Perception

Just wrote another plot for "my show".

I was at a New Twilight Zone website today, reading on some of the synopsis. Thank goodness that thing is about to be released on DVD. I'm going to be able to rewatch it and just catch some of the stuff I missed when I was five.

It's like watching Mannequin as a grown up. You laugh at some of the jokes that you missed when you were six and at the same time think "What the hell was so funny about this? The premise...sucks".

You have movies like "Weird Science" and "Mannequin" or "Better Off Dead" and forgive all of them because it was the 1980's. It's unbelievable how that era just bends the rules.

You have movie's with people breaking into song in the middle of the cafeteria, bad clothes, horrible make-up, and just...the worst slang i've ever heard. Not to mention really sad cars. The music is half-way good if you know what to look for, i'll at least admit that.

Suspension of disbelief was so high that you could have a teeny bopper movie where the guy actually steals the moon for some girl and people would actually buy it.

Still, "Weird Science" does make me laugh, and even "Mannequin" was entertaining. "Better Off Dead" I saw on HBO when I was 12, so it was still sort of-kind of believable.

But if you tried to sell me those movies now, my first thought would probably be "WTF????"

Frequency

Had a long YM session Laarni today.

It was great just catching up with each others lives, trying to see where the other was headed.

To be perfectly honest, I don't miss the office all that much except on those days when I get to think of Laarni or Sally. "Work", wherever it may be, keeps me from connecting with everyone.

I feel guilty that I still owe people letters and e-mails and sometimes even text messages. A burst of shortwave signal to tell them that i'm still alive.

It's hard to believe that one who is just home can be so busy, but even I have to balk that a month only has 31 days. It's the last week of April and I still have about a ton of research to do for Nation 2 Nation and my UN group. Plus, an article for June.

Sometimes I wish that I could just live in my head, like that writer guy who played Phillip Padgett in the X-files episode "Milagro". I thought it was freakingly cool that all he had in his apartment was a table, a chair, an old typewriter, a bed in his bedroom...I don't even think he had a fridge.

But talking with Laarni today made me realize that I do miss connecting with my friends.

In a way, I am living in my head. I don't think my brain has stopped developing different plots in my head. Today, I wrote down an entire show from a premise.

Granted, it may not come out as the "best episode", but if filmed right it could be an excellently put together installment, not something that could be regarded as just a filler for a crop of 24 episodes.

I told Laarni that I had about 14 in development for that show: about 4 of them I'd had in my head for a long time, and of the remaining ten, about three were in serious development and the rest were premises waiting to be expounded.

She said that it was a lot, while in my head, they are...well, they're nothing yet.

In some ways, I feel kind of cool that I can think of things that not a lot of people can. That some of the moments that people take for granted are nuggets of inspiration for me. Especially now that I am being particularly creative. I don't think I can look at something as dull as a piece of paper without considering it as...something.

I told Laarni that I have to be scared in order to come up with ideas, which means that now I am perpetually scared.

I'm not agoraphobic or anything, but my mind is at hyperdrive.

I always had an overactive imagination, sometimes to the point of distraction. When I was a kid, there were times when I'd watch an episode of "Tales from the Darkside" and be a total basketcase the next day.

I have that sensitivity again.

I'll stand in front of a mirror and forever think, what if I saw something behind me? What if I saw something or someone looking in from my window? From our neighbors rooftop?

Five am this morning, a mosque from a neighboring subdivision decided to put a womans voice next to their morning prayers. Her voice was so haunting that I thought a ghost was trying to tell me something.

It's stupid, but I keep wondering what the hell i'm going to do when something does happen and it dawns on me that this time, it's REAL.

I'm not one of those people who hope for a supernatural experience. I don't go looking for ghosts, reading strange books or saying weird chants just hoping something will happen.

The hair on my neck still stands everytime I get up in the middle of the night to get a glass of water, and even though it makes me feel foolish, sometimes I even run through the darkness to get back to my room.

