Destination Unknown

Because I tend not to mimic other people’s expressions, I rarely say anything that people in the internet say a lot. Today, however, is an exception because it’s the first time I have said ‘fail’ out loud. I also hope it’s the last time.

This all happened less than an hour ago. I was famished, and so I scrounged at the kitchen counter and found a bunch of noodles. I took a pot, lit up the stove, boiled water, threw some noodles in, and added cooking oil, soy sauce, chili and salt – not the most exciting ingredients, but past experiences told me such recipe wasn’t so bad. I then let the noodle simmer for 3 minutes until it had become soft and edible, and as its aroma started to fill all over the kitchen my stomach clamored for instant gratification. So I turned off the stove and took the pot by the handle, but for whatever reason, the handle decided to be a pivot and as a result it turned the remaining part of the pot upside down. All the noodles plus the soup spilled all over the stove. I took a longer time cleaning up the sprawled messes than I took cooking them.

Needless to say, I didn’t eat those noodles. So much for my midnight snack!

There’s something I dislike about most of my recent entries, aside from them being all reviews of books and movies. Those, on their own, do not bother me that much, but what really gets me is how tame and positive I’ve become, that I sound like this gushing fanboy heaping gallons and gallons of praises on everything as though I were a zombie blogger paid to say that a movie/book is AWESOME. I get riled up about doing those enthusiastic praising because those seem to be the only thing I’ve been doing lately. I end up looking like an easily-pleased milquetoast.

But after watching Spider-man 3 for the first time two days ago (yes, I saw it that late) I have come to realize that the curmudgeon in me is still as alive and strong as it ever was. I can razz about it for hours and hours that I’m glad I didn’t watch it while dating someone, lest she had to endure hearing me bitch until she grew sick.

This is the worst Spider-man movie I’ve ever seen. I liked Spider-man 1 and I still consider the 2^nd movie, surpassing the 1^st, as one of the best comic book movies. The 2^nd film ended on such a rousing note that the very moment its credits rolled, I wanted to coerce Raimi into doing it a sequel right there and then. The 2 movies worked for me because despite being about someone with superhuman powers, they felt down-to-earth. Their characters did not merely worry about the plight that only those wearing leather spandexes worry about; they also had to deal with problems that any person deals with every day: high school, finances, trying to have a lucrative career, etc. It didn’t hurt that the fight scenes packed punches (har-har!) with kinetic intensity.

Without going into spoil-… ah, screw that, who hasn’t seen these movies anyway? If you haven’t and if spoilers bother you, then you may stop reading now and go do something productive like picking your nose and hoping your booger will get eaten by ants.

Spider-man 3 started with Peter Parker watching his costumed alter-ego’s popularity reach new heights. That looked promising, since a tale of someone coping with sudden fame can excel. I thought then that maybe this movie won’t be as bad as people bitch it; nevermind that there wasn’t much reason for Spider-man to suddenly be all over Manhattan (wasn’t his last heroic act – defeating Doc Ock – unseen by public?). Almost immediately came the first warning sign, and that couldn’t be more blatant when it’s with Kirsten Dunst belting out “They say that falling in love is wonderful… so wonderful, so they tell me…” like she had no respect for her audience’s hearing abilities. She would later sing in a jazz club for the elites. Who would wanna hear her sing jazz?

Scenes of the movie’s villains were occasionally done with some empathy, but they never reached the pathos seen from the fall of Green Goblin and Doctor Octopus. Part of the reason for that failure was that there were too many villains - Sandman, Green Goblin Jr, and Venom - but it’s the execution that bogged them down the most. Remember the feeling the dread of waiting for Green Goblin Sr. and Doc Ock to reach their breaking point? Bad news then, two of the three villains from Spider-man 3 had already reached their breaking point when they first appeared, and the remaining one, Venom, reached his breaking point in a very contrived manner (and given that there were many foes, you don’t see him developing a lot). So there’s no satisfaction to be had in witnessing how they became anarchical. In fairness, Harry Osborn was given enough depth in the first two movies. It was in his being Green Goblin Jr that was lackluster. Actually, everyone failed to be convincing villains. How? How about we compare them again with the two foes from the previous films? When Norman Osborn was already wearing the Green Goblin suit, he still had the pressure of acting like a responsible person to Harry Osborn, to Mary Jane Watson and to Peter Parker. Doc Ock turned bad because he would do everything to right his failed experiment, which cost him everything. Their dilemmas were what made them memorable villains. In Spider-man 3, two of the three villains were villains merely because they wanted to kick Spidey’s butt. Hence, they became one-dimensional. Sandman had his jaded past, a point that should make us understand that he was not evil, but merely wronged. That part was relegated in favor of seeing how Spidey wants to kill him for being the murderer of Uncle Ben. So what we get are three revenge plots.

Did having 3 characters swearing vengeances make the theme of revenge stronger? No. Having too much demeaned it, because given the limited length of a movie, what could be one revenge story got divided into compressed 3. The anger and the bloodlust of each never became too prominent.

