The Modern Lingo

Chronicling London

2010-08-04T06:27:00.002+08:00

I've pushed the pause button on my life in Manila. I've momentarily uprooted from that plot and am currently planting seeds in London now. Read about all of my (mis)adventures here.

Cheers. :)

For you who has taken flight

2009-09-06T20:00:00.004+08:00

I remember the very first time I had an actual conversation with Alexis. It was at an Italian fast food joint across UA&P and I couldn’t believe it was happening.

It was the summer of 2006. I had recently graduated from university and had no idea what to do next. My life was at a standstill but I didn’t care. All I cared about was the fact that I was having lunch with a person who, prior to that meeting, I had only greatly admired from a distance.

I remember being quite taken with him. He was charming, witty, passionate, and immensely intelligent. But what stood out the most was his ability to make me feel at ease, joking around as if we had been lifelong friends when in fact we had only met a mere five minutes ago.

Alexis was the kind of person who was unhesitant to extend himself and sincerely connect with strangers. Those who had the pleasure of knowing him all recognize how welcoming he was. He had a refreshing quality of being genuinely interested in the opinions of others, no matter if the opinion had more “umms” and “uhhhs” than real insight.

That was how we met. And I’m incredibly glad that he listened beyond those ridiculous amounts of “umms” and “uhhs” and gave me the very exquisite pleasure of calling me his friend.

The very recent tragedy that had taken you and Nika away has a lot of us wounded and almost too tired to begin again. We may never be rid of the grief but trust that someday we will be dreaming outrageously again - just like you did, just like both of you did.

Thank you, Alexis and Nika.

Photo by Chris Yambing

Apologies

2009-08-12T00:10:00.003+08:00

I'm so sorry, Blogger.

It seems I went ahead and took on another lover.

A Lesson in Buoyancy

2009-06-15T19:00:00.008+08:00

Do you know what the ultimate gauge is to determine whether your weekend truly ruled? Your weekend truly ruled if your head is firmly convinced that it has metamorphosed into a helium balloon come Monday morning. No amount of pleading, coaxing or severe whacking is convincing this head that it isn’t made of rubber latex and filled with compressed air. (Hmm. That might be a point of contention.) So what’s a person to do? Why, sit back and enjoy the view from the clouds, of course.

Just like these gang of balloons did. (Now that is a magnificent use of The Segue.) I’ve noticed that there’s been a proliferation of balloon-themed visual gems floating around recently. From the Miss Dior Cherie commercial that Sofia Coppola helmed,

...to the incredibly charming engagement photos taken by this pretty awesome photographer named Max Wanger:

...and ultimately to this pretty amazing music video from Grizzly Bear:

Further clickage into the depths of the internet world brought me to the source of its greatness. If you’ve got 30 minutes to spare, watch The Red Balloon, a silent movie that made waves back in the 1950s. If this won't bring back childhood memories of grinning from ear-to-ear at the mere sight of a round red balloon, you're better off inhaling a whole tank of helium.

Friday's Fantastic Five (Lets Try This Again)

2009-05-29T15:35:00.008+08:00

Yes, the delinquent blogger is back! The Corporation held me captive for the past months, you see. I’m out on parole for the time being. So lets enjoy my freedom by continuing Friday’s Fantastic Five!

1) This is a great example of the very elusive television commercial with heart."‘Television commercial’ and ‘with heart’ in one sentence?!” you scream in disbelief? Yes. It actually exists, though it is a rare breed. Extremely rare but not on the verge of extinction, yet.

Doodle Heart
Uploaded by realbao -

2) A French band that sings in English and makes you involuntarily tap your toes and shake your head - what’s not to love?

3)

Created by Spike Jonze and friends, this site documents the phenomenal journey their imagination has embarked on in the creation of a very marvelous spectacle called Where the Wild Things Are. You may have heard about it. In short, it’s a treasure trove of amazing things. I’ve had a really wild time going through the archives and I’m sort of heartbroken that I’m about to run out of pages to click “back” on. This, my friends, is definitely a keeper.

4) A delightfully strange talent is what Hal Hartley is. I love the man. He had me at hello. Click the mouse on your friendliest torrent site and download “Surviving Desire”.

5) And lets cap this list off with Joseph Gordon-Levitt. Why? Why not?

Friday's Fanstastic Five

2009-04-03T18:56:00.006+08:00

In salute to the glorious, glorious, glorious day that ushers in my favorite part of the week, I’ve decided to put up a weekly Top 5 list of awesome randomania, fittingly called Friday's Fantastic Five:

1) Norwegian electronica duo Röyksopp’s truly zap-tacular music video for “Happy Up Here” that collected inspiration from one of the most cherished old-school video games known to man, Space Invaders.

Happy Up Here from Röyksopp on Vimeo.

2) Two months back, I came across a couple of very curious photos of dapper chaps and dashing dames, all dressed up with a ton of panache whilst riding their bikes in merry ol’ England.

I immediately thought, “Oh golly gee, what could this be?” A couple of mouse-clicks later, I found out it was the first FGSS (Fixed-Gear and Single-Speed) Winter Dress Club Run or simply called, Tweed Run.

The idea was simple: all dapper gents and elegant ladies were welcome to join the leisurely bike ride through London, provided they show up in the spiffiest attire worn during the era of jaunty capes, cravats and tweed, tweed, tweed!

Simply put, it was “a social ride with a bit of style”.

