sweet as a eucalyptus, terrible as a tempest
visited *loading* times
i want all visitors to leave a comment calling me an idiot in the most creative way they can think of.
to many christians,
just the notion that jesus christ had a child with mary magdalene is blasphemous and an insult to his Godhood/Lordship. that is why the da vinci code is being met with such passionate opposition among religious quarters. (i suppose i can spend time expounding on why the notion is insulting but i think enough arguments have been made on this.)
the christian camp goes: how can a christian allow his/her God to be mocked and keep silent about it?
the rest of the world would go: what's the fuss? it's just fiction!
here's what i think.
i think christians have every right to react on something they believe is an attack to their faith. i mean, why be christians in the first place if they do not defend their beliefs. they should not be condemned for doing so. somehow, i just notice that christians are often criticized, even made fun of, for standing up for what they believe is right and for opposing popular views that they believe are contrary to the Bible. Ban the book and the film? how medieval!
In contrast, attack a Muslim doctrine, do a caricature of Mohammad, and violence results. the bellicose actions are absurd to the non-muslim world; but somehow, there's that allowance of understanding given them. well, that's expected, Mohammad is a deeply revered figure to them so maligning him, even as a joke, is a no no. what would you call a person who publicly pokes fun at Mohammad? and what would you call a person who mocks the way Muslims react to their perceived insult to mohammad? ignorant. irreverent. insensitive ass.
that christians today do not go out waging war against those they consider heretics is a sign of what? that they learned from history and do not want a second inquisition? apathy and irreverence to their God? that they are now more tolerant? what?
that anybody can curse Jesus and not be sentenced to death is a sign of what? Jesus curses are everywhere, including mainstream/popular culture.
is anyone as free to do the same to Mohammad?
these are things i do not understand.
anyway, i don't believe in censorship. and i believe that christians themselves, before speaking out against anything, should first be informed firsthand of what that anything is about. how can you react objectively to something you haven't seen or read?
but i also think this religious tolerance is slanted a bit against christianity. is it because most of the western imperial first world is "christian" and therefore not deserving of the same understanding as the others? i don't know.
but if we preach religious tolerance, then none of the god figures of any religion deserve any mockery. criticism yes. but not mockery.
***
so is the movie good? i haven't seen it. i can't say i liked the book either. historical and research inaccuracies aside, i found the plot interesting, but the storytelling reminiscent of a Tagalog telenovela.
but i semi-enjoyed that the book reminded me of me. i was a perennial presence in there. i was part of the code. heck, i was the code. he he.
Wednesday, 23 June 2004
Upstairs.
The house was not so very immensely (add more adjectives that denote big size here) spacious; or maybe it is. nobody knows for sure. the place seemed to expand as one walks along the hall to the many rooms that divide the upper level, or the bathrooms.
there were four sets of bathrooms on the second floor alone. Unlike the common bathrooms where the shower/bathtub and toilet bowl are separated by a curtain or sliding door, here the shower and toilet are in separate rooms. perhaps the owner anticipated a sizeable amount of human traffic in the house, and made sure that while four people are doing their business, four others may bathe or shower at the same time.
it could also be that the owner detests wet toilet floors.
of course, this poses a small inconvenience for some who'd like to bathe immediately after taking care of business. well, it's not their house, so nobody complained.
You may be wondering how people in this house can bathe, poop or pee in privacy with everything being see-through. I don't know either. they pretty much minded their own businesses in that house unless they were in the same room together.
in one of these bathrooms, Techie Idiot -- Techie to friends who thought it best not to remind Techie of her technological incapacity with every mention of the name -- was pampering herself with a Shu Uemura ginseng mudpack (to tighten the pores) and a chocolate head treatment for her long silky ebony-black tresses while soaking in the tub. She was tired after playing delivery crew for the day.
"What do you say, rubber ducky, do you think i'm vain?" Techie asked the toy she was holding with both hands.
The rubber ducky looked like it was afraid to answer. Either that or it couldn't answer. Techie's hold was tight around the neck. Smart ducky.