You won't see me in Scariest Places on Earth lugging a camera. Heck, I can't even watch Scariest Places on Earth and not be paranoid about some of it a year later.

"What if that evil doll thing exists here and i've seen it?"

Still, thinking of stories like that motivates me. I don't know why they chose my head to be born in, but I sure as heck am not complaining about it.

Pandora's Box

I have finally finished the development notes for "my book". I am now doing the outline and looking at some possible scenes...at least the smarmy scenes.

It's exciting because the character--my lead--is now a three dimensional character in my head, and I know her and the people around her. What they like and how they are, according to how she sees them.

So far, beginning to write should keep me off the weird dreams for awhile. I've written several development notes for some fantasy story, but haven't much time to do much work on them. Still, it's interesting to have a lot of start up ideas in my head.

I thought of maybe doing a spin-off of Shake, Rattle and Roll, but quality control for a show like this is very hard. I don't think production takes a week in this country, since most shows are run like a soap....if only they knew how to shoot a soap.

...

Still, i'm going to have to write an article to sell soon.

I have to admit, I am running out of money. After I pay for my insurance and writing fees, I'd have halved my saving by June. Not that I spend that much, it will probably last me through August, but I just get an ulcer at seeing the numbers get reduced in my head.

Hopefully, I'll get my "thank God!" moment sometime mid-May.

My parents are still cool with it, though. Mainly because they see me working. I'm still building the self-discipline thing, but hopefully i'll get there.

Dinner

Waiting for dinner to finish and for my Koala MoBlog to finish loading up.

Seriously? Koala is just a bear.

I get all sorts of people asking me why the hell I keep posting pictures of my bear on Friendster and none of myself.

I tell them that a) Koala has no diva attitude, b) he never complains, just listens and c) unlike my friend Laarni--who looks fantabulous even from a cameraphone--I am not photogenic.

Anyway, Koala was given to me by my uncle when I was three. And just like any other kid, I am incredibly attached to my bear for purely sentimental reasons. Mainly, he's been there since I was a kid.

It amuses me when people ask me if I have this Freudian thing with my bear. You can almost see the wink and the smirk between the lines: do you have "a thing" for your bear?

Do I have "a thing" for my bear?

If you're asking me that, then I think I should be the one asking if you have something Freudian for my bear.

There's always a moment in ones life when they encounter people that you feel should be committed or at least seek some psychological help. And when I saw psychological help, I don't mean calling me at odd hours to discuss your latest crisis and expect me to come up with some brialliant psycho-analysis.

I meant, seeing a professional psychiatrist once or twice a month. A genuine office with a couch, and a person who is paid to listen to you and at the end of it all, scribbles in a pad a couple of names to some synthetic friends.

I thought at first that my contemporaries at the College of Science would be it, that I had met the highest concentration of nutballs in that one place.

Wrong again.

There's something demented when people who aren't even in your friendster list send you a message asking you if you get off on a damn stuffed animal, stated in what they think is in subtle terms.

Sweetie, there's nothing subtle anymore with a psychologist, and my tenure as a wannabe-profiler has given me the unfortunate gift of seeing psychological sexualis when I see one.

But what gets to me is this constant misrepresentation of Frued.

Sure, his ideas were on Pansexualism, but it really annoys me when the only association that people make with Frued is Sex when his greatest gift to the psychological world was Psychoanalysis. And believe me, there is really nothing much sexual in that.

Singles

Just saw "Single's" on my PC while suffering through this years summer heatwave.

This week has got to be the hottest of the month. If it weren't so damn hot, i'd run out and crack an egg on the pavement just to see how fast it cooks. My guess is ten minutes, but I can't last outside that long.

At my friend's--age 27--recommendation, I saw "Single's" as part of my (money pincher) book.

The movie that weaned my generation was Reality Bites, where we gobbled up all the apathy that oozed from our screens. Thoguh there are some similarities, Single's was missed mainly because none of us dated yet.

We were 12.

