Lede Of The Day

Yay, Multiverse!

Lede Of The Day

This one really screams CUTENESS ^_^

Slurge

Bob-ding-dee-dee-ding-dang-Ka-bing-dang-headache. Then: the sour, the stench, the vomit. Look! An island, Japan on the dashboard.

Darah

Lolong panjangnya membuat luluh hati Niam, menariknya mendekat. Ringan langkah Niam seringan ayunan cakarnya, & darah semburat.

Bits and Pieces and Everything Else in Between

Storks are evil, kids. Remember: Storks. Evil. Good Night.

Bits and Pieces and Everything Else in Between

RAD

Kim is one rad SOB

Peek-a-boo

Peek-a-Boo.. Heeeeeere is ...Ki--whoa, nice MEAT!

agentmlovestacos: Can you handle 3+ minutes of a...

agentmlovestacos: Can you handle 3+ minutes of a...

Dang, that's cute

comicallyvintage: Successful careers will only...

Career-hell *chuckle*

comicallyvintage: Successful careers will only...

Now I can save some money for that yacht, and...

For those with tight budget, this is heaven-sent

Now I can save some money for that yacht, and...

Avengers Assemble! Superheroes need health care - Roger Ebert's Journal

Check 'em out. They're hilarous:

Avengers Assemble! Superheroes need health care - Roger Ebert's Journal

Yeah, bring 'em on

Tattoo You

The idea of adapting a book into a [good] movie has never been an intriguing one for me, as I have been disappointed with many screen adaptations, with just a few exceptions. Stieg Larsson’s highly popular novel, The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo—the first book in his Millenium trilogy—is destined for a big screen adaptation with the trilogy selling over 15 million copies worldwide. The setting of the stories in Sweden help pique my curiosity as I don’t get to read many books with that country as the principal setting. Stieg Larsson was a journalist and an activist for civil and woman rights, and The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo touches the subjects of sexual abuse and sexual violence. And computer hacking.

Stieg Larsson’s style (WARNING: Long, winding sentence ahead) of clinical writing to “report” the events and progression of the story using real locations described vividly along with his exposition and description of Sweden current history in politics, social and economy gives the story the investigative journalism feel that works well with the result that at present some tourism companies offer tour to Larsson’s fans to trace the steps the characters in the story take in the story.

Now, the movie—a Swedish-German joint production tries to stay true to the story, yet, some changes are unavoidable, mayhap, to make the movie more simple (which makes me like reading better than watching movies). Some characters are missing, notably the lead character, Mikael Blomkvist’s daughter. In the book she gives her father an important cue that helps Mikael discover a very important piece of important.

Mikael Blomkvist has been commissioned to investigate a locked-room murder mystery, and this becomes the center of the movie’s story, whereas in the book, other reasons and motivations spur him to tackle the mystery. The book’s Mikael Blomkvist the stud is replaced by a much tender one that may help the viewers to focus on the main storyline: murder mystery, and not when is the next time (in what pages) he jumps into bed with one woman or another—just like … this guy I know.

And computer hacking.

The book delves quite deeply into the world of hacking in which Lisbeth Salander (the character the title of the book and of the movie refers to) is an expert. The movie shows us Lisbeth tinkering with a program, hacking into some computers or others, having her notebook broken, feeling annoyed because of that, and that’s about it. We don’t get to feel her mastery in hacking, in how she obtains (read: steals) data, and hurts her enemies with this skill. We only get to see glimpses of her doing some hacking, and may need to use our imagination as to what effect what she does would do to her, or Mikael’s, enemies (And they say watching TV/films dulls your brain.)

Yet, overall, the movie is quite interesting to watch. Those who have not read the book won’t feel robbed of some events appearing in the book. Those who have read the book can see the characters they have come to know on paper come to life on screen. The story progresses in an even pace, and the twists are there to keep us pretty much guessing all the way till near the end of the movie.Michael Nyqvist, the actor who plays Mikael Blomkvist does a decent job portraying Mikael as an all-round good guy, and Noomi Rapace’s playing Lisbeth manages to catch Salander’s antisocial attitudes and awkwardness around people (or, is that wooden acting? Oh, well, think positive, they say… And her dragon tattoo rrraaawks!)

