adventures in neverland

so talented young actor paulo avelino has a new movie. unfortunately, it doesn't look promising. the comedy slash drama movie is directed by the overrated but underperforming joel lamangan (he has no originality. almost all of his movies are copied from the great ones: lino brocka, ishmael bernal, mike de leon, mario o'hara and joey gosiengfiao); while the script (as i could tell from the trailer which, because this is a filipino film, already gave you the whole story, if there is one, as well as its highlights) looks like it's a poor imitation of the already lousy films about two supposedly rich, successful, classy and intelligent women (di nga?!) fighting (literally) over a man. but at least, paulo avelino is credible as the man torn between two beautiful women. or the object of two women's desires and the reason for their endless catfights. unlike, say, that ageing, balding, not so tall other actor who can't even act. the blogsphere is full of photos of t

"the road to fame (and fortune) is paved with shame." -- mahatma gandah. last night, as i was browsing through the unbelievably fabulous photos of the homes of the rich and famous, i was wondering how  come these people, some of whom are not even as talented as moi, accumulated so much money to afford their hedonistic lifestyles that even marie (let them eat banana cake) antoinette would surely envy, enough to turn her pale, pale skin to green. i want to be them. as you know by now, i have been jobless for nearly six months and my savings are running low. in fact, it's so low that i don't know how am i going to pay for my rent next month, or how am i going to attend the coming annual ball at the met without a new michael cinco gown. i never thought that this industry would be harsh to ageing, withering beauties like me. i always thought (obviously i thought wrong) that beauty goes better with age. or was it talent?! %%%%%%%% anyway, as my insomnia at

still mourning the loss of my pocket camera (it was cheap, but it was priceless), i suddenly remembered that i promised to post photos of my recent adventure in a luxurious hotel in makati. anyway, as you already know, i and fabulous friend -- who will host an event next year to be attended by some of the biggest names in banking and finance in the region and beyond -- checked out the suites at the newly-opened raffles hotel. now we all know that raffles spells luxury. i had stayed at their singapore hotel in my past life and it was heaven on earth. i didn't want to go home after covering an event. &&&&&&&& anyway, enough of the dramah. it won't win me a pulitzer or a nobel. but who says i am aiming for one? a bafta would be enough. haha. here are some of the photos of the suites suited for a queen. or a princess wannabe for that matter. let's start with the cheapest one. i forgot how much it costs to own this for a day. is i

been reading about john cheever, the brilliant writer who lived the life inside a closet, got married, had children, but remained lonely, depressed and found solace in alcohol and younger men. ^^^^^^^^^ "The journals contain some of the best sentences Cheever ever wrote, but, my God, they are horrifying. The pain, the loneliness, the secrecy, the shame: Cheever, an imposter in his own life, turned self-loathing into an art form. His image as the poet of suburbia – the Ovid of Ossining, Time  magazine called him  – was thus dealt a possibly mortal blow, the moments of darkness in his stories now taking on new menace; the moments of grace, a sudden emptiness. Was ever a man's outward appearance so at odds with his inward condition? His friend John Updike thought not, and shook his head sadly at this psychic chasm, hoping against hope that Cheever's fiction, with its startling glimmers of optimism, its sense always of moving towards the light, would somehow prevail. 

there are days like this. you woke up one morning and found out that the camera that had been with you for ages was gone, along with some cash. while it's true that you had, a long time ago, learned to let go of things, that camera was precious. it had chronicled the various stages of your life, preserved the happy faces of your family, friends, lovers and strangers. of places that you have learned to love and cherish. in fact, you had given away most of your things, but that camera had stayed with you. it was one of the first things that you bought when you moved to a new city several years ago. then the cash. why now when your financial situation is in a very precarious condition? in fact, you had learned to shy away from malls (one of your favourite hobbies) to avoid the unnecessary spending just to save some cash because god knows how long this job drought will last. you had also turned down several invitations that could lead to expensive dinners and drinks. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^

he was holding his cigarette the way you used to do: safely clipped between the thumb, the middle and index fingers. as if scared that a strong wind might blow it away from him; or some stranger from out of nowhere might snatch it from him. i guess you were like that on everything that  you thought you owned. you wanted them secured, fastened close to you. i used to wonder what made you behave that way. so insecure, so afraid that someone you love might leave you or be taken away from you. it took me years to understand it. to understand you. but i am digressing. let me go back to my story. &&&&& he was a stranger. a nameless guy with movie star looks. i don't know why i have always been drawn to guys that reminded me of you -- smooth, creamy white skin; neatly combed, short, black hair; sad, dark brown eyes; long, lean limbs; a confident but elusive smile; and, soft, dreamy voice. see? my thoughts were stray