I ran out of space in my head...the net seemed vast enough so I decided to lump it all here.

Sunday, May 30, 2004

Helter Skelter

I feel like I left my brain somewhere at the North Expressway.

The idea that I am home still hasn't sunk in, and I feel like I'm floating on air half the time. The only time I got some sleep when I was there was on the first day--I got a full six hours. The succeeding days, I only got two hours.

The first night, I did some homework. The seconds night, I polished the script that my group wrote. The third night, we shot a movie. The fourth night...well, everyone was getting drunk while I was negotiationg a project with one of the student directors. Discussion went on until 4am, when we were so tired no ideas were flowing into our heads.

The following day we had to get up early so that we could trek back home.

It was an interesting five days.

I got a lot of praises for the story that I made, which I was quick to correct that it was the brainchild of 6 people writing one over the other. We weren't even making a script, it was just a writing excercise to come up with a scene that just turned into a short.

Half the group wanted to kill me when I wrote a line that turned it into a horror, which was why gave me free reign when we had to go back and polish the damn thing. Six people means six voices, and I went back to make it just one voice--mainly mine, but HEY, you can't have six different speaking styles, neh?

Anyway, the script was given to two directors to interpret. One ego-inflated prick wanted to make a porn flick, and I had to negotiate--quite firmly--that it was not written as a porn flick, you cannot do a porn flick ("dude, you're actress is scared shittles"), and there was absolutely no way that we were going to attach our names to a student film that may not have any nudity, but had some SOP that we didn't frigging write. (With me as the fucking voice on the phone, no less)

Normally, directors have free reign in changing the script. And for the sake of realism, I as the writer representing my group allowed him to change the ending and some parts of the script. Which is why a five paged script turned into a fucking 14 minute film with a really screwed ending.

One thing: a writer can be a fairly decent to a good director, but it's a rare thing that a director turns into a good writer.

I knew before we shot that the film was going to flop despite the excellent cinematography, mainly because he fucked up the story. Some directors forget that it's the story that most people want to see. Otherwise, all you have is a piece of film with wonderful shots and no sense.

But I let him do it anyway. Call it revenge, but it was his name that was going to be attached to this film in the end. And I knew the second director would do a much better job at interpreting the script (since we get along, THANK GOD)

There's a lot of bruhaha that went one with him, since everybody hated him and wondered why I was willing to put up with his shit.

The fact is, the guy is just about as big a prick as he is a great cinematographer. The dude took great shots, so I was willing to stay up all night and clapping for TAKE 22 of just one frigging scene. Out of about 19 scenes, we had only five good first takes, he averaged 9 takes to a scene. It was fucking insane, but the rushes/dailies were darn beautiful.

But good shots do not make a good film, and his attitude made him one lousy director. And that's the lesson I wanted to teach him, including the lesson I gave him when I yelled at him in the editing room in front of the editors and everyone else for being crass and insulting.

I am so fucking used to being the center of something, that when the news spread like wildfire that I--zen calm to the annoying prick--finally cracked, I didn't fucking care. I was more concerned that the guru's would never hire me for being such a difficult writer, but I explained that I "fired" him (or threatened to pull my script) as a producer, and not my capacity as a writer.

I felt so bad for losing my cool, even when everyone kept telling me that I did the right thing. Even the gurus understood that he made the working conditions so bad, and that if I hadn't blown up, the film might not have been made because of his irrational perfectionism (and to add to his karma, as soon as I told him that I was pulling out his film, the iMAC that he was working on went dead because some dude accidentaly yanked a cable)

The funny part was, it was the second film that made such a huge hit. And it was the complete opposite of the first one.

The first one took around two hours for preproduction, and was shot from 9pm to 5:30 am. It also took all morning to edit (mainly because the prick wanted to edit it himself even though he didn't fucking know Final Cut Pro) and since he ended up changing most of the script, he ended up with a 14 minute film.

The second one had almost no preprod, about half an hour for the actors to take a crash course in performance dynamics, an hour to shoot and two hours in editing and sounds. the director stuck to the script and it came out amazing.

People were congratulating Jowee--the director, and asking me what my next script was.

It was overwhelming.

Especially when the film that we made was a fucking horror flick/urban chiller.

My group wanted to kill me when I wrote a one liner that made it into a horror flick, mainly because it was my genre and...well, it was a little selfish. It's not an easy genre--to write for, to direct, and to shoot. So when I steered the story--which was already begging to be one, since the beginning--into an urban chiller, everyone save for Jack (who's brain is connected to mine) screamed bloody murder.

But it turned out to be a good thing.

What I didn't know until the fucking workshop was that the local industry was screaming for a horror flick just to edge out the other local asian horrors. Not a lot of writers were willing to do horror, and the local industry is in trouble of losing out to American and now these local horror films.

So when they found out that horror was my genre, they were all suddenly very interested. Which I was quick to point out that it is not purely my genre.

I don't do classic horror, I do mostly fantasy and suspense.

I cannot pull stuff like The Ring or The Eye or The Grudge out of my head. Are you kidding? Writing the five page script already gave me nightmares. Back at the hotel I was hearing strange knocks in the middle of the night, what more if I wrote some psycho supernatural horror like The Eye?

I'd have a heart attack!

It was amazing to have some of these small (amateur) production companies come to me and Jowee at the end of the showing asking us to work with them when they were so skeptical to even commit when I was looking for people to help me do my urban chiller shorts.

I haven't been approached by a major studio or anything, but for me, just having these small breaks--such as a start up studio or minor production company--ask me for my scripts--unwritten ones at that--is kind of...flattering.

Plus, I pitched my "callcenter story" since my intended story turned out to be Jersey Girl, and that got some heat. My guru asked me to develop it and to call him for when I want to write it. Because even though I had some great idas, it became glaringly apparent that I could not write very good Filipino, and that I needed to practice very hard to get the rhythm of the language.

Which means, I will be hanging around malls and churches with my tape recorder.

But really. The whole horror kick just...shocked me.

I never once thought that there would be a demand for it. When I tried to lobby a drama that I wanted to write, they were all "That's great...but can you write more of those urban chillers?"

Holy cow.