(Photos: Source)

Here’s another dream to add to the already lengthy list of Will It Happen? Probably Nots: Move to London, buy a fixie and dress up like a dapper English gent.

3)

(Photo: Source)

4)

(Photo: Source)

5)

Goodbye, Manila! So long, Stress! Au revoir, Anxiety! Adieu, Apprehension! Farewell, Fuckaz!

I’ll just be with the monsters.

2009-04-02T12:33:00.003+08:00

Any minute now and I’m about to croak from exhaustion, stress, and plain ol’ existential angst. How I long for days long gone, when all I had to worry about was devising a sneaky plan on how not to take my daily afternoon nap or a clever diversion to lure my nanny’s eyes away from the yucky warm milk that's about to be poured down the drain, or which nook, cranny or crevice would be the best place to hide away from scary, scary It.

I would truly give anything just to be able to live again as a child, when all the monsters in my head didn’t equate to the past, or with pressure, fear and anxiety – but more of the furry kind that carried me high up on their shoulders.

Anyway, allow me be a fangirl for a minute: Wasn't that an amazing trailer?! It's been so long since a trailer sent shivers running up and down my spine. Oh my god. This movie is gonna be amazing!!! (Yes, it deserves three exclamation marks.)

The Wait is Killing Me

2009-02-27T13:57:00.004+08:00

Nothing can truly be as torturous as the dreary act of waiting. More so when you’ve foreseen the potential greatness of what’s to come. In this case, it’s the potential greatness of two prime examples of why pop culture truly is the most wonderful thing on this planet.

Case No. 1

“It’s about time!” I shouted out loud as the magical click of the button revealed one of these week’s greatest treasures to me. Mark your calendars, friends. May 25, 2009 is the day that the Phoenix will rise from the recording studio and reveal their highly anticipated fourth album, Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix.

As a way to satiate us hungry followers, the band has made the first single, 1901, available for free download. Now isn’t that a sweet thing to do? I am smitten, oh yes, I am!

Case No. 2

Normally, any movie with Joseph Gordon Levitt in it will be called an instant favorite. But throw in Zooey Deschanel, a heart-wrenching break up and anti-romantic comedy into the mix, and you’ve got a rabid fangirl in me, who has to wait until Lord knows when for the worldwide theatrical release of 500 Days of Summer. (The movie’s opening in July for folks in the States.)

'500 Days Of Summer' Theatrical Trailer @ Yahoo! Video

Additionally, here’s a pretty interesting story behind the inspiration for the trailer.

And now we can all heave a collective sigh over the prospect of the long wait.

The Inside Scoop from an Outsider

2009-02-24T01:06:00.014+08:00

He’s done it again. Scott Sternberg has got me swooning over his Fall 2009 collections for Boy and Band of Outsiders. More than the clothes themselves, what truly got my eyes lighting up was Sternberg’s source of sartorial inspiration, Jean Luc Godard’s 1967 film, La Chinoise.

Heavily taking cues from the Parisian student uniform of blazers, jackets, and sweaters worn during the fashionable days of yore, Sternberg created what he does best – a smart, preppy look that will make those who don it pass any test of impeccable chicness with flying colors.

Intentionally veering away from the monotonous march of models up and down the catwalk, Sternberg, once again, looked towards the stimulating world of cinema for inspiration in presenting his collection. Taking cues from The Lars Von Trier (Dogville) and Charlie Kaufman (Synecdoche, New York) School of the Minimal Use of Props in an Enclosed Area to Symbolize the Outside World, Sternberg assembled a tableaux vivant or living picture by “constructing his own world out of a handful of French-ish props: a phone box, a lamp post, park benches on which models lounged playing cards or board games, existentially wasting time à la française.”

How I wish I had the good fortune to witness this in the flesh. For now, we thank the heavens for Vimeo.

Band of Outsiders, NYC fashion week collection presentation from Philip Gaedicke on Vimeo.

More than the finished products themselves, I believe that what’s sending me in a tizzy are the avenues of inspiration that Sternberg had chosen to take. The creative process really never ceases to astound me – from inspiration to a germ of an idea, to the earliest drafts, to the birthing pains, to the moments of disquiet and doubt, to the breathlessness from the final thrust and finally, to the smiles from ear-to-ear, there really isn’t anything like it. I know I may be waxing (pseudo)poetically about this but really, anything minutely connected to a beautiful man by the name of Jean Pierre Leaud would do that to anyone.

(Sources: Style.com, Fashionologie.com)

Answer Me This

2009-02-22T17:31:00.003+08:00

Once in a while, something wonderful floats up to the surface to reveal its brilliance. When you ask Fifty People One Question, you're bound to get some very stirring responses.

Fifty People, One Question: London from Fifty People, One Question on Vimeo.

What would your answer be?

25 Random Examples of Too Much Information

2009-02-13T17:42:00.003+08:00

1) I’m the kind of person who never ever remembers her dreams. Though every time I sleep with scotch in my bloodstream, I wake up with a very lucid recollection of a series of really bizarre dreams. It freaks me out a little bit. Now where’s the scotch?

2) My lolo died in the room I now sleep in. From time to time, I smell his scent around the house but it really doesn’t bother me. I actually find it very comforting. Thought it’d be a whole different story if I start detecting his scent in my room.

3) I brush my teeth in the shower. I started doing this because I thought it’d save me time and water. I was wrong but the habit remained.

4) I love train rides. Whether they’re rides on subways, skytrains, overnight trains, etc. I love the feeling of being in transit and of being cramped with people who you’ll never see again.