Techie realized she forgot to put in bath salts. She went to get the container resting by the sink. As she stepped out of the tub she noticed her toenail polish was chipping. "Hmm...time to get yourself a new pedicure Techie!" she said to herself, admiring her foot.
That's when she noticed three people sitting on the counter, directly below her. A caucasian woman, an oriental slightly younger woman, and a south asian man eating rich red round thingies like there was no tomorrow.
"Wai--hey!! Are those my--!" she exclaimed, dumbfounded.
She kneeled down and started banging on the floor with her fists. "Mic! Likewise! Harriene!!! Those are my tomatoes!!!"
She started for the door, then decided she didn't want anyone to see her with all that gunk on her face. "At least leave some for me...," her voice trailed as she watched Mictlan, Likewise and Harriene chewing in sweet surrender. Unbeknownst to Techie, her ebony-black hair has turned auburn.
"Darnit. As Kerastase is the best treatment for my hair I shall get you for this!!"
***
the end?
You ask how automated sliding doors get fingerprints and this is the answer: when somebody forgets to turn it back on after cleaning, that's how.
Harriene and Mictlan stirred, sitting up. "Ouch," they chimed in unison, rubbing their own foreheads. "What happened?" they asked at the same time. "What did you say? I can't hear you!" they shouted together. With ten inch glass doors in between them, perhaps it would be somewhat difficult to hear one another.
Mictlan stood up and switched on the doors. It parted in the middle as Harriene stepped into the house. "Darn it, who turned off the doors?" asked Harriene, annoyed. "Are you okay Mic? Sorry, I made you damay* didn't I?
"Oh, that's okay. ~grin~ Hey, bumping into glass doors is more fun when done with company, eh?"
Harriene laughed. "Yeah! What say we head to the kitchen and ice our poor heads?"
"Lead the way!"
They went to the kitchen to find Likewise shooting icing down her throat. The cake on the counter had a conspicuous hole on one side.
"Likewise!" called out Harriene and Mictlan.
"Holy crap," cried Likewise in a muffled voice. "Go ahead and startle me! Geez!" She swallowed the icing, and noticed Harriene and Mictlan's swelling foreheads. "What happened to you?!"
"Had an encounter with the door," explained Mictlan, walking to the fridge to get some ice.
The refrigerator was a one-door G.E., old and durable. As seen in many households, one-door fridges open to reveal a freezer with an inner door on top, three shelves under the freezer, two baskets under that for veggies, and eggs and water bottle compartments at the door.
Mictlan, however, saw nothing but neatly stacked fresh red tomatoes. "Say, that girl Aimee Rae, she was here wasn't she?"
"She was. She did that," replied Likewise, flashing a smile in amusement, revealing a nice set of sapphirey blues.
"Gee, Likewise, you do add a whole new meaning to BlueTooth technology..." started Harriene.
"Whatever do you mean?" asked Likewise.
"Smile here to find out," said Harriene, flashing a compact mirror in Likewise's face.
"ARRGH! Ohmigosh! What shame, what disgrace!" lamented Likewise. "This is all cute hubby's fault. If he didn't have to go away I wouldn't be baking him a cake. Oh well, nothing the treadmill and dentist couldn't solve."
Mictlan took a large tomato from the freezer, grabbed a knife and sliced it in half.
"Hey those are Techie's tomatoes!" warned Likewise.
"I'm sure Techie won't mind," said Mictlan. "Here Harriene, catch this," pitching her the other half as he placed his half on his swollen forehead. The firm, ice-cold flesh soothed the pain.
But tomatoes are juicy and messy. Not a minute later, Mictlan and Harriene found their faces dripping from tomato sap, the cold juice flowing slowly down their eyes, the bridge of their nose, their cheeks, their mouth.
"YUM!!" exclaimed Harriene. "This tomato is sweet!"
She opened the fridge, got one plump red tomato and took a bite. "This is really good. I'm sure Techie won't mind sharing some of her tomatoes, there must be a bushel in there (munch munch).
