brandon floweeeeeers

[14:33] ee_ey_vee: te te
[14:33] ee_ey_vee: ay wala ka nga palang youtube

[14:33] ee_ey_vee: anywho, the killers singing “girls just wanna have fun” – http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-RrRSPjLvWI
[14:33] jakechew: ano na naman yan
[14:33] ee_ey_vee: PAKSHEEEEEEET
[14:34] jakechew: ay napanood ko na yan
[14:34] jakechew: hahaha keri nga
[14:34] jakechew: pogi si brandon
[14:34] jakechew: infernez
[14:34] jakechew: kaso sana mas butch last name nya
[14:34] ee_ey_vee: oo te brandon flowers amp
[14:34] jakechew: chenes
[14:34] ee_ey_vee: ang pogeeeee
[14:34] ee_ey_vee:
[14:35] jakechew: brandon thorns
[14:35] jakechew: ganyan
[14:35] jakechew: di ba mas bet
[14:36] ee_ey_vee: AHAHAHAH

I’ll have to credit Perez Hilton.

dinner dinner

I got my much needed pick-me-up on Friday (this week had just been exhausting for me, I don’t know why), when I went out to have dinner with my high school girlfriends (and one of the girls’ boyfriends). We went to Avenetto at its MOA branch. (We almost switched to Sbarro when we couldn’t be seated right away, but we got tired of walking.)


I’ve never tried that restaurant before, didn’t know they had such big servings. (Good, too, that I was warned by Sasa and Grace Anne. I mean, what if I ordered a pasta dish all by myself?)

Then Haagen-Dazs for dessert. Sasa ordered Seventh-Heaven-something-or-other; the dry ice in the middle was supposed to represent Heaven. I thought it was a nice touch. (I still don’t understand why the ice cream has to be so expensive, though. I mean – it’s ice cream!)


I was able to get extra whipped cream and a cinema pass, thanks to Sasa’s power authority beauty employee discount bullying skills.

More photos at my Multiply site. All photos credited to Sasa and RJ. Thanks, guys!

(By the way, these girls and I are planning a trip to Bohol early next year. We’re going to stay in Cebu for a short while – do you know of a nice cheap nice place where we can stay? :) E-mail me or leave a comment.)

* * *

The next day, Saturday, I met up with ex-office mate Eden at Trinoma. (In July last year I had a month-long stint as web copywriter. I took the job because two months of post-college joblessness just felt too long and I was getting anxious and paranoid and impatient and angry with myself for not getting a job sooner. I left because there was too much work and the pay wasn’t really good.) Eden talked like she just downed five cups of coffee. While we were inside Powerbooks she gushed over Atonement, and ripped Stephenie Meyer, Paulo Coelho, and Nicholas Sparks – in that order. I participated in the exercise (Meyer’s okay, not blow-me-away good; Coelho I believe may just be a victim of bad translation, to which Eden replied, “E bakit si Gabriel Garcia-Marquez? Ano yun, magaling lang translator niya?” Well, good point. As for Sparks – hm, no), then got a little frightened halfway through. Meyer fans can be really brutal.

We left the bookstore without buying anything. (I wanted to buy a copy of 20th Century Ghosts, but it was sold out.)

The last time Eden and I met, I practically forced her to watch Jesse James. So this time she practically forced me to watch Quantum of Solace. I wasn’t even able to watch Casino Royale. Come to think of it, Quantum might have been the first Bond film I was able to watch in entirety. It was all right; I had fun.

I just adored the song (Jack White! Jack White!) in the opening credits:

Mary Grace (another restaurant I’ve never tried before): Food for the Gods, Mango Bene. Terrific.

Before we went home, she bought me a book (A.M. Homes’ The Safety of Objects) as a late birthday gift.

Or maybe because I just kept dogging her to do so.

Hm. I should do that more often. :)

‘no comfort in the waiting room’

Was introduced to this song by Rissa. Beautiful, beautiful song/video.

