Friday, November 16, 2007

Pangs

I guess my reading ability of late was a sign of things to come (and they came, and hit me hard on the groin).

With shame and reluctant admittance of inadequacy, I realize that I am becoming a poor reader. I know someone who can't finish a wonderful book like Wonder Boys in days must be. I have Chabon's book with me for a month now and I'm just halfway though it. Somehow I can't reconcile the jouissance I feel when I open its pages and the amazingly disappointing speed it takes me to finally put it down.

I look at the small closet I have in the rented room I share with a high school teacher and my frustration deepens. Its two layers, too small even for skeletons and for me to hide inside it, has turned into a trash bin of unfinished business: the upper part of clean and dirty clothes laid out carelessly on top of each another, and the lower part of books waiting to be read and compilations of advanced readings for my MA classes that I've skimmed through but never found the time and energy to completely understand. They'ew spilling out and the books are everywhere: all over the floor, under my bed, at the foot of my bed, beneath my pillows, beside it.

In the past there were only two permanent things in my system, as permanent as the sunrise and the sunset of day: reading in the library and watching TV at home. I found that nothing else mattered; not going to malls, sleeping over at a friend's house, eating at fancy restaurants, hopping like rabbits from one bar to the next, joining a motocross, or playing paintball shootouts (but these last two I really did enjoy). Now I find myself with all sorts of excuses not to read, from an unfounded need to go to the gym and spend the last waking hours of my day with men who moan and groan but sound nothing like inspired by something lovely, to the reckless desire to stroll around malls and look for the gayest shirt or pair of pants and eat the night out until the waiters turn off the lights on me (occassionally with friends). Its a shame that I don't gain anything from all the food that I eat and which makes my other excuse, like I said, unfounded.

These things, not unlike weeds*, provide me with a certain sense of satisfaction, a brief glimpse at a life of blissful contentment, but only for so long as I keep myself from doing number two. After wiping myself clean, the shapeless brown (sometimes green) marks on the tissue remind me of the things I did that made my life resemble something a little like its mother ship. And flushing the toilet will not change the fact that I just suddenly stopped attending my classes a few months earlier, completely disrespected my professors by not telling them I will be dropping out their classes, and giving them plenty reasons to give me a failing grade instead of the less troublesome DRP. And that I could no longer enroll in the Comparative Literature program.

I hope it's not too late. Next year I'll try my luck on a university abroad (as if!) or another Master's program which I will truly enjoy. I'll wear glasses if I have too, and I'll eat lots of carrots if it will help keep my eyes from hurting after reading for more than 10 minutes. I'll abandon my fantasies of looking like the Adonis that I'm not, and I will resign myself to the fact that I have nothing remotely attractive to anyone; not my body, and not most certainly my cold and abrasive personality. I'll put myself back on track and remind myself that I don't live for girls, or boys, or for anyone in between. I'll have none of my excuses, and I'll try to enjoy reading again.

*Pathways kids: you know this is bad, don't you?

Monday, November 5, 2007

School Hard

Woohoo. I never imagined the person who wrote that complicated article Framing Fanon - one of the many readings that gave me headaches no end back in my Post-colonial lit class, including those written by Franz Fanon himself - also appears in the fashion section. And why, as one of Boston's best dressed! Better believe it. Oh Homi Bhaba, the things you get yourself involved in are as confounding as your "stylistically lamentable" writings. You're a genius. Geeks around the world better rethink their position on tweed jackets and corduroy jeans.

Sunday, November 4, 2007

Showtime

The holidays are just around the corner, and we know what it means for US theatres. Finally, some good cinema and really entertaining blockbusters. Studios will be lining up for the public's holiday spending spree and fielding their finest this year to catch Oscar's attention.

