The Alpha Female

Putting her foot down and assuming the role of alpha male are a couple of the tricks an emancipated woman soon learns after stepping out of her shell, and these talents, she soon finds out, are quite useful in making it in this "man's world" (which, I suppose, is fast on its way to becoming a "woman's world," but we'll get there soon enough).

Here are some tips that we can all use to make a man cower into submission:

1. Hold that stare, steady and steely. Trust me, you'll get your point across and win that argument/debate with this simple stroke;

2. make it a habit to put your hands on either side of your waist when speaking in front (or in the middle) of a pack of males, be it a business meeting or a team huddle;

3. shoulders on the level, back straight as an arrow--mom's reminders to keep your posture in check should come in handy now. A woman is more formidable when she is standing up straight. It wouldn't matter if you are petite. You can be as tall as you feel, so go ahead and feel tall!

4. put a mild swagger to your walk, though be careful not to overdo it, otherwise, you'll end up coming across as too self-assured, and that can't be good, as too much of anything is bad. Just walk like you always know where you're going (even if you don't) and focus your eyes on an invisible post. Don't walk too fast, and remember that swagger.

5. brush up on your reading and practice your speeches. There's nothing like a smart, intelligent and well-read woman to make a man realize that he is not the better gender. They might get their way with physical strength or force, but hey, let's make sure we win through sheer sharpness of wit, presence of mind, some French or German, and a little biting sarcasm.

Obviously, this is not all. I'll be back with more.

So, what wiles do you practice to put that punch to your touch?
=)

*part 2 here

Status Updates

Have gotten in touch with High School best friends over at Face Book.

Very recently, someone's status update about putting one's foot down and being an alpha male (we are all female) and another's video link of Paul McCartney's "Singalong Junk" sparked up (online) conversations about girl power and dressing up in a black suit-and-daggers ensemble for when those "kickin' ass" moments come up, and wanting to be thirteen or sixteen again and going to the places one used to frequent when one was young, doing the things one used to do a lot when one was yet unwary of how beset with worries adulthood could be.

Are these signs that one is growing old?

Or maybe it's just the rain. Was scorching hot early in the week, and now, these downpours.

Or is it because Mercury has turned direct?

Let me make a mental note to type that on my Facebook status update space.

On second thought, I think I've already done that.

To See or Not To See:

hmmm...

Pause

and the one thing that might cause me to shift
is the dancer's step.
-From "Vase Painting," by Rainer Maria Rilke-

I am waiting for Mercury to go direct. There is so much tension in the air, suspended tautly in this hot, dry weather; lying in silent, stagnant pools inside my brain.

All this waiting, and waiting, and waiting isn't good for repressed people. The possibility of an implosion--or implosions, if one may, because there are many repressed people--rises to dangerous heights.

May 30th.
I wonder what's in store.

Cuckoo Over Farm Town

I have, officially, become a Face Book Farm Town addict. I never would have guessed, as I've never been a gamer my entire life. This age of virtual gaming was unheard of when I was a kid. Back then, my brother and I played real--though this term would vary in meaning, depending on which generation you belong to--games under the sun, with other kids our age, or close to our age. Even with the advent of the family computer, the PSP, the DS, and other what-have-yous, I have managed to steer clear of the gaming bug.

Until now. Or, last Monday, to be exact.

Now, I am on level 11 of Farm Town, which makes me a farmer, teehee. Make that "Tamsen The Farmer"--yes, I do get to name myself "Tamsen," which happens to be my second favorite name (next to my name, of course). I plow the fields on my green grass-bordered, apple-tree-and-orange-tree-and-lemon-tree-lined farm, go to the store to buy various seeds, plant them on the plowed grounds and voila, after some time, I get to harvest grapes, strawberries, tomatoes, potatoes, lemons, apples, and oranges. I am still waiting--very impatiently, if I may add--for the coffee, wheat, sunflowers, and rice to be ready for harvest. A bountiful reaping would mean lots of coins to be had after a trip to the market to sell the crops. Then it's back to square one, only this time, you have more moolah, more sophisticated, expensive seeds sown and a promise of an even more bountiful harvest which translates, of course, to an even richer, ever growing coffer.