So I guess I will be the scared girl for awhile. I still can't promise Ju-On or The Ring, that's not me. But hopefully, the story that I've got in my head (that should--hopefully, keep your fingers crossed--start preprod late,late this year) will be scary enough.

Because heaven knows, I now cannot go out to lock our windows at nine fucking thirty PM withough feeling like someone is watching me.

Friday, May 28, 2004

Cheap vs. Expensive

The workshop that is supposed to change my life is over.

I just got back from a rather long travel from Tagaytay and am close to zonking out--but not before doing e-mail and checking more (egotistical) fanfic reviews.

I'm still at that stage where I'm adjusting to being home after being away for a long time. It was...

WOW.

Holy fucking WOW.

Thing...really did change my life, so I guess the 12k that I forked over was worth it--heck, it was more than worth it. I don't want to pre-empt anything, but just the experience alone...I think I got my money in three-fold.

The only sad part was that when they called me onstage to present me with my certificate, they told everyone I was sent there by DAI, since I was still working there when I signed up.

Anyway, the experience was just...WOW.

My teacher was great, my classmates were awesome, and even though I yelled at one of the student directors for being an unprofessional prick (details on a later post) it was the best.

I learned so much that all the crits I got were welcome. I've met people whom I know I will be working with, made a lot of knew friends (it was a total flirt-bowl) and even though I ended up doubling as a voice over actress and production assistant/mananger, I managed to get one of the scripts that I helped write produced into a film--albeit, a student film.

It was...incredible. That's all I can say, considering that I haven't slept more than eight hours since I got there.

And thanks to my friends for the moral support. I couldn't text back because Sun Cellular has crappy signal in Tagaytay and I didn't have any signal for the most time (for a short time, I forgot my cellphone back at the hotel :p )

Saturday, May 22, 2004

Yes, This is Me Bitching

So the workshop that is supposed to change my life is tomorrow.



Things not going so well. Want to kill receptionist. Bury her alive.

As usual, I am doing my packing--all seven days worth--at the last minute. I still haven't my receipt or shaved my legs. I will have to withdraw tomorrow before I go in order to pay for the remaining balance for this (fucking expensive) workshop.

Then I get a stupid text from the receptionist--who somehow forgot--saying "don't forget to bring a laptop and HD disks"

WTF?!?!?

I was afraid of this. I told Laarni before that I was scared that I might show up there, and everyone would juts pull out their Palm Pilots and Apple G4s and here I was, with my pen and paper. Laarni assured me that a lot of writers were a lot more destitute than I am, and would unlikely be Tech Boy on the go.

That was before I re-read the additional brochure and found that most people attending said workshop would be...professionals. I think i'm going to be the only one paying my own way...shit, I might be the only one with absolutely zero experience.

I was--and somehow still am--debating on whether I should lug our '98 Toshiba Satellite with the wonky batteries. I told the (stupid, fuckass) receptionist that my laptop had a wonky battery and had to be plugged all the time. She said "only when available"...

I felt like texting back and saying "avail this! (&^*&^^@% for just telling me this NOW, at ten fucking thirty pm!"

Add to all that, I am fucking scared. Most writer's workshops eat you alive! Constructive criticism only comes from the guru, but writer's...we're a perverse lot who takes pleasure in inflicting pain on our contemporaries ego. No one escapes a writer's workshop without a few dents. I should be a basket case for a good few days after this.

You know what...I'm now kind of wishing that this thing would be over.

The weird thing is, Luis and I were having some heart to heart talk last night. He was in a panic about his starting relationship--nature of which to be mentioned in a later post, probably next week--and my so called career as a writer.

It was...different. Luis has always been somewhat protective of me, but he never admits it. But yesterday, he actually told me that he was worried about my handling the professional crits that I am sure to receive and how i'll handle it when I have to give up some of my artistic rights to sheer practicality.

I told him that I was already doing a mainstream book, that I was more concerned that some people would think I was selling out. He told me to fuck it and just concentrate on getting money in the bank first. That the people who cared understood what I was doing.

And that big brother thing just blows me away.

As an only child, you're used to being with yourself. Everything you do does revolve around your world, because you're always aware that you are...alone.

You have no brothers or sisters who need to squabble or agree with. All decisions you have to analyse yourself. Most of the time, you play devils advocate with yourself. It's that tough little training that you get that no matter how many friends you have, family is different. Siblings are different, and you are kind of short with that.

So it's always welcome when my "big brothers" show their protectiveness of me.

Don't get me wrong, they can be harsh. It can range from "That was a really stupid decision, Kriszia" to "You should wear this, you look so much better" to "Do not, in any frig ass way, mess with Kriszia or you will answer to all of us."

And that is...a lot of "us". My friends would lock me in a room before they let me do something stupid, and I love them for that.

Anyway, I told Luis that I was scared shitless (or scared shittles as I am now fond of saying) of the whole thing. This is the first time i've been away from home on my own, without a group or to a place with complete strangers. It's almost like camp, only you work and get grilled everyday. And it's just for a total of six days.

A lot is riding on these six days. It's a test, I suppose, to know if I can make it on Philippine TV. A struggle since I am very colloqial in my Filipino fictions and cannot produce any of the lyrical narratives that most Filipino films usually have.

And I think in English, fucking dream in English. I dream in other languages and rarely do I use Filipino in my dreams. When I took French I, I dreamt in french and half the time I didn't know what I was saying!

So tomorrow is going to be a challenge.

Have to sleep now. Still have some packing left over for tomorrow.

Friday, May 21, 2004

All The Good Things

The thing about living here in Manila is that the place is never big enough...but it's never small enough either.

You do get to a point where it's the same people over and over, and it's six degrees of your life everyday. I suppose it's the first step to reaching a point where you suddenly know everyone--but know no one at the same time.

Where do you go, really?

I keep thinking of all those points in my life where I wanted something stable, like being a lawyer and married with kids. Having a nice two story house with mortgages and children going to private schools. Two maids to cook your meals and do your cleaning. On Sundays you go to Church, head out to mall to take the kids out for lunch, before settling home for the weekend. You do this routine until the kids grow up and even you get bored with it.

But you never notice it. You just get tired...of doing the same thing over and over. And you can't stop it because this is it.

