i kind of dig hugh laurie and his dr.gregory house character. too bad, he was snubbed for an emmy this year. why not him instead of peter krause? six feet under was great but at the end, alan ball showed us that only a gay couple is capable of a happily ever after. what was wrong in giving brenda and nate a happy ending? but in house, this line is so true, “why is it that when you are dying everybody seems to love you?” or when berger guest starred, i mean when ron livingston guest starred, house quipped, “do you think he goes to africa to serve the poor, no, because he wants all the attention,” or something to that effect. reminds me of team jolie.
also, at the emmy’s, kelly mcdonald nabbed a supporting actress trophy in a miniseries or movie for the girl in the café. her name is so run of the mill that i forgot she was the young lady who made me watch trainspotting. i read an interview of her last year in the evening standard magazine for her role in nanny mcphee. she narrated how trainspotting became her very first acting job and she wasn’t coy with the frontal nudity. how old was she? maybe 16 or 17 when danny boyle chose her for the schoolgirl part who was ewan mcgregor‘s love interest? she was down to earth in that ES interview, quite oblivious to the fact that she was part of one great film. i haven’t seen trainspotting before i read that ES piece that i watched it immediately when i got the time and felt it was such an artistic endeavor, a cautionary tale, not a way of life. anyway, mcdonald’s speech at the emmy’s was poignant, in all its scottish glory.
TV’s fall season is upon us. there are tons of shows to look forward to. i wouldn’t have the time in the world to watch even my slumbook favorites. but late september in the states is january here, in the UK. may is may though as there are no re-runs in between. fingers crossed, this time next year, hugh laurie would be nominated or even win an emmy. is that too much to ask? now back to snoozing.
(photo from yahoo.com)
as fate would have it, none of my friends follow sports. my brothers are quite articulate with the subject. but they’re guys and guys are expected to have an inkling about the discipline. it’s in their DNA. aside from my significant other, who can distinguish raul bravo from raul gonzales blanco, i have no one to talk to, whenever tiger woods reaches another milestone. like that playoff win over stewart cink in Ohio. after that stumble at the US Open, tiger emerged from his bereavement on fire, capturing two majors. 52 titles in twelve countries, 12 majors at the age of 30, one great decade. surely, the people’s champion and his fans are not amused.
but i was more than amused, more ecstatic than you can imagine, when jun limpot finally won his first PBA title. thirteen years, it took him. he’s no longer the franchise player. his teammates are like ten years younger. one of them, marc pingris, is going out with danica sotto. and i always think of dina bonnevie’s children as little kids. i knew it occurred in july but still feels like a dream, so there. i got to shift loyalties every time limpot makes his move — from sta. lucia to ginebra to purefoods. i asked for his autograph three times, the last one was ten years ago when he was with SLR. i don’t really have a chance to watch the PBA the last few years but in this highly-interactive world, information travels fast. but sans TFC or the likes, i rely merely on texts and prints. moving live images are hard to come by from my quarters. sports telecasts may be easily accessible with a click of a button, but sleep and tiredness always comfortably wins me over. thus i feel like losing a part of my existence. yes, i have to read more on NBA players named kirk hinrich of the Bulls or chris paul of the Hornets and watch a bit of world basketball championship. the sad thing though, it’s not on my regular telly. plus i’m still in the concentration camp so i cannot waver even for a little while.
in the darker side of sports, the recent reports on floyd landis and justine gatlin are not exactly good read. their sports are on top on the list of obsessive drug testings. it would have been better for landis to not have won the tour de france but not show excessive testosterone in the cup rather than the other way around. but what happened, happened. and greg lemond rambles on.
andre agassi is staging his farewell at the US Open. once and always never dull, from his ephemeral girlfriends like barbra streisand to his sprite adverts. if not for some unavoidable drawbacks, he could have won more slams than his current eight. he’s in a tie with roger federer, also with eight, but federer’s only 25. even if i tip andy murray, rafael nadal or andy roddick to win in flushing meadows, it would probably still be federer.
Using the wrong tense never fails to creep through my work. Or the dangling modifiers. There is this crazy perplexity on prepositions. But the good side of this blog culture is that one can edit till eternity. We are not perfect. I make so many mistakes that it takes months before I can pinpoint blemishes in the flow of words. But I relish the editing as much as the writing. There’s this cozy comfort in making words more resplendent. And if several of my friends discover flaws in my so-called paragraphs, it’s kind of embarrassing. Nevertheless, I just keep my fingers crossed it wouldn’t be that bad or awful, that I could still make room for rectifications and amendments.
