucks!). I’m just doing my share of keeping the publishing industry up and going.
It is a collection of poems, re-telling the story of six classic fairy tales: Cinderella, Snow White, The Three Little Pigs, Jack and the Beanstalk, Little Red Riding Hood, and Goldilocks and the Three Bears. They are humorous for jaded adults; but be wary in sharing it with little tykes (let them hear the original first.)
We all know the story of Cinderella by heart. However, have you ever thought that what we have heard could be sanitized? Here are the first lines:
I guess you think you know this story.
You don't. The real one's much more gory.
The phoney one, the one you know,
Was cooked up years and years ago,
And made to sound all soft and sappy
Just to keep the children happy.
So now what really happened in this story? There was a ball, she still got ugly stepsisters, the fairy godmother, and when she danced with the Prince, she rubbed herself against his ‘manly chest’. I bet she even squeezed his tush. So the clock struck twelve, Cinderella left with a torn dress and lost one of her slipper. The Prince then vowed to marry the girl the slipper fits. Unfortunately he left it on a crate of beer and one of the stepsisters threw it in the loo and replaces it with her own big, stinky shoes. The following day that it was brought to their house for fitting, ugly stepsister triumphantly showed that it fits her nicely. Flabbergasted at the state of things, the Prince whacks her head off and so as the other stepsister’s.
My Prince! she thought. He chops off heads!
How could I marry anyone
Who does that sort of thing for fun?
The Prince cried, 'Who's this dirty slut?
'Off with her nut! Off with her nut!'
The Magic Fairy saved her life with another wish: she married a jam-maker and sells good home-made marmalade. So how did it end?
Their house was filled with smiles and laughter
And they were happy ever after.
Now that’s a better story.
Tuesday, July 26, 2005
See each others’ souls through the eyes
I have not seen a love story movie in years; I haven’t seen a movie that made me cry for years, either. To sum it all up, I haven’t seen a love story movie that made me cry. I watched the movie The Notebook, another Nicholas Sparks’s book, last night. Yes, it’s an old movie; I didn’t have the chance to catch it in the theaters, so I watched it in DVD.
Summer love could change someone’s life; as it did in this movie. How I wish I had something similar to that; something to reminisce – to remember and share when I am old and grey. Just take a look at this one.
Madeline had been sitting by the river bank for at least an hour, with her feet dipped at the icy, cold waters. She was back at her old hometown, which she hadn’t visited for more than four years. She had not seen any of her old friends; maybe because her return had been hushed. The river behind her grandmother’s house had been her solace for three days now.
Memories of summer days spent under the scorching sun and plunges in the river with friends filled her as she watched the ripples in the water. She remembered everything: the high laughs; the achy feet; the sun-burnt skin; the exchanged glances with a certain boy; the feel of his touch on her face; the brush of their lips under the moonlight; and the hurtful goodbye.
A barking dog approaching broke through Madeline’s reveries and brought her back to the present. She then heard someone shouting, “Come here, boy!” The voice sounded familiar but she wasn’t quite sure for she hadn’t talked with anyone since she arrived saved for her aging grandmother and the housekeeper; and so Madeline turned her gaze towards the young man running after the great Labrador that had precariously stopped and rested beside her.
Oh, I could go on with that story, but I don’t have the time. Did you like it? As I was typing down the lines, a little story has started to mold in my head. Let me know if I should go on.
Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation. – Kahil Gibran
Summer love could change someone’s life; as it did in this movie. How I wish I had something similar to that; something to reminisce – to remember and share when I am old and grey. Just take a look at this one.
Madeline had been sitting by the river bank for at least an hour, with her feet dipped at the icy, cold waters. She was back at her old hometown, which she hadn’t visited for more than four years. She had not seen any of her old friends; maybe because her return had been hushed. The river behind her grandmother’s house had been her solace for three days now.
Memories of summer days spent under the scorching sun and plunges in the river with friends filled her as she watched the ripples in the water. She remembered everything: the high laughs; the achy feet; the sun-burnt skin; the exchanged glances with a certain boy; the feel of his touch on her face; the brush of their lips under the moonlight; and the hurtful goodbye.
