How would I describe last Friday? Kireiiizeee. Crazy. The theme diffused at unimaginable levels alongside the national walk-out and the Gawad Plaridel 2009. On the former, I could hardly forget my friend Lui from telling us how the student activist blocked fellows on their way to class, “Ang crazy nila ngayon, grabe.” Of course, the strike was a political issue for me, and was to be taken very seriously. Some apathetically stubborn professors just won’t let us go! Screw them! ( Read more… )
I wish I was Sherman McCoy— a $1,000,000-a-year Wall Street investment banker. I wish I was living in Park Avenue with an obedient socialite wife, a charming prep school daughter and an astronomical New York circle. Riiiiight.
In Tom Wolfe’s The Bonfire of the Vanities, I’ve learned that being so rich, so goddamm rich is no less frustrating than, well, being so poor, so goddmamm poor. Sherman— the zenith of every young urban professional in the 80s, who has lived a life one could only imagine— can spend attachés of dollars for just a pair shoe… laces! Just when you thought he was in cloud nine, guess again. After he’s fished a “hot ticket” mistress (again, why are the ladies always the troublemaker?), he was dragged into a scandal of capitalism, racism and prejudice. ( Read more… )
Bringing You Docuniversity
- I am shocked. I cannot seem to function in my optimum system and to accomplish things and just that. Last night midnight, I was doing articles for my Public Relations class. One of which we were initially tasked to write a magazine article about… OURSELVES. Now, this has to be breezy for me since I already have a self-absorbed WordPress but hell, the effrontery! I was hard-up not adoring myself too much. It was utmost vanity! ( Read more… )
I do not know how to whistle. I cannot seem to produce a hissing sound like a bird’s din. When I manage to do one, it would only last for less than five seconds. And I’d be catching my hoarse little breath. Am I normal? Now, remember the phenomenal Young Folks of Peter, Bjorn and John? Watch the video and tell me if it creeps you out! ( Read more… )
More or less after a year, you would spot me already wretched in a capricious grade-conscious mode in the CMC library, winking teary and chinky eyes, perpetually flipping books and unpublished theses, jotting down like a seismograph measuring earth tremors, all in the love of holy research, err… thesis. [Thesis Not It]
S c r e w i t !
I never thought I’d be chewing on my words when I blogged about it last year. I’m here aghast by the realization that I Do Not Have a research problem yet. It’s weird is it not? My problem is looking for a problem. I’m bereft of focus, of inclination, of passion to go not suck up and head to the library and look up for subjects of discourse, inhale and utterly masticate likable trends, current events and all that shit. Or at least to pretend to. ( Read more… )
A wild occurrence has happened to me lately. As a memory, it would cause me to surge in a laughter even in the gloomiest and rudest moments of my daily commuting. When I remember the white-streak-haired girl this morning in the UP-Katip jeepney –who knocked her bony elbow on my head and turned only to not say sorry after I blurted, “Ow!”– I would put the occurrence in my head and she would be absolved. I would smile on the corner, simpering, restraining my laughter… And before you mistake me as a psycho, let me explain… The occurrence was my orgmate Jerson a DUP performer mimicking Sitti in the notes of, yes, Lupang Hinirang. “Bayaaang… Magileeew…” he crooned as the people around him cracked. I must document him doing it, and show it to ye guys! (Surely you’ll lose your mind.) Albeit this, my apologies to the Queen of Bossa Nova and all her patriots. ( Read more… )
I thought I wasn’t writing about Michael Jackson’s surprising death. But hell, I was disturbed by my constant humming of Billie Jean the past week! One of my few favorite song of his! Read READ! I had no idea why I was in a Moonwalk daze. Glad that I wasn’t executing the signature dance step though, or that would shame me and my excruciating dancing skills (if you really call it skills). ( Read more… )
