Quote for the day:

“The two most common elements in the universe are Hydrogen and stupidity.”

- Harlan Ellison

This was an ad that came out in the States [no, really?] in the late 1960’s.

I think this was a campaign to discourage deviant behavior. But that’s not why I’ve put it up here. I saw this awhile ago and it made me laugh because it made me remember an old classmate who had a mullet.

A MULLET. IN 2008. I KID YOU NOT.

This boy sat in front of me [of course! WHERE ELSE?!], so just imagine my pain, how impossible it was for me to concentrate on the lecture and how hard it was for me to come to class with the knowledge that his hair would be waiting for me.

IKR. WHYYYY?!?!

Okay, it wasn’t that bad, it was more like this:

But even so, every time I saw him I had to fight the urge to dig my nails into his forehead and scalp him – scalp him gooood. That hair only works on Captain Planet, and even he only barely pulls it off.

I dreaded that class because just sitting in the same room with that hair left me so drained. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a member of the fashion police – I own a pair of pink Crocs for goodness’ sake – but it was just… wrong.

THINK OF THE CHILDREN! THE CHILDREN!!!!

Thankfully for my grades, he eventually cut the offensive hair in time for me to prepare for our final exams. By then I had devoted so much of our class hours staring at his hair that I couldn’t recall 80% of our past lessons… and I also think he thought I fancied him a little. Wonderful, I know.

Our society could use a few good haircuts. Just saying.

This has been Day 2 of my I-will-update-my-blog-every-day-for-a-week resolution!!!

Quote for the day:

My brother: “[Insert philosophical blah-blahs here]…for example, I’m good at bass guitar. Ate Ror [our eldest], you’re good at design. And [DQ]…  you’re good at… *pauses*…sleeping.”

- He evidently thinks a lot of me.
Context: In a taxi on the way home from Life Pursuits,
talking about knowing the purposes of our talents.
Hey, it takes a lot of dedication to relax the way I do.

I started blogging in 2004, a few months after I graduated from high school. I didn’t go to college right away like the rest of the Philippines, but decided to take a year-long break to figure out what I wanted in life [I didn't]. So, while my high school friends were busy warming up to their new lives in university and hanging out with their shiny new college friends, I quickly got reacquainted with my not-so-inner loner.

But the thing is, even natural loners like me sometimes feel the need to tell someone about their day. So I turned to my computer. In my first blog [it's private now, sorreh], I talked about my new violin pieces, how bored I was, how frustrated I was for having ridiculously strict parents, my pseudo-stalkers, being bored, being lonely, being bored again, etc. I was a very lonely girl who listened to very sad music and kept a very angsty blog. [I think I should point out that this was right before the pimple that was the emo movement exploded all over the world.]

Then for some strange reason, people started to comment, and they started to link back to my blog. Imagine that – I had regular readers. I was weirded out by the sudden traffic – save for a link on my friendster profile, I didn’t really do much advertising – but knowing that someone out there found my pathetic life somewhat interesting gave me the warm fuzzies.

So as my readers increased and my blogroll got longer and longer, I started to put more care into my posts. I thought that if people drop by my blog I might as well make it worth their time.

I can think of a few things that led to the downfall of my obsessive blogging:

• Somewhere in the middle of my time in UP, I got a life.
• Plurk. Facebook. Need I say more?
• Bloggers on my blogroll suddenly spamming, traffic-baiting and writing crap posts. [No, not you, you're cool.] WHAT HAPPENED PEOPLE!? WHERE DID YOUR INTEGRITY GO?!

Seeing the state of donyaquixote.com now, you wouldn’t think that I used to update every single day. I kind of miss the days when I’d hear a good song on the radio and talk about how it made me feel, write about the cool things I learned in class, and record each encounter with the crush in painstaking detail.

Dear readers, if you’re still out there, pay attention because I’m about to make an announcement: I’d like to try and update this thing regularly again, if only for a week, and not just because my lack of updates makes me sad.

I seem to have forgotten how to write.

What some of you might not know is that I like to write myself a good bit of fiction now and then. I’ve been trying to churn out stories out of my system and I just can’t. I swear, I think I have some pretty decent stories just waiting to be wreak havoc on my sleeping patterns, but every paragraph I’ve written so far has been so disgusting, I can’t even make it past one page.

