good laugh, anyone?

i came accross this maybe last month.

fuck you, penguin is the name of the site and i find it rather interesting.

see for yourself.

what do you think?

would you rather be an artist who does a little bit of everything (part visual artist, part musician, part writer, part designer, etc) or be someone who is really great in just one craft (writing only or visual arts only etc.)?

how cheap could one get?

when i find a real cheap good read, i get excited and happy, thinking that i got lucky. it makes me want to leave the mall and go home immediately despite the on going shoe sale. it only hit me today when an officemate lent me a hardbound book (still including the jacket), half an inch thick, all intact without a single page missing. the book still has it's stimulating odor even if you put it 2 inches away from your nose and all the pages are still crisp. in short, the book is good as new (with copyright 2003).

my only problem is that it is only 10 pesos!

judging from the jacket of this book, it had gone through different price ranges because of the price stickers that are overlapping each other now. and it settled to 10 pesos before my officemate bought it (i wonder how much it would cost though if she did not buy it). it had $15.99 US and $23.99 CAN written at the back of the book jacket. i computed it and felt a twinge in my stomach when i saw the value.

the book is entitled flying south written by laura malone elliott and it "celebrates a young girl's coming-of-age in a delicate, moving narative that sings with the understated, yet resonant, pleasures of life in the American South." it is basically for young-adults ages 9 and up.

how do authors feel about their book being done in years of hardwork, not knowing that in the other side of the world (a third world country in particular), the value won't even be equivalent to that of a dollar.

finding Gilda

"Since I am a computer illit, it was left to my husband to access the site."
- Gilda Cordero-Fernando on planning to read Cecille Zamora's blog

(The advantages of dying By Gilda Cordero-Fernando/Inquirer/09/30/2007)

no wonder i did not find her blog. or her email address .
it was mostly blogs about her.

there's got to be a way to reach Gilda,

do you guys have any idea?

in whatever you think say or do.

i wasn't able to post a blog yesterday because of the internet connection. i had everything planned, cook dinner, wash the dishes, send my close reading via email and write my take away's for the entire day and post it in this blog. i was able to do the household chores but the last 2, i wasn't. as if someone was making fun of me, the internet connection suddenly got lost. of all the days it could go on AWOL, it was last night, around 11pm, a few hours before the start if a brand new day. ugh! had i ignored the facebook and multiply updates, then maybe, a january 26 post would be read fron this blog.
i woke up cranky because of not being able to write something and the LRT incident on my way to work added up to my sunshin-ey morning. i've always hated riding the LRT on rush hours. the train is packed with decent looking ladies (i always ride on the ladies coach) with faces covered in make-up, their hair nicely done and wearing crease-free uniforms and high-heeled shoes. they are nice to look at but these ladies seem to be competitive too since they literally in a no-holds-barred-kind-of-way push you so they too would be able to ride the train. imagine a space for 1 person can fit 5 aggressive ladies. tsk.
but that's just going to work where everything is half the battle, where everyone is still energetic and ready to face the day. but when it's past 5 in the afternoon and everyone wants to be home after a hard day's work in a flash, the battle is doubled, you only not fight your way to be able to get in (or sometimes, you don't have to walk because the others will just push you) but you also have to be strong enough to push people on your way out. if not, people who are wanting to get in will push you even more until you no longer have the strength to even say "may bababa pa po"
where are these people coming from? they seem to be well educated and decent but how come they are able to do things like these? how come they're not disciplined enough to just wait for the next train and not push one another? is it because they're used to doing it at home? kaya di umaasenso ang pilipinas eh.
but as i was contemplating on how stupid it was to do facebook and multiply first (thinking that i had time to do the blog after a few minutes after) i thought that i myself had no discipline. that i myself contributed to "di pag-asenso ng pilipinas" well i don't push someone else around and i try not to step on someone else's foot but the discipline for my craft was missing. discipline is not only someone's behavior towards something but also the control over one's self.
i was busy looking for answers for other people's lack of discipline not knowing i had mine lacking, only in a different aspect.
so the saying "discipline should start within or with oneself" is not merely something we can quote or design the elementary classrooms with. it should be embedded and practiced in whatever you think, say or do.

slumdog millionaire

this is in my "to watch out for" movie list. i was able to watch the trailer in apple.com/trailers and i imediately loved it. one of the things that i love about this movie is the rich indian culture that is shown althroughout the movie. too bad blogger does not allow me to upload the video using only the url or the embed code. it has to be downloaded from the pc.

