Thursday, June 29, 2006
Why, yes, I am a typical senior.
1. Posts hysterical blog entries about thesis. Has hysterical thesis-related YM status. Goes into thesis-related hysterics when seeing friend or acquaintance or complete stranger. Has hysterical compulsion to Google or Wiki thesis-related information once online. Thesis. Titi. Thesis.
2. Is alone on campus most of the time and is not sad about it.
3. Heads straight to the lib’s third floor and wallows in the PN section till evening.
4. Considers the ability to borrow 10 books at a time the best thing in the whole goddamn universe.
5. Cannot recognize most of the students on campus.
6. Eavesdrops on starry-eyed freshmen because whatever they’re talking about doesn’t sound real anymore.
O baka ako lang ‘to.
Come to think of it, all of this seems more nerdy than senior-y. Is it? Malay ko ba. Dork na kung dork. I do have this sneaking suspicion, though, that I’m getting too worked up over this. Oprah, am I trying to fill a void here?
posted by marguerite @ 7:02 PM
Haha Stupid Whiny Senior Hahahahaha
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
Before I return to the absolutely blissful act of reading my stack of handouts, let me grace this blog with a few moving remarks.TITIIIIIII! TITIIIII ANG THESIS KOOOO!!!! TITIIIIIIIII!!!!!!!!! TITIIIIIIIIIIII!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! TITIIIIIIIII!!!!!
andTIME MANAGEMENT? TIME MANAGEMENT?!?!?!? ANO YUN?!?!?!??? HA? ANO YUN?!?!?!?!????????
ANO? ANO RAW? ANO YUN?
MANAGE THIS, MOTHERFUCKERRRRRRS!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!
Hi, brain.Margie’s Brain:
PAK YU, MARGIE, PAAAAK YUUUUUUUUU. HAHAHAHAHAHAMAMATAYKANAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.
posted by marguerite @ 8:30 PM
Saturday, June 24, 2006
Just got back from the House of Decadence, the unofficial headquarters for ViCe. Jakes, Eisa, Te Faye and I caught Mike Figgis’ Hotel
, which was one weird-ass film. The screen was split into four most of the time, with each segment showing something that was pretty much indecipherable. A cookie goes to the person who can tell me the very basic story, because even that was up for debate last night. Lesbians, cannibals, guys pretending to be comatose, girls dipping their bare breasts in martini glasses filled with milk, Salma Hayek with purple hair, girls screwing guys from behind (Is that really physically possible? Can dicks bend backwards that far? Wawa naman yung lalaki.), etceteraetceteraetcetera, half of it in nightvision, all of it shot hand-held.
Remember, a cookie
Thesis class last Thursday. I think I’ll push through with the screenplay.
I just checked IMDb, and it says that Hotel
is a comedy. It was?!! It was?!!!? Huwhat?!??!
posted by marguerite @ 11:38 AM
Thursday, June 22, 2006
and the piece de resistance...
Arkaye: pretty bhoy!
posted by marguerite @ 12:15 AM
Seen Your Senior
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
The very simple fact that there are now five other people from my high school studying in Ateneo comforts me. Sigh had already graduated before I entered college, and it used to be only PJ, my Makiling mommy, and I on campus. But now there are five more with me—Marie, Jica, Danella, Marielle and Godo—and I feel this strange security because of it. Six Ibarangs studying in Ateneo at the same time! SIX! SIX!
It’s a huge number, since hardly any Ibarangs choose this school, and when they do, it’s usually just one per batch with years in between each person. I just love the thought of walking down the halls knowing that there’s a handful of them out there. Sounds demented, I know, but just give me this. It’s one of those “we were like a family” things that I can’t elaborate on without sounding like a dork. Basta.
A quick rundown of my professors for this sem:
Tan for Histo 166: practical, looks and acts like Christine Bellen
Roche for Theo 151: a bit menacing, looks and acts like Skeletor
Kaelin for Philo 104: very promising, looks and acts like a Coldplay replacement member
Fr. Nick for Euro Film: I’ve been under him once before, looks and acts like a little lolo, and I love little lolos
Ty for Film Histo: I’ve been under him three times before, looks and acts like, um, Ty, and I love little goths (Oh, Em. I can hear your sniggers from here. :p)
I have Lorenzana for thesis. I haven’t seen him yet, but I heard he’s good.
And thus ends my first boring, school-related post for the sem. I thank you.
posted by marguerite @ 9:17 PM
Shouldn't Be A Nightmare
Monday, June 19, 2006
Strange dream last night. Thought about it all morning.
