Thursday, June 29, 2006
A Howard that doesn't screw things up - Wow!
I know this comes a little late, seeing as how The DaVinci Code must have flown by in Singapore cinemas where movies typically stay for only a month as opposed to here in Melbourne where they can linger for what seems to be half a year.
I only just watched it last week. Cut me some slack. And I wanted to do a little review on it, especially since it was such a pleasant surprise.
Let's face it: it's good.
Maybe not OMG!OMG!WOWEE!EMOSEWA! - good. But still, good.
I thought the pacing was quite tight, the action scenes weren't too contrived, the acting not that vomit-inducing and best of all, best of all, best of all - they did not play up the romance.
I am extremely impressed with the director's decision not to have Sophie fall into Robert's arms at the end. Maybe it isn't canonical - but isn't it so much better? I remember having a very ick taste in my mouth after finishing the novel and while watching the movie I was dreading what I thought would be inevitable situation: Sophie-'only-living-descendant-of-Jesus-Christ'-Neveu cavorting with Robert-'you-need-a-haircut, Hanks'-Langdon.
So yes, well played, director. Well played. You've convinced a biased cynic that the $12 was money that was, well, not exactly money well spent but certainly not money needlessly wasted.
I only just watched it last week. Cut me some slack. And I wanted to do a little review on it, especially since it was such a pleasant surprise.
Let's face it: it's good.
Maybe not OMG!OMG!WOWEE!EMOSEWA! - good. But still, good.
I thought the pacing was quite tight, the action scenes weren't too contrived, the acting not that vomit-inducing and best of all, best of all, best of all - they did not play up the romance.
I am extremely impressed with the director's decision not to have Sophie fall into Robert's arms at the end. Maybe it isn't canonical - but isn't it so much better? I remember having a very ick taste in my mouth after finishing the novel and while watching the movie I was dreading what I thought would be inevitable situation: Sophie-'only-living-descendant-of-Jesus-Christ'-Neveu cavorting with Robert-'you-need-a-haircut, Hanks'-Langdon.
So yes, well played, director. Well played. You've convinced a biased cynic that the $12 was money that was, well, not exactly money well spent but certainly not money needlessly wasted.
Labels: Da Vinci Code, Movies
Monday, June 26, 2006
Be my Kewpie Doll
Lots of exciting things happened today!
Ok, they are moderately exciting. And only to me. To everyone else it would be *sob* boring. Such is the state of my life.
I wore my new pumps out to church and then to the supermarket. They must really make my flabby butt look a lot better because some dude in the aisle (corn plasters, callous creams and breath strips) was seriously checking my ass out. Thanks, random dude. You have flattered me. You have bumped up my frail and tenuous self-esteem. You have validated my existence. Marry me.
I also decided to put mayonnaise in my hair after my shower. (For all those who were wondering about my very strange MSN nicknames, there you go.) Unfortunately, it isn't the regular mayonnaise with the bearable creamy-eggy smell. No, the only mayonnaise available at home happened to be Japanese mayonnaise. So for a while there, my hair smelt like sushi. Don't get me wrong, I love sushi. I adore sushi. I snack on sushi like how some people eat pork rinds. I love it. But having essence-of-tempura on my hair? I started to regret it, while I was sitting at my computer, attempting to do my homework, with a plastic bag tied around my neck cape-style so the mayo didn't drip onto my clothes, with my hair reeking of a sushi carousel.
My mother walked by. And giggled. At my plastic bag-cape. And mayonnaised-hair. Not a good sign when your mother giggles at you.
The sacrifices one has to make when one has hair the texture of... sandpaper.
The last but most amazing thing that happened... I cleared out the rubbish bin. Tied up the old plastic bag full of trash and replaced the bin by lining it with... you guessed it - my plastic bag cape. I really hate taking out the trash, and today was no exception. The handle of the rubbish chute was oily. I had a gigantic "wth?" moment when I touched the handle. It was absolutely disgusting. Well, looks like somebody has been rubbing the handle with oil! What kind of oil, you ask? Olive oil? Peanut oil? Or something like a water-in-oil-emulsion? Like mayo- oh. Oh. Er...You know what, I don't think the handle was oily. I must have been imagining things.
Ok, they are moderately exciting. And only to me. To everyone else it would be *sob* boring. Such is the state of my life.
I wore my new pumps out to church and then to the supermarket. They must really make my flabby butt look a lot better because some dude in the aisle (corn plasters, callous creams and breath strips) was seriously checking my ass out. Thanks, random dude. You have flattered me. You have bumped up my frail and tenuous self-esteem. You have validated my existence. Marry me.
