I Am Woman, See Me Blog!

Java Jive

noreply@blogger.com (Lizza) — Sun, 29 Jun 2008 21:27:00 +0000

Going on an extended coffee break.

Or breaks.

Not having a breakdown.

Just some introspective coffee breaks.

And attempts in between to hunt down my runaway blogging mojo.

Be back soon.

Illuminating the bushel

noreply@blogger.com (Lizza) — Wed, 11 Jun 2008 19:09:00 +0000

My daughters had their birthdays recently and where there's a children's party, there are games. Not just children's games...adults are required to take part too. Well, adults taking part in the games isn't really a requirement, but you'd really be a spoilsport if you didn't participate. To make a long story short, it was a truly fun affair. The restaurant's mascots behaved themselves, I'm glad to say, and didn't cause a scandal.

Anyway, one of the games involved passing around a pen in time to music, and the ~~unlucky bastard~~ person left holding the pen when the music stopped had to demonstrate some of his or her talent.

Of course, I found myself feeling a tad anxious when the game's rules were explained.

What talent could I perchance show if the pen happened to stop in my hands? I don't have any.

I don't sing.
I don't dance.
...unless I'm drunk.

Even then, I can't do the Papaya Dance as well as the US Ambassador to the Philippines does it. (Kudos to you Ambassador Kenney, for showing your lighter side. You sure are no spoilsport!)

Talent...alcohol. Oooohhh, that's an idea. I could show to one and all just how much beer I'm capable of drinking! I'd kick everybody else's ass in that talent contest!

But that particular chain restaurant doesn't serve beer.

Bummer.

It turned out I worried unnecessarily; the pen never stopped in my hands. But everybody had fun, and that was the important thing.

I hope my beer-drinking talent will come in useful somehow. I'm about to apply for a job that'll take me to places I've only dreamed about. (If all goes well, I might be able to visit you and the TG, DaddyP! And maybe even Penfold too!).

The ability to drink copious amounts of alcohol, being a smartass..and some other abilities I won't mention...will they make an impact on the hiring personnel? Wish me luck!

Dona Nobis Pacem

noreply@blogger.com (Lizza) — Tue, 03 Jun 2008 20:24:00 +0000

We bloggers write about anything and everything under the sun: like love, hate, sex, work, politics, sex, family, travel, gardening, parenting, friendship, sex, music, movies, making money, sex. Today, a number of us are posting about peace, we who are not only willing but enthusiastic participants of Mimi Lenox's Dona Nobis Pacem Blog Blast for Peace movement.

It started several dozen moons ago, Mimi's initiative, which has since blossomed and swelled like a beauty pageant contestant's head - but in a much, much nicer way. Though those contestants do mention world peace quite regularly...or as Mimi puts it, world peas. Makes me salivate for some delicious pea soup.

But life isn't an epicurean delight every day. More often than not, events leave a bad taste in one's mouth, or if they don't it's because they were too bland to make an impact. Funny thing is, if one takes the time to chew - to savor - an experience, then he or she will find something good about it, no matter how colorless or unpalatable it may have seemed at the start.

And where else does peace start but from within each and every one of us? Sure, it's easy to spout rhetoric about world peace (peas? mmmm, pea soup) but if one's own life is devoid of it (peace, not peas!), how can she or he influence others? You can talk the talk but you gotta walk the walk too.

Inner peace doesn't necessarily mean eliminating everyday conflict. How the hell can you do that? Unless you're some sort of monk living in a cave in the mountains. Even then, you'd have to deal with the pesky insects. No, I think it's about finding serenity - and perhaps imparting it to others - even in the midst of the usual chaos we encounter within and without on a daily basis. Yes, choosing the peaceful way is hard sometimes. What's easier, to flip the bird at the jerks who cut you off on the highway or to think that maybe they have problems that distract them from driving responsibly? To take offense at a friend's seeming inattentiveness or understand his need for silence? It's easier to rant and rave, to react in a negative manner especially when such a reaction seems merited.

It's easier to react negatively, it seems. But then again, the things that are most worthwhile aren't all that easy to deal with, the things that will bring peace to us, and by our resulting actions, to others. Conversely, it isn't rocket science either. It's simply a choice: the choice not to do harm, the choice not to hurt, the choice to do good, the choice to act in peace, the choice to love.

There are things that bring me a measure of serenity, the ocean is one of them. Music is another, and these two songs lull my spirit because they celebrate love (which I think is essential to peace). They make me smile, and sometimes they make me cry (but in a good way). I like them a lot because they celebrate my life and my peace and my love...even if they don't talk about peas. Or sex. Or beer.

Seasons of Love [From Rent] - Cast of Rent

So shake it up, baby, now...for peace.

Killing time, unwillingly mine

noreply@blogger.com (Lizza) — Thu, 29 May 2008 19:28:00 +0000

We know what a haiku is: a seventeen-syllable poem (originally from Japan) divided into three lines of five, seven, and five syllables.

The effervescent banana-lover Janna has her own version, the Janku: a three-line poem, each line with its corresponding number of requisite vowels.

Now that's a fun idea: adapting a form of poetry and calling it after yourself.

Problem is, I can't decide on a poetry structure I can ~~bastardize~~ adapt specifically for me.

A lizzonnet would be too damn long.

I'm not quite ballsy enough to write something like a Lizza Sutra.

I love the idea of a beerku, but there's already an excellent site devoted to beer haiku.What about a cannabisku? Nah, not enough experience for that.

Oh, well. Settle for a Lizzmerick then.

It's that red time of the month again
A most sore time for this Asienne
So she calls out "Cheers!"
And guzzles some beers
Because she's allergic to ibuprofen

This isn't to say I imbibe only once a month. Oh dear, no. At least twice. :-)

Tickling the funny bone(r)

noreply@blogger.com (Lizza) — Sun, 25 May 2008 18:57:00 +0000

Humor is a funny thing.