To help me harness the miscalculated sentences would be to catch up with my readings. In between filling up the washer and watching the Gilmore Girls marathon at Hallmark, I have to finish that long-forgotten Women in Love by DH Lawrence. Does that mean Bill Clinton have to wait, again? Maybe. Juggling Kafka, DH Lawrence and Bill Clinton, sprinkled with a touch of TS Eliot, would be somehow manageable. Or I would just ignore them altogether and drift off, get some grip with the thing called, the day job.
In the midst of programmed chores, the backlog of readings managed to accumulate. But the business agenda is the priority. With all the errands to run and things to do, flipping through Women in Love is not even on top of the list (image from amazon.com).
it has been almost three years. and to paraphrase carrie bradshaw, “their absence is palpable.” all we’ve got of both friends and sex and the city now, are reruns and the dvd’s. there are no more new episodes.
as i was contemplating going to the medics a few days ago, scared to death i might fall in the wayward hill due to blurry visions and dizziness, i was thinking, i don’t have a carrie to call for my samantha. or a monica or a phoebe to lean on for my rachel. aside from being witty, ( or hilarious when it comes to friends) both shows were mostly about kinship. my friends are great. they’re amazing. some of them live across the pond, unreachable from my landscape sans for the e-mails and sporadic phone calls. the ones within a 20-mile radius would probably sit with me at the doctor’s clinic, if i was not only hesitant to give them a ring. but as observed, our colleagues are very much saddled with work and if there are any free time for some, they mostly spend it doing their chores or soak in their indulgences if they’re fortunate.
in sex and the city, the girls are wealthy, with jobs we all love to have. they can afford their chanels and manolo blahniks. they own apartments in the prized locations in manhattan. in friends, they were not as deeply absorbed into glamour as the girls of SATC but those were surely magnificent digs. yes, monica and rachel, and chandler and joey had to share space in the first four seasons, but they got along so well that there were no kitchen awkwardness and living room issues.
all in all, they were not real. carrie bradshaw couldn’t have accumulated a hundred manolos, jimmy choos and chritian louboutins on a columnist’s salary. or phoebe must have bumped into a fortune to be able to afford her living quarters. in the real world, we all have to buckle down and till the soil until our hands are rough and dry. sometimes we bleed, or i bleed as i usually do. we do not sit at a coffee shop every day. or have weekly brunch with a coterie dolled-up in expensive outfits. but we surely do love watching their antics on the small screen 
(photos from friends-tv.org and flakmag.com).
mel gibson’s drunk-driving arrest and jessica zafra’s 2004 column on the passions of the christ (copied and pasted on her blog) didn’t actually deter me from all things mel gibson. the mug shot had me asking questions not of his anti-semitic rant but whether or not he was the same mel gibson of the year of living dangerously, or let’s see, tequilla sunrise. when you were one of those beauties heralded with the title sexiest man alive, would you feel obligated to live a lifestyle like brad pitt, look at the mirror every second of the day and still look stunning at 60? i’ve read paul newman makes sure sure his eyes are on their bluest blue when he makes public appearances. but who cares about looks when you’re already ancient, weak, feeble and incontinent? every one, except for princess diana and company, becomes wrinkled eventually. it should be that the kindness of our hearts should reflect our outside appearances. but that is not always true, it’s more of the other way around.
anyway, disney will still distribute apocalypto. and i haven’t seen an image of any of gibson’s seven kids, just to see if one of them has inherited dad’s bone structure. well, just like the rest of the voyeuristic world, i haven’t caught a glimpse of suri either (photo from fortunecity.com).
also, at the emmy’s, kelly mcdonald nabbed a supporting actress trophy in a miniseries or movie for the girl in the café. her name is so run of the mill that i forgot she was the young lady who made me watch trainspotting. i read an interview of her last year in the evening standard magazine for her role in nanny mcphee. she narrated how trainspotting became her very first acting job and she wasn’t coy with the frontal nudity. how old was she? maybe 16 or 17 when danny boyle chose her for the schoolgirl part who was ewan mcgregor‘s love interest? she was down to earth in that ES interview, quite oblivious to the fact that she was part of one great film. i haven’t seen trainspotting before i read that ES piece that i watched it immediately when i got the time and felt it was such an artistic endeavor, a cautionary tale, not a way of life. anyway, mcdonald’s speech at the emmy’s was poignant, in all its scottish glory. 