The villains’ schemes were hilarious. They took turns being menaces! Goblin Jr. would just so happen to bump his head and have amnesia, so that he can be shoved aside for the time being and so that we can have time to see Sandman’s superpowers. And then when Sandman was presumed to be dead, Green Goblin Jr would regain his memory and annoy an irritable Spidey. After a scene where it looked like Goblin was killed by a bomb (in a more coherent movie, he would’ve died a long time ago; so what exactly is he, the liquid terminator?), which made him inactive again, Spidey would remove the black costume, actually an alien infesting his body, and the alien would fall down and turn Eddie Brock to Venom, who alsojust so happened to be at the church where Spidey was agonizing. Venom would then find Sandman. I had no idea how he found out where he was and how he knew he was alive since the Spidey wearing the alien suit thought otherwise. They then partnered and challenged Spidey by kidnapping Mary Jane Watson, a kidnap-bait seeing how it happened on 3 movies. Meanwhile Green Goblin Jr felt guilty for his sins and turned a hero after his butler had told him 2 movies too late that Goblin Sr. wasn’t killed by Spidey. Raise your hand if you don’t find all these so convenient.

I’m not done yet! Did you recall how the previews made a big deal about how Gwen Stacy was in this movie? Comic nerds will tell you that Gwen Stacy should’ve been the Mary Jane Watson of the first movie, and she should’ve been killed the moment Green Goblin dropped her. But whatever about that and her appearing two movies too late and how we should blame her absence for having MJ stayed in the series too long it’s sickening. She was in this movie to… do nothing but look cute. She was supposed to be Eddie Brock’s girlfriend too, but I didn’t recall ever seeing them being sweet to each other. I guess I never would. The moment Spidey bombed Venom I was like, “Yeah, go ahead and kill Venom so you won’t have to bother developing him the next movie!” Or maybe he’ll be magically resurrected in Spider-man 4?

As annoying of a nag MJ was, Peter Parker was most irritating. He no longer was the aww-shucks down-to-earth guy we rooted for. Here he became the Spiderjerk. I’m not even talking about the time when he donned a black costume and became a kind of Mister Hyde, which was supposed to un-pent his darker sides but I don’t remember his dark sides as being a philanderer nor as someone who likes to dance like a wacko (what a riot to watch, that one). He was a jerk from the beginning of the film. He let his popularity get way over his head, comforting MJ in all the wrong ways when she looked down. He kissed Gwen Stacy in front of MJ and when MJ complained he was like “Gwen is just a classmate! You know it’s you I love!” How does that work, moron?

I should probably not even start enumerating the plot holes at the risk of writing a novel, so I will mention just one (but a major one). Halfway in the movie, regaining his memory, Green Goblin Jr. ambushed MJ in her house, and the scene transitioned as we see him threatening MJ. The next scene MJ told Peter that she’s breaking up with him because she was seeing another guy. While she was going away, Goblin, revealing that the conversation was conspired, said good job to an angry MJ. Then Spidey, who didn’t know that Goblin regained memory, had lunch with Goblin where Goblin “confessed” that he was the man MJ was seeing. What happens next? Spidey ambushed Goblin in his mansion, saying he knows his schemes and his being Green Goblin again. I must’ve missed something, but how did Spidey know? And what did Goblin blackmail MJ with again?

But you know what, I’m gonna go ahead and say you should watch this film simply because I’ve never seen one as intentionally funny as this. If the plot holes, the hammy dialogues, the superficialities (parting hair downwards a sign of angst?!), and the singing and dancing did not crack you up, the scene where Spidey leaped across a CGI American flag would! Go get ‘em American tiger!

EDIT: I forgot the part about the fight scenes. Sandman’s and Goblin’s were good, but Venom’s sucked. The only thing that ever happened whenever Spidey was battling Venom was Spidey getting stuck with goo. Venom’s tongue never appeared.

Someone once told me that an action, no matter how small, can lead to tremendous consequences. There were forest fires started by a mere litter of not-quite-extinguished cigarette butts. There were stalagmites that tumbled down by a mere echo that lingered a second to long. There were massacres that started by a mere dispute between a government official and a cigarette vendor. There were human rights movements that began by a mere middle-aged colored woman who insisted on not leaving the seat for white folks.

Greg Mortensen is a man who saw his small act turn to something greater. Written by journalist David Oliver Relin, Three Cups of Tea is a moving, nonfictional account of Greg, whose failed attempt to summit K2 eventually led him to start humanitarian projects. Resting at an unknown village of Korphe after his descend from Karakoram Range, he saw that the children there had no means to receive formal education, so he promised to build a school to repay for the kindness people of Korphe gave him. Fulfilling that promise would also mark the beginning of a new path of his life, as he sets on his still-active mission to intrepidly build schools for other underdeveloped provinces of Pakistan and, later, Afghanistan.