Or rather, one's taste in humor.

It can change without warning; what's funny today may seem tasteless tomorrow, or vice-versa. Some tasteless jokes are kickass funny, some are not. Though I find it hard to believe everybody hasn't laughed at a tasteless joke at least once.

There are lots and lots of funny blogs out there, and I'm glad I've come across a few of them.

DaddyPapersurfer's blog is just plain fun. Well, not plain, maybe. But simple fun about the life of an old git in England, who is wont to exaggerate things just a trifle. Another Brit humour blog I enjoyed was The World of Yaxlich. Too bad he stopped blogging. He made me laugh with posts like this.

Mr. Fab of Pointless Drivel has ruffled quite a few feathers with some of his posts - those with themes dealing with topics that some people don't think shouldn't be made fun of. I admit some of them are a bit too much for me, but I don't get my knickers in a twist over them. Many of his other posts tickle my funny bone anyway,

One of my most favorite humor blogs is Gimcrack Hospital. It's not only funny, it's educational as well! I wouldn't have known otherwise about things like male urethral stimulation, using leeches to simulate virginity, and the practice of dry sex in some cultures. Plus, the Good Nurse titillates her male readers (and makes her female readers green with envy) every Friday, when she showcases her bodacious bod in pieces of her lingerie collection. (Like this, for example. I suggested the concept of Casual Fridays to Nursemyra sometime back; she turned it into Sizzling Hot Fridays.) Nursemyra's blog helps her deal with a tragedy she suffered recently. Another example of using humor to cope with loss, and it's a big plus if it delights other people too, which her blog surely does. See her "About Me" page to learn more.

What does the title of this post have to do with anything? Well, this picture. Hey, it's NSFW ok? It made me laugh - not the reaction the subject probably wants from viewers - and cross my legs and mentally shriek "episiotomy!"

Under the covers

noreply@blogger.com (Lizza) — Thu, 15 May 2008 18:08:00 +0000

Re-interpreted songs sometimes get my goat. (No, DaddyP, I don't really have a goat. But if I did, I could make some nice goat stew from it. With potatoes, carrots, pepper, and tomato sauce.)

However, there are several cover songs that I do like, in a goosebumpy, rockin' way.

Julia Fordham's version of Minnie Riperton's Loving You. This one never fails to stop me in my tracks. Quite a few of her songs are on my playlist. Her voice enchants me. It's smooth and full like dark and rich chocolate.

***

Sonic Youth's haunting version of The Carpenters' Superstar. Found this via the movie "Juno." Me likey. A lot. (Both the movie and the song.) The drummer kinda looks like Bill Gates, which made me laugh.

***

Filipino artist Sitti Navarro's cover of D'Sound's Tattooed on My Mind. Sweet, sweet song in a sweet, sweet voice.

***

Prince's version of Kiss. This makes me dance, and I DON'T dance as a rule. 1980's nostalgia for those who came of age during that decade (like me!).

***

So these are four of my favorite covers...at this time, at least. I like them not only for how they sound but for the meaning they hold for me.

Yeah. These songs touch me deep inside. I'm shallow that way, deriving a bit of self-identity and gratification from songs sometimes. They don't really make me cry...but then, wasn't it Wordsworth who said that the something something lies too deep for tears? And no, DaddyP, I am NOT lusting after Prince.

What are your favorite cover songs these days? Let me know. Some musical artists (new and old) I've come to like I never would've heard of if not for terrific friends who wanted to share.

Look, Ma, Both Hands!

noreply@blogger.com (Lizza) — Sat, 10 May 2008 19:57:00 +0000

My mom is a funny creature.

There are times I would catch her humming the Cranberries song Zombie while she's watering her plants. She loves her residential flora, almost as much as she loves her kids and grandkids. I know that it isn't unusual for plant-lovers to talk to their plants, but is lovingly humming songs like Zombie to them normal?

When I screw up, she has this way of talking to me that makes me shrink; it's like I'm a wayward kid all over again. She hardly ever yells, but the tone she uses, soft as it is, is no less stentorian. In those moments she makes me cringe with anger and shame.

But there are other things I remember.

Like how comforting her hand felt smoothing my hair away from my sweaty brow as I, writhing and moaning in pain from gallstones, was being driven to the hospital. How calming and reassuring her whispers were. Better than Lamaze.

Like how she would spend hours with each newborn child just so that I could catch a few zzzzz's after a sleepless night.

Like how she'd be there to offer her very tangible support during very lean times, even without my asking.

Like how she would wake me up just to tell me that something I liked was showing on TV. And even though I'd seen that show already, I'd watch it again out of appreciation of the fact that she knew I liked it. To this day, I can't figure out how she knew I liked that particular show. I didn't let anyone know I liked it; it was that cheesy.

Like how she loves, accepts, and supports me and my siblings unconditionally. She may question, oh boy, does she ever. But when all is said and done, whatever the issue - from the breakup of my marriage to the exploits of other relatives to whether it's okay to hum Zombie to the plants - the love, acceptance, support, and understanding are there...in-your-face or behind-the-scenes, they're always there. Along with her crazy-ass sense of humor and the exasperating radio dramas she listens to. I'm immensely thankful I was born to this terrific woman, she who is my despair, my inspiration, my goddess, my bulwark.

My mom's a funny creature, and I love her so much.

A blessed and meaningful Mother's Day to all mothers and mothers-to-be, young and old.

These endless summer nights

noreply@blogger.com (Lizza) — Wed, 07 May 2008 19:58:00 +0000

It's the height of summer here in the Philippines, which translates a lot of times to mind-numbing, libido-killing (for a nanosecond), energy-sapping heat. Sure, we have a few scattered thunderstorms, but most times so far they've lasted only a few minutes, after which it's hotter and more humid than ever. It leaves me boneless, spineless, tendon-less. A limp noodle, that's what I feel like most days because of the mugginess and heat. Air-conditioning is all well and good, but when I go out the heat is even more palpable; it's like a physical assault.