A barking dog approaching broke through Madeline’s reveries and brought her back to the present. She then heard someone shouting, “Come here, boy!” The voice sounded familiar but she wasn’t quite sure for she hadn’t talked with anyone since she arrived saved for her aging grandmother and the housekeeper; and so Madeline turned her gaze towards the young man running after the great Labrador that had precariously stopped and rested beside her.
Oh, I could go on with that story, but I don’t have the time. Did you like it? As I was typing down the lines, a little story has started to mold in my head. Let me know if I should go on.
Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation. – Kahil Gibran
Monday, July 25, 2005
Special shoes for discerning feet
Oh, I’m not gonna talk about the Manolo Blahniks; they’re too expensive!
Two months after I bought my Adidas Barricade III W (shown above), I saw this pamphlet at an Adidas store about shoes they could customize for customers. What in freakin’ hell! Why only now? To top it all, they only tailor-make three models and Barricade is one of them. Geez, it made me wished I had been a bit patient.
So what are these customizable shoes anyway? Firstly, they take your feet measurements (exact width and length to determine their unique features); secondly, they’ll identify at which points in your pretty feet do you exert force the most (weight distribution – for the support needed); and lastly, you get to pick which colors you want and you could put in your name on the side of your shoes. Your friggin’ name embossed in your very own shoes! Hell! a pair that you personally designed and made specifically for you twenty-one days after the 30 minutes run through process.
I could wait a few more months, wear-out my current one, and get a new customized Adidas that’s color coordinated with my badminton racquet or I could just buy this.
To know more about this Adidas new product go here.
I love my Barricade III; I’m not sure why Herman doesn’t like his.
Two months after I bought my Adidas Barricade III W (shown above), I saw this pamphlet at an Adidas store about shoes they could customize for customers. What in freakin’ hell! Why only now? To top it all, they only tailor-make three models and Barricade is one of them. Geez, it made me wished I had been a bit patient.
So what are these customizable shoes anyway? Firstly, they take your feet measurements (exact width and length to determine their unique features); secondly, they’ll identify at which points in your pretty feet do you exert force the most (weight distribution – for the support needed); and lastly, you get to pick which colors you want and you could put in your name on the side of your shoes. Your friggin’ name embossed in your very own shoes! Hell! a pair that you personally designed and made specifically for you twenty-one days after the 30 minutes run through process.
I could wait a few more months, wear-out my current one, and get a new customized Adidas that’s color coordinated with my badminton racquet or I could just buy this.
To know more about this Adidas new product go here.
I love my Barricade III; I’m not sure why Herman doesn’t like his.
Saturday, July 23, 2005
Nightmarish desolation
After the Pottermania stupor, I went back to where I left off with my latest favorite TV show, LOST. I have finally finished watching the whole of Season 1. For those who haven’t looked at a television set for six months, they’d say: What is this show about, anyway?
It is about the forty-eight plane-crash survivors, stranded on an island pining to be rescued. These castaways found the inner strength they never knew they had amidst the chaos and frantic misery. Total strangers worked together to fight the cruel weather, harsh terrain and the mysterious creatures of the island in order to stay alive.
It wasn’t the mysterious numbers (4 8 15 16 23 42) or the invisible ‘monster’ that got me hooked on this show; it was the human relationships – the characters’ interaction with each other – the human element that kept this show afloat. That is why in the last episode of the first season, it was the flashback to the passengers boarding the plane that carried weight the most – forty-eight of these lives were about to intersect while the rest were about to end (or so we think).
So what about those black, clouds-like, howling things? Some people were thinking of nano-technology. These nano-bots repaired Locke’s half-paralysis; made a dead man appear to walk again; and that the ‘monster’ manifested at certain times could be thought controlled. To put it plainly, the island was an experiment out of control.
Complete DVD of the first season will be available on September 6.
Not until we are lost do we begin to understand ourselves. – Henry David Thoreau
It is about the forty-eight plane-crash survivors, stranded on an island pining to be rescued. These castaways found the inner strength they never knew they had amidst the chaos and frantic misery. Total strangers worked together to fight the cruel weather, harsh terrain and the mysterious creatures of the island in order to stay alive.
It wasn’t the mysterious numbers (4 8 15 16 23 42) or the invisible ‘monster’ that got me hooked on this show; it was the human relationships – the characters’ interaction with each other – the human element that kept this show afloat. That is why in the last episode of the first season, it was the flashback to the passengers boarding the plane that carried weight the most – forty-eight of these lives were about to intersect while the rest were about to end (or so we think).