As for the (French) words the girl writes, I got these translations from one of the YouTube comments:

Il m’aime = He loves me
Un peu? = A little?
Beaucoup! = Alot
A la folie = (loosely translates to) Madness
Pas du tout = Not at all

Lyrics from AZlyrics.com.

What Sarah Said

by Death Cab For Cutie

And it came to me then that every plan is a tiny prayer to father time
As I stared at my shoes in the ICU that reeked of piss and 409
And I rationed my breaths as I said to myself that I’d already taken too much today
As each descending peak on the LCD took you a little farther away from me
Away from me

Amongst the vending machines and year-old magazines in a place where we only say goodbye
It stung like a violent wind that our memories depend on a faulty camera in our minds
But I knew that you were a truth I would rather lose than to have never lain beside at all
And I looked around at all the eyes on the ground as the TV entertained itself

‘Cause there’s no comfort in the waiting room
Just nervous pacers bracing for bad news
And then the nurse comes round and everyone will lift their heads
But I’m thinking of what Sarah said that “Love is watching someone die”

So who’s going to watch you die?

michael crichton, 66

I’ve read maybe a book or two, and I’ve seen all the Jurassic Park films (who hasn’t?).

This took me by surprise.

The NYT published a statement from Mr. Crichton’s family.

“Best-selling author Michael Crichton died unexpectedly in Los Angeles Tuesday, November 4th after a courageous and private battle against cancer.

While the world knew him as a great story teller that challenged our preconceived notions about the world around us — and entertained us all while doing so — his wife Sherri, daughter Taylor, family and friends knew Michael Crichton as a devoted husband, loving father and generous friend who inspired each of us to strive to see the wonders of our world through new eyes. He did this with a wry sense of humor that those who were privileged to know him personally will never forget.

Through his books, Michael Crichton served as an inspiration to students of all ages, challenged scientists in many fields, and illuminated the mysteries of the world in a way we could all understand.

Rest in peace.


Photo from the Harvard Gazette Archives. The photo’s accompanying article also was a good read. Didn’t know Mr. Crichton studied at Harvard Med. Didn’t even know he created E.R.


Crichton elicited knowing chuckles from his audience as he described coaching actors to become doctors, training them to rattle off lab results instead of treating them like dramatic dialogue.

“Actors are trained to look at faces when they talk,” Chrichton said. “I said ‘no, no, you’re supposed to look at the injury … because that’s what you’re there for, you’re the doctor.'”

He sounded like a fun guy. :)

what’s in a name

I just saw a review of Joe Hill’s 20th Century Ghosts in the paper. I think I’d go scour the bookstores for a copy of this. I haven’t read a good horror story in months.

The review said the collection “has been out of print until fairly recently”. Made me think it was one of those classics.

Then it turned out Joe Hill was born Joe Hill King. He is Stephen King’s son.

Holy shit.

I didn’t know that. An article from the New York Times mentioned that King dedicated his novel, The Shining, to “Joe Hill King, who shines on.” I’ve read that novel maybe two years ago. I think I even remember seeing that dedication page. Sweet. Now that little kid’s a published author.

The last time I’ve been this shocked was when I read an article by Dave Barry, talking about how his son was doing in college. You see, I have a copy of Dave Barry’s Greatest Hits, a compilation of his columns in the 80s, or thereabouts, so when I read that much recent article I actually went, “Ay! College na pala siya!”

Ang tita na lang ng comment. :) But it seemed like yesterday – well, come to think of it, literally yesterday – I was just reading about Dave Barry’s son landing a role in the school play, and now he’s all grown up and lecturing his father about physics!