The book’s story, with enough twists to make it a good movie, is wonderful enough. It’s its resounding theme of love and compassion that elevates it a K2 higher than just entertainment. Challenging subject matters that come so naturally when taking about Islam are never shunned, and once you’ve finished reading it you might start lamenting on how misguided Americans are about Muslims. Equal parts hopeful and horrifying, you’ll glance at how badly Muslims are bullied, both by Taliban and by the west. You’ll see how they are forced by extremists to study in schools that teach nothing - not physics, math or whatever languages - but the most hateful interpretations of Koran. You’ll see how underprivileged women are. And Greg, in his building of schools, reveals that the better way in which the battle against terror should be fought is by giving Muslims and their women the right to actual education that they have long been denied of. It breaks the stereotypes of Muslims as being combative, declaring that they want peace and order just as much as all of us do. It also shows how neglected they are, that they have never received the aids and funds promised to them by Americans and Russians whom have taken their turns to rule Afghanistan for no other reason than to prove the firepower of democracy or communism.

Go read this book, and it’s about time we see Muslims as we see ourselves: that, like us, they deserve neither to be bombed by the hypocritical administrations that should’ve long overgrown their jingoistic cowboy fantasies masqueraded as “heroism”, nor to be spilled racist diatribes by FOKKKS, excuse me, FOX news.

…but before that, I just might update my friendster blog more often these days. It seems the friendster team has enhanced it a bit and I’m gonna see if this new blogging service is any good.

Now to begin, this is in chronological order, top being the earliest and bottom being the latest:

Empty Barrels. This happens whenever I take the bus home: The TV is on and is tuned to a local TV station (more often GMA than ABS). I’m not a fan of whatever show the TV plays, but whenever it takes its break, I squirm. I have to suffer through another batch of advertisements. Why is this bad? Because I will, without a doubt, get to see barrages of pointless government propagandas. (read)

Jade Visions. “Pull over!” signaled the cop. (read)

The Journey Home is Where the Hatred is. When going home from work I don’t usually pass by SM Megamall, but yesterday I was there because I needed to buy something. If I was to go home by my usual route, I had to walk 20 minutes from SM Megamall to the side opposite of Robinson’s Galleria. I was tired then and wasn’t willing to do all that walking, so I decided to take another way home. Since there was a Metro Rail Transit (MRT) nearby, I went there thinking that the train would get me home faster and - don’t laugh - with less stress. (read)

In Cold Blood. Here’s something you can do just for kicks: Go to a coffee shop (preferably Starbucks). Approach any customer, but try to choose the ones who look like those pretending to be so well-read. Tell them you’ve been reading a book called In Cold Blood (by Truman Capote), and that it’s about to get a film adaptation soon (a lie), and that it has detectives, serial killers, conspiracies, spies, narrow escapes, hot sexes, car chases, big boobied and quick witted women, martial arts, gadgets, and boozes. Make sure you’ve got some extra copies of the book with you. But, change the cover, and make it look like the airport reads Dan Brown’s books are. Paste images of eyes, running guys, binaries, bloods, guns, and torn objects. Show the extra copies, and say you’re selling them. Now watch them sell by the bucketloads, and laugh as you imagine the buyers’ horror-suffused faces when they finally find out what the book is really about. (read)

I View the Morning with Such Alarm. I woke up uncharacteristically early. I had to, because I was home, and I need an hour to go back to my office and wait for all of my coworkers. We have to be here 3:45, and by 4:00 AM, we’ll be going outside the city and will stay outside the city for 3 days. (read)

Black Boy, and the Way of the Shepherd. I’ve finished a couple of books this past couple of days. (read)

Galera Galera. My cold may have something to do with this, but I was not contented about our company’s Puerto Galera (PG) outing. I had fun, on occasions. I thought some of the places we went to were great. But for a vacation, this just wasn’t revitalizing enough, as I didn’t feel my stress go away as I would when I go elsewhere. Someone I like was missing too, and… well, nevermind that. (read)

You Just Don’t Think. I did not want to attack anyone, and I believe that others who read that post knew that my intent was not to discredit. I wrote to chronicle, and to inform about what Galera is like. (read)

A Need to be Hungry. This title is not directed to starved countries - and that includes the Philippines, as much as the government want to delude you into believing otherwise. By all means, feed the hungry until the hunger goes away. (read)

A Need to be Hungry, the Reprise. Have you ever seen a cat taking a very erect stance as it anticipates for something? An unsuspecting mouse comes out and, as quickly as a blink, this cat starts pouncing on the mouse which has now become a prey? That cat’s intensity and ferocity are what I need. Right now, I feel less like a cat and more like a sheep that’s become enervated from eating wilted grasses. (read)

Suckered In. Hunger have begun to come back to me few days after I whined about its absence. Although I still haven’t been as much of a pig as I used to - a pig who manages not to be that fat, oy - I’ve feasted on curry last wednesday and on pizza yesterday. And that felt fine. (read)

Batman. I’m weary of the excess of movies based on comics, but I want to see The Dark Knight. I’m so stoked about The Dark Knight, I’m avoiding from watching its trailer again, because everytime I do so I cry, “can’t July come any sooner!” I’m not young, and wishing time to fast forward isn’t good for my well-being. (read)

My Favorite Things. I’m not really in the mood to compose anything elaborate, coz, bloody hell, that can be sooo tedious, and I’m trying to let some topics (nothing overly serious, though) marinate for a while. (read)

This Side Isn’t Paradise. I’ve been outside of Philippines and I see that, generally, our people are happier than anywhere else’s. I’m just unsure of if our kind of happiness is still conducive to progress. (read)