So what about those black, clouds-like, howling things? Some people were thinking of nano-technology. These nano-bots repaired Locke’s half-paralysis; made a dead man appear to walk again; and that the ‘monster’ manifested at certain times could be thought controlled. To put it plainly, the island was an experiment out of control.
Complete DVD of the first season will be available on September 6.
Not until we are lost do we begin to understand ourselves. – Henry David Thoreau
Thursday, July 21, 2005
Dream-like delusional hypothesis
From the previous posts that I have done, you could right away tell that I belong to one group of people in the Potterverse. Nope, not one of those deranged fanatics (though I am really, and a bit proud of it). Okay, I belong to that little group who thinks that harryloveshermione or the other way around. I am what they call an H/Hr (Harry/Hermione) shipper.
In less than a week, my ship was cannoned by the book and finally was hit in the middle to make it break and sink by an interview of the author. The ship has sunk far deep into the abyss of the northern seas and the crew was called delusional.
Why did I even think of these two (Harry and Hermione) ending up together anyway? It was pretty obvious that Ron likes Hermione and that from their bickering you could feel the “sexual tension” between. We simply saw that connection Harry has with Hermione – a thing that some of us could only dream of or hoping to have with someone. I guess we had aimed for the perfect partnership.
To quote one shipper (Potter’s Otter) from the forum I usually visit: “Is it wrong to want the best for Harry? Is it wrong to want Harry to be with a girl who has been his biggest supporter from the start? Is it wrong to want Harry to be with a girl who has never left his side, who has never betrayed him, who has helped him through obstacles, who has been his guide, who has been his protector? Is it wrong to want Harry to be with a girl who has helped him to see through the darkness, and has helped him face the unknown – a girl who has always chosen the right path as opposed to the easy path as far as Harry is concerned?
As far as Hermione is concerned, I just wanted her to be with someone that she can connect with on a deeper level. I wanted her to be with someone for whom she doesn't have to change, someone she can respect who, in turn, respects her. I wanted her to be with someone who loves and is in awe of her intelligence every time it's displayed, and not someone who only smarms up to her when he needs help finishing his homework because he's too dense to finish it himself. Above all, I wanted her to be with the best man for her because she deserves the best.”
I guess we are just some deranged group of people who dreams of the perfect love.
In less than a week, my ship was cannoned by the book and finally was hit in the middle to make it break and sink by an interview of the author. The ship has sunk far deep into the abyss of the northern seas and the crew was called delusional.
Why did I even think of these two (Harry and Hermione) ending up together anyway? It was pretty obvious that Ron likes Hermione and that from their bickering you could feel the “sexual tension” between. We simply saw that connection Harry has with Hermione – a thing that some of us could only dream of or hoping to have with someone. I guess we had aimed for the perfect partnership.
To quote one shipper (Potter’s Otter) from the forum I usually visit: “Is it wrong to want the best for Harry? Is it wrong to want Harry to be with a girl who has been his biggest supporter from the start? Is it wrong to want Harry to be with a girl who has never left his side, who has never betrayed him, who has helped him through obstacles, who has been his guide, who has been his protector? Is it wrong to want Harry to be with a girl who has helped him to see through the darkness, and has helped him face the unknown – a girl who has always chosen the right path as opposed to the easy path as far as Harry is concerned?
As far as Hermione is concerned, I just wanted her to be with someone that she can connect with on a deeper level. I wanted her to be with someone for whom she doesn't have to change, someone she can respect who, in turn, respects her. I wanted her to be with someone who loves and is in awe of her intelligence every time it's displayed, and not someone who only smarms up to her when he needs help finishing his homework because he's too dense to finish it himself. Above all, I wanted her to be with the best man for her because she deserves the best.”
I guess we are just some deranged group of people who dreams of the perfect love.
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
Unrequited
You joined his world and enjoyed it with him. You’ve been there for him through it all. You watched him define his destiny. You laughed at his sarcastic jokes. You basked in his triumphs and were downhearted at his failures. You giggled when he was happy and cried when he was sad. You actually bawled when you saw the tears threatened to fall from his beautiful eyes. You were there.