The topic of sexual abuse (The Swedish title Män som hatar kvinnor translates as Men Who Hate Women.) is present in many parts, and this helps me appreciate the late Larsson’s struggle for equality rights during his lifetime.

Hollywood’s intention to remake the highly successful novel/film into their own movie (to be released in 2011) has somehow made me cringe fearing the worst, as even though David Fincher is directing it (and Daniel Craig plays Mikael Blomkvist, for that matter) the tweets I’ve been following about a month ago related to this movie are all about whether Rooney Mara (she is to play Lisbeth Salander) really has a nipple pierce for the role. Ouch! Computer Hacking Expertise: Keep your expectation very, very low.

Who Remembers H.C. Andersen? Who cares mother's love?

I stumbled upon this gem from the freezing land of the Dane,

an adaption of a classic story told and retold

Of a story of love, of strength, of pain

Of one love that should matter for all, young or old

This big baby cried reading this

at the time when he should be typing uninterrupted

Yet, missing his mommy somehow gives him peace

And even more as his dear editor is all but patient and good-natured

some doodleeoo on Twitpic

as the sound of the clock ticking,

the cold from the air-conditioner jabbed deep into my bones,

the hand ran wild, and the mind all a-whirly

some doodleeoo on Twitpic

The Price of Crossing Steve Jobs

Please, don't tell me these multi-millionaires are in a pact, get together every Saturday night, burn black candles, bring in over-the-hill prostitutes, get them (the pros) doing what they do best, reminisce, and intone Lady Gaga's Dirty Rich...