At this age (at least, in this country) dating consisted of holding hands for five minutes in front of the canteen and occassionaly chatting after school hours, while waiting for the bus. And that was for the ten percent wh did. The rest of us were pre-occupid were busy trying to meet graduation requirements and taking high school entrance exams.

In short, none of us saw Single's mainly because:

a) It was probably NC-17 and we wouldn't have been allowed in the theaters anyway.

b) Although we knew "spam" didn't come out of a guy, we were better off not knowing what sort of things happen in order to make "spam" come out

c) "Ang TV" and the "Gwapings" were a hit that year (think: Kids of Fame). I may not have been a fan, but a lot of 12 year old girls were. They should be denying all contact by now. As for the guys...they wouldn't have seen this on their own at 18, let alone 12.

d) With piano recitals, theme papers, penmanship sheets, sports activities, cheer and exams, exams, exams...Aladdin and Cutting Edge was pretty much the only thing we were up to seeing at that time.

So watching it now, 12 years later, was actually better. Scarier. And all the more damning.

Because now we are dating. Now some of us are actually sitting by the bathroom door pretending that little stick isn't blue. Now some of us have to schlepp to work, have work, do work because we always need the money. And now, we are inventing all sorts of "signals" and "criterias" that should alert us of a potential mate.

Because now we are "Single".

And in this country, 28 and under is not a good golf score, it's your clock counting down to that time when your relatives start harassing you on when you're going to get married.

A lot of my high school batchmates have already succeeded in beating the clock. Out of around 250 girls, an eighth are now married with children. Some ten percent are just married and another ten just have the children.

Then there's the rest of us who are committed in a relationship or in checking out "signs".

For For Bridget Fonda it was the guy who said "Bless you" after she sneezes , Kyra Sedgewick it was "the bequething of the parking space i.e. the garage door opener" and for Campbell Scott it was "the girl who unlocked his car door" for him.

I guess guys do it moment to moment, while girls start their lists at age six and just revise along the way.

Besides "the template"--which narrows down about a third of the worlds male population--my "signs" had always been fairly simple.

Likes physics. Trek fan. Digs sci-fi and fantasy (not just some poseur who likes LOTR and Matrix) Devout Catholic. Likes cars and bikes. Likes horses. Preferably a non-smoker. Etc, etc, etc.

My cosmic guy sign had always been him suddenly making a quote of whichever book I was currently reading or blurting out the lines from whatever show I was currently obsessed in. (I'm not very creative when it comes to myself. I do better with books)

Add that to a whole soup of "Nice, tall man, sweet and great with kids." and you have the recipe for Mr. Impossible. Even if he came in a No Bake mix, I don't think I could even fathom what exactly it was that made for the suitable match.

Which is why "Singles", a seemingly harmelss movie from the now hip Cameron Crowe, scares the shit out of me.

Not only does it present the fact that "not knowing" means "not knowing which one of the five billion men out there you will end up with", but that like everyone, you really have no idea of what you need in a guy. On what complements. It's all fate, because everything there is in the blindside of the Johari Window.

Not to mention seeing those sundresses. Granny dresses. Whatever monstrosities they were. I forgot the early nineties were also riddled with fashion no-no's. Neon colors and those floral print mini dresses that you pear up with shin length tights and docmartens...and the poofy bangs with the chunky earrings.

It's a good thing we wore uniforms. Heck, thank God for grunge, the only versatile wardrobe. You can go on from generation to generation, but grunge just looks the same: wrinkled and chunky.

I keep thinking of what movie may be considered a representation of my generation. The Y or XX or whichever it is. I keep forgetting. During the `80s it was any movie that had the Brat Pack (Breakfast Club, anyone?) the nineties it was Singles and Reality Bites. Anything later than that it's Dawson's Creek and a bunch of CGI characters.

Perhaps the Scary Movies series or Cruel Intentions (hopefully not American Pie)

As for the clothes...I don't think we're in any danger of any fashion faux pas just yet. Besides Paris Hilton et al, I don't see anything that my kids would laugh at ten years later. It's all just t-shirts and jeans.