Now, here you are again, still watching him. You’re about to lament for his loss; but suddenly felt proud for his resolute courage. He falls in-love again, and to another girl; your heart broke into pieces, yet you went on believing in him. You are watching them together with a smile; but your heart is pounded to pieces like the grains of sand falling through the rain. You keep on whispering to yourself: “He’ll move on, it’s just a phase. Sooner than you thought, he’ll realize whom he needs the most.”
He’s screaming – in silence – yet you could here him clearly, for you are there, again, with him. You are in shock just as he is. You are both shattered and dejected; however, you tried to muster some courage because you see him putting up a brave front.
And then, you heard him talking – talking to his love, saying goodbye, and you sighed in relief. A smile came back to you like a long-lost friend; yet you still have apprehensions, for you felt that he is being noble again. You gave him a promise that you’ll be right beside him whichever road he takes and he agrees.
Finally, you turned the last page, close the book and let out a sigh. Oh, Harry.
Now, here you are again, still watching him. You’re about to lament for his loss; but suddenly felt proud for his resolute courage. He falls in-love again, and to another girl; your heart broke into pieces, yet you went on believing in him. You are watching them together with a smile; but your heart is pounded to pieces like the grains of sand falling through the rain. You keep on whispering to yourself: “He’ll move on, it’s just a phase. Sooner than you thought, he’ll realize whom he needs the most.”
He’s screaming – in silence – yet you could here him clearly, for you are there, again, with him. You are in shock just as he is. You are both shattered and dejected; however, you tried to muster some courage because you see him putting up a brave front.
And then, you heard him talking – talking to his love, saying goodbye, and you sighed in relief. A smile came back to you like a long-lost friend; yet you still have apprehensions, for you felt that he is being noble again. You gave him a promise that you’ll be right beside him whichever road he takes and he agrees.
Finally, you turned the last page, close the book and let out a sigh. Oh, Harry.
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
Oh, Hermione! Where art thou, Hermione?
One of my favorite characters in the Harry Potter books – aside from Harry, of course – is Hermione Jane Granger. She isn’t the hot, popular girl in school; but your typical girl with ordinary looks and sharp brains. She is the girl who represents most of the readers, a lover of books. Hermione is one person who has an unwavering loyalty and trust on Harry; she’ll do anything to help him out.
Then came the sixth book, the Half-Blood Prince, and it made me wonder, where is my Hermione? Where had she gone? Where is the girl who helped Harry solve the puzzle of the potions that led to the stone that produces the Elixir of Life? Where is that girl who tore up a page from an old book from the library, which helped Harry in solving the mystery of the Chamber of Secrets? Where is the girl that turned the time to help Harry free Buckbeak and save the life of a convicted but innocent man, Sirius Black? Where is that one person, aside from the professors, who believed that Harry did not put his name in the Goblet of Fire? Where is that girl that came up with the idea of the DA, a secret society of young wizards and witches that meet regularly under the very nose of Dolores Umbridge and her Inquisitorial Squad? Where is she who blatantly lied to a professor just to save Harry from receiving an Unforgivable curse? Where is the girl who fought bravely on Harry’s side at the Department of Mysteries? Where is she now?
Her relationship with Harry in the sixth book has changed; they don’t have too much time together – well, maybe this is the needed ‘alone-time’ for Harry. Harry solved most of the mysteries in this book by himself; I ask now: what about that quote wherein JKR said “He needs her badly”? I can’t even believe that she would say, “It's such a pointless thing to get detention for." after receiving an invitation from Hagrid to be with him while he bury Aragog. She is less caring and temperamental now.
There is still one more book to wait for; for now, I’ll take her change as part of growing-up (but I really do hope that she’s under some kind of spell). Hermione, come back to us. Come back for Harry, because he needs you… he needs you badly.
Then came the sixth book, the Half-Blood Prince, and it made me wonder, where is my Hermione? Where had she gone? Where is the girl who helped Harry solve the puzzle of the potions that led to the stone that produces the Elixir of Life? Where is that girl who tore up a page from an old book from the library, which helped Harry in solving the mystery of the Chamber of Secrets? Where is the girl that turned the time to help Harry free Buckbeak and save the life of a convicted but innocent man, Sirius Black? Where is that one person, aside from the professors, who believed that Harry did not put his name in the Goblet of Fire? Where is that girl that came up with the idea of the DA, a secret society of young wizards and witches that meet regularly under the very nose of Dolores Umbridge and her Inquisitorial Squad? Where is she who blatantly lied to a professor just to save Harry from receiving an Unforgivable curse? Where is the girl who fought bravely on Harry’s side at the Department of Mysteries? Where is she now?