Of course, there are sights and sounds of summer that I enjoy. The following are some of them, chez Lizza:

The sun is bright, the bougainvillea is blooming.

A single mother has made our home hers - and her kittens'. These little ones make me and mine laugh with their adorable antics. And yes, DaddyP, they can be called LOLCATS.

See that legion of little critters congregating in the light of the streetlamp? You'll have to click on the image to see a bigger picture. Those insects are called gamu-gamo. They're like flying ants, except they don't bite. What's weird is that tonight (my son took this photo a few hours ago) they were congregating at the streetlight in front of our house; those lights a few feet away they left untouched. Folklore has it that hordes of them appear to herald the coming of the rain. We've been getting some rain the past few days, but does their appearance foretell the outpouring of an abnormally large amount of rain in the lives of this household's members?

I can't speak for the others, but I sure hope it rains hard - and soon! Complete with thunder and lightning, though I'm normally afraid of lightning. This time, I want it. I don't care whether it rains water or cats or dogs or men, hallelujah. Lovely and bright as the sun is, I'm tired of the glare and heat. Just so tired...of so many things. I need a change.

Manic Monday: Fresh

noreply@blogger.com (Lizza) — Sun, 04 May 2008 20:57:00 +0000

Fresh air, breathtaking lakes, forests, vistas, and small-town life. What could be more appealing? These and more are the qualities that a certain charming Austrian village possesses, and life in it would be ideal, except for the damn tourists who keep stealing town signs to take home as souvenirs. Well, all I can say is Fucking sure sounds refreshing in winter or in any other season. What's more, seems like the people there (or those working for the Austrian Tourist Board) are very accommodating and have a great sense of humor too. They're good sports, at least.

A town that used to be called Sexmoan here in the Philippines would do well to have such great PR!

For other takes on this week's theme word, fresh, visit Morgen at It's a Blog Eat Blog World.

Blogworld Saturday

noreply@blogger.com (Lizza) — Sat, 03 May 2008 18:40:00 +0000

Betcha thought Blogworld Saturday was over and done with. You thought wrong, but I'm not blaming you. The year is almost half over - jeez, time does fly - and here's my first Blogworld Saturday post for 2008. It's early Sunday morning already where I am, but when did I ever let something like time stop me from doing what I want to do?

Here are some of the posts I've enjoyed reading the past few weeks.

East Coast Dweller. Wise and gentle he may be, but he doesn't put up with ignoramuses. God knows there are so many of them. Here he stands up yet again in defense of womanhood.

Kadi. I've been lurking on her blog, which I like veddy much. This magnificent lady has seven young kids, and lovely as they are, I can imagine the maelstrom they can cause in her household. This post is an example of one such stormy day. No wonder she says "Shitballs!" regularly. Also, this post, The Talk, just made me laugh.

Glamour Puss. She's sexy, but more importantly, her excellent and heartfelt writing reaches out to me and to many others. I most certainly can relate to her post on her darkness and her light. Well, most of it. Not the erotic asphyxiation part, though.

Aileen. Does the way other people refer to you bother you? It does me, sometimes. Aileen talks about what gets her goat other than being addressed as "Ma'am."

Mimi Lenox. On June 4, 2008, Peace Globes will once again float, soar, and dash through the Internet. Participating is simple; just download the Peace Globe picture you like, scrawl your signature across it (and add an image if you desire) and blog about what "peace" means to you. Some people have banners that say something like "Make Poverty History" or "I Need to Get Laid" on their blogs." Achieving either one would certainly bring a measure of peace to one person or many people. Mimi's Blog Blast for Peace would, too, I believe. Positive energy and goodwill through pictures and personal thoughts and stories are something I'm look forward to.

I hope everyone is having a good weekend so far. See you all again in a few days. Stay naughty!

Asked for, and received

noreply@blogger.com (Lizza) — Thu, 01 May 2008 18:14:00 +0000

This blog has been reviewed by Charlotte, and you can read the review here.

How's that for brevity?

But of course, the post doesn't end here.

I myself asked for a review from them, and man, did I receive. I'm relieved it's finally over, and that Charlotte (a guest reviewer) didn't rip my blog nor my way or writing to shreds. The site's mainstays aren't going to visit again, thank goodness. I'm glad they took a peek, and sorry they didn't like what they saw.

Did I like the review?

Hell, no.

Do I think it's a fair review?

Hell, yes.

After I submitted my blog to "Ask and Ye Shall Receive," I tried looking at this blog through a stranger's eyes, and I did see how it can be off-putting to the casual visitor. Brown template that can be reminiscent of shit to some, a lot of long posts. I can be wordy many times, but there are many posts as well that don't ramble on and on. But if all you see is a lot of long posts on the front page, and which aren't to your liking, then of course you won't be compelled to dig deeper into the archives to explore. I see that clearly.

I thought the labels would help a reader navigate; I keep just a few tags or labels to make navigation easier, but Cappy pointed out that the labels aren't interesting and don't entice him to delve further. I just don't know. Lara suggested a "best posts" list to draw readers in. My thanks to them for their tips.

So...change is in the air.

Template: I've been wanting to change it, but didn't think I should do so before the review came out. So I'll find a nice one. I liked this one when I first saw it, though (reminded me of dark, warm chocolate).

Title: I'm sticking with what I have. I do have a vagina and a keyboard, can't deny that. Besides, I suck at coming up with cute and clever titles.

Content: I will TRY to meander less and edit against verbosity, but no promises. Maybe it's because I'm so reticent in the 3D world that I ramble on and on in many of my blog posts. It's a form of catharsis for me sometimes. A number of you put up with them, and I thank you. It isn't obvious to everyone, but a lot of them I poured my heart and soul into.