And the fact that right now, all we have are...period films.

For 20 in 04

I now have a long line of videos to watch, simply for research...okay, so maybe some of them are for fun but what the hey. If i'm going to write a screenplay might as well write something that i'd like to watch, which is what I am discovering at the moment.

What gets to me is that:

a) not only have they remained unopened-- a first since I have this compulsion to open things that I just bought even if I don't need them yet (no "let's keep it fresh and minty" thing for me, I say let `er rip!) --but

b) my parents are totally okay with it. Of course, I have to elbow my dad out of their room if I want to watch something from their TV (which is bigger than my paltry 17 incher) but they don't really argue if they see me watch and rewatch a movie, with a pad in hand to take notes for the second viewing. But what really blows me away is

c) I don't have enough time.

Not enough time to watch TV?

I wish I could say that I wasn't a slave to the tube, but it's only recently--more like when I started working--that I actually took a break from the idiot box.

Not to fault my parents, who were wonderful and tried to engage me in other activities growing up--but I pretty much grew up around television.

I went out, played sports with the other kids and with dolls and other outdoor games. I wasn't cooped inside just watching TV.

But even at age three, I had the network weekly line-up memorized, including those obscure chinese cooking shows at odd parts of the day. (The lady who cooked everything with soysauce was my favorite)

I still have pretty good recall of most of the things I watched before. On some days, I find myself remembering something that I saw and only just getting some of the plots and jokes...let's say a MAFIA conspiracy was still a bit too complicated for a kid in nursery school.

My favorites were the afternoon specials, which in this country is usually Steven Spielbergs Amazing Stories or Ray Bradbury.

During my early years, I was hooked on things such as The New Twilight Zone, The Monsters (the spin-off one) and Friday The 13th, the series.

I had some interesting viewing choices.

Now there's a lot of talk about bringing these shows back on DVD. I know that The Twilight Zone people are going all out with their franchise, with NTZ coming out this year. Although the newer version with Forest Whitaker kind of sucked. Maybe because it was too short, but I just think that even though it was supposed to be unexplained, they should have at least done some groundwork.

Suffice to say, I will be scrimping money just to buy the season one NTZ DVD for when it comes out this year.

But this time, those things are making it up my "viewing list".

Most of the time I end up staring into space just building bridges in my head, trying to piece together stories and plots. Something which may not be physically taxing but time consuming. Especially now that I've dug out my old "fantasy" obsession.

Having Bridget Jones and Christopher Pike living next to each other is tedius at best, to have them both in your head is just...you know what, I lack the words.

Let's just say that one has got me staying up most nights trying to frighten the shit of me just to be inspired while the other has me shopping.

I even found some old plot notes I had from when I was 10 and saw that most of my ideas were fantasy...and a lot of the girls were ghosts.

Considering that I was this cute (hit the awkward stage at 11 and never quite left it) popular, girlie "class rep" and cheerleader...what the hell was I thinking?

Maybe it was all those earlier influences shining through the Debbie Gibson exterior (it was the 80's)

In any case, I will have to get back to "work".

And to my friends at DAI...I dreamt about you guys (Sally and Laarni) It was a Twilight Zone kind of dream, but I was the one that eventually got eaten.

Life is Fic-able

I wrote my first fanfic way back `96.

It's an unfinished epic of a story that follows the adventures of Admirals Rick Hunter and Lisa Hayes when she was still assigned to the lunar space station so he got no nookie...but that wasn't the important part.

It was pre-wedding, pre-Sentinels, ambitious and smarmy as hell.

I took a total of three vacations that summer, all the while carrying two Mead notebooks and three Robotech books everywhere for reference. I wrote in the car, on the plane, in hotel rooms. (I even took them with me to Ocean Park, where I got caught in a freak Hong Kong drizzle)

Robotech--being sci-fi--contained quite a bit of physics, my fundamentals of which is equivalent to a paper cup--compact, light, and utterly disposable.

In short, I was an obsessed 15 year old who was in over head and had no idea what the hell she was doing.