I haven't gone crazy over any of this year's movies so far, so I'm looking forward to this and next month's line up. There's Rendition, topbilled by actors I respect (the Meryl Streep, Reese Witherspoon, and Jake Gyllenhaal) and Lions for Lambs (again with the Meryl Streep and Robert Redford, and I think I'm forgetting someone else). I'm also looking forward to seeing American Gangster starring Russell Crowe and Denzel Washington, and We Own the Night with Joaquin Phoenix and Mark Wahlberg.

Is it me or are Hollywood movies during Oscar season becoming less and less about good stories but more displays of on-screen star-power fireworks? Surely, one can always check out selections from Sundance, Venice, or Cannes if wants to see carefully crafted storylines and well written screenplays. It's also possible that the trend these past few years are character-driven stories such that the actor and his/her portrayal becomes the automatic gauge of a film's value. I remember the time when "uglifying" female leads became guarantees for Oscar wins (Paltrow in Shakespeare In Love, Swank in Boys Don't Cry, Berry in Monster's Ball, Theron in Monster, Swank again in Million Dollar Baby, Kidman in The Hours). No, they didn't all win Best Picture, but I felt that the actresses turns helped kept the public awake and in their seats until the credits rolled. Genocide due to boredom would have been the case otherwise.

Oh well, this trail of thought is becoming pointless so I better write about something else. Oh, I wanna see Lust, Caution and Across the Universe, the former because it's Ang Lee and Tony Leung's in it, and the latter, for its soundtrack and the A Clockwork Orange feel.
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I love watching and reading Steve Carell's interviews. PDI has an interview with "The 40-year-old Virgin" and "The Office" star where, when asked how he and his wife met, he shares a nerdy dialogue to make a point about how shy he was. I swear I could've figured in this dialogue in the past, or I'm sure this is how I'm going to ask someone out in the future. Here it is:

She would say things like, "If I ever went out with a guy like you, that would be neat." Then, I'd say "If I asked someone like you on a date, that would be weird - and I'd be scared about you saying no!" She replied: "I don't think I'd say no if someone like you asked me."

Lol. Pity the third person.
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Iron Man and Green Lantern are coming to the big screen soon.

I miss Blue Beetle, Booster Gold, Guy Gardner, Captain Marvel, Ice, and Fire. I wonder if they're in any Justice League comics currently in circulation. We shouldn't forget the brave heroes who fought alongside Superman in his tragic encounter with Doomsday.

I also miss Gambit and Jubilee.
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Writers are staging a strike in Hollywood to demand royalty from profits earned in "other" media such as podcasts and video streaming be included in their contracts. I would like to strike back at them for not writing Heroes as well as they should. I was really, really disappointed by the first season finale. And for stretching Lost to such unreasonable lengths. And for generally ending shows less spectacularly than their entire runs; think Dawson's Creek, The X-Files, BtVS, ER (what happened to this show?), The West Wing, Felicity (remember Megan's time-travel spell?), Alias (parricide galore), Just Shoot Me, Will and Grace, Ally McBeal, Gilmore Girls. But still, TV networks should give these brains their due. I will happily endure one (usually the last) crappy season than not have three or five seasons of great TV.

I miss Jack and Bobby.

Thursday, November 1, 2007

Insomnia

Ha. Pao just got a copy of 30 Rock's complete first season. It's from you-know-where of course. And I'm looking forward to finishing the whole season this weekend. I have three more hours till the break of dawn, so the first eight episodes are pretty much a done deal - for this quarter of the day, at least.

I'm in love with Tina Fey. TV execs should give this lady whatever she wants. I know I would. If she'll ever want anything from me which is like, not gonna happen. Even in the gazillions of parallel universes that I believe exists. Even in the one where I was late night TV's Conan O'Brien.

















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Has anyone seen the HP ads on CNN (correct me if other stations show it as well)? The series with "the PC becomes personal again" tagline? I think they're fascinating. And blindingly star-studded. I've seen Paulo Coelho's, Serena Williams', Vera Wang's, and Michel Gondry's bits. Pao has Gondry's on his livejournal, and I'll try to upload whatever I can find in My Videos for everyone. Eternal Sunshine rules.