Monthly Archives: September 2010

a little birdie’s persistent

the itch to set up a twitter account is becoming more pronounced.

let’s weigh the negative and the positive, shall we?

– i am not a celebrity. what will interest people to follow my account or read my Tweets?
– lack of time in updating it
– the imminent claustrophobia in a digital world growing smaller and smaller
– the fear that i will resort to posting what i ate for dinner. gah!

– i can claim my name for this social networking site. my name has been “appropriated” in Facebook.
– NPH’s account
– New Yorker’s account
– Lady Gaga’s account
– YSL’s account
– Yvonne Strahovski’s account
– Alanis Morissette’s account!!!!!!
– Alicia Silverstone’s account
– Anne Curtis’s account!

i already have a tumblr account, and i can’t even update it. i am a social networking site budding failure.

what can you say about my dilemma? care to drop weights either on the positive or negative side?

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ooh, these little earthquakes

it makes me feel wicked to know that in my stalking of people via the internet (google, you are magic!), i get to stumble upon their blogs and troll their past entries.

i stumbled upon this blog owned by “Phil” (pseudonym, of course, and one that’s inspired by Modern Family!). Phil recounted his many heartaches and his chivalric attempts at wooing women, including but not limited to, having packets of chocolate handy for bouts of craving that may plague his crush. In my hazy memories of my academic years (yes, it’s true, insomnia zaps healthy brain cells), there are instances that just need some virtual optical refocusing. phil used to bug his female acquaintances for his oddness. yes, i think that’s the correct term for his acts — odd. to cut the long narration short, i knew after some time that he was just using me as buffer. people readily assumed phil had a crush on me (unbelievable because in the sea of beauty and wit found at my university, i was a plankton into literature), and he latched on to it, projecting this while making moves on a girl or two.

years and years after, i’ve chanced upon his blog, and his words all support my claim. you feisty, utilitarian you! smart move. smart.

but the sad thing is, he remains heartbroken and nostalgic.

he pines in his kingdom of oddness.

and i am still into literature. oddly, i still feel like a plankton.

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i will possess my life

*title is such because my LSS at present is I will possess your heart.

DISCLAIMER: Expect my writings to have complaints on aspects of work and studies for the coming months. If you’re sick and tired of these, you can switch the channel. I wish I could do that. 🙂

i am proud to share that i am done with a paper for Cultural Studies.

naaakkss.. i’m singing in the heat of day…

BUT BUT BUT there remain:

1 thesis for CL 122 >> DONE!!
1 thesis for CL 151 >> RAW TEXT DONE!!
1 objective exam for CL 151
1 reaction paper for CL 151 >> DONE!!
1 reaction paper for CL 122 >> ALMOST THERE!
1 brochure for a writing gig
2 magazine issues to work on
2 magazine articles due
1 online shop to promote
>> UPDATES as of OCT 5

Due asap.

and i am beyond panicking. i am in a panic-less state where you know the peace you are sensing is the.calm.before.the.storm.

“smile like you mean it.”

i can only think of the cows in “the far side”; calvin and hobbes; bender of futurama; sheldon of big bang theory. i would like to be hugged by you, you dear fictional characters.

i miss reading lit books. bookmarks are decomposing between pages 26 and 27 of A.S. Byatt’s The Game, between pages 10 and 11 of George Saunders’ The Brief and Frightening Reign of Phil, between Virginia Woolf’s diary pages, volume 1. And my journal? It has forgotten the strokes of my words.

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punch-drunk argh!!

i am not convinced that the travel writing assignment bearing down on my shoulders is altogether a curse. after all, deadlines forever hound me.

the beauty of the place i visited for the assignment is almost beyond words.

it was just that the mode of transportation sucked (14-hour bus ride from manila and another wasted 14 hours for commute bound for manila) and the female companion i was with as part of the assignment coverage doubly sucked.

i usually shy away from authorities; i am an authority-worshipper when it comes to work. to put it simply, worship = fear. i seem to find kinship with grey’s anatomy’s arizona robbins (played by Jessica Capshaw) who would almost always defer to AND fear authority. but type A people who are smug and not necessarily have not been vested authority over me in my line of work? they suck.

i would love to rant about her smugness and know-it-all character, but the three nights i had to spend with her have siphoned off my rage.

some snippets:

– when i was interviewing a chef, she kept on expressing her opinion about the thoughts of the chef to the point that i had to remind her, “wait lang, i’m doing an interview here”.
– the way she would “command” me to inquire about this or follow up that concern as if i was an amateur.
– the way she overstepped her bounds as per the publishers’ wish regarding the look of the food shoot. i snapped at her, telling her that i don’t share the opinion of the publishers but theirs is the last word, and they’re the ones who hired us.
– the way she raved on and on about her dream wedding to the managers of the resort! Close kayo?!
– the way she would use my anecdotes or opinions as launching pad for her lengthy stories.
– the every-three-hour allusion to bali, indonesia like “ah, parang ganito sa bali”. wala ka na sa Bali, girl! goodness.