This post is no exception – already I’m thinking of not bothering to publish this. But I will, and I have, and that’s why you’re reading it right now.

So, let’s try this again, shall we?

Dear reader, do you know this movie?

Plot summary (from imdb.com):

When a young boy and his family don’t come one year to their holiday home, their household appliances… think their master might be in trouble. They decided that rather than stay where they are, they’ll try to find them. So beings a dangerous and amusing adventure through the countryside and into the big city. Written by Cynan Rees {cynanrees@hotmail.com}

If you do, good. You know what I’m going to be talking about. If you don’t, now you know.

Anyway, I blame this movie especially for my unhealthy empathy towards inanimate objects.

For example, I crack a mug. Most people would feel pretty bad for being so clumsy, but sometimes – not as frequent as it used to be, mind you – I actually feel sorry for the mug. I mourn over its loss of purpose in the world, and the part I played in its death… Then I quickly get over it, because one should only allow a modest number of moments of insanity in one’s life.

[This is why I don't name my belongings. A lot of people name their gadgets/musical instruments/etc., and I do none of that, it only makes me worse. I tried giving my violin a name  once upon a time but it didn't work out. So basically we're all no-name slobs now.]

Before I go on, let me give you a brief summary of my history with this movie.

[history]

In the late 80’s, TBLT came out. [A lot of Pixar guys were behind the release, which explains a lot. Don't even get me started on toys. Pixar has a lot of my issues to answer for.] I watched it sometime in the early 90’s, and it was so bizarre that years later, I thought I had dreamed up the whole thing. This all changed one pivotal day in the late 90’s, in a video rental place I forgot the name of, when the pre-adolescent version of myself saw TBLT’s VHS sleeve nestled in the bowels of the family viewing section. And I knew. Something in my heart and my head clicked. And I felt a little less alone in the world, knowing that it was all real. Well, almost real. [I think it's important to say that I didn't dare rent it and risk doing any more damage to my sensibilities.]

[/history]

So later on in the day, when I’m on my bed and reflecting on the many mistakes I mistook and feelings I felt and choices I choiced – but most especially the mug I un-mugged – I remember The Brave Little Toaster and curse it for making me so weird. And I feel good. Because at least I have something to curse.

Bow.

But wait! Don’t go! My story isn’t finished yet!

Recently, I had a TBLT moment of my own. See, around two months ago I lost my cell phone in Rizal, and everyone I knew told me that I should get a new phone. Get over it, they said. You need a number, they said. Your social life is going to die, they said.

And guess what? Being the tenacious heroine that I am, I didn’t.

I didn’t believe any of it. I didn’t heed their advice. Sure, I knew that the rational thing to do was to buy a cell phone and most importantly, get a new number – people do it all the time, how hard could it be? But somewhere deep in my gut was a faint glimmer of hope, a belief that my battered Nokia 3110 was out there in the wilderness of the Sierra Madre, crying out, “I’ll find you! As long as you believe, I’ll find you!” [By the way, I think it's only fair to mention that everyone was right - my social life... erm... what  social life?]

But I’m only human. After a month, I bought a new sim card, and I borrowed an old phone from my sister. And I put the sim card in the phone. And I turned it on. And you know what?

It didn’t work.

I didn’t bother to get it repaired.

IT WAS A SIGN.

The next day, my dad gets a call from Rizal – somebody had found my phone. [I like to believe that my phone found somebody, but... yeah... ehem... never mind.]

And so I waited for its return. And waited. And waited. I felt like Audrey Tautou in A Very Long Engagement. I hadn’t had this much drama in ages, and I was milking it for all that it was worth.

* * *

WAIT! STOP READING! PUT WHATEVER YOU’RE LISTENING TO ON PAUSE! AND CLICK PLAY FOR MAXIMUM DRAMA!

I Got You Babe Sonny And – Cher
FREE MP3 DOWNLOADS @ MP3-CODES.COM

Have you clicked play? Okay, you may carry on reading.

* * *

Last week on the fourth of July, it came back into my arms.

After two months of separation, I can go back to ignoring important text messages and phone calls. It’s such a beautiful feeling, so beautiful that I had to share it with YOU, dear reader.