Another thought: maybe it's the template that makes the posts look ultra-long? Well, we'll see when I find a new template that I like.

I appreciate Charlotte's review. The virtual spanking that this lady from the Midwest gave me (I mentioned spanking here recently, didn't I?) was tempered with good words and with criticism meant to help. It was done fairly, in my opinion. Others may not agree with her two stars and flaming finger, and that's their right. But tight hugs and sloppy kisses to those of you who do like my blog - and who do find a connection between us through it.

So I have three blog reviews (that I can remember) under my belt. This latest one from Ask and Ye Shall Receive, one from The Weblog Review, and one from The World Blog Council - my personal favorite, but only because Colonel-whatsisname-Arse is way hot.

Emotionally high-speed home

noreply@blogger.com (Lizza) — Sat, 26 Apr 2008 18:45:00 +0000

Having no Internet connection sucks.

Having Internet connection that's supposed to be high-speed but which performs at a speed that's even slower than dial-up sucks even more - when it takes what seems like a gazillion years before a web page loads. Technical problems, the bland voice at the customer service end of the ISP phone number says. "Thank you for bearing with us," this female automaton recites. My ass. I'd rather bear a cow, which I think I've been doing anyway for the last 24 hours at least. If I don't get an über-slow Internet connection, I get totally no connection at all.

Bugger!

So what's a night owl supposed to do when she doesn't have an Internet connection, all available video games have been played, the kids are asleep, and she can't get to sleep herself because the wee hours are when she's usually still alive and kicking?

She [meaning I, of course] watched a movie, of course. Or several movies.

Watched Love in the Time of Cholera, which I didn't consider to be all that bad, like what the reviews said. Loved the book, liked the movie. Except for the parts where the ladies had beautiful boobies. Happy for them, sad for me. I was probably out drinking beer when God was giving out boobies.

Saw Kinkyboots, which made me laugh. I wish I had Lola's panache. But it's been half a lifetime since I last wore stilettos. They weren't too bad, but I was younger then, and more limber. I'd probably sprain my appendix in addition to my ankles if I tried wearing something like Lola's boots now.

Watched an old Michael Buble concert on video. I don't really get his music. Yeah, he's cute and all, but not really my type. Me likey men with a five o'clock shadow. What the hell, I thought. I should go out of my comfort zone a bit. (To those of you who don't know, my comfort zone - musically speaking - is rock 'n' roll...with a bit of sappiness thrown in sometimes. Hee hee.)

Well, that isn't exactly true. I like lots of kinds of music: rock, jazz, new wave, classical, emo, Sesame Street. Yep. I almost cried when I first heard "Lower Case N" (Sing it with me... Lower-case N/Standing on a hill/The wind is very still/For the lower-case Ehhh-ennnnn...)

So anyway, Michael Buble's repartee in between songs had me chuckling. I especially liked the part where he and Josh Groban were making fun of each other (me likey Josh Groban's music...and his five o'clock shadow). There was this one part where Michael walks through the audience and gets kissed to death, among other things. After that, he says thanks to a certain gentleman in the audience who grabbed his ass.

Now, a stranger grabbing someone's ass would hardly elicit a grateful reaction in most cases. A stranger fondled my non-boob when I was a teenager, while I was riding a form of public transportation called a jeepney - and that scared the shit out of me. If he had grabbed my ass, I think my reaction would have been pretty much the same: barely controlled hysteria.

Twenty years later, things aren't much different. Though I have a bigger ass, I still have the non-boobies. However, if someone was crazy enough to grab that big ass, I wouldn't shrink and cry - I'd probably kick that guy where it would hurt him the most (and I'd use something like Lola's boots). But maybe being grabbed in your most sensitive places when you least expect it can be a good thing, especially if it's done by someone whose opinion matters to you. It may not be pleasant at first, but it can get you thinking. And feeling. And then you start wanting more of it. Not from any random ass-grabber, but from someone who cares enough about you (and vice-versa) to spank your ass a bit.

This is starting to sound a bit kinky, so I should stop.

P.S. I lied when I said I don't get Michael Buble's music. There is one song of his that I do like. It's called Home. Home isn't always a physical location made of bricks, cement, wood, and marble. Sometimes home is a state of mind, a state of presence where you can be comfortable in your own skin - alone or with someone else. I do like this song.

Sweet & sour siblings

noreply@blogger.com (Lizza) — Mon, 21 Apr 2008 19:05:00 +0000

I don't watch TV all that much, but there's one show among several that I do like: Brothers & Sisters. Thank heavens it's back (just as Heroes will be back within the year, woo hoo!).

In a nutshell, Brothers & Sisters is about family relationships: the dynamics among brothers and sisters and their mother and their significant others and half-sister(?) - family. It's mostly drama with a few good laughs thrown in. I'm enjoying it immensely.

I have an older sister and an older brother and a younger brother. All of them live abroad with their families, except for the younger brother, who's away most of the time anyway since he works as a junior purser on a cruise ship in either Europe or the Caribbean.

If you watch Brothers & Sisters, you'll notice that every time the family meets for dinner the evening inevitably ends up in a shouting match. There's no doubt that the family members love each other dearly, but man, they almost rip each others' throats out in these shouting matches. As adults, there were moments when the siblings and I don't see eye to eye on certain things. But it never got to the point that there would be a verbal free-for-all. I do have friends who engage in such, um, lively conversations with their families. After the initial apprehension, such conversations became fun to watch.

My siblings and I have had our share of disagreements - verbal and physical - when we were kids. The younger brother, especially, always threw a mean punch that was always aimed at me. He and I fought like cats and dogs when we were younger, but he and I were closest to each other. We still are. Whenever he's home we go out for a few drinks and kid around. Most importantly, we talk and listen to each other. I have great memories of my older sister and brother when we were kids and before they moved away, but it's the younger brother who somehow gets me the most (and vice-versa). I'd call him my doppelganger, except that I'm way prettier. And that I can outdrink him - but only when Heineken is involved. Otherwise he's the better drinker, hands down.