anyway, here is the description of the movie from apple.com

Jamal Malik, a penniless eighteen year-old orphan from the slums of Mumbai, is one question away from winning a staggering 20 million rupees on India’s “Who Wants To Be A Millionaire?” But when the show breaks for the night, suddenly, he is arrested on suspicion of cheating. After all, how could an uneducated street kid possibly know so much? Determined to get to the bottom of Jamal’s story, the jaded Police Inspector spends the night probing Jamal’s incredible past, from his riveting tales of the slums where he and his brother Salim survived by their wits to his hair-raising encounters with local gangs to his heartbreak over Latika, the unforgettable girl he loved and lost. Each chapter of Jamal’s increasingly layered story reveals where he learned the answers to the show’s seemingly impossible quizzes. But one question remains a mystery: what is this young man with no apparent desire for riches really doing on the game show? When the new day dawns and Jamal returns to answer the final question, the Inspector and sixty million viewers are about to find out…

brenda

nakahinga din ako sa di mahulugang karayom na estado ng LRT. pagkatapos ng mangilan-ngilang tulakan at balyahan, nakalabas din ako. alas said y'media na at sa wakas ay narating ko na ang UN station. konting lakad nalang at pwede na akong sumalampak sa higaan o magbasa o magmuni-muni.

napansin ko na sa mga nagdaang buwan, tuwing bumababa ako, ang unang tumatambad sa paningin ko ay ang dalagitang nakaupo sa mga baitang ng hagdan. sa tabi niya'y isang plastik na baso kung saan matatanaw ang kakarampot na barya na mayroon siya. hindi alintana ang dami ng taong dumadaan sa harap niya, patuloy itong nagsasalita na animoy siya ay may kausap na nakikinig sa mga kwento niya. sinasabayan ito ng mayat mayang kumpas ng kanyang mga kamay na parang tinatapik ang kausap.

siya at ang mga katanungan ko ang kumukonsumo sa ilang minuto kong paglalakad patungo sa bahay. "naapektuhan na kaya ang kanyang utak dahil sa gutom, o inaaliw niya lang ang sarili niya?" "asan kaya ang kanyang mga magulang?" "sapat ba ang limos na nakuha niya para makabili ng pang-hapunan?" ito din ang nagpapa-alala sa akin na magpasalamat sa anumang biyayang natatanggap ko at magpasensya sa mga taong makukulit na sumasakay na ng tren kahit di pa nakakababa yung ilan.

at kahit anong pagod at hirap ang pinagdaanan ko buong maghapon, kahit papano ay may bahay akong mauuwian at matutulugan para maka ipon ng enerhiya sa darating na umaga hindi tulad ng bata, maghapon na ngang nanglilimos, pag uwi niya'y di manlang makapaghilamos.

what's in it for you?

my site's pretty much under construction but i won't stop you guys from reading something. just click on their names and you'll get to their blogs asap. have fun : )

ian rosales casocot

mia tijam

conrado de quiros

frank cimatu

bianca gonzales

and someone who calls himself bullet. i don't know who he is yet up until now but i've read a couple of his posts. let me know if you know him.

there are soooo many bloggers (celebrities, politicians, basketball stars paid to write their own blog. paid!) nowadays and i begin to realize the question that was raised early today. what's in it for my readers? what makes me different from the rest of this blogging society that readers would read mine instead of the others.

i have a gift...

i used to call it squeezing of one's hand.

until today when two of my officemates told me to massage their hands since i was good at it (daw). i obliged but warned them beforehand not to laugh at my skills since i was just literally squeezing their hands. they made a concerted effort in convincing me that i was really good at it. i thought about it half convinced and half thinking that they just wanted more. then it struck me when one of them told me that "you have a gift that you don't know?"

and then i realized that these people who only knew me for some six months tell me wholeheartedly that i am good at this but i keep on pushing the idea of it coz i don't think i am.

maybe this is the answer to all of my "am i good enough for this?" questions and nonsense. that maybe i am good enough or even more than good but it is myself who prevents me from being so.

good thing i have a great family i can rant and sulk about my childish insecurities with. and good thing they listen but do not agree. and the best thing about it is that they give me their all out support in everything that i do. sulking and negative ranting not included.

all of them will get a massage from me then!

true blue Batang Sining

i was supposed to write about my love for children's books and how i want to write and illustrate my own someday when it led me to tito dok as we fondly call him or Dr. Luis Gatmaitan to his patients. he is a doctor who has written a lot of award winning books for children and luckily, i was able to work with him when i was doing my OJT in CCP in a workshop for kids called Batang Sining. Aside from tito dok, i also worked with the Literary Arts Division team of tita Ester Eban and tito Hermie Beltaran. anyway, i was looking for more info about batang sining when i found this site with our pictures on it. i spent almost a week being with kids reading poems, stories, making artworks, working together for the puppet show, and of course, tantrums and catfights included. it was the best part of my OJT and will never ever be forgotten.

as for myself, i will continue to be inspired by tito dok (for children's lit) and beth parrocha-doctolero (for the illustrations)

i miss my batang sining family!