Progress Report. When 2008 began, one of the goals I set for myself was to finish 1 book per week. That means that when this year ends, I have to be done with 52 books. So how am I doing, now that we’re at the 27th week of 2008? (read)

All Your Bookstore Are Belong To Bust. There are days when I can’t stand spending another minute at home, but yesterday afternoon, I really didn’t want to go out. So when my brother asked me to go to Tutuban with him, I kept yelling “GO ALONE!” at him. (read)

What is Love? Having a spectacularly boring day, I decided to be at the crazy ridiculous mode (as if I ever functioned in other modes, noh?) and flood my instant messenger contacts with this question: What is love? (read)

A View from the Top. I haven’t seen a blue morning sky for a long time now, as when June began the sky has become covered all over with clouds. We are having a rainy season, and that’s why Ortigas, Pasig City - as can be viewed outside - looks like it is covered with steams. And by how, I love this sight! With clouds obstructing the skyline, Ortigas doesn’t appear warm; it appears detached. I get reminded of film noirs, where cities are as smoky as jazz bars and as gray as its denizen’s moral ambiguity. I can then fancy myself as the city’s vigilante, leaping from building to building, walking stealthily from one dank alley to another, extracting information from moles, driving Cadillac, saving damsels, and fighting criminals until I die. (read)

Schmanniversary. By July 16, 2008, this nightdreamer blog will be a year old. Is that significant? No. (read)

Whisper of the Heart. Sorry, got nothing to write about today. I just wanted to share this music video from one of my favorite feel-good animes of all time. It’s a Japanese rendition of a John Denver’s song (Take Me Home Country Roads) done with an entirely different lyrics, and it’s very heartfelt. (read)

Soul Food. I have also opened up to people who I didn’t speak with for the longest time - I have actually went out of my limb and I have called my best friend from high school. We used to live in a province and he was my neighbor, but when I moved to Manila to get my college degree, we didn’t see each other much. I hadn’t spoken with him for years already, and today I decided that rather than hanging on to all these pent-up guilts for neglecting him, I called him just to talk to him. It’s good to hear from a friend again after all these years. (read)

Soul Food Part 2. You wake up greeted by a dandy daytime. The weather feels windy enough to ease up the stresses of the peripatetic. You predict that this must be one of those days when everything is beautiful and is convenient. But, by how, you soon find your expectations massively unfulfilled. Rain starts pouring torrentially. Traffic congestion hinders you from coming to school or to work on time. Your umbrella breaks because the wind becomes unmanageably strong. Your superiors bark on you for your tardiness. Your socks become soggy, your clothes soaked, and your bag and everything inside it drenched. Everything starts taking a turn for the worse. The day has been cruel to you and it’s beyond salvaging. Raise your hands if you’ve had one of those days. Actually, I think everyone has had them. (read)

Open Palm, Drop Face. I made a fool of myself today. I said, “pupunta ako sa powerpoint mall.” (translation: I’m going to powerpoint mall)

The Red Knight. What is a beso-beso? It’s a Filipino word, and it’s one of our ways to greet (and I don’t know if people from other countries do that). It’s like kissing, but instead of lips-to-lips it is cheek-to-cheek, and as such is more casual than romantic. So when people ask you to give them a beso-beso, they’re less likely to mean that they want to sleep with you than when they ask you to kiss them. (read)

Nightdreamer Under Interrogation. I was going to update this blog with something more worthy of read, but I’ve been lazy, and time has been going by too fast. Last few days I’ve been doing nothing else but curl up on my own bed and read both 100 Years of Solitude and 1984. Been reading rather slowly these days too as too many thoughts have been bothering me - I’m going to Taiwan next week and I can’t help being excited. (read)

A Dark Victory. So, the review… nope, that’s not coming along well at all. I’m sure you’ve had this feeling of being so impressed by a movie that you could never write coherently about it. Well, that’s just what I had gone through after seeing The Dark Knight twice. I even told another friend (I do seem to talk about my friends a great deal today, noh?) to watch The Dark Knight thrice, and then to buy its bootlegged DVD, and then its original DVD, and then its original DVD with extended cuts. Yeah, as it is, I’m already having a frustrating time quelling this overenthusiastic voice that I’m using now. (read)

Tomorrow. In less than 24 hours, I’ll be at the airport again, going through the complicated processes of boarding a flight. Again, I will be alone in this trip. Again, I will withstand the screechy engine noises of the airplane. Again, I’ll be eating airplane food. Again, I’ll scan the flight attendants to see if I, err, can see familiar faces. Again, I’ll either fall asleep or watch crappy blockbuster movies they play onboard. Again, I’ll try to tune in to Mandarin Pop Station only to find all the songs bland. Again, I’ll try to write something down while in the flight cabin, but only to scrawl incoherently. Again, I’ll be flying north until I reach Taipei, Taiwan. (read)

A Week In Taiwan, Part 1: Shuangshi. My grandfather lives in a province, so I went there just to see him. Right now, he’s at the throes of a cancer, and, after not having seen each other for more than 2 years, I paid him a visit with the intent of lifting his spirits up in my little way. I’m sure you don’t want to hear all these dramas, so I’ll just go on to tell you what his province is like. It’s called Shuangshi, which is the Chinese for “Two Rivers”. True to its namesake, there are two rivers here and somewhere in this town they come to a confluence. Rumor has it that the exact place where the two meets is haunted, but I never bothered to find out. All I know is that they’re very calming to look at, and you can do some fishing and swimming on them. But rivers aren’t all there is to Shuangshi. There are mountains too. Shuangshi is altogether an ideal place to reconnect with mother nature, especially if you’re tired of Taipei’s frantic ways of living. It’s also a good place to bike. (read and look at the pictures!)