They say that there is a think line between boredom and contentment, it's hard to stand on both.

Mediocrity scares me. I couldn't even imagine myself sitting in an office for eight hours straight, and yet I did it for more than a year. And I never noticed it.

I just went to work, did my job, went home exhausted. Thankful for primetime television, and mother cooking me good dinners.

I hated it, but I did it. I did it for the money, I did it for the security, I did it because it was something to do, and for the most part, that's what we all want, isn't it?

Our own place, with our own family. A feeling of being needed and something to do.

And there it is. The secret to life that we can't seem to accept.

Why is it that we all seek a simple answer, but when it reaches us--plain as day--we seek for a more complicated form?

I wish I could explain the reason why I can't deal with the status quo that my parents and everyone else seems to have set for me. Why I can't have a life where I go to work, come home tired, and live the life that the rest of the neighborhood seems to be living.

Something complicated isn't too bad, isn't it?

When You're Low On Gas

I don't think i've eaten right for the past week.

Don't get me wrong, if you've met me, you'd probably think i've haven't eaten right since I was 7. I'm about 5'5 and weigh less than a hundred pounds (I think i'm around 90 or 95 now, I've stopped checking)

I have a big appetite, I don't throw it up, I just burn food faster than most people. I eat most of the time too (which is the way to go, little portions throughout the day)

Anyway, ever since i've been home, i've tried to set up a healthier lifestyle. Mostly to take advantage of the resources I have here: (better) home cooked meals, getting the right amount of sleep, having your own schedule, etc. etc.

But the past few weeks, i've been skipping some meals in order to write or do more research. I've spent more time staring at my PC or writing development notes than I did doing work when I was working in an office.

And I guess it's taking a toll on me.

I have a weeks worth of laundry, my room is a mess, I have trouble sleeping unless i'm absolutely exhausted, and my eyes are blurring up and i'm beginning to lose concentration because of the skipped meals.

I lost my provisional receipt for my workshop, so I am hoping they have a copy of that because it doesn't look like i'll be finding it. But I did find the following things: some unopened VCDs that I didn't know I bought and own. Unused cell card. Two thousand bucks.

Yesterday, Mark and I went out for Shawarma (for the foreigners: it's the Middle East's answer to a roastbeef sandwhich) because I needed to get out. I hadn't really eaten lunch or breakfast, so I was a bit woozy by then.

But even though I knew I was hungry...I just couldn't feel it. Like it wasn't important.

I had a donut and some Ritz crackers, a glass of water. I was in the middle of doing some research on generational satanic cults (replacing the script that was a bit too close to Jersey Girl. Karen thinks it's a complement that I think like Kevin Smith)

I just...it was stunning, having to sit there and just read. It was a bit like the time when I did profiling research, since some of the same topics came up.

Mark came by to chat and borrow my copy of 28 Days Later (nice film). It was hard trying to get off the research high, but he's always been pretty good company. We ended up driving out to by these special Shawarma's from Lagro for dinner. Highlight of the the night was me looking for Mark's cellphone in the car which turned out to be in my hand.

Up until then, the joke about me being frazzled was kind of cool. I'd flubbed up a number of times for the past two days: forgetting to turn off the lights, where I placed my glasses (duh), time-date. Names of people, I guess.

I got a nice lecture about hunger and two shawarma's in return.

Oh well, welcome to the hunger point I guess. It's funny though, how my creativity seem to flourish on that narrow point between satiation and hunger. That window in time where you're so focused--you know you're hungry, you know you have to go--but you just have to write. That point before you can't think straight because you're body is starting to shut down.

If only we could sustain that place.





Thursday, May 20, 2004

How'd I do that again???

I just wrote a particularly inspired chapter in my fanfic called Grief.

It was one of those things that just popped into my head and wasn't in my outline but I just had to write it.

Anyway, it was something new, very smarmy, very touchy angsty, dramatic, romantic...and people loved it and holy cow, how in the world am I going to do that again???

The funny part is, I now know that a great bulk of my audience is female, since the reviews are better when the chapters are about Tom--the male lead. They love seeing him suffer (don't all womenkind) and pine for her. The sadder he is, the happier they are.

We are all sadists in our own way.

So here I am again, in a stump. Wondering how the hell I'm going to top this one, or if I'll mellow down before letting my readers take on a next wave.

I did realize one thing: if you keep them in suspense long enough, they turn on you and just leave. It's almost like a TV show, if they don't like what they see in one or two episodes, or you leave them hanging in suspense for like--forever, they will never come back.

...Unless you left them at a really good place and they feel they'll die if they don't know.

As it is, my readers are begging me for the next installment. I am half-tempted to say "Uh, sorry, beause of this unplanned and wonderfully inspired piece, I have no idea what to do next"

I now know--in a severely smaller scale--how the writers of the X-files felt during their fifth season...and maybe even their seventh.

The fourth season had most viewers hooked because of Scully's cancer, so it was the arc that kept them more than stand-alone eps. But the fifth season produced some of the best eps there were, with the contents ranging from comedy to drama or just straight supernatural--they were brilliant! They made very few strikes in their 24 ep line-up.

Then came season six, and the behind the scenes war with David Duchovny. I won't say that he destroyed the show, but more of...the writing just went...BAD. With David threatening to leave and the writer's pressured into making the best of out the situation, it just didn't make for good writing conditions. Plus, they introduced the idea of Mulder's ex--Diana Fowley (played by Mimi Rogers)--right after X-Files: FIght The Future, where the fans were bouncing on the walls because of the aborted kiss. Which was, btw, never mentioned in the coming season.

Either way, billions of fans worldwide were setting up virtual bonefires, flaming the Chris Carter, but particularly the writer's and their parantage.

Their names appear on the credits, i'm sure one or two of them shed some tears while reading some personal reviews on the net. I know I would have.

...I'm beginning to sound like the total nerd, aren't I?

The X-files, don't I just MISS it. That thing was with me when I went to high school and ended when I left college. I don't know how that show influenced me, except that I got really hooked into fanfics and I thought David Duchovny had a really HOT HOT body. I don't think I walked away with anything educational or even remotely inspiring...but hey, I was entertained

I'm going through this phase where I'm taking inspiration from anything--just about anything just to get me moving on my book, notes for next weeks workshop script, another episode idea???