5) When I watch movies alone, I always watch them with subtitles. Even the American ones.

6) I tend to talk to myself a lot, in my head or out loud. It’s usually in the bathroom wherein I’m at my most talkative. I think it’s because I face the mirror while talking to myself, creating a semblance of conversing with another person.

7) I’m very awkward in social situations. Throw me in a room full of people, whether strangers or not then watch me make love to the wall.

8) If I could be of any nationality, I’d be half French, half Japanese.

9) It was only a year and a half ago that I started wearing sneakers. My middle name used to be “Tsinelas”.

10) I once went two whole days without uttering a single word to anyone.

11) As much as possible, I try not to fall asleep while watching movies in a theater. I think it’s a very offensive thing to do to directors, even though they’ll never know. But a couple of years ago, I found myself being lulled to sleep by Michael Moore’s voice in Fahrenheit 9/11. But then again, that wasn’t a movie.

12) I have a hard time committing phrases, quotes, and the like to memory. When friends start quoting lines from movies, watch my face change into an expression of a kid who’s just been told, “Honey, time for bed. The grown ups are gonna talk now.”

13) I’ve never eaten in a restaurant alone, ‘til last year. It was very therapeutic.

14) I want to go to Stockholm, Sweden. Now.

15) I’ve always secretly wished I were a poet. So much so that I’ve tried several stabs at “poetry” and well, all my attempts deserve to be stabbed.

16) I have a weakness for dorky guys. Trip, stammer, stutter in front of me and I will love you forever. Blather on and on about something I don’t fully understand and all I’d wanna do is plant a huge one on you mid-sentence. I will love you and all your obscure references.

17) I don’t like sleeping before midnight. Even though I’d be really sleepy at 10 pm, I’d feel the need to “rebel” and sleep after the clock strikes 12.

18) I’ve officially been an employee in the advertising agency I work in now for one year. And three days. Where did all that time go?

19) The advertising agency I’m working for now is actually my dream agency. Well waddaya know, dreams actually do come true.

20) I blush so easily. I hate it. I really do.

21) I can’t sleep without the help of a nightcap or sleep aid. And to think that I’m only 24. This is not good.

22) For a significant number of years, a friend’s dad had thought that my whole name was Kai Ty. It still cracks me up.

23) My old Powerbook’s name is Lou, named so after Lou Reed (pretensyosa ka!). My new Macbook’s name is Trent, named after that hot cartoon character in Daria.

24) Here’s a chronological rundown of all the professions I’ve wanted – Pediatrician, Business Woman, Fashion Designer, Rock Star, Advertising Whore, Photographer, Museum/Gallery Curator, Director, Cinematographer, Writer/Travel Writer, Fashion Merchandiser, Store Proprietor. One dream snagged out of 12. I think it’s time for a Life Assessment.

25) I once had a clear book bursting with Backstreet Boys posters, clippings, articles, etc. One day, it magically disappeared. Poof. Gone. Without a trace. Like rational thought when drink is drunk and you’re drunk from drink. My poor, teenybopper heart was inconsolable.

Woman Overboard!

2009-01-29T01:07:00.006+08:00

One of my New Year's Resolutions was to write more. This blog is a testament as to how that resolution has been ignored like an old wine-drenched rag, left to dry underneath the oppressive heat of the sun - abandoned, shriveled up, and ant-infested.

I refuse for this blog to be ridden by insects.

And so from now on, I shall do my very best to keep this clean, well-lighted digital place updated a couple of times each week.

Words, it seems, are my only salvation. It'd be a shame to not even try to save myself. Ironic indeed that the only thing that's preventing me from tossing the lifesaver is none other than little 'ol shiftless me.

Woman vs. Self

Borrowed Words (For mine are all gone)

2009-01-19T19:02:00.003+08:00

“For the world is movement, and you cannot be stationary in your attitude towards something that is moving.” *

2009-01-06T16:31:00.001+08:00

And so another year hangs limply on the rack like a well-worn overcoat.

2008 was a great year. It became all the more spectacular as it progressed because events kept on unfolding that kept knocking me over by surprise. The antidote to a seemingly incurable disease was found, a new job saved me from drowning in a pool of cold, dank misery, new bonds and old friendships were set in stone, the Absolut win, the trip to London, the chance encounters, the rushes to the head, the almosts, the not quites, the not yets, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.

Though the year that passed was truly one for the books, the lure of a clean slate is infinitely more alluring than breathing in the stale air of the past.

So 2009, c’mon and give me all you’ve got. Dip me, twirl me, fling me in any which way you want to. I’ve got my fancy shoes on and boy, are they made for dancing.

* Henri Cartier-Bresson

The 2008 Holiday Gift Guide to Get On Kaity's Good Side

2008-12-16T01:54:00.007+08:00

Christmas is coming up in ten days! My birthday is coming up in twelve days! What better way to celebrate these countdowns than to make a Christmas/Birthday Wish List of Things I Will Never Get, right? Right! So, here we go:

1) A large weekend bag that can accommodate all the excess baggage I have in my life. After all, how can you relax during a weekend getaway if you didn’t have your neuroses, sandwiched between a pile of T-shirts and toiletries, within arms reach?

If I could only get one though, I much prefer a wide-mouth doctor’s bag so that my childhood dreams of becoming a pediatrician would at least be realized sartorially.

No. 166 overnight travel bag

A-Z Collection, Autumn/Winter ’08 Accessories

2) DVDS!

