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Mandatory 2007 Retrospective Blog Entry
Monday, December 31, 2007

You can’t really write an end-of-year blog post without sounding hokey, can you?

Well, it has been a year well-lived. That much I can say without risking perjury. A break-up, college graduation, more short stories, landing jobs, walking out of jobs, losing friends, gaining friends, a robbery, a handful of flings, a handful of false serious relationship alarms because I’m retarded that way, and the many, many varied degrees of beauty and idiocy bouncing around in between. (Can you tell that I added that last part because I’m too lazy to look back on all the crap that’s happened? ‘Cause I sure can, yeehaw.)

And yes, I am keyed up for 2008. This year—as can be discerned so effortlessly from the chestnuts listed above—was for testing waters. For transitions. For getting used to myself. For ending up with an end-of-year blog entry that is so archetypal I can’t stand it. This has made me glad, for it has opened me up to new shenanigans for the next twelve months and I am mad for it, baby. And one thing I am happily bracing myself for is my very, very new stint as lead vox of Driver Down.

I’ll be pitifully, pitifully honest here. This is monumental for me. It is one of the things I’ve been yearning for since forever. Besides getting a respectable short fiction collection published, learning to ride a bike, and bearing a son, singing for a rock band (Karl on guitar, Poldo on bass, and Mimie on drums) has always been a long-term goal of mine. Call me an impressionable little 90’s-bred snot all you want. Because I am. And since last night’s official declaration of my position as sludge-metal frontman, I am also one squishy ball of glee glee glee. Tee hee. Yihee.

Enough of this. I have twelve more months ahead for embarrassing myself. There are less than two hours to go before the rest of my random little life. I will do my darndest to be good to myself. This is not a resolution.

Somewhere out there, at this exact moment, some moron has fired a gun at the sky.

Mad for it. Sock it to me.

posted by marguerite @ 10:17 PM


Merry Merry
Sunday, December 23, 2007

Why yes, I do feel the Christmas-ness of this year’s holidays. Probably as it is my first one as a non-child, non-student blessed with total purchase power. Or at the rate my wallet is thinning out, fleeting purchase power. But it is still there, nonetheless, and I have been a good little capitalist ho-ho ho, spending with the abandon of a Santa flying through fog without dear Rudolph, his headlight of a deer.

Oh baby, no one’s guiding my sleigh tonight.


The above was just my poor attempt at not reminiscing about the Yule past. Around this time last year, I had (in order of urgency) a boyfriend, a badass toothache and a sense that everything in my life was up in the air. Only one of these has reared its pretty mug again. Which is probably why I feel the season this time around. Being neither in love nor physical pain, I require more to keep me from floating around too arbitrarily. Hence my sincere appreciation for gingerbread men, peppermint-flavored foodstuffs and any and all versions of Laaast Christmas, I gave you my heeeart. But the very next daaay, you gave it awaaaaaay (gave it awaaaaay).

This year, to save me from tears, I will feign decadence. Because really, while I do adhere to the season’s sense of sharing and togetherness, I am a province-less, non-Christian lass and therefore cannot really be committed in all earnestness to the stereotypical Filipino Christmas displayed in every other TV advertisement. But I will do my best.

Below is one of my humble efforts. Inspired by the meme in K’s blog, here are ten songs that automatically make me happy, all good and ready for download. Hope these get you off, too.

Music That Automatically Makes Me Happy

What, no Wham?!

The versions of "Glory Box" and "Cut Your Ribbon" featured in this playlist are live and thus of extra laglag-panty quality. Also of note is The Ting Ting's "That's Not My Name," a ridiculously extra-happy track that's keeping me up and wired these days.

posted by marguerite @ 9:35 PM


The Parable of the Prosti
Friday, December 14, 2007

The previous week was a lesson on hype. I have been taught well, for my mentors are a distinguished lot. I have learned many, many things. Now, permit me a moment with this wall. My head needs much banging against it.


Come, kiddies. I fancy a short illustrated tale. I have more pressing things I wish to say, but neither drive nor license to say them, so the following digression should suffice for this week’s blog entry.


There was once a boy named Carl. Carl was a bewildered boy. Very bewildered, indeed. What he was bewildered about, however, was unknown to anyone, including himself.

Fearing that this emotional ambiguity may prove detrimental to his hotness, Carl called on his two Sentinels of Smarm—Peachy the Prosti and Bardot the Harlot—to help him gain better focus.

Getting down on her knees (a position she was rather known for amongst the more sinewy lads in the village), Peachy the Prosti began to pray. Please, please, O Mighty Phallus, Peachy the Prosti prayed. Please help Carl achieve the enlightenment for which he yearns ever-so-deeply!

And suddenly, in a flash of the brightest, most dazzling white, the white of a most inconceivable benevolence…

…Bardot the Harlot turned into a bundt cake.

Oh my shooting stars! Peachy the Prosti exclaimed, glee coursing through her soul and down her inner thighs. I have rid the village of one harlot! If prayer is all that it takes to dispose of them, then I must pray a few dozen times more, so that I can be the only Woman of "Leisure" left in the village and accumulate an income far more appropriate for the special services I so skillfully impart!

And pray the Prosti did.

At last, I have mmmmmmonopoly!!! Peachy the Prosti declared with much cacophonous cackling (as Peachy the Prosti was wont to do).

Peachy the Prosti left Carl soon after this bout of rejoicing, her Prosti Pager having begun to beep incessantly with so many, many new clients.

Miffed by Peachy the Prosti’s betrayal, Carl sat down before the sea of fresh bundt cakes and sighed. His bewilderment, however, did gain better focus somewhat, for a sea of fresh bundt cakes is always quite a bewildering thing. (There is, after all, only so much one can do with a load of bundt.) And this development in the boy's dilemma was able to please him slightly. It was, at least for the time being, enough.


posted by marguerite @ 3:38 AM


Locked and Loaded
Friday, December 07, 2007

The book launch for the third Philippine Speculative Fiction Anthology is tomorrow, Dec. 8, 4 pm at Fully Booked High Street. Come, baby. Click here for the table of contents.

The cover’s pretty endearing. It would be nice to walk down the street and find a tiny human heart with a top hat and alibata tattoo just standing by the curb, looking both dignified and forlorn. I would pet it. I would run off with its hat and see if it tries to schlump after me.


I loathe the Christian Bautista Oishi Potato Chips ad. The copy goes something like What Christian’s been waiting for so long. Puki mo. It’s waiting for for so long. Pakyu.


What a week this has been. I need to sit down.

posted by marguerite @ 4:30 PM


the girl

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Damned the man, saved the empire.




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