Three-sided Battle of Wits

Can't wait to see who'd win woo hoo

Come Fly Be Draygons

Those ancient Vikings sure have been around.
So, in the Viking village, Berk, we have Vikings speaking with Scottish accent, Vikings talking with Irish accent, Vikings talking like American teenagers with stutters (blame it on their parents’ stealing words from their kids’ mouths and their inability to understand their kids’ struggling to find their bearings in the world turning complicated around them (Read: girls/boys, zit, teachers’ demands ("What?! Homework??! Again???! But you gave us, like, homework, like, last week????! Bummer…."), girls/boys, BlackBerrys, B.O., girls/boys, and so on with lots more girls/boys in between), complete with a falsetto of a boy growing up to be a man in a man’s world. This is how we are introduced to Hiccup, the protagonist in Dreamworks Animation’s newest offering: How To Train Your Dragon.
How To Train Your Dragon excels in ways that soar high into this writer’s deep subconscious (no pun intended), as flying (on the back of your dragons) is the highlight of the movie (Guess I dream of flying, then. Better than (last Tuesday’s) dream of cracking peanuts and feed them to bats, I guess). And watching it in 3D (with those ugly 3D glasses on) helped.
Hiccup is your average misunderstood below average teenager (who happens to have a soft heart, a crush on the village’s tomboy—Astrid, and a knack in mechanics) in a Viking village of Berk—A village where architecture and house building are thriving businesses, thanks to dragons attacking their village every other week, shooting fires and brimstones against the houses and macho fully-muscled (and bearded and braided) cool-looking horned-helmet wearing Vikings who all fight gallantly with their catapults, spears, swords and everything else they can throw at those dastardly dragons.
All.
But one.
And that one is Hiccup.
And from this point on you can guess the direction the movie is heading.
So, in terms of story there is nothing original really in How To Train Your Dragon. But I like the way the movie makes an effort to stir away from silent agreement shared amongst Hollywood’s CG animated moviemakers: use as many splashy colors as possible, show everything off on the screen (it doesn’t matter if they don’t necessarily move or if they look bad compared to some matte shots used in movies in the 60s, 70s or 80s), have some cool shadowing effects yet still show everything off. Oh, and, of course, cute talking animals.
Yup, How To Train Your Dragon does NOT have cute talking animals. The dragons don’t talk. Instead they growl, they have their tongues lolling out and smack their lips, and show their teeth, and they looove it if you scratch their belly or neck, and they purr. Like a dog. Or cat.
But by God, they do NOT talk.
And, sure there are a lot of colors flying around on screen, but compared to some other CG Animated movies (UP springs to mind. And AVATAR), How To Train Your Dragon shows less of these.
The dragons in How To Train Your Dragon come in various shapes and sizes, each having its own distinct qualities (Power, Speed, Stamina, Weakness—get your Compendium sticker book at the nearest expensive bookstores that sell expensive imported books in your city), and knowing their statistics will help the villagers in their never-ending (SPOILER ALERT: until at least the last 15 minutes of the movie) enmity against the dragons.
Hiccup is one unlovable character in the movie. From start to finish, I couldn’t stand hearing his voice and his meek demeanor. So he’s supposed to be a softie. So what? It shouldn’t stop him standing upright, should it? Should it? And although his "friends" are so generic you can find them in most all movies with teenagers in them, they are still interesting to see (the twins—Ruffnut and Tuffnut’s continuous bickering is fun to see)
But the flying sequences, dragon-fightings and the aerial battles on the dragons? Those rock! From simply flying and maneuvering in the air (training Toothless, Hiccup’s Night Fury (love the name!) dragon) to the fights on land and in the air, the actions come fast and furious (No. I didn’t have that movie in mind when writing that. I had Tom & Jerry’s The Fast and The Furrious, instead), and glorious with thunderous explosions that literally rocked my seat, debris flying this way and that, big, big fires and billowing smokes that I could almost smell inside the movie theater. And that slow falling soot after silence finally regained had me and my kid reaching out to touch it. Watching it in 3D (with those ugly 3D glasses on) helped.

O Reds Where Art Thou?

O this cheating heart of mine

If only a knife so sharp and so fine

Would stab it and rob me off of my prime

No heart shall beat ever more in time.



Why O you Reds perform so?

Mediocre football unlike what I used to know.

Sluggish defense: look how it brought you so low

Hurts seeing those scoreboards oft times show zero.



Kuyt's hit-and-miss, and alos the others

Gerrard's talismanic presence, will it withers?

Torres's prowess no more a-glitter?

Injuries, O cruel injuries! Away thee from mine lovers.



Should this heart transport away from Anfield?

To land softly on another grassy field

Where awesome young guns a steamy professor builds

See them play how this heart bleed.



Emirate Stadium may close to house this inconstant heart

But alas Liverpool's charm may still hold the card

To stay it in Anfield, and make parting hard

With other hopefuls to watch over beer, nuts and fart.

Me, Myself and I, and a little bit of You aka. It Sucks To Be Atheist

Eternal glory be to The One whose Love everlasting, pure and simple, unassuming

All receive, none left out, the wicked and the meek,

For ones who are restless and those who sit and wait

Rows of mountains, chasms so deep, all touched, jungles so thick that eternal nights prevail under the canopy of leaves; the air the sky, great open sky , homes of millions of galaxies of microbes and mites and dust, all tended to:

With Sight beyond sight beyond sight, Plunge to the deepest of gorges, Sweep over the highest of mountains, Rummage through the darkest of caves, Stare into the brightest of reflection, yet subtly, o so subtly that none feels, but the most restless of seekers.

Whose Existence is so Real that what are perceived by mortals are but fleeting imageries,

Whose Presence is the only thing Constant that we hopelessly look the other way for the comfort of hopeful forgetting

Praises, love, and subjugation all.

All intention, all work and all prays:

Forgive me, for here I am, burying myself in work, neglecting You.