"Look at her go, now i'm envious!" said Likewise. "Let's have some too Mic!"
All three sat there, eating tomato after tomato after tomato after tomato after tomato after tomato after tomato after tomato after tomato after tomato after tomato after tomato after tomato after tomato after tomato after tomato after tomato after tomato after tomato after tomato after tomato after tomato after tomato after tomato after tomato after tomato after tomato after tomato after tomato after tomato after tomato after tomato after tomato after tomato after tomato after tomato after tomato after tomato.
Harriene: (Munch), turning twenty-five wouldn't be so bad with rosy white cheeks, eh? (munch munch munch)
Likewise: Yeah, cute hubby will be surprised to find a new radiant looking me when he gets back! (munch munch munch)
Mictlan: Maybe if eunmi ate some (munch) of these her hands will finally become softer than her boss's, ya think? (munch munch munch)
Harriene: Yeah. And maybe her hair (munch munch) would stop turning grey too.
Likewise: Where is (munch) eunmi, anyway?
*damay (DA-mye): to get someone into trouble with you.
22 June 2004
Mictlan debated with himself for a second. Shall I go see what happened to Harriene or shall I stay here and revel in the holiness of the wee hours?
*glow glow. glow. glow glow* went the firefly's behind, seemingly in answer.
"Hey, I never said I was nice," retorted Mictlan.
Of course, if he would just look down (glass!) he would see that Harriene was lying on the floor unconscious; which he did by the way. "God! Maybe she was having dyspnea!" he cried in concern. For underneath that tough-guy, bad-boy facade is a man with a heart of pink.
He wheezed past Gongli and Haze, who appeared to be in a time loop and still doing Deck the Halls, and scrambled down the stairs to where Harriene was and
BLAG!!!
nah,
BOOG!!! (i like boog)
Here is where we lay our scene, two youngish adults, almost side by side, lying on the floor, as dead.
Monday, 21 June 2004
Mictlan caught a glimpse of movement toward the house, a few kilometers away. The silent night made the softest sound perfectly audible. The insane amount of caffeine and nicotine in his system also made him extremely alert.
"Shortness of breath...I'm having (pant) an anxiety attack (pant pant pant)!" cried Harriene out loud, to herself, a little worried. Actually, a lot worried. "If my object-oriented analysis is right, this is caused by pinchy sweety (pant pant) co-worker's constant harrassment."
"What's the hurry, Harriene?" called out Mictlan.
"AAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!" shrieked Harriene.
No one can blame Harriene for screaming. If you saw a humanish silhouette with red and green eyes ten feet above ground, and it suddenly spoke, you would react in the same way too, I suppose.
"Oh, it's only you," replied Harriene, slowly gaining composure but doesn't stop walking. "Gosh Mic, you gave me a fright! Can't you see I'm having dyspnea?"
"Well maybe, if you slow down a bit ... "
"I'll be all right. I just need to get inside." By this time Harriene was almost at the doors, Mictlan out of sight. She stepped on the porch, itching to get inside as soon as possible. Looking ahead, she called out, "See you in a wh--"
BAG!!!
or
BOOG!!
(a little help, please. am not really good at SFX)
"Harriene!" called Mictlan, "are you okay?!"
21 June 2004
"Incredibly organized?" bargained BD as he climbed the transparent stairs but Aimee Rae's attention was solely on the nasty smudges to bother answering. Looking up, BD saw Gongli, still playing the piano, and Haze, still fahaha-hahaha-hahahaing with gusto. Hmm, this place doesn't give anyone much privacy, does it? he thought.
The house was literally made entirely of glass and therefore as see-through as air, especially with Aimee Rae crusading in the house. The transparency bothered no one, apparently; in fact, this was the first time that somebody noticed.
Sunday, 20 June 2004
BD distinctly remembers that the living room was a mess when he left it this morning. He could not afford to fall behind schedule, so he left everything he was working on, including his morning paper and coffee mug scattered all over the place. "Ohmigod, my notes!"
