We ask that life be kind...

Without a doubt, my favorite version.

Thanksgiving, 2011

party theme

Congo Grill, West Gate, Alabang

Registration peeps

The boys, first

Then, the girls

party peeps

The audience

Photo shoot, as always

Joni Mitchell-ing on this rainy evening..

Oh starbright, starbright
You've got the lovin' that I like, all right...

Up there's a heaven
Down there is a town

Blackness everywhere and little lights shine
Oh, blackness, blackness dragging me down
Come on light the candle in this poor heart of mine...

-This Flight Tonight

Vacillating vixens. Meandering mannequins. Grappling grizzlies. Pixies' pinkies. Clamoring clarinets. Magnets magnified. Smiling smokers. Flaming fleets. Spiny spinsters. Cruising in crowds. Marinating marsupials. Demarcated demographics. Harping harlequins. Sleepy slopes.

Coffee and Christmas

(photo from Coffee Mood)

I treated myself to a tall Toffee Nut Latte for my first taste of Christmas at Starbucks. Toffee Nut is the only one in their Christmas series that I buy. This particular cup comforted me. The very mild coffee jolt, the hint of toffee, the nutty aftertaste -- all blended in with my after-work exhaustion and turned into a homey, peaceful feeling. The day seemed in no hurry to begin, no thanks to the gray clouds smearing up the sky, no thanks to the drizzle which, however much intending to be propitious, still seemed like an unwelcome intruder to most, me included. Like most people, I have an aversion to rain. It depresses me, dulls my energy, slumps me down to melancholia. But this morning, the coffee acted as balm. The aches didn't seem as salient.

And so, I sipped away, thinking of the blue-and-silver tree in the office, loving the lack of greens and reds and yellows in it, wondering if this Christmas was going to hold any magic, at all.

Domestic Diva -- Not!

I know, I know. I should have come up with a better title, but the first word that came to mind was "domestic", and then I naturally thought of Nigella Lawson and her irritatingly perfect dishes, and then I thought, no, I will never be an inch close to that good, hence, the word "not".

So, anyway, today, I learned that to make old champagne extra bubbly, you have to drop a raisin into the glass. Not that I'm a champagne drinker (heck, I say "no" to most drinks), just that I found it interesting, the things one can do to "repair" things. I was blog-hopping while working up another experiment in pasta, and I found that bit of information over at Joanna Goddard's blog.

I'm not much for measuring stuff when I cook, so each dish comes out different, every time. I've had hits and misses, but thank god I've had more of the former than the latter. I know what I want, so I generally just follow my instincts, throwing in a bit of this, or a generous helping of that, without forgetting the basics, of course. I like  putting in loads of garlic, and I get a thrill from watching the bits sizzle when thrown into the hot oil, love the smell they sweat out just a few seconds into the swim. I've mastered the art of sprinkling in just the perfect amount of minced pepper, whereas I used to wreck dishes with putting in too much of it. It's still touch-and-go in the al dente pasta part, but I manage. How elementary, but hey, these are the stuff cooking is made of. Oh, yeah, and I love putting in melted cheese and cream of mushroom in to just about any pasta dish I whip up. I had planned on a cheese-and-cream-of-mushroom macaroni earlier, but because the original sauce came out just a tad too salty, in went the tomato sauce. I'd have to say it turned out pretty well, despite the rocky start.

Cheers!

And, oh, yeah, gotta have music with the cookin', otherwise, it's just another chore.
=)

Good night

"...morning is the soul's night." 
—  David Foster Wallace,  Infinite Jest

Twilight rouses the soul from its slumber, and the soul stays awake all night. The mind accedes precedence, the heart submits. Thoughts, so carefully kept in check, and emotions, fenced in with circumspect, get free reign, run amuck in the darkness, find solace in the promise of moonlight, mill about with the stars...

The senses keen up, taking toll on the body. The body is helpless, eclipsed by shadows.

The soul dominates. And the soul is a difficult master.

How am I?

Let's see.

So, I've: added Hershey's milk chocolate with almonds and Green Cross hand sanitizer to my grocery list and Escada Ocean Lounge to my favorite perfumes; scrapped Kylie Minogue from my playlist, replaced her with Sarah Jarosz and Melody Gardot; spent less time in heels; been watching stupid comedies for relief and relaxation; and toned down my tendency to seethe and pounce when I don't get my way. Well, I still seethe, but not as much. At least, I don't pounce anymore.

Aside from that, I still: listen to Jazz for those I-wanna-feel-smart moments; read Rilke, Louise Gluck, Conchitina Cruz, and Mookie Katigbak-Lacuesta for my poetry fix; am addicted to "Glee"; think that pink lipstick is pretty; depend on my stash of music to lift me from despondency; wallow in despondency and don't see it changing, at least not anytime soon; adore Lea Salonga; look to the moon for inspiration; wear cuffs, the bigger, the better; think that a narrow mind is a sad, sad mind; keep on finding myself stuck between rocks and hard places. And there is an item here on this second list that I badly wish I could cross out, but it seems that more waiting has to be done, in order for me to do so.

Anyway, dear reader, how've you been?

The night stretches out before me, the hours small from where I am, the shadows innocuous, the dark presenting no threats, but only from where I am, I am quite aware of that. My mind is occupied with the music in the background, calmed by the light in this place, at peace with the smallness of this sphere, undisturbed in this solitude.

Let the tranquility stay, for as long as the great schemes of this universe will allow.

Is that too much to ask?

If the line forms to the right, chances are, you'll find me on the left. Surely there'll be one, or two, others there, on the line, with me?

If not, then, let me be by my lonesome self. I figure that's where all these are going, anyway.

I don't know what my point is.

As usual.

I want to write about

moonlight and cool breezes and my favorite perfume and gold-colored flip-flops and sunlight in the morning and pink curtains and teal nail polish and mauve sunsets and benign raindrops and dewdrops on blooms and internet connection and talks over coffee and baby powder and thick, fluffy pillows and flowers and vanilla and drowsy afternoons and the sound of strings over hushed conversations, and pink quartz and fairy dust and fuchsia and purple and Daphne's flight and Breakfast at Tiffany's and happy endings and Rilke and Eeyore and clean sheets and nice-smelling towels and love and violins and weddings near the sea and mild waves against waiting rocks and Oscar the Grouch and shoe boxes and baskets of freshly-baked bread and newly-trimmed fingernails and walks in the park and green grass and Shakespeare and things...

Instead, I write about you, and I write about me.