Ah, such a sweet life it is. My Lola would have been proud of me. Mama, this one's for you.



Alors, gotta visit my farm, folks. Hope we can be neighbors, soon. Click here to read on how Farm Town has overtaken Pet Society on Face Book. =)

A great weekend to y'all!

P.S. My daughter is envious and itching to try it. I promised her we would farm tomorrow. =)

Survivor Tocantins: J.T.

Everyone in the jury voted for him.
Yeah yeah yeah!
Sorry, Stephen.

The Other Boleyn Girl

Nothing really spectacular about this film, except Natalie Portman, the costumes (loved 'em) and the lengths they went to to romanticize the story of Anne, Mary and that philandering Henry VIII. Well, the latter (the romanticizing, not Henry VIII's philandering) might've been Philippa Gregory's fault. Anyway.

Portman as Anne Boleyn was perfection--history writes Anne off as dark-haired, 5 feet and 3 inches tall, flat-chested, well-educated and headstrong, and Portman's portrayal of the role was more than satisfactory. Anne Boleyn must've been--or rather, was--an advocate of girl power, long before it became the fashion to be one. Imagine twirling the king of England around her little finger and being one of the pivotal figures in transforming the country's history! Oh, the feats women take on! I'm hoping Scarlett Johansson (Mary Boleyn) learned a thing or two from both Portman and Anne. You think Mary Boleyn wore only two expressions her entire life?

And Henry VIII, oh where do I begin? He's always been portrayed in paintings as this very heavy-set, very fat and sour-looking king. And then here comes Eric Bana. Like, hello? Didn't make sense at all. Plus he, too, worked on jut two facial expressions in the entire length of the movie. I think it might've worked if he had ended up with Scarlett, heehee.

Lots of blood in the movie, too. So a lot of women back then either died in childbirth or had stillbirths. Probably because they didn't have pre-natal care yet, in those times. I feel lucky.

And there you have it.

Ho-hum. Definitely not a movie I'd recommend.

Monday Morning Thoughts

I think it's sad, the way people get scared when parcels of themselves get exposed, bits and pieces they'd rather keep stuffed inside, parts of them that, if other people found out about, would really ruin how they are perceived to be.

In the workplace, we have this concept called "perception management" where it is posited that "perception is reality." Up to a certain point--and a certain point only--I would have to agree. But the line has to be drawn between perception and reality because, at the end of the day, after all the sad, mad, pretensions we have to keep up and go through in our sad, little lives, perception and reality are two very different things.

We are all guilty of judging people for sundry things: for being glum and morose and keeping to themselves three-fourths of the time; for sucking their thumbs during stress-filled moments; for liking Bjork, or Amy Winehouse, or the Backstreet Boys; for looking for a paper bag to breathe into during anxiety attacks (we snicker at the phrase--he/she is just faking it, we would say, what drama); for being happy three-fourths of the time; for being happy, period; for muttering to themselves; for having short, violent tempers; for being sloppy in dress and speech; for being too well-dressed. In short, we judge people for virtually anything. If there is anything discrepant in someone's behavior, our fangs take over. Then our capacity for seeing the bad in others goes up to tremendous heights.

But what do we know of their griefs, and what do they know of ours?

And that is why people in the low have nowhere else to go but farther down.

Or, perhaps, we are merely scared?

Enough said.

Have a great week ahead!
=)

Not Just the Coffee

Good thing the 7-Up can was empty, else a good portion of the table cloth would have ended up soaked in the sweet, chemical-rich liquid. Still, the knowledge that it was empty escaped me for a split second and, in that wink of a moment, my heart walloped so hard I felt like wanting to reel from its aftermath. I sat there, steadying myself, awed by the Pacquiao-like (but painless) punch my heart had thrown against my chest.

I am easily startled. A handful of people at work know this and have taken to sneaking up from behind me and shouting "boo!" or "hah!" quite often, making me do any, or all, of the following: jumping, shrieking, shouting an expletive or two, and, always, that hard thump in the chest.

It could be the coffee.