A Week in Taiwan, Part 2: Synergy. In Taipei, at the underground tunnels leading to subway stations, one can often see pedestrians - wearing busy if not dour expressions - walking briskly and fast, like they’re bent to, without delay, go someplace. Brummagem wares are ignored, bums are not spared any penny, and street musicians are paid no mind. But on one Sunday, July 27th of 2008, something strange happened inside the tunnels. Suddenly, people were not dashing out as fast as they could; but they were converging on a particularly noisy spot. They looked fascinated. They were watching singers and dancers from Utah who had come to perform all over Taiwan. Songs are sung, dances are danced, hands are clapped, and cheers are yelled. Synergy, as the group is called, was on a mission to inspire everyone with music, and this was the first day. (read and look at the pictures!)

A Week in Taiwan, Part 3: Snippings. Some points of observations and some snippets of the things that happened when I was in Taiwan… (read)

These Foolish Things Remind Me of You. The dark and stormy evenings have taken their departures for now, but to me, they departed just a night too late. Seems like my body was ill prepared for going from a country (Taiwan) that’s having its summer season to another (Philippines) that’s having its rainy season. At Wednesday, I was sneezing like mad. By Thursday, I had to skip work to keep this cold from escalating to a fever. (read)

Mess About. I am getting annoyed! For the past two weeks, I have done nothing. Zero, that big fat oval bigger than the nothingness it signifies. Okay, so maybe I have done a few trifling chores, but I don’t think I’ve done deeds that contributes to the world’s greater good, or even just my own. (read)

Visions. I’ll tell you why nerds like me want you to give science fiction a chance. It’s true that we are obsessed with seeing epic battles comprised of spaceships, laser guns and lightsabers. It’s true that we geek out when we see what technological marvels we may have in the future. It’s true for some of us that we drool when we see women wearing body-hugging spacesuits. Yes, we like all those very much, but they’re not enough reasons for us to endure as fans of sci-fi. We endure because of sci-fi’s visions. You see, many sci fis create worlds that, while having their own rules, maintain semblances to our real world. Within such premises, then, sci fis challenge us to think of how our world may become like their worlds. They then ask us if we can do something to either ensure or prevent such thing from happening; and should we have to live in a world like theirs, they guide us on how we can survive. (read)

Born to Run. Once upon a time and such a good time that it was there was a guy who called himself Nightdreamer and this guy who called himself Nightdreamer often had too much spare time and because he had too much spare time he wrote on this blog to fend off his boredom. (read)

One Day in Makati. Normally, the idea of going to First Academy of Computer Arts (FACA) is like visiting a university I’ve graduated from. My visit to FACA yesterday, however, was unlike those days when I would go to my university just to loaf around while wallowing in nostalgia. I went there with a purpose, fully intent to have that dealt with lickety-split, and without scanning to see if anyone I knew was there so that I could high-five with them and pretend that we were so thrilled by this sort of accidental meeting. I want my only goal to be met quickly. Professionally. No digression. Without commotion. Yes, I was (still am) busy. Couldn’t stay too long. I’ve completed my final project since nearly half a year ago, and I’ve since been waiting to get the certificate that recognizes me as a student who has indeed completed his course. My classmate got his certificate last week, and because we both submitted our project the same day, I thought mine should be ready. I was wrong, a conclusion thoroughly predictable from my way of writing. People working in FACA told me that I had to sign a request form if I want to get a certificate. I was befuddled. How inefficient! Shouldn’t my final project be enough a hint of my wanting to get a certificate? What other reasons could I have for submitting that? (read)

This morning I have managed to free myself momentarily from a lot of busywork that I had to deal with throughout these past 3 weeks. So I reckoned: what better topics to post a blog about but those 5 books I read a week ago? A few posts back, I mentioned being lent 5 books by a friend, who then insisted that I return them after a week. Slogging through all those books was not easy, but I had them dealt with after 10 days (after I doggedly pleaded to him to give me 3 days more. You’ll find out later which of the book slowed down my reading the most). I will tell you now if they are good and worth picking up.

I started with Mockingbird by Walter Tevis. It is common to read a review that bemoans how underappreciated Mockingbird is, and I wouldn’t have heard of it had I not been paying attention to SF Masterworks series of, well, sci-fi masterworks. The story takes place in a future where the world is ruled by robots, and humans do nothing but drug themselves. Spofforth, one of the 3 protagonists, is the most intelligent machine in existence. He is sad as he watches humans lose literacy, the ability to bear children, and the ability to have emotional connections with anyone. Despondent, his only goal in his life is to die. He then comes into contact with a person who has learned how to read and has shown the will to improve such skill. It’s when such person rediscovers the meaning of reading that everyone realizes that there may still be hope.