I’ve been wanting, needing to watch any film by John Cassavetes for a while now but I’ve never chanced upon any of his titles in the lair of video pirates. I tried my luck in HMV in Hong Kong but luck was a man masquerading as a lady. So if any of you friends in the States are feeling extra generous, please do ship Criterion Collection’s Five Films by John Cassavetes my way, yes?

3) Books!

For some reason, all the books on my wish list are unavailable here. Why, Fully Booked? Why, Powerbooks? Why, A Different Bookstore? Why?

The Act of Seeing: Essays and Conversations
by Wim Wenders

On Seeing and Noticing
by Alain de Botton

I urge you to read On Love (US Release) by de Botton. It reminds me of those college philosophical handouts though I assure that it won't put you to sleep.

Meditations in an Emergency
by Frank O’Hara

Everything is Cinema: The Working Life of Jean Luc Godard
by Richard Brody

The Art of Looking Sideways
by Alan Fletcher

4) Topsiders/Boat Shoes

Quoddy Boat Shoes

Sperry Topsiders

I can imagine myself wearing these shoes while sitting on a yacht,sipping a glass of chilled champagne amidst the backdrop of a sky that's painted with orange, pink and purple hues. Armed with a fool's confidence that only drink can give, I seem to have boldly declared to take on the challenge of sailing the world’s oceans in 60 days, completely neglecting the tiny, inconsequential fact that I can’t swim to save my life.

5) Givenchy Nightingale in Black, Medium

Dear Daddy,

I promise never to buy any other bag if you buy this one for me. It’s a win/win situation right?

Love, Kaity

6) The newest 13-inch Macbook

Lets hope for the best. I have a good feeling about this one.

7) 300 gig external/portable hard drive + housing

8) Bespoke leather shoes

“Bespoke” has been a favorite word of mine for two consecutive months now. Every time I play around with this word in my head, I can almost smell a distinct kind of woodsy, masculine odor, the kind of smell that I associate with quiet elegance and refinement.

On the other hand, leather oxfords are something that I’ve been obsessing over for the past few months.

Though I’ve yet to find the perfect pair, which doesn’t render my toes useless by the end of the day. Lo and behold, I stumbled upon a blog that pointed me to the direction of a man who produces made-to-order leather shoes. We shall see what happens with that. Lets all hope I come out of that store jumping in the air and clicking the heels of the dandiest pair of shoes known to man.

9) A men’s watch

For some reason, I favor the bulkiness of men’s watches over the small, delicate ones for women. To match the bulkiness of my stomach, I guess.

Stowa Watch

Nixon 51-30

Junghans Chronograph

10) A brown leather briefcase

This is a result of watching too much Mad Men.

11) Rollerblades!
P.S. Gino, I’m a size 6, okay? Thanks.

I find it amusing how most of the stuff on this list is geared towards men’s fashion. On more than one occasion, my sister has told me that I dress up like a gay man. I take that as a compliment.

Get the Picture?

2008-12-13T03:09:00.002+08:00

(Simone de Beauvoir at the Cafe des Deux Magots, Robert Doisneau, 1944)

(Cafe de Flore, Dennis Stock, 1958)

(La Chinoise, Jean-Luc Godard, 1967)

"But" is the harshest word that you'll ever know

2008-12-04T01:22:00.008+08:00

I’ve been a delinquent blogger, haven’t I? Well, you know what happens to delinquent bloggers – blogcombers by the virtual ocean of nonsense and quick read demons cruising on the Infobahn at 10 MB per second, who take minutes off their precious Time Wasting Schedule, end up creating reasons in their head as to why they hate this particular blogger for not updating. (But then again, I may not be that special but lets just pretend that I am for a second.)

As Mary J. Blige obligingly put it, there ain’t no need for hateration. But yet, it exists, especially amongst lovers. One would be hard-pressed to find a significant other whose certain mannerisms/beliefs/grooming habits or lack thereof wouldn’t eventually be the cause for one’s hair to stand on edge. I came across this funny, albeit a little bit off-putting site that...

...Is a picture book about the moment in a relationship when you realize you don’t love someone completely, because there is one little thing that keeps bothering you. When it bothers you so much it actually makes you physically cringe, you know it’s time to say; “I love you but…”

As I said, some are comical confessions:
Then there are those that make you go, "Hey, waitaminute. That hurts..."There you go, folks. Once again, the innernet was successful in altering the settled state of my mind (although that really is a point of contention). Am I making any sense? Probably not cos it's 1:48 am and my ass is still stuck on my office chair!

It’s As Clear As Dishwater

2008-11-13T21:18:00.003+08:00

I seem to have been collecting nothing but unfinished sentences these past few weeks. I’ve accumulated handfuls of thoughts without an ending in sight, nothing but a string of words that have been punished with the ever dubious ellipse for being incomplete.

Anyway, here’s a sweet kid who was able to finish his thoughts:

"Stuck"
Client: Thorntons Chocolate
Agency: SHOP London
Directed by Harmony Korine

Now, lets all pray that the ever elusive Aha! Moment will finally arrive.

Let's go? Let's go!

2008-11-04T16:40:00.002+08:00

This Charming Man

2008-10-29T21:03:00.002+08:00

Louis Garrell. It’s not a name that slides smoothly off the tongue. The only way to get from the first to the second syllable of the second name is by way of The Gag. No, it’s not the kind where you’re always the butt of; rather, it’s a choking, guttural sound that the French constantly make to get their points across. It’s no wonder then that the French come off as snooty people. If you had to hack and gag all day, and have choking on your saliva as a possible cause of death, you too will be snooty as hell.