I also decided to put mayonnaise in my hair after my shower. (For all those who were wondering about my very strange MSN nicknames, there you go.) Unfortunately, it isn't the regular mayonnaise with the bearable creamy-eggy smell. No, the only mayonnaise available at home happened to be Japanese mayonnaise. So for a while there, my hair smelt like sushi. Don't get me wrong, I love sushi. I adore sushi. I snack on sushi like how some people eat pork rinds. I love it. But having essence-of-tempura on my hair? I started to regret it, while I was sitting at my computer, attempting to do my homework, with a plastic bag tied around my neck cape-style so the mayo didn't drip onto my clothes, with my hair reeking of a sushi carousel.
My mother walked by. And giggled. At my plastic bag-cape. And mayonnaised-hair. Not a good sign when your mother giggles at you.
The sacrifices one has to make when one has hair the texture of... sandpaper.
The last but most amazing thing that happened... I cleared out the rubbish bin. Tied up the old plastic bag full of trash and replaced the bin by lining it with... you guessed it - my plastic bag cape. I really hate taking out the trash, and today was no exception. The handle of the rubbish chute was oily. I had a gigantic "wth?" moment when I touched the handle. It was absolutely disgusting. Well, looks like somebody has been rubbing the handle with oil! What kind of oil, you ask? Olive oil? Peanut oil? Or something like a water-in-oil-emulsion? Like mayo- oh. Oh. Er...You know what, I don't think the handle was oily. I must have been imagining things.
Labels: Hair
Saturday, June 24, 2006
Twist and Shout
I had a dream a couple of days ago. In my dream, school was going to start the next day and I hadn't started on my 5 english essays and I was panicking and I think I was crying and there was snot running down from my nose and into my mouth, and it tasted like smoked salmon with green cheese.
Well... guess what? My dream is turning into reality. I don't know how to overcome my laziness and lack of motivation. I have not done any school work apart from e-mailing Hollywood Rag to ask for an interview. Unfortunately, Hollywood Rag has not responeded. I spend half my day watching Veronica Mars and the other half sleeping/eating/shopping/watching movies/reading recaps and forum posts on TWoP. I've spent $115 on peep toe pumps, $99 on a nice jacket, and I'm considering shelling out $140 for an off-white waist-length double-breasted coat. My prize money! My prize money!! My prize moneeeyyy...
Wait. What prize money? I've spent more than half of it. By this time next week. Prize money will be non-existent. I guarantee.
OKAAY. Sorry. I'm distracted. I hear bad music coming from the next room.
"Heathcliff, it's Me, CA -THY
Come home now, so Co-ho-ohld
Let me in your-or, win-DOH-HO" (Repeat x times until ears bleed)
Yeah ok. Sorry. Song has just ended. You know what, I kind of like that song.
Anyway. Today we had a send-off for -----, our dear Swiss exchange student. I am really really really going to miss her. I wrote her a letter in German, poring over a ratty, dog-eared English-German dictionary for four months by candlelight into the wee hours of dawn, using my precious sparrow quill and jar of personally-mixed ink made from soot, lamp oil and animal gelatin and personally-scythed, crushed and rolled parchment.
Well, actually, I typed out what I wanted to say into Babelfish and clicked the translate! button. But you know what I mean right? It was a labour of love.
Well... guess what? My dream is turning into reality. I don't know how to overcome my laziness and lack of motivation. I have not done any school work apart from e-mailing Hollywood Rag to ask for an interview. Unfortunately, Hollywood Rag has not responeded. I spend half my day watching Veronica Mars and the other half sleeping/eating/shopping/watching movies/reading recaps and forum posts on TWoP. I've spent $115 on peep toe pumps, $99 on a nice jacket, and I'm considering shelling out $140 for an off-white waist-length double-breasted coat. My prize money! My prize money!! My prize moneeeyyy...
Wait. What prize money? I've spent more than half of it. By this time next week. Prize money will be non-existent. I guarantee.
OKAAY. Sorry. I'm distracted. I hear bad music coming from the next room.
"Heathcliff, it's Me, CA -THY
Come home now, so Co-ho-ohld
Let me in your-or, win-DOH-HO" (Repeat x times until ears bleed)
Yeah ok. Sorry. Song has just ended. You know what, I kind of like that song.