I often read scifi, and though I love that genre, I dislike its tendency to belabor its philosophies while neglecting the characterizations (Isaac Asimov’s Foundation is very guilty of this). That distracts me, because I believe that novels cannot successfully deliver its message when their characters are unidentifiable. Thankfully, though Mockingbird’s speculation of the future and the caution that comes with it are very powerful, its characters are its finest points, because you really get to know what they dream of, how they change, what they believe in, and how they live.

I then read Ursula Le Guin’s Lathe of Heaven, which also has good character developments but maybe not as great as Mockingbird’s. It, however, has a very thought-provoking plot: when dreaming – and by dreaming I mean what you unconsciously do while you’re sleeping – George Orr can alter reality. Horrified by such powers, he went to a psychotherapist named Dr. William Haber, in hopes to find a way to cure his special condition. Haber has other plans, though. At first he was using the dreams to advance his careers, but later on he starts to use it for something bigger. Orr opposes Haber’s goals; why he opposes is the book’s high point, because that’s where the story unveils as a study on ethics and an analysis of what it’s like when someone plays God.

By the way, mention the author’s name to any scifi nuts and, chances are, you’ll get some lively responses. I’m quite embarrassed to admit that this is the first Ursula book I’ve read (and if you can suggest her other works, please do so).

Something Wicked This Way Comes is not the first Ray Bradbury’s book I’ve read, though. My first encounter with his work is through Fahrenheit 451, which I consider as one of the best books there is. When I started Something Wicked… I thought I was going to like it too, and now that I’m done with it, all I can say is that I want more of 451 and less of Something Wicked. I liked the setting – hey, it’s about a haunted carnival! – and I liked what it tried to say - as a bildungsroman with a horror twist, Something Wicked… messages about what makes us fearful made sense. What I didn’t like is the way it was written. Instead of reading like a story, Something Wicked…read more like an author rollicking with words as a dog would rollick in mud. That could’ve worked for other kinds of stories, but not for horror, as I found its language more comical than horrifying. I would’ve liked it more had the story been more straightforward. Even at less than 300 pages this book dragged.

Flowers for Algernon by Daniel Keyes… well, what’s there to say that your high school teacher hasn’t already said? I was among the unfortunate students of a school that never required us to read this book, and I assume that most of you have already read it, so I’ll make this short: Flowers for Algernon is about a dumb person who wants to make himself better, so he volunteers to be the first human test subject for a brain operation that has made a mouse extraordinarily smart. Is the book any good? Well, for me, if a work of fiction succeeds in making me feel sympathy for its characters, then it is a winner, and in that respect, Flowers is a winner (I probably have to write a post that expands my opinion of this book, but at the moment I’m getting worn out from all the writing and the summarizing).

The last and the easiest book, is Coraline by Neil Gaiman. It’s such a light read that it took me merely an hour to finish, and I can’t say I was too satisfied. The author has a penchant for writing stories about people who go from our world to another, more magical world, and after Neverwhere, Stardust and Coraline I think it’s beginning to get old. Unlike the first two, however, Coraline is billed as a children’s story, and is, literally, much closer to home. The titular girl lives in a house, and in this house there’s a door that leads to a place where there is an alternate version of the house and its inhabitants. Once again, I was won over by the synopsis, but when I read it all the way through I felt cold about it. I find it funny that Coraline’s weak points are Something Wicked’s strong points, and that the opposite is also true. While I wanted Something Wicked to be more straightforward, I wanted Coraline to be a bit more roundabout. As it is Coraline just come off as a book that appears allegorical, only to finish too soon that whatever profound messages it has is never explored.

In a mellow tone (Ben Webster)

In a mellow tone
That’s the way to live
If you mope and groan
Something’s gotta give

I
was at the coffee shop (why is it always at a coffee shop that I hang
out in lately?) with this really cool girl yesterday. She knew I liked
this coffee shop. She knew I liked the couch that she intentionally
avoided sitting on yesterday. She knew I really like that indecisive
moment when I was taking my order because there were just so many
drinks to choose from. And as we conversed by the table, I confessed
something I’ve kept with me for years already.    

I told her - and this was when a very romantic song was playing - I told her, 

I am madly in love with saxophones.

I
am so in love with it, to the extent that I ask myself, what won’t I
give just to turn back to when I was at a younger age and learn playing
it? Sure, Kenny G’s been using it pretty horribly and I don’t fancy
Dave Koz’s music either, so let’s just classify them under anyone’s
list of “people let’s forget exist”. What’s not to like about
saxophones? Jazz giants played saxophones! John Coltrane, Sonny
Rollins, Ben Webster, Charlie Parker, Jackie McLean, Stan Getz, Wayne
Shorter, the list goes on and on. 