Don't you wonder how earlier generations were more prolific when it came to childbearing? My mom had seven siblings; my dad had eight. I have just three (siblings and children), but on certain days it seems like I have three dozen. But I'm not complaining. Well, just sometimes. But not much.

(We were supposed to have four more siblings, but they were either stillborn or died shortly after birth.)

But back to Brothers & Sisters. I would totally love to adopt Kevin and Justin into my household. Not for sexual purposes, you perverts. Kevin (the gay guy), because he's so lovable even if he's neurotic and uptight. Justin, because he is so vulnerable and has doe eyes and a perpetual five o'clock shadow. And because both of them are such an adorable, pathetic mess when they're drunk.

Just like me...if you hold the adorable.

Happy huggy weekend

noreply@blogger.com (Lizza) — Fri, 18 Apr 2008 19:13:00 +0000

I posted this video already a long time ago. But watching it still touches me and makes me teary-eyed somehow. I know, I'm such a sorry sap. I hope you watch it, if you haven't seen it yet. Even if you have, it's worth watching again. At least I think so. Because I'm such a sap.

A virtual hug doesn't come close to the real thing. But it's the best I can do for most of you - and me (hmmm, that sounds strange) - right now. So hugs to you, my dear blog buddies. And hug someone back - real tight!

A heartfelt hug, man, you can't describe that. You just feel it.

Found this, too. My online slogan.

Your Slogan Should Be

Lizza. As Delicate as a Caress.

The Slogan Generator

Hmmmmm... Oh, yeah. Or not. Depends. :-)

Have a great weekend, folks!

Progeny

noreply@blogger.com (Lizza) — Wed, 16 Apr 2008 21:00:00 +0000

You know how sometimes nothing feels right: your hair’s a mess, you look in the mirror and see a tub of lard, you feel like you’re drowning in a sea that’s slick with inadequacy, insecurity, loneliness, and perceived non-appreciation. A shitty day to top all shitty days, in other words. Today felt just like that for me; it made me want to go jump off a high cliff.

Until…

The firstborn, about to enter his senior year in high school, called me to show a special move he discovered in the video game he’s playing. And to share other stuff I never could have shared with my parents when I was his age.

The older daughter made an intricate, graceful movement with her arm – like it was part of a dance – while she was sleeping. That made me laugh, and wonder what kind of music she was hearing and dancing to in her dreams.

The younger daughter, the mini-me, stopped me in my tracks while I, all irritable and grumpy, was about to set on an errand. Just before I could snap “What?!” at her (and to my shame, I was about to), this plump bundle of love and laughter wrapped her arms around my midriff – very tightly – and said “I love you, Mama” over and over again. Just because. She does that a lot – all three of them do – but it was especially appreciated today for some reason.

I thank the powers that be for my children. They can drive me crazy ass batshit and make me plaintively cry out "Hay naku namaaaan, mga anak ko!" (which translates roughly to "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?"*) but they keep me sane too.

*Not really, no. Feels that way sometimes, though.

Sappy

noreply@blogger.com (Lizza) — Sun, 13 Apr 2008 20:13:00 +0000

To say that I enjoy listening to rock 'n' roll is an understatement, whether I'm BUI* or not (as Turnbaby inadvertently discovered. Look at that evil grin of hers. And her alluring cleavage. She's evil, I tell ya. Diabolical. But I adore her nevertheless.).

Sometimes, though, when the beer hits the spot or when the moon is full or just because, sappy love songs get to me. When that happens, I feel all warm and tingly inside and I find myself singing along, or making up my own lyrics - but only in my mind - because vocalizing them seems tantamount to sacrilege (especially given how my singing voice sucks big time). Though I do throw caution to the wind sometimes and sing along with abandon anyway. Mostly when I'm alone or very, very drunk. No catastrophic effects - so far.

And when it's a rock song that's a sappy love song at the same time, like the one I heard just a few minutes ago (I'm not saying which one, I do have some sense of shame after all), I can't help gurning like Daddy Papersurfer. It's rockin' fun to be sappy and silly once in a while.

*Blogging under the influence (but then you already knew that, Turnbaby!)

Going bananas

noreply@blogger.com (Lizza) — Thu, 10 Apr 2008 21:18:00 +0000

You Are a Banana

You are mellow, easy going, and a total softie on the inside.

People find it really easy to get along with you. You suit most tastes.

And while you're very sweet, you're not boring or ordinary.

You have an attraction to the exotic, and you could show up anywhere... doing almost anything!

You are spirited, energetic, and a total kick to be around.

You're also quite funny. Your sense of humor is on the goofy side, and it fits you well.

What Type of Fruit Are You?

OK, this made me laugh because it's so far off the mark on many counts. I do adore bananas, though. Oh, yeah. Yummy, yummy stuff.

Each one of us goes bananas at one time or another - and I don't mean we go crazy for the fruit. We just go crazy. But what seems crazy to me might seem commonplace to you, or it might elicit another reaction altogether. For instance, a friend of mine and his brothers and sister used to go bananas playing booger tag when they were kids. Now I can understand how such an activity can be both sweet and disgusting at the same time. Only people who are so comfortable with each other, who enjoy an easy intimacy, can engage in such a barbaric act and laugh their asses off and love each other all the more in spite of - or perhaps because of - it.

That said, I never indulged in that particular game during my childhood. Well, one of my brothers once flicked a booger at me, which landed on my thigh. I went ballistic. He had the grace to remove it, after he had his fill of rolling on the floor, laughing until he was hiccupping, at the sight of me jumping around trying to dislodge it without actually touching it, and not succeeding.

My friend and his siblings stopped playing booger tag after puberty. But I think they still play fart games whenever they get together. Oh the joys of childhood, how they can endure. May the gross kid in each of us never fade. Banana in hand or not.

