Thursday, July 28, 2005

My Type

Allow me to boast for I have once again faced my fear of needles. This time, I got pierced without grabbing on to any human being—a first, thus making me extra proud of myself.

So it was just a prick. But if you are aware of the extent of my aversion towards anything that challenges my “painophobia”, you’d say this prick and me facing it, almost by myself, is a big leap. Just imagine, it took me 25 years just to know my blood type! That’s long.

Ask me what my type is and I can tell you, straight in the eye, that it is AB. Ha! Ha! I can’t get over the fact that I know. I no longer have to speculate. I no longer have to hypothesize the result of A+AB. Because I know. I know. Hah!

The fluid that circulates inside me is the one referred to as the universal recipient. Health refresher course: A person with a blood type of AB can receive any type of blood—A, B, O, or AB. However, s/he cannot give away blood to anyone other than those with AB. That means I’m one of the “taker” type. I take from everyone but give only to my kind. Now that’s blood with an attitude!

Friday, July 22, 2005

The Better Affair


Someone just topped my Jude Law Affair! Her name is Daisy Wright and she is Jude Law’s children’s nanny—a really good nanny who is gifted with the ability to provide a graphic description of her and Jude’s steamy moment (and I almost felt sorry for her). Yes, I heard of the news, if not scandal and, although I am no one relevant to the people involved, I will break my silence.

My initial reaction was, “Can I be his children’s nanny?” Of course, I was being funny.

Then somebody asked me what I would do if I were in Sienna Miller’s (Jude Law’s fiancée) place—as if it were plausible. Hey, it’s Jude Law we’re talking about! His looks alone make him a perfect catch! I wouldn’t let go of him—ever! Of course, I’m still being funny.

The thing is, Jude Law is Jude Law and I am who I am. He is lovely alright, but not lovely enough to make me forget about me. Think this way: I hooked up with a Jude Law because I wanted to make myself happy. He just made my life miserable; therefore I get rid of him. Besides, women do not live on looks alone; they also subsist on the genuine and pure type of love.

If every woman would think this way, battered wife/girlfriend will face extinction—probably the biggest leap to womanity since women suffrage. Only then will I thank Jude Law for fooling around with the nanny.

Saturday, July 9, 2005

The Jude Law Affair



I am smitten by this balding gorgeous British man named Jude Law. For that, I am devoting this space for him.





I first learned of Jude Law’s existence through the movie, The Talented Mr. Ripley. No, he was not Mr. Ripley; he was murdered by Mr. Ripley. I did not pay much attention to this movie since I did not particularly like the actor who played Mr. Ripley, Matt Damon. For that I hate Matt Damon more. I almost missed Jude Law because of him.





Next was through A.I. where I heard Jude Law more than I saw him. It happened at the time when I was reduced to multitask in order to be productive during my leisure hours. Blame college. The only Jude Law retention I got was his soothing Brit accent, and his theatrical acting and android look.




Jude Law got to me via Enemy at the Gates. It was somewhat voluntary on his part. He would always be on screen whenever I was traveling from Los Baños to Manila or vice versa. At first I did not pay attention to his film because it was a war movie, a genre I am not really a fan of. But seeing Vassili (his character in the movie) aim his rifle at his enemies or at me during my innocent bus rides, I could not help but acknowledge his presence, so to speak. Note that when I say Enemy at the Gates is often shown on the buses I take, I do not mean twice or thrice, but plenty of times such that I almost memorized some of the characters lines.




I am not sure if it was Closer or Cold Mountain that I saw first. In any case I will discuss them both. One can’t help but get closer to Jude Law after watching him in Closer. From being cute, he is elevated to being lovely, so lovely that you’ll be willing to renounce your fidelity to your husband. (To get my point, I suggest you watch the movie.) And to think he was an egotistic dick during most part of the movie—and I don’t have a husband.




My favorite writer, Jessice Zafra, summarized Cold Mountain by saying that it is “about walking and farming. And walking and farming. And walking and farming and…” However it didn’t stop me from seeing this movie. Of course without Jude Law in it I would have preferred to “read” the movie than watch it. Thanks to Inman, Jude Law’s character, you would think he, the actor, has it in him to become a faithful lover, despite Closer and the next movie, Alfie.