*Nightdreamer closes his eye and plays air saxophone while doing a duck mouth, which makes him look incredibly stupid*

Sure,
I’d also love to rewind time and then learn piano and trumpet too as
they’re another two of my favorite instruments, but the saxophone’s
lure is unsurpassable. How? Did you notice how it’s built like a tube
that slopes downward, and then sveltely goes up again? That has an
effect on how it sounds, and it sounds enchanting. Enchanting in many
ways like, whenever a note like, say, re, is played, it becomes more
like a re-flat transitioning to the natural-re. Like, how when in
different volumes it sounds like two differing instruments - soft and
it’s like a cat purring, loud and it’s like gospel musicians’
bordering-on-raspy singing. It’s just about the only instrument I can
think of that be crooning one minute and then ferocious the next, and
in both times be sensual. No wonder it is commonly associated with
lovemaking - in a blunt and pithy manner it depicts the different moods
taking place when two bare bodies exchange odes with their fluids.
Okay, that metaphor was horrible.

So,
did you listen to Ben Webster’s “In a Mellow Tone” that I uploaded and
posted above the writings? Beautiful, isn’t it? Which reminds me, I
need to do a next post on my All Jazzed Up series. So how about you? Do
you have a favorite musical instrument?

What have I written about since I last posted here?

Advices - Love or Hate Em?
I believe the most prideful ones like to dispense advices, and that a
writer’s pride is peerless. Writers gloat when they can express their
thoughts so cogently, their words rock everyone’s perspective. They
fancy being so perceptive, that they can plough through all hardships -
even those not their own. Advising may be a writer’s nature. I defy you
cite an exception. (read more)

Babe Watching
I first saw Babe when I was 11 years old. Although I enjoyed it then, I
only had recollections of how cute it was. So, aside from needing a
respite from my brother’s obsession to heavy ass movies, I watched it
to see if I’d still like it. (read more)

Of Chimps and Charlatans
I’m undecided about paid blogs. Yeah, it sounds spectacular - what’s
more spiffy than earning without leaving home, typing while at the
spacious comfort of your own sofa (if you have a laptop, that is) and
not worrying about travel expenses, smog, pickpockets and traffic? You
can even download movies (shh!) while you toil away. On the other hand… (read more)

Mag Shot
Somebody gimme clues: what external forces could have propelled me to
blow P250 yesterday on a couple of magazines. Boredom? A need for new
insights? Or are you gonna be so lowbrow and say "the cover girls"? (read more)

What’s Keep’n Me Busy?
I don’t claim that to be the best thing I’ve ever done all my life, but
it’s been a while since I’ve accomplished something like that. And boy,
must I say, that felt truly inspiring. I feel vaguely happy. Not
exactly the giddy-giddy-jumpy-jumpy kind of happy, but more like I have
a smile that won’t leave my face whenever I think of what I did. (read more)

My Cherie Armor
I wasn’t thrilled by Iron Man’s movie trailers. Although the 3d-preened armor was attractive, scenes of American
soldiers being self-congratulatory while at Afghanistan, of Iron Man
flying with two F15’s (?), and of Tony Stark - the guy who wears the
Iron Man costume – fooling around with some chicks, weren’t. Oh, great,
another American Flag-waving flick! I bet the world can’t wait for
more! So, I went to see Iron Man just to mock it, much prepared to
curmudgeon it at lengths. (read more)

Kevin Garnett Sucks Meatballs
I am so sick and tired of his obnoxious yelling, chest-beating,
angsting and frontin, and I am so sick and tired of the press falling
over themselves to praise this guy. (read more)

I’m Hopelessly Clueless
People who have only been with me in my college days will say
"preposterous" after hearing this, but I’m very shy around women. And
you know what’s funny? I didn’t use to be like this. I used to be
confident, and I wouldn’t hesitate to approach those gorgeous women who
are coming down along the road, just to say hi. (read more)

Message from a Disillusioned Blogger
You are getting tiresome. You were cute back when you
were a kid. In each waking moment your curiousity is peerless, and you
spent each day wide-eyed, full of energy to hear what others have to
teach you. (read more)

May is the Magic Word
In a conversation I had with one of my old friends, I jokingly
mentioned that this May ain’t May enough, and my life ain’t May enough
either. If I am to write an autobiography, this month of 2008 would,
hands down, be recorded as the nadir of my life. (read more)

My Encounter with Rabid Paolo Coelho Fangirls
But I merely have to overhear small parts of their yapping, to realize
that they’re determined to buy only one author’s books, and I can’t
recommend any of his books at all. And of course it was Paolo Coelho’s,
whose books seem to be regarded as the must-read for every
caffeine-consuming and coke-sniffing college undergrad. (read more)

Heart of Mine, Be Still
I resent that despite my insistence to not think much of you anymore so
I can let go of bitter memories, you are some of the things that have
clung to my recent musings like barnacles to barge. (read more)

You Gave Me the Mood Indigo
Did you notice, the moment you held my elbow, that I was incapable of
talking, incapable of thinking straight besides wishing that this
moment lasted longer? Did you count how many times I said something
very random and how I would get embarrassed after that? (read more)

Huh?!
I can totally hear it, my haters laughing diabolically and shouting
"YOU SAID IT! I TOTALLY AGREE FOR THE FIRST TIME WE AGREE AND GUESS
WHAT EVEN IN AGREEMENT I’M PATRONIZING YOU!" (read more)

Cast My Fate to the Wind
I felt a sense of loss, a loss of vibrancy in my already dreary life.
It only proved one thing that I was all along too hesitant to admit: I
felt strongly about you. (read more)

All here, at Night Dreamer, where the evening is always full of light.