Just then, Aimee Rae walked into the room, a squidgy on one hand and a bottle of Windex on the other. "Were all that mess yours? I fixed them, they're over there on the corner table. Sorry, i knew they weren't mine, but i just couldn't stand the mess."
If the "Mark as Unread" option in email clients were to take a human form, it would be Aimee Rae. BD went over to the corner table, relieved to find everything intact, and more. The newspaper he had read this morning --he can see his doodles, and the defaced picture of Loren Legarda -- was so crisply folded he could've sworn it had never been touched at all. His notes were--
"That's a nice script you got there," said Aimee Rae, interrupting his thoughts. "Anyway, the pages with the white paper clips are your first draft, including side notes, summary, sequence treatment, etc. Second draft is in red, and the third is in blue. That way, you'd easily know which is which."
--color-coded. "Wow," said BD in almost speechless awe. "I've never met anybody this...anal."
"Excuse me," said Aimee Rae, holding a finger up in protest. "Only my boss is allowed to call me that. But thanks. Now if you'll excuse me once more, i'm off to clean the grimy doors. Doesn't anybody clean this house? I did not come here to play housekeeper, you know..."
With that, Aimee Rae turned off the automated sliding doors and started spritzing and wiping. "Fingerprints?!" she muttered, shaking her head. "How do automated doors get fingerprints?!"
The house.
The word house does not aptly describe the spacious, two-storey structure that BD just stepped into. For one, the walls, doors, roof, shingles, chimney...er, why don't we just say it was made entirely of ten-inch thick fiberglass. Every inch, save for the automated sliding doors, was texturized, so that from afar, the glass house looks like an ice castle.
When you step inside, however, the house feels nowhere near icy. it had the warmth of a rural home, like a Tagaytay resthouse, or a winter cabin.
"All right, what happened here?!" BD wondered aloud.
almost two years ago, when i apparantly did little else than to read blogs, i wrote the motime tales starring some of the most celebrated motime personalities of the time.
aside from enjoying what i wrote, i still do not know what inspired me to write them in the first place. I never got past the eighth installment. i think i got too busy. lost my muse. maybe that was the time the blood was starting to get sucked out of me.
so here they are again.
Friday, 18 June 2004
It is almost midnight.
Gongli sits by the piano His fingers feel the familiar ivory keys and starts playing one of the more complicated exercises of John Hanon. His eyes are transfixed on the piece, but his mind was on Hemingway, women, and non-Euclidian geometry. Midway into the exercise his fingers segue to a familiar Christmas carol.
Haze, still elated from her new found economic freedom, abruptly stood up to provide vocal accompaniment to the song. "Deck the halls with boughs of holly, fahahahaha hahahaha..."
December breeze carried the music outside the house, to the aerie where Mictlan spends his midnight smoke. He ~grins~ at the firefly perched on his open palms. "'Tis the season to be jolly, liebchen."
"Whoa, somebody's happy," Banzai Descent called out from below. "Hay naku!" he cried emphatically, "I need a fifteen minute break!" and went into the house.
hey look, i brought my ID this time. i really am sorry for being curt last time, but you know, i find your questioning my signature ludicrous since i am almost a weekly presence in your branch. it's very hard to smile at a person with a disapproving look and one who doesn't smile back. but now that i think about it, maybe it was also hard for you to smile at me as i wasn't smiling either.
you have a new teller. he's male and he smiles a lot, so i smiled back too. not that i think about it again, your female tellers hardly smiled at me.
is it that women do not smile at each other? is there a social gender dynamic at play here? it puzzles me. i have never observed this until now.
but i smile. i smile a lot. when i'm in the mood. which i'm in most of the time. i think. i smile at everyone. regardless of sex. and stature. i smile to hide my hurt. embarrassment. pain. ignorance. annoyance. apathy. i smile at everything.
except when i start not to care. in which case i will frown. at you. at the admin officer. at the secretary. at the apothecarist. at quasi boss.
i've been so pulled down i forget to smile genuinely.
and maybe it shows
that there is no smile in my eyes and in my voice.