By this time I am almost salivating over the sight of the man this whole piece is all about. Alfie is the ultimate feast. I am against all chauvinistic crap but Alfie is an exception. Crucify me! Then again, Alfie had its redeeming values and Alfie Elkins (of course, played by Jude Law), the devilish darling, got what he deserved in the end.




Call it an accidental bump with Jude Law but I watched A Series of Unfortunate Events without really knowing that he was part of the movie. I just found out seconds before I played the VCD, after reading the blurb at the back of the case which says that Jude Law plays Lemony Snicket, the narrator, in the movie. He never appears in the film except for his silhouette which I was skeptical if it was really his. These film producers really know how to tease Jude Law fans! But alas! With the aid of the fast forward and pause button, I have confirmed that Lemony Snicket’s silhouette truly is Jude Law’s.




The final movie on my list (at least for now) is Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow—a cheesy title, much like the way I’m pinning over Mr. Law, a man who don’t have the slightest clue I exist—even after The Talented Mr. Ripley and all the other movies I have enumerated above. You don’t need to love Jude Law in order to love Sky Captain, a new “old movie” filled with primitive high-tech gadgets. I personally enjoyed its humor, originality, and actors, if not actor.

It is true what Jessica Zafra said, “Jude Law is so beautiful and elegant, he is beyond dirty thoughts.” I adore Jude Law not only because of his “stunning bone structure” or his charming British accent but also because of his impressive acting skills. He is sooo good that when Chris Rock made fun of him during the recent Academy Awards, Sean Penn readily defended him, and complimented his thespian gifts in front of the million Oscar-watching audiences. I would probably do so too, if I had the opportunity. But for now, I am just waiting for the next Jude Law film to come along and for me to devour.

Saturday, July 2, 2005

Not this time miss

It takes time to mend one’s broken ego. Mine has been broken several times and consecutively that I’m getting good at handling it, scars and all.

The cause of my most recent egotistical wound is best displayed by the previous entry, The One That Didn’t Make It. Just as what its title suggests, the pain to which I am trying to recuperate from sprang from rejection.

To help me fully recover, allow me to rationalize over why my supposed 2nd shot at Youngblood vaporized to thin air by enumerating the top seven bitterness-free reasons why I did not make it.

1. DUH. My article begins with a book no decent Youngblood reader would read.

2. BLAME MY BOTTOM. My college professor kept on reminding us to proofread our works all the time. I should have paid more attention. Now I’m bound to blame my ass, or should I say “asses.” (See 1st paragraph, 2nd-to-the-last word)

3. ME, MY, I. You have to give me credit for using the second person point of view. Not a lot of writers dare to use “you” in their entire piece. However, it is obvious that my “you” is really “me.” Even if I’m no award-winning writer I am aware that unless you are writing an autobiography, you’re not supposed to write about your self all the time. My fault.

4. LAY OFF SARCASM. At a certain dose it is funny. Go beyond enough and then the world will hate you. I’ve expressed my idea of what is true in a style I take pleasure in but in the process I stepped on others’ truth. My apologies.

5. NO MOCKERY PLEASE. I hit below the belt when I challenged man’s ability to read—not a good move especially when the editor himself is a man.

6. MAKE UP YOUR MIND. I switched from defending the case of those with no boyfriend since birth to that of the spinsters then back to those who are single since birth. I still believe that society see them in one plane but I should have clarified that I am defending all of them with equal intensity.

7. KEEP IT PRIVATE. I should keep my self-deprecating ways to myself, or at least to my closest allies. My first time readers would think I am altogether pathetic and will more likely dismiss my future articles as just another blob of rants. I strongly suggest that they shouldn’t. Even after this piece they shouldn’t.

OK, I’ll stop here.

Friday, July 1, 2005

The One That Didn't Make It

In the Absence of a Man

Originally written on 28 Jan 2005

The title of a new book hits you on the head one day: No Boyfriend Since Birth. Upon recovering your senses, you realize that you have had no boyfriend since birth. You cannot help but think, “Is that good or bad?” That is when you begin to asses things.

