nervous breakdown

Don't you just hate it when every after SONA everyone becomes a political analyst? It's as if they were clueless on what to expect and were surprised at what they heard. Of course it's always lies, my friend, the long-legged kind. And promises that you can bet your fat ass will go nowhere. And statistics that are as bloated as a five-day old floater, to complete the fairy tale. In short, it's the same damn crazy shit every year. So why strain your neck nerves shrieking about it?

I call it Post-SONA Nervous Breakdown. This should go down to Psychiatry books. Let's discuss royalty.

sinking lady

M. Night Shyamalan's Lady in the Water is a disappointment. I wish there's a better way of putting it, since I'm a big Shyamalan fan, but there's none. (How about, "M. Night Shyamalan's Lady in the Water fails to make a big splash"? Nah. Sounds like something a two-bit reviewer would come up with.) It's one of those movies that looked promising only on trailers. Watch them and you'll wish theaters have money-back guarantees.

Word of advice for Mr. Shyamalan: stick to horror. It's dangerous to go out of your genre if you're not Steven Speilberg.

surfacing

What's keeping me busy these days is a 2000-word article (plus sidebar, 500 words) about Muslim discrimination. If the guy who gave me this assignment is telling the truth, it will come out on the September issue of Maxim Philippines, the Lopez's answer to the Gokongwei's FHM Philippines. If not, well, I can always rant about the creeps and cretins of the world. Or load up on rhum and plot ways to rip this planet in half.

That's it for now. I'm actually just having my break.

i'm a loser, baby

Fully Booked, seller of incredibly overpriced literature, has just announced the winners for their First Philippine Graphic/Fiction Awards - and I'm not one of them! You can throw me all the feel-good books you have, or fill my head with words of encouragement until they are coming out of my nose, or pat me on the back a thousand/million/billion/trillion times until the skin there turns violet, but neither of them can change the sad fact that LOSING SUCKS BIG-TIME!!!

Now excuse me while I go outside and scream . . .

the lesson

So I'm currently taking driving lessons. I figure, If Mr. Bean can drive, why can't I? This morning I had my first hands-on experience. I wish I can say that it was a Kodak moment.

See, the instructor assigned to me was this middle-aged freak named Chris. I chose to remember him for two things and two things only: the burn marks on his face that made him look like a Chernobyl victim or something, and his bad temper for errors big and small. The latter meant big-assed trouble. Since I was a beginner, meaning someone with zero experience on the driver's seat, therefore prone to dozens of errors, he practically tore me apart, limb by limb, his nose smoking and all, perhaps cursing his job at the same time. And because subtlety was not his style, I went home feeling like a dunce. So much for "our friendly and professional instructors," I guess.

When Charmaine asked me what've I learned on my first day of driving, I told her, "To keep my cool in front of an asshole." Deep inside I wish that's the last time I would've to deal with someone who's one bad day away from turning into The Incredible Hulk. That lesson is easy to learn, but admittedly hard to practice.

oh, yesss . . .

Though I'm not a big fan of her, this photo of socialite Paris Hilton really got me swingin' on a Monday morning. Devil's horn to Andrea for the link.