Anyway. Today we had a send-off for -----, our dear Swiss exchange student. I am really really really going to miss her. I wrote her a letter in German, poring over a ratty, dog-eared English-German dictionary for four months by candlelight into the wee hours of dawn, using my precious sparrow quill and jar of personally-mixed ink made from soot, lamp oil and animal gelatin and personally-scythed, crushed and rolled parchment.
Well, actually, I typed out what I wanted to say into Babelfish and clicked the translate! button. But you know what I mean right? It was a labour of love.
Monday, June 19, 2006
My Mother, the Fiend
One letter makes all the difference.
In another life, I would be rich and beautiful and tall and outgoing and confident and clever and fantastic.
In other words, in another life, I would have another life.
Ok, I promise, not another word about that, I'm quite over it, I promise.
In another life I would be able to go shopping with my mother, gossiping and trying on frightfully high shoes and embarassingly skimpy clothing (with my mother tsking on; but beaming, not frowning and angry and pissy and threatening to burn all the books/movies/tv shows/music/ I'm exposed to because she thinks they are causing me to become immoral)
But oh no, in this so-called life I'm cringing in embarassment as my mother forces me to talk to a Homeless Volunteer donations collector to make me appreciate the life I'm living. She humiliates me by airing my dirty laundry to a complete stranger. To someone we've only met for 5 seconds, she says, "Make her understand this and that and this and that, the homeless are so much worse off, aren't they!"
Oh, I agree, the homeless are so much worse off. I have my lucky stars to thank that I have a home, a family, friends... I guess feeling socially disconnected, inadequate, anxious, dissatisfied, and lonely is a lot more bearable when you have a warm bed, hot food, hot showers, fluffy clothing (and also $115 peep-toe pumps; I admit I gave in to temptation and spent my prize money). I understand that, I'm grateful for that. But maybe to ease my guilt, I should go live on the streets. After all, if your life becomes so shitty that you don't even have a place to go, it'll be ok to say, ok, that's it, my life's completely f*cked-up, I can just go jump off the bridge now.
Ok I realise I'm being illogical and reactive and self-pitying and self-absorbed and just plain selfish here.
I wrong my mother everyday. She's the only one I dare to take all my frustrations out because I think deep down I know she's the only one who will never abandon me. (I popped out of her cooch, you know. That counts for something.) I know what I'm doing is wrong, wrong, wrong. Only just now I gave her my best pissed-off-can't-you-see-I'm-busy face when she asked me to help her shift the chairs so she could vacuum under the table; she ended up slamming the vacuum cleaner on the ground, breaking the vacuum head off so that it splintered intoa million six pieces. I ended up running for the toilet. In response to her 'When are you going to stop hiding?" I replied "When you promise not to kill me!" Oh God, that's oddly comical. In another life, that is.
In another life, I would be rich and beautiful and tall and outgoing and confident and clever and fantastic.
In other words, in another life, I would have another life.
Ok, I promise, not another word about that, I'm quite over it, I promise.
In another life I would be able to go shopping with my mother, gossiping and trying on frightfully high shoes and embarassingly skimpy clothing (with my mother tsking on; but beaming, not frowning and angry and pissy and threatening to burn all the books/movies/tv shows/music/ I'm exposed to because she thinks they are causing me to become immoral)
But oh no, in this so-called life I'm cringing in embarassment as my mother forces me to talk to a Homeless Volunteer donations collector to make me appreciate the life I'm living. She humiliates me by airing my dirty laundry to a complete stranger. To someone we've only met for 5 seconds, she says, "Make her understand this and that and this and that, the homeless are so much worse off, aren't they!"
Oh, I agree, the homeless are so much worse off. I have my lucky stars to thank that I have a home, a family, friends... I guess feeling socially disconnected, inadequate, anxious, dissatisfied, and lonely is a lot more bearable when you have a warm bed, hot food, hot showers, fluffy clothing (and also $115 peep-toe pumps; I admit I gave in to temptation and spent my prize money). I understand that, I'm grateful for that. But maybe to ease my guilt, I should go live on the streets. After all, if your life becomes so shitty that you don't even have a place to go, it'll be ok to say, ok, that's it, my life's completely f*cked-up, I can just go jump off the bridge now.
Ok I realise I'm being illogical and reactive and self-pitying and self-absorbed and just plain selfish here.
I wrong my mother everyday. She's the only one I dare to take all my frustrations out because I think deep down I know she's the only one who will never abandon me. (I popped out of her cooch, you know. That counts for something.) I know what I'm doing is wrong, wrong, wrong. Only just now I gave her my best pissed-off-can't-you-see-I'm-busy face when she asked me to help her shift the chairs so she could vacuum under the table; she ended up slamming the vacuum cleaner on the ground, breaking the vacuum head off so that it splintered into
Labels: Family, Growing Pains
Monday, June 12, 2006
Sorpresa!
