BEWARE: Nasty Spoilers!

(nicked from http://gratefuledead.com/archives)

I didn't believe it could happen and I still can't, but it has. So it was Dumbledore all along. My head still hurts--I don't know if it's from the shock or the sadness or horror or the fact that I read this 30-chapter novel from my PDA (my first time to do so!)

I can't sleep. Which explains the time stamp on this post. Sa sobrang sama ng loob, I decided to write. I must say this is JKR's worst-written novel in Harry's continuing real-life horror-telenovela; however the dang witch kept me coming back for more. Or maybe I was just curious who would be the next recipient of the avada kedavra curse. Or I wanted to find out once and for all who the half-blood prince was--when I found out, I was just as disappointed as you.

I felt JKR had difficulty writing this particular book. She always loved to tell instead of show, but in Book 6 it really got worse. Pages and pages of people rambling, reminiscing, instructing. Felt as if you were almost in oneof their classes. She was obviously setting everything up for an explosive Book 7. I couldn't stand all these sudden appearances and minute speaking lines of thousands of characters. I'm like, should they really be there? What are they there for? And then what? It's all exposition, barely any follow-ups. I guess the real story will tell itself in a year, when Book 7 finally gets printed.

She should really, REALLY explore the possibility of telling parallel stories and allow other events to unfold at the same time. But I guess when you're a young, powerful, celebrity wizard, you can't help but have the whole world revolve around you. The techniques is tired. But I guess, JKR thinks, she's started it this way, she should end it the same way. If she just allowed herself a bit of freedom early on, maybe it wouldn't be this tiring to read for me, and less tiring for her to write as well.

I hope Harry and Ginny's relationship doesn't become a "Titanic" one, with trite lines like, you can go on, or, let me go, or some other sappy cliche at the point of either's death. She should give the relationships character. Make them original. Then again, hello! Book 7. The last. The end.

I hope it will end with a bang. This transitional piece, even though it has its moments, was so predictable. I may not have known who was going to die, but when the scene popped up, I knew it was him. I still feel bad about the death, and those last five chapters kept me riveted. At the end though, I was like--that's it? Pretty anticlimactic, albeit slightly brooding, after such a gallant stand. I was expecting Harry to speak up, but he didn't. Too bad. It would have been a fitting tribute to the Headmaster he loved so much.

I was always a Dumbledore fan. Still am. I shed a tear, and now I feel a little better. At least the misery of this badly-written book has ended for him. Harry and the barkada have to endure just one more. Hopefully it won't be so torturous for the rest of us.

Old Photographs

Was feeling a bit nostalgic so I decided to upload these.

And then Oly texts me out of the blue to say she's back in Manila for two weeks and wants to have lunch with me today! Talk about timing! :) hehehehe

I think I know now why I love popcorn

I can pop corn using a pan. Not a microwave oven. I can pop gorgeous fluffy white popcorn using an aluminum pan, fire, cooking oil and corn kernels.

I learned the craft when I was nine. My dad, my brother and I used to cook popcorn the old way, long before its microwave descendants found their way into the Philippines. Popcorn was a staple on our grocery list, and the late-night popping sessions became a tradition between my dad and us.

Papa was the popper. He was so good at it he had his own formula for popping the corn: he’d heat the thinnest aluminum pan there was in the kitchen. When the smoke was white, he’d pour the oil then the dried corn kernels. I loved the sound they made when as they fell into the pan, tinkling a thousand times over, sounding like enthusiastic applause or the rain.

My brother and I would wait silently as we listened for the first pop! Papa would gently shake the pan and then we’d hear another pop, until the heat of the stove turned them all into raging, angry little creatures, banging against the walls of the pan as they started bursting their petals and crowding one another.

The muffled bumps and passionate popping were like music to our ears…rather a syncopated tom-tom beat that heightened the excitement of downing mouthfuls of the hot popped corn. My brother and I danced around in anticipation while Papa would sting his fingers trying to hold on to a hot pan and shake out all the other kernels that might not have popped.

We’d always gun for 90-95% popped corn. Papa would usually eat the unpopped kernels. The burned ones tasted like nuts. If there were a lot of kernels left, we’d conclude that they were old stock or were of a low quality. We’d resolve next time not to buy that brand the next time we went to the grocery.