At the age of 24, the evolution of the question, “Do you have a boyfriend?” becomes clear to you. If in your younger years such question implies “You better say no; you’re just a kid!” the same interrogative sentence would now mean, “you better have a boyfriend or else you would be an old maid!” From there you deduce two “facts” forced by society: (1) young girls with boyfriends are plain sluts and (2) mature women with no boyfriends are pure losers. Harsh indeed but there is more.

Your friends begin to worry for you—you know, you being 24 with no boyfriend—your whole life. They try pairing you up with guys they know and even with guys they do not know. It does not stop there. They give you Friendster testimonials that practically sell you to every guy who is capable of reading. Little do they know that not a lot of guys are capable of reading, hence your friends are selling you to a minute percent of the male population. Not a very good marketing strategy, you might say.

Soon your mother enters the world of your theoretical love life—okay, let us not go there. Shift to another scenario.

While having dinner with your officemate, in the middle of your serious small talk, she asks you, “How do you see yourself in the future? At what age do you plan to get married?” You panic and nearly choke to death. You have not gotten yourself a boyfriend and she is asking you your wedding deadline. In the hopes of concealing shock from her unexpected question, you explain that boyfriends are not yet part of your master plan and so is a wedding. She stares at you like you were an unpretty freak and convinces you that sooner or later, you have to groom yourself as a wife or else you would grow old alone.

A skirmish ensues inside you. Should you tell the someday-bride-to-be how you really feel? You decide to restrain yourself from bursting your officemate’s happily-ever-after bubble. You keep quiet and let things be—for a while, at least. A few minutes later, you lay down your side. You admit that you have intimacy problems—that you are allergic to anything mushy and everything related to Cupid. You follow it up with a statement that declares your lack of faith in relationships. You clarify that, although you are aware that there is no such thing as a perfect relationship, you can’t seem to reconcile the thought of taking a vow which does not take something as extreme as “death” to part. You end up looking more pathetic in the eyes of your officemate. At this point you decide not to further your case or else you might plummet to being “the pus that infects the mucus that curds up the fungus that feeds on the pond scum.”

You settle with “some of us are not meant to get married” for your argument’s conclusion. And in your head you add, “women like you who look forward to wearing a white gown and trekking a flower-filled aisle should be thankful that some women, like me, are not too psyched with getting hitched, otherwise decent men would be doubly scarce.”

Speaking of men, a member of the collective word comes up to you one day and asks you on a date camouflaged as an invitation to hang out at the mall. Sure he is an eye candy, but you decline from his offer. Although you admire his gut for proposing a date, you do not appreciate how he did it prematurely. Your one-week encounter with him had been limited to seeing him—literally just seeing he exists. You are seconds away from asking him, “didn’t your mother ever tell you not to go out with strangers?”

Probably to mend his broken ego he—in his most obnoxious way—assumes you are a lesbian and becomes vocal about it. Yes, you once thought that you were such but your identity crisis is now over. No entity, no matter how lovely it is, can ever convert you to gayness—no offense to the gays out there.

Soon, you wonder what the big deal is with women not wanting to get involved. Why a woman who refuses to be at the side of a man should be called an “old maid” or a “spinster”—both terms connoting “tarrying”—whereas a man who stays unmarried is called a “bachelor”—a word which seems to project “coolness.” You hate the extent of society’s baseless double standards but what can you do? Even if you spend your lifetime educating people that not all unattached/unmarried women are ugly and stinky, or reeking with wicked personalities, or lesbians or losers; your propaganda will not be enough to persuade people that, sometimes, being a single woman is amazing—maybe even more remarkable than being somebody else’s girlfriend or wife.

Never in your personal politics did you wish to convert women to single-blessedness. All you want is for people to stop feeling sorry for you for not having a guy of your own; to cease pairing you up with anyone or anything male and single; and to start respecting the fact that you are truly, genuinely happy despite the absence of a man in your life.

You reach out for the book which caused you a few minutes to contemplate on your life in the absence of a man. You figured, yes, things may change between you and the males of the species but it definitely does not change the fact that being single since birth is not at all bad.

**Tyrene is pushing 25 this year and still remains single. She insists that as long as she can carry her own things and bring herself to and from various places, she will not be needing any guy—well, romantically speaking, at least.

Posted on 01 July 2005 at 04:32 AM in Public thought balloon | Permalink