I haven't checked on what's next with Enterprise, since we're still on Season 1 in here in Asia and the states is just wrapping up season 3. Season 4 should prove to be interesting, since Star Trek usually brings in the "relationships" at this time. I've given up on an Archer and T'Pol pairing. It seems like starship captains should remain unattached so that they can sleep with strange aliens. Even Janeway and Picard had some interesting flings, and we all know that Kirk fucked every skirt in the galaxy.

He's like Rizal, in that respect. Brilliant womanizer elevated to the status of hero.

Tuesday, May 18, 2004

Reality Bites

Reality Bites was on in Star Movies tonight.

I must admit, that is one of the movies that I can keep watching over and over and never tire of. It's catching.

I never saw Singles when it was released, the supposed generational movie of the early nineties. That movie marked the era of grunge and acted pretty much like a cinematic "fuck you" sign to St. Elmo's Fire--which is, ostensibly, the 80's generational film.

The eighties were the yuppies. All around yuppies. I never would have thought of it until Luis mentioned it. Must be why everyone was in a suit, even in films where the stars were supposed to be in high school. Broad shouldered monstrosities in Matte or Malibu colors (good grief, Miami Vice, anyone?)

But Reality Bites...that movie gave birth to a new generation. It was a foreshadowing to Generation X: Apathy. They popularized the plain white t-shirt and how not to give a care in the world. They moved out of grunge-where people spent their time running away from 80's excess-to a place where they ran away from nothing at all.

Then there's US, Generation Y+. Or Z. (Does this mean we go back to A after this?)

Technically, your generation doesn't start until you're in college and lasts until your mid 20's--that wonderful age range considered to be your second formative years, the one that the US Markets are tripping over themselves trying to snare. (Because as soon as you hit thirty you're no longer prime spot, you've developed loyalty and taste and will not be bothered by such things as mind candy advertising! Otherwise known as POP)

Which makes my generation the late 90's and the turn of the century (ha!) So what is our generational movie-that piece of film where a group of kids from all social (and now racial) representations get together and try to live life.

We have:

Cruel Intentions: One of the few teenaged movies that I actually liked, where the kids were believably smart and there was major angst and a complicated plot. Who cares if it's a remake?

But what does this say of my generation: that we are all well dressed, verbose, over-sexed individuals who like screwing other people's minds behind their backs? (for some of the people I know, that is pretty accurate)

Scream: ...Plus it's sequels and brethren of urban slasher films. Where everyone gets killed by some kid they unknowingly bullied or tortured in the past. Lots of screaming involved. Lots of believable blood.

But what does this say of my generation: that we like blood. We like gore. We like to see people being cut up. But we all learn from the mistakes of Columbine, which would make a really boring feature film, so let's repackage and revitalize that old slasher genre and hope for the best.

American Pie: To be honest, I didn't watch any of the movies. Maybe this series is better left to the generation next to mine (you wish) All I can gather is that it's a horny kid who dipped his thing in a pie, got caught by his parents, weird foreign girls and local girls doing nasty things with their musical instruments, and has a bunch of friends who do just...do really stupid things.

But what does this say of my generation: Look dude! It's Jackass--with a plot!

Ah well, I guess we just haven't hit on one yet. But there's always hope. Let's just wish that ten years from now, we don't look back and say: my generational film was marked by teenage kids walking around making dicks of themselves while having too much (protected--let's not forget that) sex while wearing designer clothing.

Things that fascinate me

I don't know whether or not I should be happy that the simplest things in life now fascinate me. Maybe it's boredom or my standards on better living have sunk really low.

I wonder if Jessica Simpson knows that the reason why 3/4's of the viewers of The Newlyweds tune in not to get some vicarious thrill out of her married life with Nick Lacy but to see just how fucking dumb she is.

Yesterday the episode featured her and husband Nick (you sick lovefool bastard) in a horse drawn carriage. She asked what would happen if they saw a red light. Nick said something like "well, we stop" (duh). If that's not dumb enough for your shallow tastes, she went ahead and asked how the horse would do that.

Not exactly the horsewoman, isn't she? Good thing hubby was kind (what a friggin' saint) to explain things such as reigns, bits and bridles: what they are, how they connect to the horse, and how it actually stops the horse.

I don't think she got it, but she laughed like she did anyway (awwwww) How about a little demo, Nick!

10:00 AM

Bright and early today...well, as bright and early as you can if you slept at frigging 4:00 AM.

Yes, I know it's bad, but as soon as i'm done with my morning meditations, I roll over to my computer--which is conveniently stationed right next to my bed!--and start working.

After reviewing yesterday's work and reading some e-mail, only then will I schlepp over to the bath and think about what I'll write about while i'm in the shower (it used to be spent deciding what I should wear)

Morning today actually started out pretty well, even with the gloomy weather that we've been having for this week.

I've discovered that....


Not only can Jessica Simpson not cook, is unorganized, culturally inept (she doesn't even know Oktoberfest, suck at singing and acting, but it's only now that i've noticed that she has one heck of a big mouth! Which is probably one of the reasons why we haven't seen that well overdue break-up yet. (my mother is a fan of The Newlyweds...oy!)

My mother asked me if she could have my Daria t-shirt....I mean, I know she doesn't know who she is, but my mother is asking for one of my favorite shirts. That just blows my mind.

I know it's just fanfic, but i've found my groove on my story. Yay me. Writing longer chapters too and enjoying it. Fanfic writing is my break from real writing...erm, yeah.

I am an eigth through my book, which I discovered is pretty hard to write despite it's semi-ditzy content. Long live hubris!



Monday, May 17, 2004

Is it just me...

Is it just me or is nearly everyone I know married, secretly married, engaged, giving birth, about to give birth or is in a long term (and very active) relationship???

I mean, I know i've always gone against the trends but come on!!!

Did I suddenly drop out of warp on the wrong century or are people starting out younger these days?

The funny part is, none of my closest friends are in relationships right now. Either they've ended it or are pretty much like me: holed up and only occasionaly venture out to the sunshine to somehow date people.