Dinner, Lygon street, the Little Italy of Melbourne (where are the mobsters? I'll sure like to see a shoot-out or an illegal whiskey/cigar bootlegging thingalajing going on.).
I got my picture taken with the very flirty Italian waiter (his idea, not mine) and he managed to piss my posse off by putting a rubber spider in our bill. Then when Sherry toppled her chair in fright and ran off a couple of metres, he grabbed a rolled up piece of paper and pretended to hit the rubbery, lifeless thing into an even more lifeless existence before he scooped it up and tried to get away with it. Well, thank you Mr Italiano, you've managed to piss Sherry off so much she vows never to return; luckily for your business Leanne is suitably impressed with the food and I am more amused than annoyed by the whole thing.
And after gelato at Il Dolce Freddo (I got pistachio and Roche flavour, yum!) I took the tram down to corner of Lonsdale and Russell and met up with Uncle Claude, sis and Geraldine for (another) Greek dinner at Stalactites. The food? Very very sour. The Octopus tasted as if it had been soaked in acid, and it wasn't till later that I found out that they had, been, sort of, ok scratch the sort of, they had, they had been soaked in vinegar. Absolutely disgusting. But perhaps I'm not the best food critic out there.
I'm sorry, I can't blog properly, because I really miss my cousin.
I got my picture taken with the very flirty Italian waiter (his idea, not mine) and he managed to piss my posse off by putting a rubber spider in our bill. Then when Sherry toppled her chair in fright and ran off a couple of metres, he grabbed a rolled up piece of paper and pretended to hit the rubbery, lifeless thing into an even more lifeless existence before he scooped it up and tried to get away with it. Well, thank you Mr Italiano, you've managed to piss Sherry off so much she vows never to return; luckily for your business Leanne is suitably impressed with the food and I am more amused than annoyed by the whole thing.
And after gelato at Il Dolce Freddo (I got pistachio and Roche flavour, yum!) I took the tram down to corner of Lonsdale and Russell and met up with Uncle Claude, sis and Geraldine for (another) Greek dinner at Stalactites. The food? Very very sour. The Octopus tasted as if it had been soaked in acid, and it wasn't till later that I found out that they had, been, sort of, ok scratch the sort of, they had, they had been soaked in vinegar. Absolutely disgusting. But perhaps I'm not the best food critic out there.
I'm sorry, I can't blog properly, because I really miss my cousin.
Monday, June 05, 2006
I Know I Know I Know
I know, I know, I know! I haven't been updating! Sorry!
Anyway, tons of horrible things have happened since my last proper update.
Anyway, tons of horrible things have happened since my last proper update.
- I've put on tons of weight. Winter. Oh well, what can you do?
- I lost out on a $1500 bucks because I'm not that good a writer. I got $500 for a third prize instead. Sad, huh?
- For the first time ever, I exceeded my internet download limit for the month of May, and was left with a screaming mother and 44 episodes of Veronica Mars. Tsk.
- I finally got over a painful, drawn out one-sided relationship only to enter into another, only this time i'm on the unpleasant receving end. ____, I know you're lonely and need a friend, but I'm your tutor and let's leave it at that!
- I think my friendship with my closest schoolmate is breaking down.
- I think my relationship with my mother has broken down and can't be fixed. Sometimes I just want to leave home.
- I think the last vestiges of my faith have snapped. Hello, sad cynical world of atheists. I've got a foot in your door.
- My age is seriously bothering me. I feel like one of those late-thirty-something women worrying like crazy about hitting the big forty. Seriously. Why?
- I feel stupid.
P.S: Title of my blog entry is a song I'm currently listening to. "I Know I Know I Know" by Tegan and Sara. Well worth the download. So Kazaa/Limewire/e-mule/bit-torrent away!
And exams end tomorrow so after that I'll be back to writing sad, self-absorbed diatribes about the evil world and how no one understands me and how I cut myself and curl up in bed crying while listening to Marilyn Manson bitch at the world.
P.P.S: I'm joking.
P.P.P.S: About Marilyn Manson.
P.P.P.P.S: He's cool.
P.P.P.P.P.S: In a sick, twisted way.
P.P.P.P.P.P.S: I hope he rots in hell.
Labels: Growing Pains