Inside Someone’s house was an empty swimming pool, impossibly deep, built right in the middle of a living room. I was sitting by the edge of it, on some rocks I suppose you use as a diving platform, when Someone crouched by me and said “Hey, be careful, I don’t want a corpse in my pool, you know.” Someone said it in such a calm, genuine, caring way, and with the kindest, most comforting look I had ever seen in Someone’s eyes. It made me so happy. The happiest I had ever been in any dream, I suppose. I stood up slowly on the rock, about to move safely away from the pool, and then, suddenly, silently, I slipped and fell in backwards. I can’t remember the look on Someone’s face when it happened. I just kept falling and falling, the large, white tiles around me shooting upwards, and the moment I finally hit the bottom, I woke up, as if I had landed on my bed instead.
I should have said something to Someone before I fell. A cry for help, maybe. But I'm always, always at a loss for words.
posted by marguerite @ 10:44 PM
Tricky, Tricky, Combat Baby
Sunday, June 18, 2006
with my mother this afternoon. It’s the let’s-try-giving-Yoko-Ono-a-soul film, with cameos by Metric and Tricky. It wasn’t bad. Nothing mind-blowing, but the cameos made me happy enough. I’m easy to please.
I find it so hard to show my mother that I do like spending time with her. For some reason, like some given goblin, I can’t help but feel wrong whenever we spend more than five minutes together. This apprehension of mine escalates by the second, so it usually wrecks the mood whenever we go out, which isn’t even often. Today, though, I think I did a good job of keeping the bitterness down. We had a good, civil afternoon together.
Despite her histrionics and low self-esteem, my mother’s pretty cool. She has this amazing respect for quirk and, dare I say it, seems to be more stuck in the Nineties than I am. One of her most treasured possessions is her Salvador Dali pencil case. Her ukay-ukay radar is pretty strong, and she always saves the best pieces for me. She makes her own clothes and accessories, all of which reflects an unusual sense of aesthetics. I’m very lucky that way. This can never overpower all my anxieties towards her, though, but I do love her very much.
My father’s pretty cool, too. From the few positive memories I have of him, anyway. My taste in music came from him (my first Oasis and Suede cassettes were nicked from his collection), as well as my love for photography. And because he was so anal with his sound system and SLRs, I’m anal with my own stuff, too, although I’d never go so far as to beat up my own kids over them like he did. I know what they say about repeating the sins of our fathers, so I’ll take my precautions.
I don’t know if I love my father. He’s done so much harm to me, to my siblings, to my mother. I can’t help but see him as such an asshole because, well, he is. I do know, however, that his heartlessness has helped to make me a person I actually respect. I will give him that. I suppose that when you make it out of hell, and feel more self-assured because you did, you can’t help but feel a little grateful to the person who tossed you there in the first place. Happy Father’s Day, then.
Goodbye to, for better or worse, the most perplexing summer I’ve ever had. Mind’s been melted, body’s been bashed, soul’s been scrubbed to a frantic sheen.
Senior year starts tomorrow.
posted by marguerite @ 8:41 PM
Friday, June 16, 2006
I just spent the past few hours looking through my stuff from 7th grade and high school, stuff I’ve accumulated since I moved permanently to my grandparents’—test papers, notebooks, photographs, fiction exercises, poetry exercises (oh, I couldn’t believe it, either), journals, letters, drawings.
My journal from second year high school was especially interesting to me. Maybe it was because that was the year I actually wrote things in verse, or was the year I got the most number of people ticked off (I wasn’t that careful of what I said or did back then, which, come to think of it, is a strange thing to say at the present, but just take my word for it), or was, on the flipside, the year I started the few friendships that have actually continued to exist. Ominous, that notebook.
And the photographs. Oh, the photographs. Except for my Kinder 2 class pic, which is probably the most attractive I will ever, ever be on any visual medium (that tiny, innocent face!!! she actually had it!!! *gasp*), I wanted to barf over everything else. I was a lump of bleh. Bleh. Bleeeeeehhhhhhh. You know how some people get all wistful and eloquent when they see old photographs of themselves? That’ll never happen to me. You can't get all wistful and eloquent over something that just plain disgusts you.
posted by marguerite @ 11:33 PM
Tea Tea Hee Hee
I have the worst sore throat, but no, oh no, that’s not going to stop meeeeeehhhhhh. I’ve been ingesting Good Things since I woke up—hot tea, pills, pineapple chunks, more hot tea, more pills—and I will be better in a little while, yes yes.