Go to my more active blog. It’s more fun there.

http://nightdreamer.i.ph

"Save the earth" said the newly purchased
notebook. I bought it neither for its message nor for its viridity. I
bought it because I just wanted to scrawl. Back in high school, I would
end the day curled on my bed, scribbling on a notebook. I paid little
attention to words, but I delighted at the marked union of pen and
paper, like lissome twirlings of ballerinas. Presently, I am spoiled by
the amenities of word processors, and I rarely willed to do
manuscripts. But today, I wanted to redo manuscripts. I wanted to
relive the days when writing was less slapdash, for corrections were
salient and looked like punishments.

I have a favorite spot in Ortigas Center. It’s the
Ortigas Park. Though it is as small as a bum’s bum, it is calming for
its greenness, distinct from neighbors of gray skyscrapers and orange
lamps. It’s at the middle of a commercial district, but is isolated
from activities. It also has a coffee shop - Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf -
where I loll at when I need reposes. And today was a day when I needed
reposes, for getting away from noises of shoes-clopping and
cars-tooralooming will bring peace of mind. I was alone. I seated at a
sofa, coffee mug at hand, notebook at the table, drowned by the
rhythmic hums of coffee blenders and fragmented yaks of other
customers, each having a different story of being here.

When I had just arrived, I was forcefully filling
my notebook with words that only made sense to me. Three persons - a
guy, two girls - were at the table next to mine. They had a laptop up
and were, to their surroundings, oblivious, as I momentarily was to
them. The guy did legerdemains. Card tricks. Coin tricks. He could be
doing that to impress the chicks, which he’s quite successful at, for
he was applauded. He even taught few of his tricks to his friends, and,
though curious, I was too shy to look their way - for they were
strangers - long.

And then he played a movie on his laptop, showing
a video he recommends his girl friends (that bastard) to watch. It was
in Japanese, so I didn’t understand what was happening, and I went back
to writing (or the pretense of). But then, I heard Ludwig von’s music,
played so passionately the thespians bickered about it. And then I
recalled an anime with the same premises. I peeked, and sure enough, I
knew what was being played. Nodame Cantabile, live version. I knew this! I was just as dorky as that guy. Oh my God.

They ended their jolly meeting and they parted
ways tearfully. They seemed like they had kinships, but had long been
absent from each other. And then they disappeared, resuming a life
comparatively plebeian. I was left at my seat. I thought, these people
were pretty swell. I could have sought their friendship and we would
get along. But, I was too reticent, and all I did was look from afar,
yearning to soon claim possession of a glee like theirs; yearning that
I, too, would soon converge with my faraway friends and catch up on
each other’s life.

It’s funny how much I empathized with these strangers.

I don’t know what’s happening to me. Last week I could still be
awake at 2 AM without feeling a hint of drowse. But since three days
ago, I’ve been sleeping early. Like, from 9 PM all the way to 6 AM.
Having a day of long, uninterrupted sleep is fine with me, but three
days of that and I get irritated. I feel like I should, instead, spend
two more hours doing more productive things, like, I dunno, surfing the
net! Or playing videogames!

I don’t have the data, but I’m think most people of my generation
dislike sleeping early. At least I can attest such claim whenever I
look at my brother, who often retires later than 12. He usually draws,
makes 3d arts or read books until then. Maybe it’s not good for his
health, and maybe he should stop drinking too many caffeinated drinks
to keep him awake, but at least he does finish a lot of stuff. The only
thing I have accomplished since 3 days ago is outline a report, which I
really should make more elaborate. To make things worse, I’ve been
waking up not on very high spirits since this week. I feel that way
because of not having anything to look forward to.

So, few days after Holy Week vacation, I’m bored again. It’s not
good to have nothing to look forward to during summer, because at least
back when I was a student, summer was always the time for celebration,
for relaxation, for going to beaches or for going to foreign lands. I’m
two years out of school now and this is my third summer as someone who
works, but it’s only this year when my summer has become so dull.
There’s not a word of having a company outing. I won’t to see the girl
I met in Bora last year. My sister’s not coming back from US (but since
when has she come back since she left, 7 years ago?). I’m out of touch
with some of my closer friends. I’ve been overspending on cheap thrills
and not receiving any satisfaction. I’m having a reader’s block (err,
it’s like writer’s block, except it’s more of losing the capability and
the desire to read). The further "urbanizations" of my immediate
surroundings have become blase. I’m only 24, but fate seems determined
to claw away all my youthful energies.

I miss my passionate self! I miss waking up everyday with the "I’m
ready to take the world by storm" swagger. Cliche and obnoxious all
these successful people’s pep talks may be, there’s something about
their optimism that I admire. I don’t feel that being passive while
maintaining these bleak outlooks will do my sanity any good. I need a
stimulant. I need activity, and not one that’s overfamiliar.

And you just read a blog post that goes nowhere. Durrr