You're All forgiving One, I am all being forgetful

God, forgive me some more, for I gulp and swig and belch without Your Name mentioned

And I know You will forgive me for this weak body will surely suffer without sustenance for at least every 5 minutes

Lord, I humbly intone for your mercy as I cursed my fellow roadie, cutting in front of me (and I, in my mind’s eye, transforming him into a furry, cute animal not deserving such low analogy for this animal is loyal and sincere as loyal and sincere can be)

Yet, naught but peace do I feel knowing You, God, Owner of All, Demander of none from this servant of Yours, See me whole as a lowly creature with loose tongue and temper shorter than life.

My Love, my God, I cry, hardest, for deliverance as my children take less priority in my days, become more of a burden for my shoulders, grow less adorable with their constant questions and innocent eyes, steal more of my temper as they follow me around, and their pudgy little fingers tug at the corner of my shirt, dishevelling that corner of my shirt thus cruelly ruining the overall impression of my perfectly pressed attire.

Nevertheless, I rejoice: You with Your Overwhelming Compassion, would Brush off this negligence as the sacrifice I have to make for merely the benefit of my self-actualization.

O my Lonesome Stranger here-there-everywhere, I'm now all dead unless Your Might Still the hands of Azrael because my "my love," my "cintaku," my "honey-bunny," my "sayangku," my "dearest," my "mi adore mi amor" is addresed not to my companion I have chosen--

by Your Consent, for what're all of us but as grains

in a weaved basket running this way and that

played by the hands of a skillful granny

before said grains end up in the mill

to be transformed into flour,

then mixed and beaten into dough

for making yummy pie that all who've tasted it

will go to sleep smiling all the while

But I digress--

But, who am I to question Your Everpresence Grace for Knowing and, most importantly, Understanding my desire to be loved--at least in words or more but more on this coming up--more than just by those whose mundane lives I'm part of?

Dear God, here I am, lamenting for Your Forgiveness for my six-pack fresh-from-fitness-center abs/sultry-fragranced perfumed body, my perfectly-symmetrical trimmed hair & moustache/lipstick-covered sensual lips and my schooled posture/sparkling-inviting eyes are not for the person I gave my connubial vow to.

Yet, how relieved I am, Your servant, with my brow kissing the Earth, understanding You would See this transgression of mine as most deemed by society.

My God, You Are the One, as all are nothing but the sum of the parts,

Render my soul with Your Anger for I use my soaring intellects, my exquisite beauty, my out-of-this-world witticism, my breath-taking attention-gathering pleasing figure to win as many hearts as I can, for my own heart is too big for a mere spouse and some runny-nosed kids.

Or as my cool composure and my demure countenance sell me more and win me more hearts for to be loved by many and love them in return is a way I know how to prove me worth it in the eyes of the whole wide world, to fill these rooms within me yearning for praises (call it recognition), for adoration (call it acknowledgement), for devotion (call it friendship), such as my aim.

Yet, again, again and again and again, Your Tenderness, Your Compassion, Your Brand of Forgiving shall Set me free from the burden of guilt, such that I have.

My Maker, Destroy me, I realize not what I am doing

For thinking ill of my dearest acquaintances, for speaking poison about them when they're not looking.

For taking the sweetest apples from their plate, and leaving snakes in its wake.

But who am I to think bad about myself? Isn't it wrong to think of self destruction? And You Forgive me as I once again realize my mistake, until the next day when I repeat the offense, this small remembrance and prayer will prove handy.

My God, The True Possessor, Strip me off of my skin, Sear my flesh, Dry my blood, Grind my bones:

I stroke my vanity 'till it grows tall and proud raising over all else,

I grease my vapidity so that it shines so brightly blinding those who know not the darkened corridors I take

I talk high to bring down those whose merits boil my blood

And I skitter low to jab them high on the neck where their blood flows the freest.

I cater to my ego for if I don't do it, who will?

And despite all these, I find, as I always believe I shall, no truer peace with the Love and Forgiveness You Shower me with.