After about a hundred pages of smarm and no sci-fi, I quit and moved on to other writing projects. But that was basically my foray into the wonderful world of fanfiction, way before I knew what fanfiction was.

...So what's the point?

As Blogger has carefully pointed out, there are certain entries in your blog that you want to delete as you move on to the now not-so far flung future. Written spats with family members, edit secrets that you might have revealed that you don't want your mama to find out...a confession of your love for Trek fanfiction.

?

If you listen closely, this is me blowing raspberries. At you.

My friend Karen--my own personal convert to the realm of fanfiction--has been done in again by yours truly to another interest.

Enterprise fanfiction.

Better yet, Star Trek: Enterprise. Let's not forget the not so recent addition of the franchise name.

Enterprise fanfics are our common ground. Karen came from the realm of Forver Knight fanfic, a Canadian TV show from way back when that had Rick Springfield for the pilot. It's a mix of Highlander , Anne Rice and NYPD Blue.

I, on the other hand, losely started with Robotech, (for a brief time) various manga, before moving on to X-files fanfic which I think is the mother of all fanfics. X-philes fanfic kicks ass. If you ever want to see a piece of fiction that's good enough to be a book, you should surf on over to their novel lengths. All you have to do is change the names and you have yourself a different story.

...Okay, i'm rambling.

I'm pretty sure that most people wouldn't get why Karen and I get such a kick out of Enterprise fanfics. Had we not stopped ourselves, i'm pretty sure that we could go on for hours talking about straight-laced but heroically flawed Captain Archer, new commander of the Enterprise (NX-O1) and T'POl, resident Vulcan, provider of logic, wit, and alll hotness.

I remember my mouth hanging open when I saw the scene in the decon chambers on the pilot. My viewing companion--a human male--had his mouth equally open staring at the same thing, albeit for different reasons.

I still think it's unfair for a girl to have such a tinny waist and have those MELONS. Even Jeri Ryan had to put on a corset. This babe is about 5'8 and has nearly nothing squeezing her but the suit.

Damn!

In any case, I just thought it might be cool to wax on poetic about the fanfiction obsession to whomever might stumble into my blog in the future.

You know, before Valentines day, right before you might have sent me flowers or chocolates or ask me out on a date.

If you want to beam out about now, you're welcome to do so. If you feel like sending me Mandorian Roses (which doesn't exist) or proposing a game of Kaltoh for a date (which doesn't exist either) or even 3D chess (which also doesn't exist, but that's moot because I don't play chess) say it out loud. There's nothing wrong with it.

And if you went on and on about how wonderful the Riker-Troi pairing was and he or whomever is turned off by it--move along. You're not interested in them, you're interested in Imzadi.

Besides, with the amount of stuff you can find in fanfics--and if you're an avid reader, you should know what kind of STUFF I'm talking about--i'm pretty sure no one would dare walk away if they knew.

Nostalgia

1. Reading X-files fanfic again. Am on the Annex Novel Archive where everything is over 200 kb in text format. Which means it's a marathon over 70 pages fanfic. Not quite as good as when I was hooked on them but it brings back good memories.

2. Saw X-files ep "Badblood" on Star Worlds "x-files: reopened" tonight. Season Five Mulder. YUM.

3. Happy Easter! Or belated Happy Easter. Never could greet people on time.

4. Ressurected old hard disk from ancient computer and recovered several works in progress starting from 1998--onwards.

5. Now have 30+ pages of Star Trek voyger fanfic that I've been developing. That thing has been living in my head for two years, it's high time that I get rid of at least two talking characters in my head since it's getting noisy up there.

6. Discovered denim shorts circa 1993. They still fit me.

7. Discovered Guess jeans circa 1994. Slim fit, faded wash, and with the stupid zipper on the ankle. Still fits but I now have to lie down and suck in breath to literally squeeze in. Ass got bigger.