This last week before school has been pretty lethargic, and no, it isn’t some stupid bummed-that-the-summer’s-over deal, because I had exhausted all my summer energy weeks and weeks ago. I don’t know. I’ve just been out of it for the most part, just spending the afternoons in one place, either on the couch with a book or in front of a screen.
Whammy and I spent the weekend house-sitting over at the Very Intelligent Couple’s place, and on Sunday morning, we woke ourselves up by going straight to the curbing scene on the American History X
DVD. It set the tone for the rest of the week, I suppose. I feel like my head’s been cracked open, and I’ve been spending the past few days hunting anxiously for brain bits. This is a little funny, since my brain has been my worst enemy for the past oh, say, twenty years. My loyalties, my loyalties.
Veering off from gloomy self-centeredness and moving on to cheery self-centeredness, an usher mistook me for a minor yesterday. Usher:
(blocking my path towards the cinema) Wait. How old are you, miss?Margie:
(looking way too surprised for my own good) E-eightee—no! I—I mean, ah, uh, t-twenty! Usher looks at Margie suspiciously. Margie smiles.
When I told him I was twenty, I didn’t believe it myself. It sounded too young and too old at the same time. But hey, I’m taking the usher’s wariness as a good thing. I’ve never been mistaken for someone younger until that moment, and I think I looked like my usual self then.
posted by marguerite @ 1:10 PM
And The Whore's Like A Choir...Uh! Uh!
Saturday, June 10, 2006
Had a grrrrrreat day today.
Spent the entire afternoon with Anna Miggy at Kublai’s. We had a whole year’s worth of catching up to do, and it was just great to see her after such a long time. Then Pubey Boy and I went to Rock Ed, made friends with a crossing guard and the guy at Mini-Stop, loitered in front of a dry-cleaning shop, got all happy with good bands, ate with bald strangers (waffledogswaffledogswaffledogs) and drove home singing Depeche Mode, Pulp and Fiona Apple songs at the top of our puny, puny lungs.
Such a nice day. I could cry.
posted by marguerite @ 1:55 AM
Sunday, June 04, 2006
Besides its overall lousiness (dialogue, acting, plot, blahblahbleehbloo), another, more personal reason as to why X-Men 3
bothered me was the presence of my beloved Ben Foster.
Ben Foster played Russell Corwin, Claire Fisher's pale, slightly chubby, sexually-confused, brooding art student boyfriend in Six Feet Under
, my favorite television show in the whole wide universe. Now, anyone who has ever been forced to listen to my high school stories should know why Russell, and consequently, Ben Foster, is near and dear to my liddle heart. (The resemblance is uncanny! Uncanny! UNCANNY!
And he had the gall to play Angel on X3
. He still played an ambiguously gay character, but the type that falls in the other, icky category—blond, muscular, sports, uh, bird wings, etc. All that gay majesty. All that streamlining. The only trace of Russell in that human chicken was the rebelliousness, but the immaculate torso canceled that out, so I’m not really left with much. He made me sad. And not the don’t-I-remind-you-of-someone-huh-huh-answer-me-answer-me sad. Just sad.
I can’t believe I’m posting mindless shit at a time like this.
posted by marguerite @ 6:36 PM
I Blog When I'm Nervous
Thursday, June 01, 2006
I had pizza with Pubey Boy a while ago, yet another pilgrimage in St. Mall’s name, and he told me a great Dumb Whore story. (And at the risk of incurring the Pube’s wrath, since I’m not sure whether he wants a monopoly of this story or not, I shall elaborate.)
He was interviewing the skanks from the latest Ponds Anti-Ageing Cream Thingy commercial, the one where said skanks—who are very white, blemish-free and unable to say their lines in a human tone—discuss in this airport lounge how worried they are that work stress is ruining their complexions. Oh yes, that one. And when Pubey Boy asked one of them what books she liked to read, she said,
“I don’t really read, but I read audio books, kasi they don’t strain my eyes.”
After lunch, I went to the pharmacy, and there was this gay guy lined up behind me. He gushed over the pharmacy’s wide selection of condoms, and ordered lubricant over the counter with this huge smile on his face. I think he makes the world a better place.
Fast fact: cashiers at pharmacies are actually trained not to look customers in the eye when ringing up condoms. Maybe I should test them one day. Grab a box of extra-large, ribbed, chocolate-flavored, vibrating rubbers and do every single thing I can to make the girl look at me.
I would love to have a part-time job at a pharmacy, actually. It’s where you realize how many sad, frightened people there are. Save for that gay guy, everyone else looked so worried, handing over their prescriptions with almost crippling reluctance. And it’s fun to watch Xenical fly off the shelves.
posted by marguerite @ 8:02 PM