Freebird

noreply@blogger.com (Lizza) — Sat, 05 Apr 2008 18:51:00 +0000

My candle burns at both ends;
It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends--
It gives a lovely light!

-"First Fig"
by Edna St. Vincent Millay

There's a saying that those whom the gods love die young.

My dear, dear friend Victor's brother, Gerard, died just recently. He would've turned 37 today. I've never met him, but it was still a shock to learn of his unexpected death, and at such a young age. The question "why?" arises in such cases. I'm not saying that death in the elderly is any less tragic, but it somehow seems more overwhelming, more stupefying when the Grim Reaper comes with his indiscriminating scythe for those who are still in their youth.

In Greek mythology, the fates of of one and all (including those of the gods) are decided by three goddesses collectively known as The Fates (duh). Clotho is responsible for spinning the thread of life; Lachesis' task is to measure each person's life-thread; Atropos, with her scissors, is the thread-cutter, the bringer of death.

My question is, by what standards does Lachesis decide how long or short a person's thread is? Is it subject to her whims? Or does she allocate each thread's length in accordance to foresight and insight which she alone knows and understands? In any case, it hardly seems fair, and understanding why something could be so is very difficult, especially in the first days, weeks, months when the grief is still new and at its most painful.

But maybe understanding of such a devastating and life-changing event comes later to those whom the dead leave behind. Maybe one of the steps leading to eventual understanding is acceptance. Acceptance of physical separation, acceptance of departure, acceptance of see-you-again-soon even while asking why-the-hell-did-you-have-to-go-now.

In the meantime, there are the memories. Memories of both big and little events - the latter so much the sweeter sometimes: the way he sang, the way he walked, the fire in his eyes when he talked about something important to him, his stance while astride his Harley, the sound of his laughter. Memories of his moments of sadness and anger, since both good and bad moments are part of living, just as death is part of life. Maybe one day such memories will bring smiles and laughter more than pain and tears.

Thirty-six years is but a blink of an eye in the vastness of eternity, but such a treasure trove of memories those years can bring. The thread has been cut, the candle has been snuffed out, but his light, music, and voice live on in the hearts of his family and friends, they whom he loved in life and who love him immensely both in life and in death.

IN MEMORIAM

GERARD VOLDER
1971-2008

Chasing shadowy pavements

noreply@blogger.com (Lizza) — Wed, 02 Apr 2008 20:47:00 +0000

Shadows are interesting examples of the interplay between light and dark. Sometimes when we have a power outage here at night, the kids and I amuse ourselves by making shadow puppets. Block the candle's light with your fist and fingers arranged just so and look! There's a rabbit. Move your fingers slightly and the figure on the wall becomes a dog. Bring the other hand into play and the dog transforms into a bird flapping its wings (though I flip a different kind of shadow bird when the kids aren't around).

But those are just illusions. The rabbits, dogs, and birds on the wall aren't really what they seem to be; they are just the visual results (in candlelight) of a person's hands doing various things to give an impression of being something else.

The play of shadows in the video of the song Chasing Pavements, by Adele, doesn't create such illusions. But the illusions shown in the video are enthralling nevertheless -- at least to me they are. I so much enjoy how the video was done: two people in a special dance while lying down, plus the awesome interplay later in the video between the shadows of people dancing vertically and the two lying horizontally. Pure magic. This is one song and video I actually appreciate as an earworm and eyeworm for now.

(Does anyone notice the shadows that are cast when he or she is doing the horizontal tango with someone else? I certainly don't.)

Part of the song goes:

Should I give up
Or should I just keep chasing pavements
Even if it leads nowhere,
Or would it be a waste
Even if I knew my place
Should I leave it there

Well, the pavements in my life are mostly un-smooth and imperfect. I know, I know, I should find ways of filling those cracks and potholes so that I don't fall into them, instead of trying to find new pavements to walk or run on (or after) - especially when I'm half-shod or even barefoot. That, however, like many other things, is easier said than done.

Sometimes though, when the sunlight (or moonlight) bathes everything underneath it just so, then the pavement looks absolutely perfect. Magical, even. But that doesn't change the fact that pavements are still too hard and painful for things like horizontal dancing - with or without the alluring shadows.

Going for the gold

noreply@blogger.com (Lizza) — Fri, 28 Mar 2008 21:40:00 +0000

Here in the Philippines, most schools hold an annual event called "Recognition Day." My kids' school had their event yesterday morning.

This is held at the end of the school year and medals and certificates are handed out to students per grade level for their academic achievements: e.g., first-, second-, third-honors, etc., Best in Math, Best in Science, Best in Filipino, Best in English, and so on. Parents go onstage to hang medals or pin ribbons on their children and pose for a Kodak moment. I was a tad taken aback to learn of an award called "Best in Sensorial Development." Yeah, I know sensorial development is somewhat important in the Montessori method of education, but it still made me laugh inside because of inadvertent mental associations with sartorial development, and that's one category I'll always get a D in (most of the time, anyway.)

It amuses me how unnecessarily long-winded these ceremonies are. The awardees parade down the aisle (by grade level), then teachers and school administrators walk down the aisle one by one while someone bleats over the loudspeaker each person's academic credentials, then the parade of colors, then the national anthem, then a dance number by some faculty members, then the introduction of the guest speaker (more blabbing about said guest speaker's academic credentials and achievements), etc., etc. It's a full hour before the awarding of medals takes place.

So, anyway, two of my three received medals, but the littlest one didn't get anything this year. Though she wasn't heartbroken about it, it did disappoint her - to the extent that she shed tears over it. My children's dad and I have gone our separate ways but there's one thing that remains constant: our roles as parents. And in that aspect, one thing hasn't changed: that neither he nor I gives a rat's ass about school medals. We see the kids growing up well: kind, funny, smart, with exasperatingly smart-ass characteristics, so we aren't complaining. We don't need ribbons or medals to validate their worth. That kind of gewgaw isn't on our list of what we want and hope for the children.