8. Discovered that I had the exact same haircut early 1999. Now why the hell didn't I remember that?!?!

Vacation Shopping

Today I went out with my mom and my aunt to Divisoria, with full intention to buy a pair of cropped khaki pants.

I am a hard fit when it comes to bottoms, mainly because my waist is a -0 but my ass is around...well, a 0. (there's a difference, I swear!)

I almost never shop. My mom thought I went with them because I just wanted to look around. Which is ridiculous, because this is DIVISORIA, the mecca of bargain hunters. Where even the people from Greenhills go to shop.

One does not brave the heat, the smell, the crowds, heck--the distance--to just go there. Rockwell it is not, you don't go there to window shop. You go there to buy! buy! buy!

Which is what I ended up doing.

I never went home with the pants--it's still in the realm of dreams, since everything is in a size 25, shit--but I did go home with a hecka lotta things! My mother thought I was in some sort of high, since I bought two pairs of pants, two shirts, and a pair of cute wedges.

This coming from the starving writer.

On the way home, my mom decided to forgo her vacation to Aurora and gave her seat to me instead. So tomorrow, I will be taking my first official vacation in four years.

Don't get me wrong, i've been out of the city since then. But it's been that long since I had more than an overnighter. This one is five days and four nights. And I am going hiking! Woohoo!

Aurora is one of the best places in the country. It doesn't have a lot of tourists and it's river is consider one of the most beautiful in the Philippines. My uncle (who is actually my grandfather, but I call him uncle) is taking me to the jungle, since I haven't been to one ever.

I am...excited.

I really could use the break. After this it's back to work in writing the book.

I'm considering taking a no brainer job--probably waiting tables or being a sales clerk in the nearby mall, I don't know--just for damage money. I don't need the funds to support myself, but I feel really guitly leeching off my parents. Luis and I discussed this, and he told me that it's time to get over my mental high horse and start accepting the fact that this is a need.

I'm looking at my projected schedule, since it will be hard for me to handle a nine to five job if I have to do research in a call center (my friend Luis' manages one) I told him that i'd bum around listening to calls and observing operations for a whole shift for five days. If he takes one night shift in a week, I might even consider doing that.

People think that working in a call center is bum-fuck easy. The truth is, it's anything BUT.

I worked at a call center for about a month. A MONTH, thinking that I could whip up enough money to buy a PC.

A MONTH, heck, it wasn't even 31 days. I think it's 25 days or something, but since I went in during the Holidays, I had Christmas included.

All it took was 25 days for me to develop an allergy towards call centers. And i've been on both sides: i've worked as a Service Agent, i've done sourcing, and i've done hiring for them. It sucks either way.

If you want to know what working in a call center is like, watch The Boiler Room. The stress factor is ridiculous, even more so in outbound/telemarketing.

Even though I know what it's like to work in a call center, I feel like I should sit back and observe again. Maybe even re-live some of it for my script.

None of it is easy. Not taking calls, not telemarketing, not managing the huge bulk of employee turnovers.

It's going to be a monster project, writing a script on this setting, but I like the challenge. Part of it is telling people that even though these telemarketers and service agents may be annoying, they are people just doing their job.

There are a lot of asshole customers out there, some of them might even be you. These people might be paid to put up with your attitude, but it doesn't give you the right to verbally abuse them or insult their intelligence. That's shit.

Chances are, you aren't the first ass that they've deal with for the day, and you won't be the last. Losing your patience won't improve service, and you'll just get frustrated.

Try and remember that the next time you get a telemarketer on line or call the service center.

Work

Jean, a former co-worker, called today to ask me to come down tothe office and sign my severance check and other documents.

I told her that i'd try and make it tomorrow morning, since I was going out. She seemed rather pissed by it--or it could be just her, since she sounds pissed even if she's not. She called back to tell me that I could do everything today. I had to inform her that I couldn't and she asked me why--like she needed to know--and I told her that I had something else to do.

In fact, I told her that I have a weekly schedule, that some dates are now planned days in advance.

Jean is a little dim, but it still surprised me when she had to ask why.

...