Am I really just older all of a sudden? Was 2003 a magic number, since a hecka lotta people I knew were getting married or having babies last year. And if 23 is old enough, I can't imagine how many HS batchmates should be trudging down the aisle for this year.

It's all just so...bizarro.

I just saw Mark's pic with his girlfriend on friendster and the two just plain ass look alike now.

All I can say is that it's beginning, they are homogonizing into this...thing that is getting ready for marriage. And my friend Patrick from Chicago (who has been married for 5 years) already flew in his wife from home so they are living together after a long time apart...no doubt their new project will be having babies.

And I can't even finish my book!

Oh well, at least my flirt buddy (I swear, they can be better than dates) JP recently broke up with his GF so I am not on solitary oblivion. But since he bounces back relatively fast, this could just be for a month.

Luis is in this limbo where he's convinced himself that he's in love: his shirts for her sleepwear, feminine products in his bathroom and get this--even when he's alone, he's started sleeping on one side of the bed.

???

I feel like something out the pages of my own frigging book! Talk about life imitating art!

Wanted: That Little Sign On The Door

The most annoying thing about working at home--particularly writing at home--is that nearly everyone thinks your free to do anything.

Once again people: it is WORK.

How would you like it if someone walked in on you in the middle of a report to ask you to clean, or chat, or drag you to the TV set because they "want to show you something".

I'm one of those unfortunate writers who get absolutely wrapped up in everything they do when they work.

You never want to eat; if you can help it you will never sleep or go to the bathroom. You will, though, go have a candy bar or a slice of cheese that you can take back with you in front of the PC in order to work...

Or on the bed, in front of a yellow pad, in order to work. Or gather dust and mold in a coffee shop booth at the mall, in order to work.

Occasionaly, you will play Solitaire to clear your head or phone a friend to pitch a plot. Oftentimes, I sing.

Nothing exists--or should exist--because so help me if concertration breaks, the whole line of thought that you've been dreaming of since last night to be brilliant will slip from your hands and once again escape to the ether.

And the annoying part is nobody ever gets it.

When an idea leaves you, the chances are slim that you will go back to it in the exact same form. I lose words just by dictating it to my recorder for crying out loud.

You can't tell your parents to bugger off because they will throw you out, you can't have your friends sod off because they will write you off, you most definitely have to bother with laundry and even answer the phone.

I was always the kid who stared out the window during class because daydreaming seemed more interesting than school. A habit that I lost when I discovered boys but picked up again during my last year at UST, when I realized that I didn't give a fuck that other people thought I was catatonic.

And my cousin (whose name must never be mentioned) wonders why I'm always pissed with her jokes.

I suppose there's always a side of you that your family never knows.

My parents and I are going through this adjustment period now that i'm home again, the one were they realize that yes, their kid is different from a lot of other kids and she's more grown up than I last thought she was--in a number of ways.

They're past the shock and is now in the "acceptance" phase.

The writing is just the first wave, I don't think they've ever seen me in one of my creative flip outs before. I'm thinking of getting my own place just so the three of us don't combust when that does occur, but I'm going to have figure out finances and job prospects before committing to anything.

But for now, I have to stick to breaking it ever so gently to them...

KEEP OUT. WRITER IN PROGRESS. CREATIVITY IN HIGH DEMAND. DO NOT GO IN. BUGGER OFF.

Saturday, May 15, 2004

Realizations

There's nothing like a good dose of reality to get you panicking.

This morning, my mom informed me that my tita aleli was coming out of remission. Two years ago, she was diagnosed with stage 4 breast cancer. She was already suffering from osteoperosis, so things spread quite rapidly for her.

I'd been out of a job for six months then, and since I wasn't doing anything I went there to keep her company and look after my 15 year old cousin Lara. My aunt has always been crabby, but the pain just made things tough for the both of us. And my younger cousin--who was always kind of sheltered--just...dealt with it.

I don't have any siblings, but for those few weeks she latched on to me like I was her big sister. I've never taken care of anyone before, so this was a new experience.

It's a little different from looking after a baby or a toddler. You don't don't change diapers (which i've only done twice, in my shorts stints as impromptu-friend-and-sitter) and there's a lot less chasing around.

Instead, you graduate to giving more lectures and not a little hand holding.

For a few short reasons, I was at least grateful for that. Couselling was always my forte, and i've spent more time being sounding boards and dispensing advice over coffee and donuts, or just driving around or sitting up sharing worries with people than I have taking care of a kid under 10. I probably wouldn't know what to do.

She probably wouldn't have gravitated to me. But she did.

The weird thing is that Lara is the type of kid who--had we been of the same age and not family members--I would have just ignored. We have nothing in common. Not to mention the fact that she reminds me of that brief window in time where I was a teeny bopper 13 year old who read Tigerbeat, something I'd like to have expunged from my memory.

She's very nice, very sweet, somewhat flakey, and though she got decent grades, she was most definitely not an intellectual.

She once made me read a copy of Love Stories, a series of teenage romance books that I was hooked on when I was a high school freshman. Tired and sentimental, I took the book and settled down for some very light reading.

The story turned out to be a poor, teenaged adaptation of Love Story by Erich Segal- which, if you look at it, is what A Walk To Remember turned out to be, only slightly more decent.

I was around her age when I read Love Story for the first time, and though we do not have -ostensibly-the same literary taste, I thought i'd lend her my copy of Erick Segal's great novel, thinking that this would elevate her literary palette.

She hated it. Said she didn't understand any of the jokes and preferred the melodrama of the watered down, campy version.

But she said she loved me anyway, and proceeded to brush my hair.

Okay, so maybe i'm a snob, but it's a running joke that I usually administer IQ tests to people before they become my friends. There's nothing wrong with some mindless reading, but to compare some annoying git trying to write a run of a mill love story to a literary great--gimme a break.

I don't do well with--everybody else. I can stand in a party and entertain them, but I can't hold more than 30 minutes of conversation with them without feeling like I scrambled eggs.

In all my life, i'd always been different. I was never with the crowd, but was always backed away, watching them. It didn't matter whether I was currently with the in crowd or the outcasts or the misfits, I just never went where everybody else did.

And yet here is my cousin, Plain Jane, and I love her with no condition and she in turn, loves me.