Don't get me wrong. It feels good when you learn your progeny is about to be recognized for some aspect or another of academic achievement. It helps reinforce acknowledgment of their hard work. But for me (and for the kids' dad) it isn't the be-all and end-all to a child's growth and to his or her self-esteem. So neither he nor I browbeat any of the children with admonitions of getting an award. The littlest one wasn't bothered by the fact that she didn't get a medal this year per se; what troubled her was that maybe her dad and I would be disappointed in her - especially since her big brother and sister were to receive awards. She has been reassured about this, and she's OK now.

This brings to mind someone I once knew; she did all her children's school projects: writing book reports, making web pages, creating art projects. And she was really good at it. I didn't agree with her methods at all, but she enjoyed doing it. When her kids got high grades for their projects, I couldn't help but think she was the one who should've received the accolades - not her kids - since she did all the work. Me, I leave the kids to do their own homework; the most I've done is to type up book reports and such (my firstborn child actually prefers hand-writing such stuff on paper - to be typed and printed later) and to quiz them when exams are coming up. That's pretty much how my parents dealt with me and my siblings when we were still in school. We'll back you up, baby, but swim with the sharks as much as you can before we rescue your sorry ass! Which they never had to do anyway (school-wise).

In retrospect, though, my relationship with my mom (academically speaking) was a lot different when I was in high school than my relationship (in the same context) with my kids. My dad was pretty OK; very laid-back and non-demanding. He was proud and pleased whenever I received an award, he wasn't demanding in any way. My mom was a different story. If I got a silver award for something, she'd ask, "Why didn't you get the gold?" If I got the gold, she'd tell me, "Make sure you get it again next year." Make no mistake, I love my mom dearly; she's a supportive, stabilizing, loving, and comforting presence in my life. But there were moments when I was growing up that she made me want to jump off the highest cliff - cheerfully.

Makes me wonder what my children will be blogging about me in 20 years.

"My mom, Lizza? I love her madly, but when I was growing up, she made me want to..."

Cyber Yeast, Part Deux

noreply@blogger.com (Lizza) — Tue, 25 Mar 2008 18:36:00 +0000

Not all memes are lame, quite a few are actually fun to do. I had a good time doing my Band Meme post, and several others liked the outcome - which is why I was honored with my second Rising Blogger award.

Thank you, Bud Weiser, for your kind words in your review. (Bud is the author of WTIT: Tape Radio and one of the team of reviewers at The Rising Blogger). And thanks to Judd Corizan, creator of The Rising Blogger site.

I didn't tag anyone else for the Band Meme, but some other bloggers liked the game enough to play along. Like my dear Indian blog buddy, Prometheus. He's been AWOL for the longest time and seeing him posting again is most pleasant. I and many others have enjoyed his smart and funny posts. Mon ami, if you're reading this, I hope you continue blogging. Your wit at The Moving (Middle) Finger Writes has been sorely missed.

The other person who did this game unbidden is Dean, who posts over at Qwerty Confessions. Dean is a fellow Filipino blogger. This young man is only 13 years old and his command of the English language is excellent. Young as he is, he's won a number of local journalism awards. It would be a pleasure to watch his development as a writer over the years. I wasn't writing anywhere near as well as he is when I was his age. Well, nothing intellectual anyway. Just the normal teenage-heartthrobbing stuff I'd scribble every day in my pink Little Twin Stars diary. The menage a trois comprised of Lizza, beer, and ciggies was still nonexistent in those days. Ah, wholesomely good times they were.

...See Me Roar (and Burp)

noreply@blogger.com (Lizza) — Fri, 21 Mar 2008 21:12:00 +0000

They say the ability to think, to reason, is what elevates humans above other animals. Thinking is good, but it's overrated in some cases. Especially when you come across people who are ostensibly thinking, but in reality they're just blowing wind in an attempt to impress others. Yep, watching how members of the animal kingdom act naturally, without pomp or pretense, via shows on Animal Planet or the Discovery Channel is most refreshing.

The animal way of life is appealing sometimes - just acting on one's instincts. Though maybe men wouldn't agree if they see how some female animals devour the males of their species after copulation. No, I know such behavior isn't practical or acceptable by human standards. Still, there's something so alluring about the thought of just doing it (though not necessarily killing men after sex!) all else be damned. No constraints, no judging, no self-consciousness - just doing what feels right and natural.

Not ardently complaining about human civilization, though. After all, no matter how regal and awe-inspiring lions and tigers (and others of the animal kingdom) may be in their primal and instinctive state, they don't have books. And blogs. And beer. Beeeeer. Rawr!

Southbound dreams

noreply@blogger.com (Lizza) — Thu, 20 Mar 2008 19:08:00 +0000

Last night a friend told me about a dream he had.

It was a convoluted dream with many twists and turns, and there's nothing out of the ordinary if you look at it from the dreamer's point of view. From a wakeful point of view, however, it was entirely weird. One of the highly entertaining parts of his dream involved Jesus driving a silver Chevrolet sedan with a decal that said "Do it." We laughed ourselves silly trying to decipher his dream, and we came up with a few good logical-sounding interpretations. They sound logical to us, at least, since we know about this friend's life situation, his goals and aspirations. But if we tell other people about our hypotheses, they'd think we were cuckoo.

**********

Summer has arrived here in the Philippines. That means muggy afternoons, when taking a cool shower helps only marginally since you start feeling hot again even as you towel off. Warm afternoons, like the one I had today, make me want to take a nap (come to think of it, so do rainy and cold afternoons; I guess naptime for me is non-climate-dependent). So I took a nap.

And had a dream.