Some people think that writing is easy, that we just sit here and churn out ideas from the top of our heads.

Not as easy.

Sure, you're doing something that you love, you just sit home and 't telecommute, blah blah blah, but when you're writing for money, you also have to remember that you are writing for work. That it is a job. And as with most jobs, schedules have to be implemented.

Maybe it's not as rigorous as a nine to fiver, but you'll have to impose some sort of work ethic, otherwise you'll just be sitting there doing "Nethack" for the rest of the day.

There's a lot of brainstorming involved, a lot of nitpicking. Then comes research, which takes a long time, depending on what you're writing. You have to deal with frustration on not being able to get what you want out of your head, or the realities that you have no idea just how to put into paper what it is that you want to say.

When you have to deal with words and scenes and thoughts that just seem to bleed together.

...

You have to be crazy to write sometimes, and the amount of discipline that comes with it is sometimes overwhelming. There is a thin line of sanity and creativity that you have to walk on, and the balance is not always easy to maintain. If you are serious in what you want, then you have to give it a little bit of reasonable thinking to be able to deliver.

It may seem overdramatic, but this is pretty much what runs in your head. And right in the middle of it all, you suddenly remember that there are bills to pay, there is reality to deal with, and you have to find a paying gig.

...

I count myself lucky that I don't have to pay for my own necessities. I don't have to buy groceries, or pay utilities or rent.

I wouldn't know what i'd be like if I were saddled with all those and be forced to write for a living. It's do-able, but it's hard. And there's no shame in admitting hardships in your life, but it does hurt ones ego.

And an ego is a luxury that a lot of struggling writers just cannot afford.

Some Stuff

a) I was going to finish the previous entry, but something in my small universe went out of alignment and I wasn't able to post the entry. I'm too lazy to write again. One thing though: the less sex a Pinoy gay guy gets, the more talkative they become. Certainly says one thing for those backdoor virgins...like the guy who sat behind me and Karen in The Passion.

b) If you are using my blog as a link to Karen's site: The Vampire Anthony...no, it's not a mistake on my part. It's not there anymore. She dropped out of the bloggers universe. I hope temporarily, since she's funny. Maybe she'll start a Joshua site. (You will, right Kay? Please say you'll infect us with your funnies again)

c) She dropped out of Friendster too. Sometimes we have to be a clam and retreat somewhere. Her celebrity has reached an all time high, so she had to regain some of her privacy: seclusion from cyber-space. (I can be your accountability partner if you blog again, Kay)

d) My computer is working again. I have a brand new desktop. Star Trek again. It has Voyager. Not that you would care...

e) I am going nuts working on my book. I repeat: I am going nuts working on my book.

f) I cut my hair.

g) Jeri Ryan is working on a pilot for a new show called Sudsbury (hope I got that right) The pilot is in production and it's going to be on CBS. It's based on "Practical Magic." More pretty witches on the little screen.

h) Hehehehe. The Borg who became a Hot Teacher is now doing Tricks....okay, that was sick. (If you don't get it...you don't get it... :P )

i) I can't seem to stop this list...someone help me

j) Working on an article that might pay for this months phone bill.

k) got camera back from Obet. Happily snapping pics of Koala bear again.

tHey you...you're annoying

Yesterday my friend Karen and I saw the Passion of Christ.

We'd finally found the time to go out, with her on summer vacation and I suddenly saddled with free time.

After stuffing ourselves with pretzels and finding out that A&W at Annex was finally torn down, we decided to resolve our frustrations over rootbeer float deprivation by seeing the controversial ( ;p mftttttt!) The Passion.

An unusual choice for the both of us since we usually gravitate towards the fun and fresh B-Movies when we're together. We don't do drama, maybe a little comedy, will definitely see action. Most especially cheesy action that has people like Van Damme in it.

But yesterday we broke tradition and saw something different.

"Let's remember this time" Karen told me in laughter while we were kidding over oney buns "because I know what we'll look like afterwards."

Probably like two cats dragged from the water.

One of the