Who watches those smarmy filipino teen sitcoms on Sundays and has a different crush every week and has pin-ups all over her bedroom walls. Who at 16 still reads Love Stories and Nancy Drew. Who can charm the pants out of anyone. Who puts up with me watching Trek when i'm sleeping over and roots through my bag, cleaning out left-over receipts.

I am Daria and she is Hillary Duff, and I do not want to change a thing about her.

And now that my aunt is dying, all I can think of is her. How situations might change, how she might move with us.

Finances aside, there is no question that I will end up raising her, as I did during most of the time that I was with her.

A 24 year old trying to lead a 17 year old. She looks up to me so much that I have no idea how to tell her that I still feel a lot like a kid.

That I have trouble making decisions too, that I don't exactly know where life takes you. That things at 24 aren't as stable as you might think it will be at 17, and looking at where she is and where I am now, the only thing I can tell her is "shit kid, it doesn't get any easier."

I guess this me really scared.

Tuesday, May 11, 2004

For Fear of Insanity

Several things that I am currently into...

The Internet Archive Wayback Machine, i've never used it more than I have for this week, a heaven sent for fanfiction readers and researchers everywhere. It doesn't work for everything--there's only so much of the net that you can store--but it does most of the time. Nobody likes broken links, this helps solve the problem. Run the URL through this and see if they have a copy.

Urbanchillers has somehow managed to keep me occupied during my downtime. I'm not a huge fan of slasher movies and horror flicks which is ironic since I am into The Twilight Zone, something that most people consider as horror (it's not) Seriously, i'm more into B-Movie Horror flicks--more for the comedy than the horror. I got hooked because of their shorts, and the scare factor comes up by 200% when you happen to be watching at 2am. Most of them are Quicktime, but the budding filmmaker that I am, I leeched some of them onto disc just for inspiration.

Project Gutenberg, since I've been reading a lot again and I can't afford to buy anymore books. I was planning on starting La Vita Nuova, but got sidelined by Taming of the Shrew. A million books and I chose Shakespeare, imagine that.

Not really a website, but TechTV. I have a crush of Patrick Norton. He's big and he doesn't look anywhere near The Templates, but he's smart, funny, well traveled and well read, and is a whiz with computers. Since TechTVs merger with G4, they've announced that the old people from SF will be replaced/need to re-apply. :P My friend Rhem was kind enough to give me a copy of some of the eps (CD format, of course) so I can have Pat and Kevin Rose at my beck and viewing pleasure. My current fav is the one where they fry CDs on the Microwave. Not only is it cathartic to nuke discs, but the effect is really cool, kind of like something out of Trek or Andromeda.

Then there's Chris Potter, whom my mother swears looks like The Template even though I can't see it. I've had a crush on him since Kung Fu: The Legend Continues. He played Peter Caine for close to four years from 97-97, also appearing as Sgt. Tom Ryan in Silk Stalkings. He's now playing Dan in Zoe Busiek: Wild Card. And just as a triva, he was the voice of Gambit--my fav X-Men--on the first X-Men series. (Before X-Men Revolution, where they stopped being superheroes and turned into campy, teenaged punks with super powers)

2004 Presidential Elections
(God Help Us All)

Yesterday my mom woke me ridiculously early and dragged me--along with el papa--to the local public school to vote and to watch the polls.

Since I didn't register, my mother decided to that I should vouch for my civic duty by volunteering to watch the polls.

I was 17 during the last presidential elections which I missed that too, so it wasn't really a hardship to go sit in a room and stare at some people. The system is rather crude, but it sort of works. There are two assigned watchers on each precinct, and there are two precincts in a room. There are two watchers for each precincts, so there is absolutely no way that you can cheat--not even in the counting.

It's pretty hard to fudge the numbers when you have five pairs of eyes looking over your shoulder, neither can you sneak in a few ballots when you have me watching you.

I'm putting my money on Arroyo, since a lot of the people I watched voted for the incumbent, though this is just Manila. Rumor has it that FPJ is pretty strong at the grassroots...though that was before the whole bruhaha that he and his wife (pissing off the press)

I never once thought that the sample ballots that they gave away outside the school would work, but it turns out that a lot of Filipinos are block voters. You would think that with such a big decision you'd come up with a shopping list of your own, I only saw 1 out of maybe fifty who brought their own list or chose from the official list provided.

The system might have been archaic, but it was alright. The only form of cheating you could do is to copy your seatmates answer, and I hardly think that's the point.

There were one or two flying voters who the officials allowed to vote because of a technicality.

Okay, maybe i'm judging them, but the lack of credentials, the clear Class D look, and the FPJ Sample Ballot in their hands gave me an indication. One lady missing her front teeth was rather insulting. A vote these days can buy a nice set of teeth.

Depending on who you believe, Arroyo leads by about a thousand votes over FPJ. At least, according to NAMFREL. There's this other party--KMU, KML, KNP, The Professors of Doom--claim that it's the other way around: FPJ leads by a huge margin.

We still have about a week more to go before we announce the new president.

Depending on the outcome...we could see ourselves with a stronger peso or another EDSA Revolution. Either way, it's a party on the streets.

Friday, May 07, 2004

Merrit Butrick and 80's Psychosis

Just saw a trailer of "13 Going on 30" with Jenniffer Garner on BBCs Talking Movies.

Three letters: WTF?!?!?!

The clip was of a bunch of party goers dancing to Micheal Jackson's Thriller in the middle of the dance floor. And get this: they know the whole steps. People just stand up and--some fucking how--seamlessly joined mid step.

My first thought was: You expect me to believe that everyone in the fucking room knows the choreographed steps to Thriller?

Second thought was: Good grief, musical numbers in very non-musical movies. This is it's. The 80's. It's baaacccckkkk.

(Though everyone knows the dance steps to Men In Black and a few can dance Wild Wild West, but dude, Thriller is like over 5 minutes, you haveta be an 80's kid or a dancer to know it)

I was just at the mall the other day and saw the wealth of plastic square earrings and faintly remember seeing them on Kyle Minogue during her 80's run on Neighbours (not to mention on my older cousins)

I would have thought that we'd learned from looking at portaits taken 20 years ago. Although i'm pretty sure that the big poofy aquanet hair and the crisp bangs is really dead and will stay dead.