Her relationship with Harry in the sixth book has changed; they don’t have too much time together – well, maybe this is the needed ‘alone-time’ for Harry. Harry solved most of the mysteries in this book by himself; I ask now: what about that quote wherein JKR said “He needs her badly”? I can’t even believe that she would say, “It's such a pointless thing to get detention for." after receiving an invitation from Hagrid to be with him while he bury Aragog. She is less caring and temperamental now.
There is still one more book to wait for; for now, I’ll take her change as part of growing-up (but I really do hope that she’s under some kind of spell). Hermione, come back to us. Come back for Harry, because he needs you… he needs you badly.
Sunday, July 17, 2005
Half-Blood Prince and I
The excitement over the release of the latest Harry Potter has addled my brain somehow, so forgive me for not having entries these past days. Now that I have taken a little break from the HP hullabaloo, let me tell you how I got my copy of the HBP. Singapore released the book the same time as it was released in Edinburgh (we're 7 hours ahead).
15 Jul
16:00 - I'm, hyperventilating from excitement
23:00 - I'm lying on my bed because I need to get up early.
23:15 - I still can't sleep, so I decided to watch an episode or two of LOST at my PC.
16 Jul
00:25 - I'm already watching another episode of my favourite TV show and thank heavens! I'm feeling sleepy.
04:30 - My phone's alarm hollered.
04:50 - I'm well and ready to start my day's adventure.
05:05 - I'm already inside the Borders bookstore and checked the line and it didn't look like it's long enough. They're showing Chamber of Secrets!
05:10 - I went to the bookshelves to look for books that I could buy along with my HBP or read while lining-up.
05:50 - Carrying two books, I went back to check the line. Oh no! it now went as far to the hallway of Wheelock Place. I dropped the books I'm carrying in one corner and took my place at the end of the line, cursing myself for being so stupid.
05:52 - It doesn't look bad. Looks like I'm the 67th person on the line (I hope so!).
06:15 - Hagrid just passed me by. Okay, he's a shop staff dressed as that half-giant.
06:20 - Is that Volde - uhmmm... He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? He looks small, on second thought, he oddly like Emperor Palpatine in those robes.
06:22 - Channel News Asia people are taking videos of people on the line and the reporter is doing her spiel.
06:30 - The young man standing in front of me looks cute: messy, black hair that stick to the back; probably of Harry's age, too.
06:45 - They're interviewing the young lady on my back.
06:50 - They're asking the kids in front of me a few questions.
06:51 - Hagrid announced that there's only 10 minutes left.
06:55 - People on the front began shouting as the staff already brought out the boxes at the counter.
07:01 - More shouting and the first copy was sold.
07:35 - I'm on the counter paying for my own copy.
07:40 - I'm sitting at one of the tables of Coffee Bean, drinking cappuccino, eating chocolate muffin, and reading the first chapter.
Jul 17
03:00 - I finished reading the last page of the Half-Blood Prince.
15 Jul
16:00 - I'm, hyperventilating from excitement
23:00 - I'm lying on my bed because I need to get up early.
23:15 - I still can't sleep, so I decided to watch an episode or two of LOST at my PC.
16 Jul
00:25 - I'm already watching another episode of my favourite TV show and thank heavens! I'm feeling sleepy.
04:30 - My phone's alarm hollered.
04:50 - I'm well and ready to start my day's adventure.
05:05 - I'm already inside the Borders bookstore and checked the line and it didn't look like it's long enough. They're showing Chamber of Secrets!
05:10 - I went to the bookshelves to look for books that I could buy along with my HBP or read while lining-up.
05:50 - Carrying two books, I went back to check the line. Oh no! it now went as far to the hallway of Wheelock Place. I dropped the books I'm carrying in one corner and took my place at the end of the line, cursing myself for being so stupid.
05:52 - It doesn't look bad. Looks like I'm the 67th person on the line (I hope so!).
06:15 - Hagrid just passed me by. Okay, he's a shop staff dressed as that half-giant.