Lord of all, Pulverize me. For I shudder when I see my actions.

Look at me prancing away the days, looking down on those whose stations in life I sneer at, as a prove of my achievement I've won, as the reminder of my worth.

Hear me talk down to others, Watch me snub the lights of spirit burning in their eyes, Witness as I trample on their hopes,

I see a lady with stumps where her feet should be, dragging her body on a dirty floor of a commuter train, stopping every one foot and extending her hand, showing a palm so black and thick with grime, and I, while cursing the government officials responsible for such ugliness with a thousand black deaths, suddenly find a renewed interest to a text message I've received three months prior saved in my most sophisticated (for at least another couple of weeks) smartphone

all these and more, God,

but of course, You the All-knowing All-seeing, from the division of cells within the tip of an ant's leg to a star going supernova destroying a thousand planets orbitting it.

You See the spittle on the corner of a mouth of a child busker dries up as he sings,

You see a mother on the dirt floor in a tilted hut grinding a dry cassava to make pulp for feeding her four children

You See a man and a woman in a post-coital embrace pouring out their injured hearts (and self esteem) inflicted by their spouses and playing 'what-ifs' as their next round of wild blissfulness approaches,

You see money changing hands under tables and over electronic signals across over thousands of kilometers of wires and radiowaves,

You see my thoughts.

And You See me feeling the suffering of what I'm doing or failing to do and I feel exalted 'causeYou Forgive.

O Maker, Atomize me, the lowly owner of this infernal body:

I fantasize over those adult performer/sinetron star as I lay in my nuptial bed with my other half whispering sweetest nothingness and exchanging grunts,

I lust over those models strutting their luscious/muscle-bound bodies in the pages of those respectable tabloids/'natural-wonderment' websites/shopper's catalogs,

I have my fun-between-the-sheets with the one person, Your Present of Earthly delight for me, with whom my days are weaved in hours filled with domestic bliss

(listening to my spouse's unending stories of unending adventures in a world industry, manufacturing, production and constant development growth; catching the last whif of perfume, now mixed with the fragrance of sweat after a whole day and half of evening self actualizing as hope for a quick shower to also catch a small portion of that freshness people out there have the privy to enjoy this whole day is unrealisitic, for my spouse is too tired for that and what am I if not understanding and empathetic?) and the rearing of our pride and joy, apples of our eyes, our dreams made flesh, our lives on earth guaranteed continuation,

but for grrrrrreat fucks surely I look elsewhere.

I flirt heartily, exchange suggestive messages, touch each other's bare skin,

I have rendezvous at an obscure locale, kiss each other's cheeks, eat from each other's spoon, gaze deep into each other's eyes, open each other's heart, give each other's comforting squeezes as laments pouring out, confessions spilling over, hopes made up,

But not with whom solemn oaths I once exchanged

under the canopy of flowers, claiming You "as my Witness",

flanked by those in whose wombs I knew not

any worry, nor cold, nor bitterness

Only warmth and love 24/7

No, God help me, not with that one, for modern life demands me of this,

And my soul-searching doesn't stop with that pledge, a pledge whose echo sounds more like nuisance to these ever-growing sophistaced ears of mine.

And I get all hot and bothered,

My body itches and my mind a-flame,

With that nuisance word printed on my ID

Like dog on a leash I cry for my human rights,

'Buddhism,' 'Catholic,' 'Christian,' 'Confucianism,'

'Hinduism,' 'Islam' or whatdoyouwanna call it

I've got a thousand excuses for every call I fail to answer,

For I won't be bound by sweet promises that come with it that bind my aspiration

And You, my Omniscient God, You Understand how much I shall lose if I'm bothered by those chains

And in my belief in You I find Your Forgiveness.

And I never, o God, take You for granted

anymore than I will never in my days on earth see me wanting, as You, yea You, always fill my heart and mind,

when I need You.

***** (^_^) *****