Archive for September, 2010

La météo de Manille en Septembre vingt-quatrième à vingt-septième.

September 22, 2010

Manila weather on September 24th to 27th. That’s from Friday to Monday. I’ve been having a bit of this obsessive constant checking of weather from the 24th-27th of September, because SURF CAMP’s FINALLY HERE! Haha. Friday and Saturday’s looking quite damp (cue for ethnic  sun dance). However, Sunday and Monday are going to be soleil-parfait! Will be packing my stuff tonight, and will be sleeping-over at P’s place tomorrow for Friday’s 5AM very-early-morning-yawn-fest flight.

Je suis très, très excitation!

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Un très mauvais cas de gueule de bois.

September 18, 2010

A very bad case of hangover. And this is the second time. The first one was four years ago when I guzzled my way through my dad’s bottle of whiskey (and then eventually drank my way through oblivion), of which my younger sister X was falsely accused (with grounds totally credible) by my dad the next morning for the empty bottle.

Last night was my friend P’s birthday booze party. She closed a bar exclusively for the event. The party was really fun! I get to chat up a few friends I have not seen for months. I had neuf bouteilles de bière (3 San Mig Light, 3 Manila, 3 Red Horse), and 1 vodka tonic.

The drinks that I had last night were too puny to get me into a serious case of hurling-up-night-and-day. However, I forgot to buy 2 bottles of Gatorade before hitting the venue. I always keep a couple of rations in my bag before going to any hooch sessions. That is my number one rule. And to my much dismay, I failed to comply with the rule. Hence, the worst hangover. It’s dehydration that made my brain go wild, sending me into the abyss. It’s my brain cursing me for being heedless.

I remember telling myself this morning, while still in the hangover trance, that I will never ever take a drop of alcohol, ever. Haha. Oh, the silly things a person tend to promise when tortured, physically or psychologically.

Déçu.

September 13, 2010

Triste, mais vrai

Crestfallen. For the first time in months, I am.

I suddenly got the briefest epiphany this morning how the current conundrum of my existence is the quintessence of four of my imperative staple figures of speech: (1) Irony (2) Oxymoron (3) Simile (4) Metaphor.

Even the book I’m currently reading is in puritanical (?) connivance with destiny. These things are trying to reveal something to me (queue for the belfry). But how can I react with the full extent of my metaphysical reflexes, when all I was trained to be is the audience of the protagonist, and not the protagonist himself?

I guess having to realize, that all throughout the day, you have been wearing your boxer briefs the other way round, helps keep someone’s sanity intact.

I seriously need my booze fix, right here, right now.

Fate, you owe me a sound explanation. I’m waiting.

Je vous présente, l’aventir artisan.

September 12, 2010

L'oeuvre.

I present to you, the future artisan. My 6-year old nephew, Moki 🙂 Photo above (excuse the really teeny tiny scanned scale) is Moki’s fantastic work of art that got selected in their school (amongst other kids’ loser artworks, haha.) to be printed on novelty shirts, and other items, for the St. Leander Family Festival, in San Leandro CA.

What can I say, the fruit does not fall far from the same tree. Haha.

Moi et Moki, année deux-mille sept.

I heard he’s into fùtbol right now, I can’t wait to show a few tricks that I incessantly practice daily (after a few almost-broken fragile home decor).

In the meantime, we’d be patiently waiting for those shirts with his art printed on it. I’d wear it oh so proudly like it’s the only shirt that I own.

Aujourd’hui est le jour d’entraînement.

September 12, 2010

Hello there, steroids.

Today is the day of workout. Spent the last two days bumming around like a pig. So last night, I decided to workout the whole day today. And from today henceforth, I’d workout like there’s no tomorrow (or not). Haha. Bonne chance à moi. Sans the steroids, of course. It’s Arnold’s thing, not mine.

I’d better start whilst in the mood, otherwise the only body part that gets worked out would be my fingers (as I could just be blogging away the rest of the day).

I might hit the gym later (doing free weight routines here at home), then drag my sister to catch Cine Europa at the Shang, if there’s still time (time keep slipping out of my hands like liquid mercury, these days).

Fùtbol astuce nombre cinq.

September 10, 2010

Fùtbol trick number five. Starring CR7, Le Ronaldo.

WARNING: Watching this may want you to deliberately tear your head off for having puny and immensely futile fùtbol skills.

The other guy in the vid is soooo awesome! He ought to have his own podium when demonstrating his kuh-craze-eeh tricks. He’s even better than Ronaldo in the executions. But of course Ronaldo is far more skilled when he’s out there kicking other fùtbol players’ derriere.

Boules de chocolat, et Le Federer.

September 10, 2010

And only if they would do the same ad, with Maria Sharapova in it.
I’d love to lick and eat her, ahm, chocolate.

Le très, très grand livre du football, et c’est le mien!

September 10, 2010

 

Le livre du fùtbol, par DK.

 

The very, very grand book of fùtbol, and it’s mine! Haha. Been scouting for a really good book on fùtbol for almost a month now. And as if the heavens, stars, and constellations, ultimately realigned,  I finally got one from Fully Booked! It’s just undeniably, lust a first sight. And just like that, I released the tight grasp of my grubby claw on The Scarlatti Inheritance by Robert Ludlum.

As I was paying at the counter, my card got denied twice (curse you for the mass blocking, Citibank!). And then as if fate immediately stepped-in. My friend lent me cash to pay for my book. I even got additional discount for paying in cash. Haha. It’s really meant for us to be together. I call this, my book destiny.

Now where’s my ball.

Le Mosaïque de Parsifal.

September 5, 2010

The Parsifal Mosaic. Just finished this book last night (finally!). It’s, ahm, well, a good book, however the ending was uneventful. Tacky, if I may say. It is so reminiscent of The Gemini Contenders. Riveting plot, very interesting characters, exotic locations. Flaccid ending. Fantastic take-off, wonderful flight, awful landing.

And I hate that Ludlum protagonists, after going through mind-boggling mayhems, somehow managed to stay alive up until the end. I’d love it if the protagonist got skinned alive, then died eventually due to excessive bleeding.

Anyways, the story’s about this US government agent who witnessed the assassination of his lover (also a fellow agent), and then dropped out of service right after that. Months after that dreadful event, he accidentally saw his supposed-to-be-dead lover in a train station in Europe. Alive. And then there, the chase begins. Girl runs for her life. Guy runs after her.

Ludlum’s still the master of spy plots. Bourne rules!

Parsifal

I looked up Parsifal. Almost literal translation of Parsifal (Parzival, or Percival) is Knight of flowers. According to legend (or to the the German poet Eschenbach’s 13th century poem to be exact), Parsifal, in his quest for the Holy Grail, found the spear that was used by a Roman soldier to cut the side of Christ while he was still hanging up on the cross. It was rumored that this spear has the power to puncture deep wounds, but at the same time, can also heal.

And now, I’m off to devouring my next victim, Kundera’s The Unbearable Lightness of Being. I got so worked up that I need to pee.