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Friday, May 30, 2008
Happy birthday Idina Menzel. I love you.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
![]() Adunay panahon alang sa pagkahinog. Sama sa pagtaob sa duga sa kahoy aron mopalumoy sa bunga Sa kinatumyang sanga sa kahoy, o sama sa Sampagita nga mosalingsing sa kinatas-an Aron ipasundayag ang nag-inusara niyang bulak Niining bag-ong bulan sa tingtaob. ... Diya hinungdan kining pagkahinog. Gibulawan ka sa akong dila. * * * There is a season to this ripening, the way sap of tree rises to fulfill fruit of the topmost branch, or the motion of jasmine climbing trellises to show off a single blossom at new moon tide. ... Reason for this ripening. You are goldened by my tongue. Yuta-Tubig-Kalayo-Hangin / Elemental by Marjorie Evasco
Monday, May 26, 2008
The shirt my father and sister bought from Saigon. Yay.
![]() Beach photos. Soon. Tomorrow, I mango-pick!
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Natural Born Killers by Quentin Tarantino, David Veloz, Richard Rutowski, and Oliver Stone (Dir). Go. I can only find the fifth draft in the intarwebs. I know it's not the final one since the cop in this scene goes straight to emptying the shells instead of dropping the donut first. It's high-larious and badass I swear. Add 'Bombtrack' and 'Take the Power Back' by RATM. Squeal!
Get a copy and pause at around 1:23 with Micky and his Little Johnny jokes. Shit, yo: Everybody in the room breaks up. As Mickey finishes the punchline he steps in front of KAVANAUGH, laughing, and SLAMS his elbow in his face. Kavanaugh staggers. Mickey grabs his shotgun, rips it from his grasp, then bashes him in the face, swivelling to confront:
Monday, May 12, 2008
I was cool once. Now my mother gives me this look when I listen to Edith Piaf every morning. And I scream: "YOU DON'T KNOW EDITH PIAF?!" Then I'm all fired up and she tells me to relax. I shake my head. Blood pressure's a low simmer. World, you are wrong.
What I really want to say is that I think I want a stripper pole to materialize every time I hear "Black Dog" by Led Zeppelin. And jiggle like it's my birthday. Here's a song by Babs (go away I'm obsessed) that happens to make a lot of sense. Because things don't make sense nowadays. Like what's happening in Myanmar. Menstrual cramps coupled with gas pains. Miley Cyrus. Sluts from high school. The color lavender. I Hate Music from Bon Soir I hate music, but I like to sing La, la, la, la, la, la, la, laaa! But that's not music! Not what I call MUSIC, no sir! Music is a lot of men and a lot of tails making lots of noise like a lot of females Music is a lot of folks in a big dark hall where they really don't want to be at all with a lot of chairs and a lot of heirs and a lot of furs and diamonds! Music is silly I hate music. But I like to sing La, la, la, la, la, la, la, laaa!
Sunday, May 4, 2008
Sunday morning and Martha Stewart is diving for deep-sea scallops in Maine.
A so-far-fun summer. I don't regret leaving on the second day of my OJT. Please. I was making scripted telephone calls while constantly looking forward to lunch. Anyway. I've got my baking cap on. Nikay-friendly b-loaf and pizza. Sunday morning and Martha Stewart shucks a bivalve. Oh, Martha.
Saturday, May 3, 2008
Had a dream I was riding a jeepney with my father and I brought my laptop Gary with me. I left it outside for a second when we got down as I had to get my other stuff but when I came back it felt lighter. I was so scared. We stopped at some bar or cafe and there was this Old People Convention. They kept talking about wrinkles and anti-aging creams. My young friend raised her hand and complained that she wanted to look two years younger and the adults raised hell. And all the while I wanted to feed them cheeseburgers.
It's raining. They want my passport. What could this mean. |
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