random rant

usually when i'm somewhere else but in front of the computer, i have lots of stuff to rant about. i'm like "ooh this is gonna make a good blog" and i'd be excited the entire day thinking about it. the treadmill, me standing on a jeepney, the packed LRT as usual, me being too big aready, me being told i'm pretty if only i were thin, sitting beside a manny pacquiao lookalayk in the bus, the cigarette vendor, the view from the 37th floor, me hating this and loving that. i even think of a catchy first sentence. but on nights like this. after working for 8 hours, after talking for 8hours, after facing the computer for 8 hours, after sitting for 8 hours, after worrying about my metrics for 8 hours, after being in the sky (37th floor, rcbc tower) for 8 hours, after being stuck in a traffic jam and a packed LRT and after cooking dinner and washing the dishes, i end up writing this instead.

i hope that i'll be in a better blogging condition tomorrow.

ohhh. one last. i just heard manny pacquiao on tv and still can't believe he named his daughter queen elizabeth. (separate entry for that)

Obama-nized

how big a change can he exactly make?

why not chocnut?

i've come a long way. uh. i guess so.

oh no no no no no. i'm not bragging here or anything. it's just me thinking aloud slash talking to myself in private without even thinking that this is being posted through the whole www.

i have come a long way. hah. that's a tough thing to say.

well, for someone who wanted to learn creative writing to be able to pursue her dream of being able to write for a teens magazine, and now wants to write her own book and win a palanca instead, i must've really come a long way. with my realizations that is.

i knoooow it's so so ambitious but you can't blame me though. it just came across my mind one afternoon and it did make me smile -- for a really long time. *eyes twinkling*

thanks to lipservice!

i just realized how uneasy i was with poetry when dr. marj asked me to read something for our class discussion. when it came to the word poem, i had to either pause before pronouncing it or repeat the word twice. my mind was fighting between pom, po-wem and poym and i ended up with po-wim! crazy. but now i'll settle for pom and repeat it at least 5 times a day. haha.
(dr. marj is another "poem" incident since i dunno how to spell her name. i read a lot of marj and others written as marge, better ask her instead)

i want to share a poem that i got to know just last week. accdg to dr. marj, his book is not in bookstores yet since it was released just this january. i promise i'm gonna buy his book as soon as it is released. or if someone can give me a copy that's even better! haha. he is gifted with a lambent wit that he shares with his readers in this book. i'm not sure if i can post his poem here but i really want you guys to read it.

LIPSERVICE
by Sid Cruz from his book Redeeming the Body

The new barber who used to live abroad
speaks to me in misspelled words.
I nod in the mirror. [Be nice.]

Keep stale, I hear him say
as he stays my head. Else
you might get bold, he chuckles.

Bald? I attempt to ask,
but he brushes cut off hair
around my mouth.
What if he mistakes my ear
for my hair?

The barber flicks his sheares.
I left my wife in Marry-lend, he says.
She's my love and cancellation.
But i don't mutter to her... A waiter asks her,
"Ma'am, would you like to go bottomless?"
And I flare up coz she says yes.
She glares at me, "It's the tea, silly!"
I still trust her, the barber tells me,
but you can't be Saussure.

The barber muses about America,
about how even garbage collectors there
fight for issues like segregation.
Finally, he let's me go.
The cashier tells me the new barber,
who used to be a Private First Class,
got his training in a crash course.
My old barber, she announces sadly,
has suffered a nervous breakdown.
Meters away the new barber nods at me
and spins his finger around his temple.
I leave with cheers in my eyes. I don't
wish him and his wife an injuring love.

At times I think this is all
there is to it and nothing more,
yet each time we pack and unpack our bags,
living one day at a time,
I sense another door ready to admit us,
our baggage and our gifts,
by which they all can remember us both
for some time.

crazy right? and this is just one of the many poems in his book!
i'm gonna work my hardest to learn, write, read and enjoy poetry to the fullest!

my orange tree moment...

the orange tree

away up high in an orange tree
two little oranges smiled at me
i shook the tree
as hard as i could
down came the oranges
hmmm. they were good

while preparing dinner, i told papa that the tomatoes in his tinola looked like sliced oranges. without thinking, i immediately blurted out (in a childish tone) the first two lines of this children's poem

away up high in an orange tree ...

my sister laughed and we both recited the poem together, pausing to think of the lines that followed.

we shook the tree with actions like what we used to do while we were in nursery.

we were having fun. then it dawned on me. it was a poem. and i wasn't hesitant to recite it. to feel it. to enjoy it. i didn't have butterflies in my stomach. i didn't worry about the rythm or the imagery or the measurement.

unconsciously at least.

after a moment, i realized that it had most of the elements of a poem. because if not, it wouldn't be a big hit or popular as it is.

i realized too that if i set aside all my worries (including dr. marj evasco as my poetry professor!) things would loosen up a bit. if i enjoyed it as it is, like the orange tree, i might probably have fun and erase the thick line i've created between poetry and myself. it's never too late.

wish me luck!

here's to embracing and enjoying poetry!