Or not.

I am aware that it's natural to be startled when, well, we're caught off-guard, but lately, the intensity of the pounding in my chest whenever it happens has made me notice that it has, indeed, gone from natural to too much. A friend and I talked about it after the 7-Up episode and he agreed that it can't all be just the coffee (I like mine light on the caffeine, anyway, I mostly order mocha-flavored ones, except for those occasional really drowsy times when I have to force myself to be on the go, then I'd request for an extra espresso shot).

Perhaps I've built my wall piled too high with rocks that when it crumbles because I forget to stand guard, it crashes really loud and hard?

(clip art from clipart.com)

People are breaking, breaking, breaking... Dear God, please help them get through whatever it is they need to get through.

Meanwhile, I stand silently by, a mere observer, calm and steady; a witness following scenes with eyes that see too much from looking, and a heart saddened by the confusion, the griefs that friends try hard to keep between folded hands, yet which push themselves out, even so.

And in the middle of this seemingly aimless, static wait, I remember thinking how I was once where they are now, how I was them, once. And I remember how it felt, only, now, because I have learned how it is to keep oneself detached, the pain feels very faint, like a sigh on one's palm, a murmur in one's mind.

Remembering--and always remembering, because forgetting will not be possible--how it was and how it is, I find myself inching forward and reaching out a hand. I cannot, cannot keep looking and remain a bystander.

Because turning my back on them would be like keeping the door shut on my knocking, pleading self.

A Thought That Crossed My Mind When Once, I Read About A Girl Running After A Bus:

So what if they think you're less of a girl because you refuse their help in carrying those big, bulky things? If you can stretch your strength to limits they would never think you could stretch them to, go ahead and carry on, my girl. They'd be all the less for thinking there are things you simply can't do, just because you're a woman, and you'd be all the more for proving them wrong.

In Loving Memory of Edgar

"Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore..."

I just finished reading Jill Lepore's "The Humbug: Edgar Allan Poe and the economy of horror" over at NewYorker.com. As it turns out, 2009 marks Poe's 200th anniversary (damn, he's old!), so, a fitting time to read about him.

"Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor."

He was born January 19th and he was a Capricorn.

You might say he's been some kind of a fixture in my life--my dad has been mentioning him to me since grade school, telling me to "read Edgar Allan Poe" at least once a year, I might say. "The Cask of Amontillado" and "The Fall of the House of Usher" were familiar stories to me, thanks to an old, tattered, browning book my dad gave me to read when I was, I think, in fifth grade. Soon, High School found me listening to more than half of my classmates reciting "Annabel Lee," with the requisite gestures (how on earth is one supposed to "gesture-ize" that poem? but then again, it was required, so they didn't have much choice) in front of a hard-to-please teacher. I, ever the deviant, chose Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's "A Psalm of Life" for the precise reason that less than a handful of us chose said poem. Plus, yeah, I've always adored Longfellow. Have you read his "The Day Is Done"? It kicks ass!

Back to Poe.

"And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before..."

My undergraduate thesis, too, was unable to escape from this drunken writer of horror, whose own life was painted brown and gray and dreary by squalor and poverty. My topic being Strange Fiction, he inevitably found his way on the pages I was writing.

"Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before..."

It is, therefore, not difficult for me to understand why, between Margaret Talbot's "Brain Gain: The underground world of “neuroenhancing” drugs", where I didn't even get to finish page 2, and the feature on Poe, I had more patience--make that "interest," even "eagerness" (okay, okay, so making up my mind over which word to use has always been a challenge for me!)--to devour the latter.

And, yeah, according to the text, it is to his Dupin character that we can trace the Sherlock Holmeses, the Nancy Drews, the Hardy Boys, and all the sleuths--and wanna-be-sleuths--of this world.

Hah.

I had second thoughts about posting his picture, such a sour, sad-looking fellow he was. But what the heck, genius lies behind that dark visage!

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil - prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

*all poem fragments taken from Poe's "The Raven"-

Royce

This


is pure heaven.
Now, I finally understand why people are lining up for said chocolate at the Power Plant Mall, Rockwell.