So when you think you’ve lost something or someone important to you, and you’re losing hope because the chances of reconciliation is 1 in a bajillion… take comfort in the fact that 1 in a bajillion is still a chance [okay, maybe I should have used a real number for that illustration]. Sometimes it’s okay to be stubborn. Stand your ground. Be steadfast. And listen. To your heart, and to that voice inside your head that believes in The Brave Little Toaster. [Note: Most of the time you should tell it to shut up, it usually works for me.]

.

**Reader discretion is advised. The author is not responsible for any damages that may be traced back to this post.**

Quote for the day:

“All we want to do is eat your brains
We’re not unreasonable; I mean, no-one’s gonna eat your eyes”

- Jonathan Coulton’s Re: Your Brains

A sad reality of our times is how indifferent we’ve grown towards each other. Yes, we all have an opinion on the lifestyles of the rich and the famous, but you’ll be hard-pressed to find someone who cares about your run-of-the-mill Juan.

We hardly ever try to connect with people outside of our social circles.  Forget making eye contact or wishing someone a good day. We don’t do that. And when we do… okay, let me tell you about what happened to me yesterday.

See, I was in a pretty good mood because I just came from church [and post-church lunch], and I’m almost always in a good mood after church [and post-church lunch]. Plus, I just bought a CD and was in the process of buying myself a book, so if you were playing the Sims [2 - am in the process of getting myself Sims 3 hwahaha], my aspiration level would be platinum.

Anyway, so there I was, in line at the cashier at this second-hand bookstore, when I feel the man in front of me looking at me. So I look at him in the eye, and he smiles at me and I smile back. And I think, “Wow, this world isn’t so bad if strangers still smile at each other.”

He then turns to the cashier, and I check out what he’s buying, because that’s what I do in bookstores. And voila, man is buying porn.

[To the men who care: don't even look at young girls when buying your dirty magazines because it makes us feel like meat.]

And my stomach churns, and man turns to look at me again, and I turn around to leaf through the oh-so-fascinating home decorating magazines.

The end.

What we lack in compassionate people we make up for in dirty old men.

Have a good day, blog-hopper.

Quote for the day:

“I hate the phone, but I wish you’d call.”

- Joshua Radin, The Fear You Won’t Fall
[But it's not like anyone can call me, due to my phoneless state.]

Yes, I know I’m such a loser for not updating this thing more often. But even though I think most of my readers have up and gone and forgotten about this blog – and I won’t hold it against them because in the real world that’s what happens when blogs are seemingly abandoned – I shall pick up where I left off.

So, UPDATES.

* * *

Bring on the FAQ’s!

[Translation: if you're reading this please don't ask me these questions because I've been having this conversation about five hundred times already.]

So, what have you been up to lately?
I have been:

• lying around our house playing computer games
• reading manga
• honing my ukulele skillz
• watching sitcoms/dramas/anime/anything

Sometimes simultaneously.

Got a job?
Nope. Duh.

…Okay. Enjoy your vacation, once work starts you won’t get a break like that again. EVER.
That’s encouraging. But after months of lying around the house doing nothing, it’s starting to get old.

So have you applied for a  job?
Nope.

…Errr…. do you have any companies you’re eyeing?
Nah, not really.

Do you know what you want to do?
I want to be a rockstar.

Okay. Why haven’t you been updating your blog?
Again, I’ve been busy:

• lying around our house playing computer games
• reading manga
• honing my ukulele skillz
• watching sitcoms/dramas/anime/anything

Sometimes simultaneously.

Right.
So. How are you?

* * *

I’m feeling really guilty for neglecting this blog for… The Sims. [But not guilty enough to upload a video of me lip-syncing to Cheap Trick hardiharhar.] Oh blog, how can I make it up to you?!

Seriously though, I’m going to start applying for jobs very, very soon. Once you start stuttering when interacting with real live people, you know you have to do something before the hikikomori stage sets in.

Wish me luck.

* * *

RANDOM MOMENT: IT’S COOL SONG / HOT GUY TIME!

I stumbled upon this because I subscribed to Julian Smith [dude who made the video].

Marc Scibilia is just my type of guy. Ho ho ho.