06:20 - Is that Volde - uhmmm... He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? He looks small, on second thought, he oddly like Emperor Palpatine in those robes.
06:22 - Channel News Asia people are taking videos of people on the line and the reporter is doing her spiel.
06:30 - The young man standing in front of me looks cute: messy, black hair that stick to the back; probably of Harry's age, too.
06:45 - They're interviewing the young lady on my back.
06:50 - They're asking the kids in front of me a few questions.
06:51 - Hagrid announced that there's only 10 minutes left.
06:55 - People on the front began shouting as the staff already brought out the boxes at the counter.
07:01 - More shouting and the first copy was sold.
07:35 - I'm on the counter paying for my own copy.
07:40 - I'm sitting at one of the tables of Coffee Bean, drinking cappuccino, eating chocolate muffin, and reading the first chapter.
Jul 17
03:00 - I finished reading the last page of the Half-Blood Prince.
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
Hanged by a comma
I just finished reading Eats, Shoots and Leaves by Lynne Truss; so, let me share this joke. It’s for the intelligent minds with keen eyes.
A panda walks into a café. He orders a sandwich, eats it, then draws a gun and fires two shots in the air.
“Why?” asks the confused waiter, as the panda makes towards the exit. The panda produces a badly punctuated wildlife manual and tosses it over his shoulder.
“I’m a panda,” he says, at the door. “Look it up.”
The waiter turns to the relevant entry and, sure enough, finds an explanation.
“Panda. Large black-and-white bear-like mammal, native to China. Eats, shoots and leaves.
Don’t sit there and say: “Huh?!” (that ?! punctuation is called an interrobang, by the way) Sometimes punctuations really do matter, and on occasions a matter of life and death.
When a life has been lived completely honestly, completely successfully, or just completely, the correct response to death's perfect punctuation mark is a smile. – Julie Burchill
A panda walks into a café. He orders a sandwich, eats it, then draws a gun and fires two shots in the air.
“Why?” asks the confused waiter, as the panda makes towards the exit. The panda produces a badly punctuated wildlife manual and tosses it over his shoulder.
“I’m a panda,” he says, at the door. “Look it up.”
The waiter turns to the relevant entry and, sure enough, finds an explanation.
“Panda. Large black-and-white bear-like mammal, native to China. Eats, shoots and leaves.
Don’t sit there and say: “Huh?!” (that ?! punctuation is called an interrobang, by the way) Sometimes punctuations really do matter, and on occasions a matter of life and death.
When a life has been lived completely honestly, completely successfully, or just completely, the correct response to death's perfect punctuation mark is a smile. – Julie Burchill
Tuesday, July 12, 2005
Food for the gods
I don’t like candies; I’m not too fond of them back when I was a kid either. But chocolates, oh, glorious chocolates! I love them specially the dark and bitter ones.
They’re having a chocolate fantasy over at the mall near my workplace, and I just bought 2 blocks of dark chocolates and one box of dark chocolate crispies. Chocolate binge? Nope, I don’t think so; that’s my regular supply for a week (maybe I should blame them why I can’t go back to my old figure).
European chocolates are the best; but Japanese ones are great too. How about trying the Meiji products (there’s more aside from what’s on the link; official link is in Japanese so I didn’t bother) or the Royce (they got stores at Takashimaya and Suntec City).
My friend April loves the Meiji Chocolate Almonds, probably because David Beckham used to endorse it. Royce is famous for its Nama/Rare chocolates; each cube is velvety smooth and simply melts in your mouth. Try the Bitter Nama, a taste of heaven – dark chocolate spiked with cognac. The Royce shop is very generous with free taste samples that could make you drool.
Chocolates: better that sex. (I know I heard is somewhere.)
They’re having a chocolate fantasy over at the mall near my workplace, and I just bought 2 blocks of dark chocolates and one box of dark chocolate crispies. Chocolate binge? Nope, I don’t think so; that’s my regular supply for a week (maybe I should blame them why I can’t go back to my old figure).
European chocolates are the best; but Japanese ones are great too. How about trying the Meiji products (there’s more aside from what’s on the link; official link is in Japanese so I didn’t bother) or the Royce (they got stores at Takashimaya and Suntec City).