And I got it for free, gift-wrapped and hand-delivered, to boot!
A million thanks to V-- and Ate K--!

Lit Geek Update #15: Last Book I Read

After weeks of installment reading, I finally finished:


My take on it? It's Gabriel Garcia Marquez.
Enough said.

Food

I have just come fresh from blog-hopping and all these people writing about food really get to my nerves--or, my stomach! I don't like apple pie but reading about how (supposedly) yummy it is makes me wonder whether I've been too hasty in judging it. I'm suddenly craving for oyster cake and baked lasagna and stuffed portobello mushrooms and it's only been an hour since I had breakfast! Incidentally, the Tuguegarao longganisa I ate was yummy and along with spicy vinegar generously sprinkled with salt, it's hi-blood special, but what the heck, it was darn good, anyway. Yesterday, Ate K-- gave me Royce chocolates for Mother's Day. It's in the fridge right now...maybe time for a bite?

Food, food, food. But wait, there's more.

For most of last week, in the office, I've been having Hungarian sausage with buttered toast for lunch. Thirty minutes before that hour, I'd be almost giddy with excitement for said fare and then, thirty minutes into that hour, I'd be pushing my plate away, half of the meal still on the plate. My friend K-- would mutter how I never finish my food and then would dig into my left-overs and S-- would prod me, "finish your food, Shan, You need to eat." Yesterday, while I was out with the kids, I ordered sizzling tenderloin tips and ended up eating only a fourth of the Java rice and almost choking from trying to force myself to finish the ulam. During dinner, I merely picked on the roast beef and fish fillet I had on my plate. The host kept asking me to go for seconds and I had a hard time trying to smile and say "yes, later, thank you," knowing there weren't to be any seconds or thirds for me.

I have that takaw-tingin syndrome that is on its way to becoming worse. A few days ago, a colleague told me I was losing too much weight, which surprised me because every look in the mirror would leave me extremely dissatisfied about my arms (and I was wearing a sleeveless top that day). Anyway, I said "thank you" and he was, like, "what's there to thank me for? You look unhealthy and stressed. Eat!" And I just chuckled and told him that I liked being skinny and he just shook his head and muttered something about not understanding girls and their obsession with skinniness.

But seriously, now, I think I want those chocolates.

That Top 5 Thingie c/o Facebook

On FB, today, I tinkered, once more, with the "Top 5 Things" thingie (love this application!) and, so far, here are two of the lists I came up with...

Top 5 Thigs I Hate To Love That Everyone Else Seems to Like:
1. The Da Vinci Code
2. Paulo Coelho books
3. "Twilight" (movie)
4. the beach
5. Cosmopolitan mag
(note on the list: might offend a lot of peeps here, but hey, to each his own, right? Peace, y'all!)

My Top 5 Dream Jobs:
1. Opera singer
2. writer
3. Broadway actress
4. Museum curator
5. dancer
(note on the list: basta art at pagiging maarte, go ako jan! And look where I am working... in a bank! Ah, the ironies of life and living.)

It's the weekend, my dears! What have ya got cookin'?
=)

Mercury Retrogrades... Again

It being a stormy day and all, life in the office was all sunshine-y today. In some random way, things seemed to be falling into place--I, the people around me, the things around me. Some sort of realignment was taking place and I was happy to find myself in harmony with the rest of the planets--er, world, I mean.

And then I came across this site, from which I read that today, May 7th, Mercury retrogrades for the second time this year. I knew, of course, that this meant heavy rains of the usual system breakdowns falling on us all for the rest of the month (Mercury "turns direct" May 30th) but was puzzled by this particular part of the write-up, which made me look back at, and reassess, how my day really went:

"When Mercury retrogrades, we find that many parts of our life are being revised. Often these revisions can be a surprise or throw us back a step. However, these revisions which occur during a Mercury retrograde, are a "course correction" and provide a stop gap measure until we can review situations. During this time of revision, change is compounded and confusion is created by our reactions to the ever-changing situations. Thus anything started during this time will ultimately be taken back or even revised further, making for a high-frustration time. This will be especially true with changing our minds, reviewing new ideas and our communication being improved and honed so not to be misunderstood.