Anyway. From the NYT article:

When [Joe Hill] was about 12, The Bangor Daily News accepted an essay he submitted. “I was completely pumped,” he told me. “I felt like I was on the verge of major celebrity, and my excitement about the piece lasted right up until the day it was published. When I read it in the newspaper, I realized for the first time that it was full of trite ideas and windy writing. At the end, they had added a little postscript that said, ‘Joseph King is the son of best-selling novelist Stephen King,’ and when I read that I knew that was the only reason they published the piece. You know, at that age the fear of humiliation is probably worse than the fear of death, and not long afterward I started to think I should just write under a different name.”

When I asked Hill what it was like growing up in the King household, he quoted an old Jay Leno joke, which went, he said, something like this: Stephen King asks his kids, “Hey kids, you want to hear a bedtime story?” And the kids scream, “Noooooo.”

“But it wasn’t like that,” Hill explained. “My dad is a great storyteller, and we loved to have stuff read to us. As a family, my mom and my dad would sit down and the book would go around the circle — we’d sit and read all together. It sounds very 19th century, but it’s true.


Hill writes in two traditions that he would argue are artificially walled off from each other: genre fiction, with its emphasis on breakneck, often outrageous, plot and metaphor; and literary realism, which values detailed characterization, psychological depth and subtle epiphanies.

I just love how the author defined the traditions. Sounded accurate. :)

Photo from Joe Hill’s official website.


I don’t remember every single detail about every single birthday party (“party” is too generous a word – generally my mother just cooks food and some relatives come over. Not sure if this is correlation or causality) I’ve ever had, but I don’t think I’ve ever had a birthday where it didn’t rain, or, at the very least, where the skies were never overcast. I even remember a birthday where we had a blackout. I suppose I remembered that birthday because it sucked.

Well, on the day I turned 22, the skies were gray. I’m not a big fan of uncomfortably hot days, so the gloom was actually a treat.

What I hated was the flood.

Row, row, row your boat.

I have this bad feeling the water’s really as old as I am (this is a recurring joke in our household). My high school friends have been begging me to throw a party in my parents’ house for years, but I look outside the window and I can only think of someone slipping and cracking his skull.

I’ve never brought a friend home, but some close friends have seen the interior of our house through pictures. I suppose our house is very photogenic. My friends think it’s this grand thing. Fucking flood has turned my parents’ house into an enigma.

* * *

But doesn’t stop my relatives from coming every year. This year, I even had more visitors than usual.

The question of the day was:

“May boyfriend na ba?”

The key is to look embarrassed as you reply. Well, I was embarrassed, but it’s important to look it. Otherwise, they’d think you’re a freak. I’ve done witty/funny/carefree/indifferent in the past, and they all looked at me funny.

So this year I was bombarded by a myriad of follow-ups:

“Hindi nga?”

“Bakit wala pa?”

“Bakit ayaw mo? Masarap kayang magka-boyfriend.”

(That last one from a middle-aged tita. She said that to me with her husband present; I believe she gave both of us an aneurysm.)

Well, a cousin said, “Ako nga rin,” with just the perfect amount of annoyed and indifferent. I loved it. We got to talking about other things: work, school, an older ex who dumped her. While she was eating dessert, she slapped me and said:

Cousin: So kelan nga.

Me: Kelan ang alin.

Cousin: Yung huli.

Me: Anong huli?

Cousin: Yung huli!

Me: Wala nga!

Cousin: Kahit nung noon-noon pa? Baka naman masyadong painful.


At one point, my dentist tita said: “Wala pa nga, since birth.”

To which I said: “Ay, kailangan talagang i-announce?”

At least everybody laughed.

* * *

And at least the incessant prodding meant they didn’t think I was repulsive, or strange. That I’m still single they saw as some sort of anomaly.


Should I be worried now?

* * *

Later that night, I stayed with my siblings in my brothers’ room.

I noticed something: before, when I try to kiss my younger brothers (I have two), they turn away. I suppose it’s some sort of law among younger brothers with older sisters.

Yesterday they didn’t turn away.

Cute. And sad. Our family’s aging, everyone’s getting old. Nobody could afford to refuse kisses anymore.