But before I digress to the point where I can’t find my way back, lets return to the very handsome topic, which has prodded my lazy ass to update my corner of the virtual universe --- Louis Garrel. Now if you don’t know who Louis Garrel is, do yourself a favor by watching The Dreamers, found in your friendly neighborhood DBD store. Still not willing to budge? Here are three reasons: threesomes, incest and naked young bodies. Aha! Third reason made your eyes grow bigger, didn’t it? Oh, you perv.

Some months ago, I was browsing through Hedi Slimane’s Photo Diary (if you haven’t been there, you are doing your eyes a complete and utter disservice), and lo and behold, who do I see there but the object of my lust, posing like a god while enshrouded in a cloak of cigarette smoke.

Now THAT, folks, is a work of art! I’m getting shivers all over and it’s not even cold in the office. And he sings! Oh, he sings! If you’re in the mood for quirky threesomes and guy-on-guy action (oh, you know you always are), try to see Les Chansons D’amour.

All this gorgeousness and charm is leaving me a little bit light-headed. I need to lie down for a bit.

A Room with a View

2008-10-18T01:34:00.000+08:00

After a total of twelve and a half hours of being airborne and adrift in whiskey dreams, I have finally touched down to good ol' Manila.

Ah, home! Sweet home! Now, I'm just waiting for the sad, sad fact of having nothing to look forward to for the next couple of months, years even, to set in. But before I let the mushroom cloud of bleakness permeate my being, allow me to reminisce awhile about the astonishing view that welcomed my eyes everytime time I stepped outside my hotel balcony.

What, pray tell, awaits my eyes behind those curtains?

It really doesn't disappoint does it?

It gets even better when the sun retreats to its hiding place.

Whenever talks of dream houses or condominiums would come up between my friends and I, I'd always be vocal about my adamant need for a balcony. I don't necessarily have to enjoy the expensive view shown on those photos above. Looking at the tin roofs of my neighbors houses or trying my best to make out the silhouettes of buildings through the smog of the city will do. The main reason for my desire of a balcony isn't merely a shallow need of having a view while enjoying a calming cigarette break. Rather, it comes out of the desire to bask in the semblance of being on top of the world, of momentarily clutching a moment where it seems that anything and everything could be, and is, possible.

Moments like these rarely happen in this life. Most of them occur while intoxicated. So if a thing, a material object made of iron and cement can grant such moments, without alcohol or unmentionables catalysing there onslaught, who could blame me for desiring it?

Paris, Je T'aime

2008-10-10T12:31:00.007+08:00

During my highly introspective (i.e. emo days a.k.a “God, please take me away already!”) years of being in between graduation and my first ever foray into the world of 13th month bonuses and SSS applications, I was heavily wishing I was born with French blood. It was a whole year and a half of getting familiar with the gods of Nouvelle Vague and having embarrassing conversations with myself in the most basic French phrases I was able to commit to memory. Simply put, I was suffering extreme racial envy.

If anyone would ask me the about the Top 5 Most Defining Moments in My Life, my trip to Paris back in 2006 would definitely take the top spot on that list. For once in my sluggish existence, I had the drive to list down all the places that I just had to see for myself. Whether it was a cemetery where someone I looked up to was laid to rest, or a location of a scene in a French film that I loved, I diligently took down all their addresses and wasn’t allowing myself to fall upon the lazy excuse that I would probably stumble upon them by chance.

Looking back at it, the challenge of finding those locations with only a map in hand and my non-ability to read them was the real adventure. (Warning: Cliché coming up.) After all, it’s the journey that matters, not the destination. Even though I was apprehensive at first about traversing my way solitarily through the maze of foreign streets and confusing subway lines, I began to enjoy the semblance of freedom and independence all of it symbolized.

Of course there were a couple of wrong turns here and old strangers wanting to talk over mugs of steaming coffee there, but I was very inflexible in my goal to stick to the itinerary. And because I stuck to the itinerary, I found myself standing upon the burial place of the poet who, although confuses me from time to time, has managed to carve a spot in my heart for himself - Charles Baudelaire.

During the moment I came across his burial place, a young French man was reading one of his poems in the language that Baudelaire had originally written them in. I can still feel the chills that went running down my spine during that cloudy afternoon - that was how beautiful the moment was. Even though I couldn’t understand what that kid was reciting, I stayed on to drink in the experience and ultimately be intoxicated by it. All I could muster was a sigh, a sigh that was pregnant for longing of a life that breathed of liberté, égalité, fraternité.

An intimate poetry reading by Baudelaire's grave.

I left a note on that jar. Can't remember what I wrote though.

Today, what was once a severe case of Francophilia has finally been given the proper treatment to alleviate it. There still are some residual effects though, such as randomly blurting out French phrases, having a penchant to pick old 60s French pop as the soundtrack to an otherwise dull day, seeing Jean Pierre Leaud or Louis Garrel everytime I close my eyes, being amazed at the acceptance of Nicolas Sarkozy and Carla Bruni’s relationship (only in France!), etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.

This afternoon, I will be boarding a plane to London, a close neighbor of Paris. Unfortunately, I won’t be having the privilege of greeting “Bonjour!” to the city of lights, the city that has changed me in ways that I can’t even begin to explain. This is mainly the cause of all this wistfulness and weepiness. And there lies the trouble of pining for the days of yore, of the bittersweet act of waxing nostalgic.