The best mode to be in during a Mercury retrograde is one of "non-reaction", and with air signs being impacted, things will be changing continually during a Mercury retrograde. Treat the time period as a time of gathering information, yet because the information will be in constant change it would be like trying to comb your hair in a wind storm. Best to wait until the changes stop before attempting to make things orderly. Therefore, just let the winds of situations blow around you without reacting. Once Mercury turns direct, take a look at the information that is still around at that time and go about putting everything in order, while maintaining the fine art of flexibility."

Call me superstitious. Because I am.
=)

Waiting for Dave

Dave Matthews Band, "Big Whiskey and the Groogrux King"
Release date: June 2, 2009

Check.

I've crossed out this movie from my to-watch list.



Why?

Because I've already seen it, that's why.
=)

Like "Taken," this movie is astig, just as long as the know-it-alls don't bend hell just so they could put in that credibility-and-storyline-and-serious-talk shit.

Seriously.

Synecdoche, New York

A: That was stupefying. Downright stupefying.
B: I know. Kaufman's movies always, always make me think. But this has got to be the worst! Damn that guy!
A: (laughs)
B: Initially, the line--if there was one, initially, that is--between reality and otherwise was imperceptible. Then it appeared, just enough for one to sense that there was one. And then it kinda opened up, very gradually, until it became a gaping mouth. You know, like this (gesturing with the left hand, in an attempt to illustrate the point). Unbelievable.
A: Cool. You've always been better at words.
B: Oh, yeah? So, we might say that I'm more...what's the word--articulate?
A: Yup. You're more articulate.
B: Which means you're deeper than I am.
A: Oh, yeah? How's that?
B: You know, because the more one talks, the more out there it is. And once it's out there, it stays the way it is. But because you keep it all in, you keep going deeper and deeper and it never really ends. You just keep finding stuff, you know?
A: (laughs) I never thought of it that way.
B: Oh, sure you have. But, hey, did this get shown in the theaters?
A: You mean, here? Hell, no. But in the US, yeah it did.
B: Wasn't a hit, was it?
A: Nope. A movie like that? No way.
B: But what did the critics say?
A: It wasn't as well-received as Kaufman's other films.
B: Hmm..
A: 'Cause it's not really much of a movie experience, you know. More of an art experience. It's too complex. Obtuse, at its worst. Kaufman must still have been on screenwriter mode when he directed this.
B: See, you're articulate, too.
A: (laughs)
B: The ending is just something else. Damn, that was a good one.
A: So, time for Roger Ebert?
B: In a while. So, hey, what about that Genius Grant?
A: Yeah, sure would be great to be given that. Would mean a lot of pressure, though. Did you know that David Foster Wallace had one?
B: Hmm. Probably why he killed himself.

Saturday Night Trippin'

I had to choose, between two movies, which one to watch first. And, after my very high-strung week, I'm glad I chose this:



"I love that you get cold when it's 71 degrees out. I love that it takes you an hour and a half to order a sandwich. I love that you get a little crinkle above your nose when you're looking at me like I'm nuts. I love that after I spend the day with you, I can still smell your perfume on my clothes. And I love that you are the last person I want to talk to before I go to sleep at night. And it's not because I'm lonely, and it's not because it's New Year's Eve. I came here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible." -Harry Burns-

And now, on to this:

All those cliches about merry-go-rounds, roller coasters, wheels, et cetera have more than a grain of truth in them: round things do turn; circles make cycles; cycles go in circles.

If, at any point in our lives, we may have felt that rock-bottom was within reach--or if we've actually touched rock-bottom, or even spent a while lying on its hard, jagged surface--really, don't the hands of the clock always tick towards the left?

Of course, I'm right.

So if your back is touching cold, hard stone today, do look upward--you'll be on your way there, soon.

Might as well get used to the discomfort, though. Better to remember the feel of rock-bottom than to have to start all over in befriending the pain once the next drop comes.

We ask that life be kind...
- from "The Prayer"-

Truth is, we are all children trying to find our way in this world.