Fashion may be cyclical but people aren't that stupid.

...

On another note, I just saw the original Carrie with Sissy Spacek and was semi-captivated by William Katt, who played Tommy Ross.

I asked my mom what year the film was shown and she said it was late late 70's and early 60's. I usually play a little celebrity game in my head when that happens:

David Duchovny should be in Princeton with long hair and wore those awful killer collars. Robbie McNeill and Roxann Dawson just got out of high school and they wiped the floor with those bell bottoms. Disco was in. The car to have was supposed to be a Trans Am, which Brian Krauss drove in the movie Sleepwalkers. Insert some six degrees of Kevin Bacon.

But today, I fixated on William Ross who is kind of like a beautified version of The Templates.

The Templates have always been cute but--even to my less than objective eyes-- they're not...beautiful. Maybe it's because there's something bigger or smaller or flawed or non-symmetrical with one of their features but they weren't the type you'd chisel onto marble.

William Ross, when he was younger, was what I'd imagined the statue of David would look like should he chose to come to life.

I'd seen him in 7th Heaven and some other things growing up, but always sort of associated him Merritt Butrick, the actor who played Dr. David Marcus on Star Trek: Wrath of Khan and Star Trek: The Motion Picture.

For the non-trek fan: Dr. David Marcus is a pivotal character because he is Captain Kirk's son, second captain of the famous starship Enterprise.

Merritt Butrick was one of those things that my mind latched on during an extrememly boring day at Ecogov.

I remembered his face--that very finely chiseled face--and thought "whatever happened to (how aptly named) David?"

So I searched and searched and found out that he died of AIDS in 1989. And since I know you're curious, no he wasn't gay, he had a drug problem.

It seemed rather ironic that it was on that same day that the Star Trek: Enterprise ep with Ensign Liz Cutler--played by Kellie Waymire--showed on RPN 9. My friend Luis texted me and told me that he thought she was cute. I texted back and told him that she died of cardiac arrythmia.

So the two of us sort of text-skulkled that our guest Trek crushes "died on us" on the same day. We're very weird that way.

On a lighter note, me and Luis semi-celebrated (and wondered how the fucking hell) his date passing out minutes after a marathon love fest. Although it's not unknown for some people to pass out during or even directly after they come, I haven't heard or read about anyone passing out during the cuddling stage.

And I quote: "She just sort of passed out while I was kissing her".

Must have been a really good kiss to knock her out for ten minutes...or just a very delayed reaction.

Wednesday, May 05, 2004

A few random thoughts...

1. I can't believe that kids born in 1986 are 18 now. I still think of them as fifth graders.

2. I'm troubled that in a few years, my generation will be running the country...just around the time grunge comes back in fashion.

3. If fashion really is cyclical, my kids will be wearing 80's clothes as a pre-teen and grunge when she's in college. I'll make sure to keep the 80's pics for blackmail.

4. Hybrids will be the new trend and I'll have to pay double to drive my dream car: a 1969 Camaro RS.

5. Someday soon, they'll be doing a remake of The X-Files on TV, where Mitch Pilleggi will probably play one of the informants.

6. We np longer have computer viruses, we have worms, which is a bitch to get out once it's in your system.

7. It's month two and I still haven't learned linux.

8. It will be six years before I get the chance to vote again...

Monday, May 03, 2004

Psychobabble

I get asked a lot on why I majored in psych when I didn't want to be a shrink.

I wish I had a strong enough answer, but the truth is that the kid working the registration table that summer flubbed up my application and I wanted to be able to read people.

This was during my "I will be a JAG and the first female admiral of the Philippine Navy" delusions.

The dream was pretty bullshit, since I had the discipline of a paper bag and barely weighed over ninety pounds. And despite my passion for the law, I didn't love it enough to read it every night for four years...or the rest of my life, for that matter. But for some reason, I perpetuated the delusion simply because I thought it was the right thing to do.

So why psych?

Having been rejected outright by the Philippine Military Academy for being underweight, I thought I was just destined to be a lawyer, since that's the kind of job that I thought was accepted in my family: a lawyer, a doctor, an accountant...maybe a nurse. You could be something else, but growing up I just never really thought of the options. I had them, I just wasn't made aware of them.

Senior year came and everyone--my teachers, my friends, my family--all had a general idea on where it was going to go.

My art advisor thought I was going to take up Fine Arts, my english teacher I thought I was going to be an academic and take something like Lit or Philosophy, while my Lit/Journalism professor thought I was going to journalism school and become a reporter. My whole family thought I was going to take a straightforward pre-law course: political science, legal management, economics, or maybe even accounting.

No one ever thought of psych, so that's what I took.

I snuck in this slim general psychology book when I purchased my senior year textbooks and what I read intrigued me.

All my life, i'd always been interested in why people were the way they were. Mostly, why criminals fucked up and why the bigger, better and scarier criminals seem to want to fuck up.

I wanted to get into people's heads. A dim notion, since one of the first things listed in the gen psych book was that psych never teaches you how to read minds. I believed it, I knew it was true, but I thought that maybe--just maybe--it would at least help me understand people more. Maybe I needed this to know what was going on in a clients mind...

I ended up in UST because it was the only school that I tried for that accepted me.

I applied for a total of three schools: the top two of the Big Four and nothing else.

Ateneo rejected me outright, which dented but didn't necessarily blow my ego. The tuition was expensive, and for some reason, I never saw myself in that school. I applied because it was the second best thing and everyone was applying to.

Passed the test for University of the Philippines in Diliman--didn't make the cut for any of my courses. After some finagling, the university accepted me for their Los Banos branch, but my dad freaked out and said no. No to the free-frall school thrumming with hormones and fertility.

That I cried for. I wanted to go to UP so badly, I didn't take tests for any place else.

So the summer after graduation--a month and a half before the start of the new school year--I took the test for school number four (La Salle--number three--is at the end of the world)

Everybody warned me not to go to the College of Science. It had the second highest cut rate in the university and with the term about to start, I needed to get into a school pretty badly.

I was supposed to take two AB courses: Pysch and Philosophy. People advised me to put in Nutrition as my last option, since the cut rate at the College of Education was pretty low. I decided against that (don't I love to take risks) and went for another AB course: Legal management.