My friend April loves the Meiji Chocolate Almonds, probably because David Beckham used to endorse it. Royce is famous for its Nama/Rare chocolates; each cube is velvety smooth and simply melts in your mouth. Try the Bitter Nama, a taste of heaven – dark chocolate spiked with cognac. The Royce shop is very generous with free taste samples that could make you drool.
Chocolates: better that sex. (I know I heard is somewhere.)
Sunday, July 10, 2005
The father who turned his baby into a woman
I’ve been posting birthday greetings for the past weeks, well, because most people very close to my heart just happened to have their birthdays close at each other. Yes, my Mom and Dad are both Cancers, and their birth dates are just a week apart.
Little girls need their daddies with them for many different things: like a steady hand to hold her high off the ground; like a deep sullen music that whispers everything is right; like a mountain that grows in her heart that shows her the way home when all else falls apart; like a love that’s wider and deeper than the oceans and soaring high above the air to tell her that she’ll find him there.
Thank you, Dad, for having the strength of a mountain, the splendor of a tree, the warmth of the sun, the calmness of a quiet sea, the giving soul of nature, the comforting arms of the night, the knowledge of the ages, the joy of spring, the patience of eternity, and the faith of a real son of God.
To dad, wherever you are: Happy birthday! You’re forever kept in our hearts.
It doesn't matter who my father was; it matters who I remember he was. – Anne Sexton
Saturday, July 09, 2005
Memories of a birthday
Friday, July 08, 2005
Re-building bridges
I had the most amazing day today. I’m not the kind of blogger that bores you with whatever happened to my mundane life in a day, except, of course, when some stupid idiot buggers my day. I just felt that I need to voice out the elation I had when I re-connected with old friends.
The other night, I was busily going through my small number of friends in Friendster, and I was led into this friend’s friend, whose name sounds oddly familiar; from there I got a link of a yahoo group. I checked it out, and goodness gracious me! It was a collection of old schoolmates from my good old hometown San Jose, Occ. Mindoro. Hands quivering in excitement, I signed on and joined the group.
Boy! Am I glad to know that some people still do remember me – probably because I did some name-dropping like my Mom’s – nah, I hope I etched a mark in people’s memory on my own. A wide grin spread across my face when I saw names of old classmates listed as members of this group, and their emails are there, too. So I did what I had been aching to do all these years, re-build old bridges that had been rotting to pieces because it hadn’t been trod upon in years.
Barely a day had passed and old friends started sending me emails and today we had a good chat over at YM. Look what I got from it! An old class picture of the class I left in the middle of our third year.
For a large image of this pic go here.
I am so delighted that there’s this group, which helped in a way of patching up broken connections and gaining new friends, who shared, somehow, a history with me.
Cherish your human connections: your relationships with friends and family. – Joseph Brodsky
The other night, I was busily going through my small number of friends in Friendster, and I was led into this friend’s friend, whose name sounds oddly familiar; from there I got a link of a yahoo group. I checked it out, and goodness gracious me! It was a collection of old schoolmates from my good old hometown San Jose, Occ. Mindoro. Hands quivering in excitement, I signed on and joined the group.
Boy! Am I glad to know that some people still do remember me – probably because I did some name-dropping like my Mom’s – nah, I hope I etched a mark in people’s memory on my own. A wide grin spread across my face when I saw names of old classmates listed as members of this group, and their emails are there, too. So I did what I had been aching to do all these years, re-build old bridges that had been rotting to pieces because it hadn’t been trod upon in years.
Barely a day had passed and old friends started sending me emails and today we had a good chat over at YM. Look what I got from it! An old class picture of the class I left in the middle of our third year.
For a large image of this pic go here.
I am so delighted that there’s this group, which helped in a way of patching up broken connections and gaining new friends, who shared, somehow, a history with me.
Cherish your human connections: your relationships with friends and family. – Joseph Brodsky
Thursday, July 07, 2005
Photographs of the natural world which have meaning
A very good friend, Marc Aviles, submitted some of his pictures for the photo project ‘To Singapore with Love’ in celebration of the country’s 40th birthday. Six of his photos (one was even a two-page spread!) were included among the 330 best images featured in the 264-page hard cover book, which was officially launched 5th of July. Participants in the said project are listed here.