Painting Chinatown Red

2008-10-09T00:12:00.011+08:00

If there is one absolute thing that I cannot be deprived of, it would be sleep. Anyone who knows me well enough understands and accepts the fact that if I get less than 8 hours of sleep, it’d be as if all hell has broken loose. But if one major factor existed that could get me to stir from my quota of forty winks, that would be food.

Last Saturday, I went against my body clock even though it was pleading for more hours of quality time underneath my fluffy blanket. I finally had the opportunity to experience the Big Binondo Food Wok and as the tourist guides so aptly put it, nibble my way through Manila’s Chinatown.

Now those who love authentic Chinese cuisine should never ignore this enlightening and incredibly filling occasion to traverse through the town that knows how to tickle the seasoned palate. Never mind the horses’ piss on the street or the vehicles that can suddenly ram into you and render your limbs useless – your mind, and most importantly your stomach, will be duly satisfied.

Mr. Ivan Man Dy, the man about Chinatown, feeding our minds and our stomachs.

The first meal of the day and it didn't disappoint.

The best siopao my taste buds has ever encountered.

The best people to go on a feeding/cultural frenzy with.

If you've got the free time to do so, I strongly urge you to experience this one-of-a-kind walking tour. Not only will it leave your belly very happy but you'll surely appreciate the diversity that this wonderful, albeit crazy, country possesses.

Let Me Illustrate It For You

2008-10-01T02:04:00.014+08:00

There’s nothing quite like two of your favorite things in the world coming together. Whether it be the Adonis of your eye lounging in an claw-footed antique porcelain bathtub filled with rich, melted chocolate or the director you’d die for helming a script written by your favorite writer – pulses will surely start rising.

Two obsessions that can swiftly send my underwear in a twist are the melding of menswear and simple, clean black and white illustration. The spring/summer ’09 collection of Folk was incredibly successful in doing just that.

These just easily capture the relaxed image of the brand:

Now aren't those a brilliant use of illustration?

The Lives of Others

2008-09-25T23:33:00.015+08:00

I have always had a habit of looking into other people’s houses. And worry not; I don’t possess a naughty habit of deriving pleasure from observing people in various positions of entanglement, all from a very strategic vantage point (behind tall foliage). Rather, it’s the kind of habit sparked by the human being’s natural inclination for curiosity, usually uttered in common parlance as nosiness.

Ah nosiness. It keeps the world going round. After all, to be human is to be nosy and vice versa. This insatiable interest in the affairs of others is the reason why we pore hours upon hours reading celebrity blogs, a habit that I’m sure you want to keep hidden along with the skeletons in your closet. Just the mere act of you reading this entry portrays a certain curiosity in the lives and thoughts of others, maybe spilling over even to their kinds of living spaces.

A person's living space reveals a whole ocean regarding that same individual. Someone whose got a walkway lined with wooden prosthetic legs and whose wall is graced by the mounted head of a Whitetail deer is surely very different from someone whose 1920s boudoir houses a vase of fresh daffodils and a bowler hat made of white wool. Such a habit of noticing the differences is the root of the nosiness I was talking about earlier, of peering through the windows of strangers' houses and noticing the details that remain motionless but speak in such high decibels.

Just imagine how much my curiosity was piqued when I came across TheSelby, a site that grants my PG-rated voyeuristic dreams. The man behind the site, Todd Selby, roams inside people's homes (invited, of course) and takes photographs of their spaces. Here are some that have caught my eye:

The space of Kenyan (prop master) and Grace (model, photographer, illustrator):

The living quarters of Erin Wasson (model, stylist, designer, cool female):

Last but not the least, the work space of Alexander Wang (fashion designer):

(All photos taken from TheSelby.com)

Now this is voyeurism that won't leave a nasty sty in your eye.

Outsider Information

2008-09-20T14:36:00.013+08:00

When noticing a specimen of the XY classification, a lot of women’s eyes usually dart towards the windows of their soul. Some women like to scrutinize the whole house to see if there are any imperfections on the paint, surveying here and there for the presence of lumps or bumps. There are those who like to examine the structure to see if it’s well built or lacks built. Some like to inspect the doors by checking their swing, observing whether they could be easily closed or if they insist on crudely hanging wide open. And then there are those naughty ones who like to check out the mailboxes to determine whether they’re spacious enough to house enormous packages.

I, on the other hand, like to check out the landscaping.

Nothing else captures my attention quite rapidly more than a well-dressed man. Eyebrows instinctively shoot straight up at a glance of impeccably cut trousers. Eyes can’t help but stealthily follow the gait of the well-heeled chap (obviously not in chaps). The neck cranes to near impossible lengths just to get a better view of the interesting detail on the shirt’s collar.

Most of the time though, my stares fall on the bums of gay men. Then there are those golden moments when a straight man righteously deserves the Color Me Impressed Nod, thus making me believe that there is hope in men after all.

The Band of Outsiders Spring 2009 collection was one of my favorite menswear shows from the recent New York Fashion Week. The fact that the boyishly charming Max Minghella modeled for the look book makes my love for this label soar even more.

Here are some of the looks that topped my list:

Of course, the girls are not to be forgotten. Boy, the charming kid sister of Band of Outsiders, also showcased some lovely clothes that I want to have hanging in my closet:

(Photos nicked from Style.com)

Well now really, how can a label go wrong with a name like that?

