Life after Harry Potter

It’s a shame toward my generation that I admit this: I was not that big a fan of the Harry Potter series. (Throw those judging leers, Rowling followers!) I, however, have experienced the Potter fever for a brief time in high school. I may have stopped reading after the fourth book (aka pop culture suicide) but when I depended my attraction to the series through those blockbuster movies, I’d say the magic was still there.

Barbecue of Roses

A century ago– meaning some weeks ago in the regulations of blogging– I hung out with fellow high school bums Yayi and Ralph, and altogether hunted for the mouth-watering barbecue of Tower Café. It was an effort to quell my personal issues with being a lost, rudderless graduate. They too were as quite as anxious about… I dunno. Yeah, the things we do to lick our wounds. BBQ=FTW.

Hormonal Eclipse of the Heart

My recent affliction for the swearing-induced culture of the British has had me dig in Skins and Minette Walters easily. I thought it was a coincidence with my current phase of knowing else what to do with my youth, alongside the thwarting temptation of, um, unemployment. Not that I can relate heads up with all the sex, drugs, and other unpopular dilemmas, but bullshits come and go, right??

Ugh, that’s so high school!

For the past days, I’ve met with a few of my high school friends just for the sake of it. The last mega reunion was a while back and, even if we’re just about 10 to have gone to recent senseless rendezvous, I still miss high school. I miss complaining over restraint and control. I miss the times I broke in the girls’ bathrooms, jeering away all stupid Catholic school rules that surfaced across  our tainted, whacked world...