I was walking along a beach with another dear friend. Nothing unusual in that, my country has a gazillion beaches. What was unusual was that the waves weren't dashing up onto sand from the ocean. No, the sea foam rushed up to dissolve on snow. I was scrunching snow in between my toes, instead of sand. Let me tell you, I've never known snow, never had a 3-D experience with it. I know I could probably approximate it with the frosty gunk that accumulates in some old-fashioned fridges, but it isn't the same. Snow is as alien to me as cunnilingus is to my friend who had the Jesus-driving-a-car dream (he's gay). Sure, I know about snow (the way he knows about cunny) - from reading about it or seeing it on TV or in the movies. But I have no first-person experience with snow (just like he doesn't have any personal experiences with pleasing a female orally). One of the differences between us is that I'd like to get to know snow up close and personal; he doesn't have the same sentiment about the female anatomy.

Anyway.

What struck me after waking up was how normal it felt, that feeling of walking-on-the-beach-in-the-snow thing in dreamworld. Never mind that it wasn't real - inasmuch as how we define reality anyway. In that moment, in that world in my subconscious, everything felt real. More than that, it felt right.

Would that this feeling of rightness is always present in the real world, our world of wakefulness, where shit happens - stuff that's out of our control. Reality sucks sometimes. My gay friend may never see Jesus navigating the streets of Manila in a Chevrolet sedan during rush hour. I may never experience making snowcastles on a beach. But as long as we have those feelings of normalcy (even about the outrageous) inside us - and have people close to our hearts to whom we can bare our souls, who will listen, who we can be ourselves with, no holds barred, who somehow help us transcend the colorlessness of many aspects of everyday life, with whom we can cry and laugh at all the doodoo that befalls us - then I have no complaints. Not too much, anyway.

Inner Music, a.k.a. Band Meme

noreply@blogger.com (Lizza) — Sat, 15 Mar 2008 20:22:00 +0000

I've unwittingly been a denizen of the dungeons at Bloggingham Palace, no wonder I've been feeling a tad clammy. Wherefore my punishment? It seems I missed doing a meme doled out by the Queen of Memes, Mimi Lenox. It's been a few dozen years since she issued this particular royal meme decree (two months, actually) but I hope that this belated compliance on my part will be enough to free me from the dungeon, lovely stalactites and stalagmites it may have.

So what is this meme all about? Create a fictional band and album by visiting the following sites:

1. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Special:Random
The first article title on the page is the name of your band

2. http://www.quotationspage.com/random.php3
The last four words of the very last quote is the title of your album.

3. http://www.flickr.com/explore/interesting/7days
The third picture, no matter what it is, will be your album cover.

4. Use your graphics program of choice to throw them together, and post the result as a comment in this post. Also, pass it along in your own journal because it’s more amusing that way.

Given the instructions, I came up with this:

The name of the band, "Nautilida," comes from something like a mollusk. Pretty ocean thingy. You see them on beaches everywhere.

The full quote that arose with Instruction #2: "Very little is needed to make a happy life," by Marcus Aurelius Antoninus.

Photo credit for the "album" design goes to someone called Death and Gravity, for the image called "Solitude."

Nautilidus, or the nautilus shell as I recall, is an embodiment of the golden mean number, which in turn represents nature's intrinsic beauty. That's math, so I don't fully understand what it means (numbers and I don't get along). But I do recall that the golden mean number occurs naturally elsewhere in nature and in works of art and architecture.

I agree with Marcus Aurelius; he hit the nail on the head with his statement. We don't really need vast amounts of belongings or possessions or whatever else to make us happy. Sure, things or relationships or achievements can make us feel good, they can bring pleasure. But do they bring joy? What we have now, at this moment, is more than enough to bring happiness. Or if not happiness, then inner peace, which is even better in my opinion.

The picture "Solitude" is probably not something that many of us would equate with happiness. I mean, it doesn't have smiling faces or flowers or teddy bears or parties. But maybe the guy in the picture, his pensive demeanor and his solitude notwithstanding, is nonetheless happy. One can experience joy even in solitude. Maybe he's listening to a song, recalling a positive memory, or maybe he's just had great sex. Just because he doesn't have a goofy grin on his face and just because he isn't jumping around and screaming maniacally doesn't mean he isn't happy. Expressions of happiness can be subtle. I just wish we could see his eyes; they are a terrific indication of a person's state of being, I believe.

Or maybe he's feeling really shitty and wondering how he can make things better. I can certainly relate. Maybe you can too.

"Make a happy life." Easy to say, hard to do. Or is it? In spite of all the problems we encounter on a daily basis, I believe it's possible. Happiness comes from within, when we allow ourselves to enjoy what we have right now. Past and future don't exist. No mental trash about what was, what could have been, or what will be. Relish the moment, accept it and the happiness that comes with it, whether you're making a blog post or taking out the trash or listening to a dog's incessant woof-woof-woof or playing hide-and-seek with the moon that's peeking coquettishly behind the clouds or tenderly holding the hand of someone you love. Or when you're simply looking at a nautilus shell, even if you don't have a half-assed clue about the golden mean number, and don't care.

Lalalalalalaaaa...

noreply@blogger.com (Lizza) — Sun, 09 Mar 2008 18:56:00 +0000

I don't know why this song keeps playing in my mind. I certainly don't have any memories of 1973 - I was just two years old then. But somehow this song triggers certain memories in a sort of roundabout way which I can't fully comprehend, much less explain.

It's been brought to my attention recently that too much thinking isn't good. It brings up too much mental noise that each and every one of us is better off without. Are memories - good or bad - part of that mental noise, contributing to pollution in the brain that distracts from the here and now, and are we better off without them? Descartes said, "I think, therefore I am." If I stop thinking, am I reduced to being nothing and nobody? Why is Descartes such an authority on thought and thinking anyway? (That's a rhetorical question, so don't bother answering.)

Here I go again. Thinking. Not good. Maybe. What do you think? If you're thinking at all?

Well, I think I want a beer. Sorry, I can't help thinking that thought!