(Bande à part/Band of Outsiders, Jean-Luc Godard, 1964)

In Between Acts

2008-09-16T00:42:00.006+08:00

Emotions are overflowing in this side of life. Quick! Help save my soul by placing a paper cup beside its leaky corners.

This is just a mere bump on the road, dear readers - all two of you, myself included. I’ve been incredibly busy the past week. Work has been terribly unforgiving. And my heart has been refusing to slow down to a normal pulse.

In the meantime, here's a visual representation of my mental state:

I've got a new entry hibernating in my mind. Just keep coming back. It'll appear soon.

One for the Books

2008-09-08T00:41:00.004+08:00

What does one do when a member of the opposite sex has unknowingly and abruptly seized a sizeable chunk of one’s normal thought processes? And not just any member of the opposite sex at that, but a rare species that is highly unattainable for he is unavailable? One sulks for a few days then goes to search for another object of obsession.

So search I did. Now, I bid goodbye to a toxic fixation and welcome a very healthy fascination - bookshelves!

Ah, bookshelves. If you read a lot, you’ll have a strong compulsion to treat your books like your very own offspring. I have a couple of rules for those who borrow books from me. First, dust jackets of hardcover books have to be with it at all times. Second, do not fold or scratch my books or/and its jackets or I will do unto you as you have done to the book by creasing you alive. Third, minimal abuse on the book’s spine, please! I don’t mind a few lines on the spine, just as long as it’s still recognizable when the book is returned to me. Fourth, do not, under any circumstance, fold the back pages while reading. I will hurt you if you do this. Lastly, writing or highlighting of books is forbidden. Except for books that have duplicates. But that is usually reserved for me, unless I give you the book. See? I’m a pretty reasonable lender of books. All that really matters is their safe return. I still have a lot of books squatting on other people’s bookshelves. Newsflash, friends! They’re all feeling really homesick. I know so; it’s a mother’s instinct. Now please, do return them already.

Now back to bookshelves.

Last week, I moved to my brother’s room. This move signifies freedom for in all 23 years of my existence, I have shared a room with my older sister. Now I am free from the horrors of rudely interrupted slumber due to an alarm I didn’t set, of being locked out of my very own room, of being kicked out of my very own room, of fighting over the remote control and so much more. Now, I welcome the land of spacious closets, of not being yelled at by my sister for my hoarding tendencies, and most importantly, of bookshelves galore!

If I had seen you last week, you probably saw me beam like a proud momma while telling you how I organized my books alphabetically and separated them by genre. I wasn’t aware that an anal side of me existed until these bookshelves came into my life. Now, a love affair has bloomed, and you know what happens when love flourishes in this day and age - you stalk it on the internet.

Here are some really drop-dead gorgeous bookshelves for you librarians out there:

At least when I wake from a bewildering dream of having walked down The Aisle, of not being greeted by any groom, of continuing the ceremony despite the absence of a groom, of a very lively wedding reception where everyone else was enjoying themselves except for the groom-less bride, then finally, of being left alone in a hotel suite wondering, “How the hell am I gonna consummate this wedding?” – at least when I wake from that kind of bewildering dream, two syllables can calm me down – “bookshelves”.

Exercise in Gravity

2008-08-28T22:02:00.010+08:00

Do you know that critical moment when human flesh is just about to mercilessly slam against the asphalt? No? Well, neither do I. But Denis Darzacq, a French photographer, captures that instant with an effortless click of a button in his photography series, The Fall. Here are a few images from the series:

My eyes threatened to pop out from their sockets' snug fit when they first saw those unnerving set of images. The skeptic in me immediately wrote it off as something digitally manipulated. But when I scoured the internet for answers, this unbeliever was fiercely given the middle finger. No retouching or special effects were done. Everything was real.

As it turns out, Darzacq hired professional dancers to launch themselves into space while he waited with his camera in hand for that magic moment to occur. Pretty awesome, pretty awesome.

Watch the goings-on behind the scenes:

Now if ever we do find ourselves falling into space, lets all hope our downfall's as graceful as that.

Exercise your threshold for amazement by checking out his latest project - Hyper - or his personal site.

The Anatomy Lesson

2008-08-26T19:51:00.009+08:00

I’ve always marveled at those who can create a new fuzzy friend just by twisting and maneuvering two needles and a ball of yarn. The few times I had dug deep inside and channeled my inner Martha Stewart, I had ended up pitifully twirling an inedible dish of yarn spaghetti with my metal chopsticks. This is more commonly known as Arts and Crafts Fail.

Now Sarah Illenberger, on the other hand, is the ultimate modern day Ms. Crafty McCraft. She puts a whole new dimension to organ-ic phrases such as “Watch your lungs, you smoker” or “Spill your guts" and my personal favorite – “To you, I offer my heart.”

Obviously not a smoker's lungs.

How's the movement goin', Bowels?

Isn't that a fine work of heart?

Amazing, eh?

Now if frog dissection were this cute, I believe I would have gotten an A in my lab class.

Declare Yourself

2008-08-21T22:47:00.004+08:00

Cat got your tongue every time you come face to face with the love of your life?
Do the words suddenly evaporate into thin air when your reason for being appears?
Are you too scared to approach the object of your affection for fear the he or she might hear the intense pounding of your heart?

Worry no more! Thou which that holds all the answers to life’s pressing problems – the internet – saves your ass once again!

Presenting, the form of declaration you wish you came up with:

Just fill up this wonderful form - sign, seal, deliver it and whoever he or she is, is yours. Or not. At least you tried and isn’t that all that matters?