He be Hebrew. And he be musical. And his music be good. And his soul be purty. Ho ho ho.

I’d marry that. ^_^

Quote for the day:

“I’ve made a horrible mistake.”

- Gob, Arrested Development

Last week, I made the unpleasant discovery that the person I had deemed worthy of my bad poetry and daydreaming was, in fact… not.

See people, I have a disease.

I have pedestalectasis.  When I find someone… interesting, I have the tendency to fling them up on a pedestal and idolize idealize all their good qualities while pretending that the bad qualities aren’t really all that bad… these flaws only make them three-dimensional.  Then I find someone from film or literature to associate them to, so everything I don’t know or understand about this person is filled in and explained by their fictional counterpart’s traits and background stories.  So you can imagine what a mess I end up with when everything falls into shambles.

Eventually, [sometimes thankfully] I get a wakeup call.

Usually, it comes in the form of another girl on his arm [nuuuuuu!].  But in this case, it was… an unresolvable, intolerable clash of opinions. Taste is relative.  I get that. Good and bad taste is not, but it’s tolerable. Then there’s right and wrong taste, which is on a whole different level altogether.

Illustration:

Bad taste is tolerable: “So… you like Gokey…  *insert abrupt topic change here*”
Wrong taste is wrong: “You’re a Nazi?  Have a nice life.”

Ladies and gentlemen, I’m afraid that this was a big, glaring case of right versus wrong taste.  [No, he didn't tell me he was a Nazi but it was almost as bad, I swear.] And the sad thing is, I had been hung up on this poor schmuck for YEARS because he had *sigh* that Paul Varjak air about him.

I mean, come on.
PAUL VARJAK.

So now I am trying my best to dissasociate my ex-crush from one of my favorite films while at the same time attempting to avoid Moon River because it just makes me feel sorry for myself [avoiding Moon River is impossible - the song's everywhere].

To help me mourn and rejoice over the long-overdue death of this infatuation, I have set my eyes on Mr. Darcy.  Paul Varjak is wonderful and everything, but he’s done nothing but fuel this silly crush for years. We need some time off.

I will blame Mr. Darcy for my next crush.  Bwahahahahahahahaha.
Strong and silent types beware. Rebound powers initiate!

Quote for the day:

“In an mmmbop they’re not there.
Until you lose your hair. But you don’t care.”

- Hanson, Mmmbop

Last weekend I got a little taste of life on the other side of the generation gap.

I was in Laguna for this retreat my parents were holding for some military families, and was one of the oldest “kids” there [the oldest being my sister]. Because my mother kept insisting that I should make an effort to be sociable, I made myself look busy by sitting with my sister, who was socializing with some [obviously younger] girls.

Check out the dialogue:

Girl1: “OMG, you’re turning fourteen this year.”
Girl2: “Yeah, so are you.”
Girl1: “But you’ll be first. You’re sooo old.”
Me: *blank face*

It gets even better.

Me: “So what year were you guys born, 1994?”
Girl: “1996.”
Me: “Wha… you… before… Backstreet…” [Translation: "Exterminate. Exterminate."]
My sister: “You weren’t even born when the Backstreet Boys’ first album was released!”
Me: “You were babies when Mmmbop came out!”
My sister: “OH MY GAWD!”
Me: “MY BRAAAIN!” *explodes* 

You can leave out that last bit.

Then after that, my sister and I were holding-hands-while-walking-may-pasway-sway-pa, singing Mmmbop because given the circumstances, it seemed like the right thing to do…

Me and my sister: “Mmmbop… dapdoowop doowop.. YEAH YEAH… etc.”
Perplexed boy is perplexed: ”What are you singing?”
My sister: “OH MY GAWD!”
Me: “MY BRAAAIN!” *explodes* 

There you have it, I am officially old.

I can only hold onto the hope that one day this emo business will be over and laughed at by the next generations. Bwahaha.

But I have to do this.

Because American Idol is the only show I bother watching.

And because Season 8 without Noop Dogg isn’t worth watching.

Yes, he was out of his element last night, but it was still good.

And come on, you can’t let a guy with this kind of talent get away that easily.

You just can’t.

It’s wrong.

I don’t even like RnB and I love this guy.

For more of Anoop, visit anoopdog.com.