If you have $40 to spare, why don’t you get a copy; otherwise, go to a bookshop and scan through it or check out this one, which was included in the book. This captured head shaving ritual was selected, too, and so as this aerial shot of Tiong Bharu. I’ve already got 4 of them, only two are left for you to find. Actually, there’s one shot at the Labrador Park, which is very similar to this, only better.
Ninong Marc, Josh is very proud of you.
If you have $40 to spare, why don’t you get a copy; otherwise, go to a bookshop and scan through it or check out this one, which was included in the book. This captured head shaving ritual was selected, too, and so as this aerial shot of Tiong Bharu. I’ve already got 4 of them, only two are left for you to find. Actually, there’s one shot at the Labrador Park, which is very similar to this, only better.
Ninong Marc, Josh is very proud of you.
Wednesday, July 06, 2005
Like a fleeting tale pleading to be remembered
People have a way of making themselves believe in words such as forever and everlasting. When you have found this ‘perfect’ love, all the world disappears and re-emerges as a new one full of laughter and joy, filled with all things beautiful and bright, and trouble-free; promises like ‘I’m forever yours’ and ‘I’m here until the end of time’ holds a certain truth and meaning. However, this world begins to crumble down like a heap of dirt beneath your feet when suddenly you learn that you have got to move on and let go of the utopian love.
Why does it hurt so much when you were the one left who has to learn to let go? When asked, you’d answer that it was never a bad relationship only that it had a bad ending, or that it simply was never meant to be. And so you go on with your desultory life, barely even living – praying and hoping that someday you’ll begin to trust again.
You are standing in front of a sunrise, yet you can’t find the beauty that lies before you; you’re wishing that you could find whatever it was that lies beyond the horizon, just as you wishes for the sea to swallow you whole. And so you endured the agony of escaping the bondage of that warped relationship; running thousands of miles away from that past you are trying to mend.
Why does it hurt so much when you were the one left who has to learn to let go? When asked, you’d answer that it was never a bad relationship only that it had a bad ending, or that it simply was never meant to be. And so you go on with your desultory life, barely even living – praying and hoping that someday you’ll begin to trust again.
You are standing in front of a sunrise, yet you can’t find the beauty that lies before you; you’re wishing that you could find whatever it was that lies beyond the horizon, just as you wishes for the sea to swallow you whole. And so you endured the agony of escaping the bondage of that warped relationship; running thousands of miles away from that past you are trying to mend.
Sunday, July 03, 2005
A mother's love for her child as the prime example of love or friendship
Just how does one say ‘thank you’ to the person who had given her a chance to live? How do you say ‘I love you’ when these words don’t seem to be more than enough to express what you feel?
I have said that I was my father’s metaphor, but in some ways I, too, am my mother’s daughter; I guess I am a mixture of both – aside from their names: Rey and Nel.
What I am today is what my mom raised me to be. She had shown me that women have power and strength to become whoever they wanted to be. I adore her and idolize her; she’s a woman of intelligence and of great courage.
I thought then that all mothers loved and cared for their daughters the same way she had always done for me, but as each day or years go by and the more I see of the world around me, I realized that our relationship is extraordinary - far beyond what is conventional.
I am thankful that I have a mother who taught me to love myself, as well as the others, to trust in my own instincts and to be true to myself. She had given me the greatest gift a mother could give to a child: a beautiful example of strength and courage.
To the most special mom in the world: Happy Birthday! We love you, Mom.
The heart of a mother is a deep abyss at the bottom of which you will always find forgiveness. – Honore de Balzac
I have said that I was my father’s metaphor, but in some ways I, too, am my mother’s daughter; I guess I am a mixture of both – aside from their names: Rey and Nel.
What I am today is what my mom raised me to be. She had shown me that women have power and strength to become whoever they wanted to be. I adore her and idolize her; she’s a woman of intelligence and of great courage.
I thought then that all mothers loved and cared for their daughters the same way she had always done for me, but as each day or years go by and the more I see of the world around me, I realized that our relationship is extraordinary - far beyond what is conventional.
I am thankful that I have a mother who taught me to love myself, as well as the others, to trust in my own instincts and to be true to myself. She had given me the greatest gift a mother could give to a child: a beautiful example of strength and courage.
To the most special mom in the world: Happy Birthday! We love you, Mom.
The heart of a mother is a deep abyss at the bottom of which you will always find forgiveness. – Honore de Balzac
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