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I usually post my a la Twitter post in my Multiply account, calling it mul-twit-ly (“ly” as in supply). I am now bending some rules by posting a pseudo tweet here.

has been in misibis bay, legaspi, albay, since this morning for a writing gig. she’s giddy, at the same time excited, mixing fun and work. or to be exact, squeezing fun out of work.

Try as I might, i can never bring myself to create a Twitter account. I believe I don’t have the right to post my thoughts AND to be followed. I’m not like lady gaga or ashton kutcher whose tweets are like the songs of angels. My self-love can’t sustain that parade of thoughts. But oh how curiosity eggs on… 🙂

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freefall is a section in weight of words for masturbatory, practice writing, random quotes and pieces of poetry. similar to a tattoo where an artist sketches an outline first before the very illustration, freefall is an outline of either beautiful or monstrous sets of words to come.

(It’s been a long time — January 3, 2009 to be exact — since I wrote my last Freefall post. How sad, how pitiful. Here I am trying to resurrect that old part of myself.)

In Twitter no more.

In Multiply no more.

In Friendster no more.

In your psyche no more.


She clutches at a pile of aches beneath her chest right where breath is harnessed. And there they are, all her stories, her growls, her escapes and her muted shrieks. She thought an invisible hand is done scooping them all out. But here they are encased; the wanton span of your voice sealing a gigantic shard.

sweets for moi sweet

Food porn? Nope. Just wanted to show to the world portions of the amount (and artistry!) of sugar I’ve consumed since the start of the year. Not in this entry? Countless others. Hello, my name is eva, and I’m a sugar junkie.

Haagen trio

Chocolate Kiss(es)

Mascarpone cheese, you are love.

One pours the hot milk into a tall glass that holds choco kisses.

Fleur de lys's molten chocolate cake

A la sans rival

eep, grainy shot!

Fleur de lys's take on the banoffee

Fleur de lys's meringue and cream with dollops of fruit

Cafe Juanita's pastry

This is a little treasure that just thrills your palate.

Molten cake again

...and again.

Not in photo: bowl of condensed milk

What ice cream?

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L Shirota’s first bath

Yes, in the middle of work, deadlines, raket, I try to make time for important matters.

Such as making sure my baby L Shirota gets to experience his very first “bath”: dry cleaning!

He wasn’t allowed to be bathed the first time since he was the only baby present. So I had to ask a friend if her nephew has babies up for bathing.

Look at my baby. I was terrified for him, and the sweet lady at Rustan’s laundry corner understood me. She was the one who propped L Shirota up.

See you in a week, my little wild thing.

L Shirota

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exes, grand jetes, tequila shots

September 4, Saturday, was a packed day, to say the least.

I watched CCP Ballet Philippines’ Gala and was regaled with classical ballet and a couple of contemporary routines. My camera had to keep up with me as it wasn’t allowed to be used! Sneaky me was able to capture some scenes and being cooped happily in a parterre box with mi Jazzy, Abby and Rocky was an advantage.

After the event, we coasted to Nakpil for an exclusive party (fyi – exclusive parties or ‘exclu’ in the LGBT world means a party for L’s/G’s/B’s or T’s; and for the losers out there who don’t know what LGBT stands for, it’s Lesbians, Gays, Bisexuals, Transgenders.)

It was my first exclusive and hopefully not the last one. Never mind that the entrance fee was steep, never mind that it was customary to down a tequila shot or two before being allowed entry (my OC side was super paranoid about the shot glass used, oh my.), never mind that it was a party sans the segments I expected (organized registration, wrist bands for “Singles”, “Taken” etc., games). But it was fun. For one, Rocky saw her ex at the party (awkward, heh!) Got reunited with Mr. Red Horse, danced for a few minutes and talked heart to heart at the top of my voice with high school friend Tider. There were a few hiccups like my other friend’s habit of dancing on the ledge with a stranger (!) and this episode when a butch tried to dance with me. Rocky earlier oriented me about what to expect, but I wasn’t told about this slight fault. Like in some bars frequented by heterosexual males, there would always be this sort of character lurking. I edged back to safety, and Jazzy saw what happened. That person was safe for the night because her departure saved her jaw from a mean punch or two from Jazzy. Eep.

I dig the dizzying shots I took of the party, and my digital take on Degas’ ballerinas. Here are a couple and then some.

view from the box

fell in love with the moon for the nth time


My lousy homage to Edgar Degas

aurora borealis?


in la-la land

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