Funny that it all came flashing back to me last week at the grocery as Bubba and I did some emergency shopping for his condo. He doesn’t have a microwave. I was craving for popcorn, and then I saw the shelf that carried them. I remembered Papa and Andrei and the late nights we’d spend just gorging them down, sitting on Mama and Papa’s bed, watching late night tv. Sometimes we’d request a second batch and Papa would come back with another bowl full of fluffy white florets.

It was simple. It was fun. It was one of my most memorable childhood activities. I love popcorn because they fed me comfort, happiness, security, love. Popcorn's my comfort food. Popping corn with the first men in my life late at night were bonding sessions for us. And I will never forget them.

Funny that it should all be coming back to me now. I’m glad I’m smiling as I remember it. And I love that I am feeling peaceful yet wistful, missing the days when all I had to bother me was a little brother who wanted to share everything with me. I love knowing I have memories like these to fill me with love. And strength, and confidence to push forward and make my own old fashioned popcorn.

Bubba and I made a batch of them tonight, at my instruction. We got 100% popped corn.

Water in my Hobbithole

Woke up this morning to find a thin "film" of water on my floor. When Benc took a look, he said even the walls were "dewy" and glistening.

Water's seeping in from somewhere, but I don't know where it's coming from.

Who knows how long it's been happening? I usually go around my living space in rubber slippers and it's possible it's been like this for weeks and I just didn't notice it. Then again, no. I applied ant chalk the other day and the place was dry...I even did some sweeping.

ARRRRHGGGGHHHH!!!!

How could this be happening? My unit's the last one on my floor and it's beside the staircase, so it can't be coming from someone's plumbing beside me. If it was coming from the unit above mine, there's be marks on my ceiling, and it would trail down the walls right? But no. It just sort of appeared on the floor.

This really irritates me. Ed, the building administrator said he could only take a look at it on Saturday when he's stationed in the condo. He's out in the field usually. I was crabby and cranky all day because I was worried, but I felt better when Ed expressed worry and bewilderment as well. I told him my sofa bed's wet. And so are my covers. It's a good thing I have a sleeping bag. Darn. And the rain's perfect: how am I going to dry out my bed?

Just when everything was just about right. *sigh* The travails of a semi-home owner. And single person living alone.

Welcome to the real world.

Your Comments Needed

This is TMU number 2--this time with Angie Cruz and Odgie.








They're both seasoned pros, having been in the hair and make-up business for 15 years. They're make-up artists for modelling shows, shoots for Penshoppe, MEGA Magazine, Jenni Epperson, Phoem Baranda, etc.
They're a fun duo--very down to earth, honest, candid. Most of all, they came on time to the appointment and were welcome to suggestions and our preferences in make-up. They were eager to try all sorts of colors to achieve the look we wanted, and were willing to stay a little longer, powder me up a little more until we were ALL satisfied.

Here's version 1 of the make-up. Angie used a brownish lipstick here. I asked Odgie to try making the curls more wavy than curly.


He used a curling iron. Then used his hands to wind my hair around the thing. He did this cheerfully and efficiently for fifteen minutes! He was wearing knitted gloves so his fingers wouldn't burn. awww.
In these next photos, Angie used what he called his "bridal" lipstick--more pink! Odgie also made the curls tighter. Call this version 2, using Angie's bridal lipstick.
My mom and I liked what Angie did with my eyes and brows...my face opened up and there's more definition. The foundation is a bit too white though. When I told Angie this, he quickly brushed my face with bronzer--dunno if it really worked (you tell me!) but what I think is needed is a more tinted foundation.

Two of my friends found it unnatural while another said she liked this better than Barbi's.
What do you think? Your no-holds-barred opinions and comments will be very much appreciated! Thanks, all!

Random Question pa rin

Thanks Mik, Marj, Joanne and Malou for sharing your thoughts. Sana mas marami pa ang mag share.
Your stories helped put me at ease. I read and re-read them, and then do my own reflections. I DO know why I left home. I think I just need to know I'm not alone in that decision. I just need reassurance that what I did was totally valid, and wasn't something selfish.

So all the rest of you browsers, bloggers, friends and fence-sitters (hehe), leave your thoughts. Who knows? You may just help put a late-bloomer's spirit at ease.