UST's last test was scheduled at the end of April, which made me miss a free trip to Hawaii and then Las Vegas to attend my aunts wedding (with Elvis officiating, no less)

I wanted to bang my head into a wall. I never wanted to go to UST. It was too damn far and they had uniforms. I was sick of uniforms.

Still, I went on some terribly hot summer day for my application. The student working the registrar knew someone who went to my HS and started flirting with me. I wasn't really in the mood so I just kept nodding my head and watching him shuffle papers.

When he asked me what major I wanted, I told him "psych" and he handed me an application for the College of Science. Anxious to get out of there, I just signed it--without looking, since the damn things are the same for all colleges except one small marking--and moved on.

It turns out that there are two psych classes in UST--BS Psychology at the College of Science, and AB Behavior Science, the closest you could get to AB psychology.

I wanted to return the application, but I was already out and it would be a mess and so I just decided "the hell with it".

So that's how I got to BS Psych.

...

I used to wonder what would have happened had I just gone back and gotten another application--one to AB.

Would I be in law school now, trying to manage all my law courses and hating myself for it? Since i'm pretty sure I would have loathed being stuck with all those books.

If i'd gone to Behavior Science, would I still have considered profiling? I used to--for a long while--think I was going to be Mulder from the x-files and played detective. At one point, I thought that the only way you could understand how a person can go crazy is to simulate it in your head---forgetting that if you go nuts in your head-even if you think it's just a simulation-then you really are nuts. Going crazy and being aware of it isn't all it's cracked up to be.

...

But no doubt, the biggest question that I get is: why do you want to be a writer? A filmmaker?

I don't know.

I have no grand vision in my head. I don't feel like I want to be the next Orson Wells or the next Lino Brocka. I have no epics in the making.

All I have are these snippets of scenes and images that I would like realized. In paper, in film, in canvas...I just want to see them.

So why psych? Why writing? Why directing? Why chose to be this for the rest of your life and not that any of those predicted something else's?

I don't know. To be quite honest, I'm still waiting for the right question. I feel like if I get the right one, the clever one, i'll find the right answer along with every one of them.

Saturday, May 01, 2004

Pissed with no two ways about it

I am supposed to be in Olongapo attending a very boring convention with some very boring people for some organization that I--unfortunately--am the president of.

This is sort of like the junior nepotism club, where the next leaders of the Philippine government will come from. Where the unconnected all deign to start and move on to bigger things as they grow up--like politics...And politics and even more politics.

This is where they will learn how to best hang on to a seat in office by employing every one of your relations so the organizational chart looks like your family tree.

If you have any political ambitions but are not directly connected to anyone who is already in power, this would be a great place to start.

I would have taken this wonderful opportunity to broaden my social horizon except a) I don't have any political ambitions and b) they're fucking boring.

It's highly unfortunate that it's the hardworking and genuinely altruistic people who are not going to make it past their noses and create a whiff of change mainly because they invoke zero enthusiasm.

It's the bored-but-charming people who knows the founding (funding) fathers of the senior organization that will continue to buck up in the world.

I've been to so many leadership seminars that you learn how to spot the winners, the losers, the apathetic and most of all: the wannabe's

And sad as it may seem, it's the charming ones that will eventually get there because they have charm, they have grace, they've made the connection, and they can afford to hire hardworking and genuinely altruistic people who never made it past their noses because they are boring instead of just bored.

I've met annoying people who are so charming and ebullient that you feel special just hating them. Of course, there are real gems of a person who is just so darned nice and perfect (they're rare and were born with the default setting of: achiever) and their place is secure on top, but most of those that do get to stand on top of the pyramids are the people who have good PR.

Then there are the perpetual seconds (that's me) who always seem to find themselves within the striking position but never really take because they are a) scared out of their wits to be top dog, b) too lazy to do the extra work to be top dog, c) don't think they deserve to be top dog (I am all of the above)

I don't really regard the boring-as-hell people losers, because even boring people do congregate (as evidenced by said conference) and heck, boring people have to hang out somewhere. They're social. And on the right day, you can even stay a day and actually find yourself entertained. But for statistical purposes let's refer to their generic term: losers.

My favorite, so far, are the wannabes.

It's important to know at least one wannabe in your life. Know why?

They're great for parties.

You have to be a debater--heck, a rebuttal speaker--to understand the beauty of having a dependable stock argument/story.

It's not surprising that good whips often find themselves the center of something--trouble, a party, a group, a human sandwhich--even if in a debate, they come at the very end. They have to be concise and amusing on command, so they often can't help but say something witty. Something that makes people either love them or hate them. But on your off days, you have to have one or two stock lines that will pad a mediocre performance.

A wannabe is a winning gold coin of a stock argument.

He's the guy running on a treadmill. He tries very hard to get somewhere, but never does. Something is lacking: charm, money, connection, with, good looks, the right amount of hubris...you can never really tell. It so vague that you might just want to say bad luck. The harder he tries, the more confusing things get. You can never figure out why he can't succeeed, except he never does.

And even though it's mean, people find that dog darn funny. He's so damn amusing that even the losers earn points for laughing at them.

Nice part is, they never really know. It's like the emperors new clothes, he's completely oblivious to the fact that people fucking hate his guts.

The org I am has an intresting mix of all four.

The winners stay for awhile before getting their names printed on the paper or move on to lead very busy lives in exchange for money.

The perpetual seconds swing by when they have to (coz they got caught and suckered into it) or mainly because they are bored and have nothing better to do at that time.

The losers stay.

And it's never really a surprise to know that the wannabe's are head honcho. This is the highest that they will ever get. They go nova before they hit the big show (thank God because they are predictably horrible)

Well dog darn, now i'm feeling happy that I didn't show up. Considering that the last time I attended this conference, I passed time between (okay, so also during) plenary sessions by making an empty box of Meiji chocolates talk.

Mostly, I am pissed that I have to pay full price for a trip that I didn't take. Anything that doesn't offer refunds--at least in my book--is a O&(*&@^@#^....sad thing.

But seeing that I now have two extra work days as well as a full nights sleep and a chance to escape a really bad party at the beach. And no travel fatigue too.