The Magnificent Anderson

2008-08-19T20:40:00.009+08:00

It was back in 2004 when my then boyfriend introduced me to this gangly young man who had a curious proclivity for wearing spiffy suits. He wasn’t exactly what anyone could call dapper nor dashing but nonetheless, I was enamored. He had a geekiness about him that you could smell a mile away. And naturally, I sniffed his nerdy scent to track down his whereabouts. This man’s name was Wes Anderson.

The first Anderson film I unknowingly watched was The Royal Tenenbaums. In the middle of my daily exercise routine that consisted of Channel Surfing and Couch Yoga, my eye caught these two little dudes wearing red Adidas tracksuits. I tuned in and was pleasantly surprised by what was unraveling before me. That night, I talked to ex-boyfriendo and described to him this cinematic gem I had channel surfed upon. He shed light upon my poor ignorant soul and the rest, as they say, is history.

This November, the very esteemed Criterion Collection will be coming out with Bottle Rocket, Anderson’s initial foray into the path of Great Auteurship or Supreme Auteurity or becoming The Auteurialist (Ok, I’ll stop now). And I say, it’s about time!

Now isn’t that awesome? Lovely artwork was done by Ian Dingman. Work out that finger of yours and click on the link to see more of his work.

Criterion also has 3 more of Anderson’s films in their spectacular vault of exquisite titles:

If I'm not mistaken, I believe the DVD artworks were done by Anderson's brother, Eric Anderson. Wow, this family sure didn’t waste anytime on their asses when God was handing out talent to the mortals.

Now imagine having all four of these DVDs lounging around with you in your room. That’s some pretty damn good company you’ll be in, I must say.

From the Bottom of Your Art

2008-08-19T01:27:00.009+08:00

My little anecdote about stumbling upon an illustration straight out of Wong Kar Wai's In the Mood for Love reminded me of another inspired work of art by one of my favorite artists. His name is Matthew Woodson. He took a stab at rendering on digital canvas what he saw on screen:

And wasn't he right on the mark?

A month ago, while getting my daily dose of vitamin blog (I know you want to chuckle, don't stifle it, let it out), I came across this bit of humorous but sad news:

"Artist Matthew Woodson was recently bit by an unknown spider. Unlike Peter Parker who gained untold superpowers from a similar incident, this comics-related spider bite has put the artist in a tight financial situation. Read his blog for full details, but essentially, he is taking on commissioned illustration work — no job too small — to help pay for the medical bills over the next 8 months to keep the poisonous infection at bay."

Go on, clicky the linkies. Look at the guy's work. It's really awesome. I want his work to hang on my walls but transacting money on the net is an unknown joy for my Momma doesn't allow it. But for those of you who are allowed by their Mommas, go and help out the man! It's about time you stopped rubbing dried-up snot on your poor walls and put something nice on it for a change.

Nerves of Steel

2008-08-18T23:36:00.021+08:00

I'm just sitting here alone all day, but my lips are moving because I'm saying dialogue out loud, and I'm making poses and expressions in mirrors and stuff to get those things worked out."

- Adrian Tomine on what shocking happenings
could greet those peering through his window

The first time I laid my eyes on one of Adrian Tomine’s illustrations, I was quite taken. I was a junior back then in college and was fervently bitten by the Wong Kar Wai bug. Googling Wong Kar Wai led me to stumble upon Tomine’s labor of love, a colored illustration of a scene straight from In the Mood for Love (One of the Top 5 All-Time Favorite Films of My Young, Impressionable Wanna-be Filmmaker Self, Back in the Day When Everything and Anything Was Possible and When Life’s Harsh Realities Didn’t Slap You Across the Face Yet, but that’s another story).

Tomine's portrayal of In the Mood for Love

In the Age of Google, a click of the mouse can lead you to open countless doors of so-called knowledge. So I made my way, banging open door after door, and my hunger for all things Tomine was briefly satiated. I say briefly because the truth sunk in, the probability of my owning any of Tomine’s titles was equal to the probability of me waking up blonde and blue-eyed the next day: It can happen, but not just yet. To make a boring story short, I made my way to the US of A, scoured the shelves of heaven a.k.a Barnes and Noble and snagged every Tomine title that my beady little eyes fell on: Summer Blonde and 32 Stories: The Complete Optic Nerve Mini-Comics. And I was a happy camper.

Last year, Tomine came out with his most recent work to date, Shortcomings. What I love about Tomine’s work is his accurate portrayal of life in the real world. There are no super heroes, no super powers, no grown men prancing about in leotards and masks. But in my opinion, it's just as good as its brothers from the same medium. Tomine whips out his knife, cuts out a slice of life and uses that as a jumping off point to tell his stories about the bitterness and sweetness inherent in life. In all honesty, my love for Tomine's work really lies in his artwork. When you get the privilege of laying your eyes onto his colored illustrations, please be prepared to let out a gasp of amazement. His comics are usually drawn in black and white, but don't let the lack of color bore you. Tomine has such a firm grasp of the nuances in facial expressions that the emotions of his characters really do jump off the pages, and you can't help but mirror those feelings as well.

If you’re lucky enough, you can find Tomine’s work over at Fullybooked. But if you really want to make sure that you happily go home with a Tomine comic in your hands, trek on over to the lair of magical things, Sputnik in Cubao X.

"Missed Connection", Tomine also illustrates for The New Yorker

"Facebook"

"Lucky Alan"