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.

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

AVATAR Review (SPOILER on HIGH ALERT!!!!)

Storywise…

Well, about this movie I saw just last night?

So there is this island, y’see, … nope, not an island, a planet, yeah, a planet.

Papua is the name—Planet Papua (darn nice name, if I do say so mesself, got them nice ring to it, so to speak). Now, this Planet Pandora. … Did I say, Pandora? Papua? America? Nah, that’s entirely different film, that one is. Iraq? Aw, no. Whoever heard of Planet Iraq... Mmm, Afghanistan? Heck, no, that was Rambo 3 movie, that was (damn fine one, at that). Okay, let’s just call the damn place Planet Pandora. Howzzat?

Now, this planet is here is sooo … beautiful. And I don’t use this word lightly, you mark my word. It’s got all these purdy flowers and such. Darn purdy flowers… The darnest purdiest flowers you ever did see, you mark my words. This planet here—look like that island, Papua—also has got all them strange-lookin’ plants, and them big, big trees. And they glow. Boy, how they glow. They glow when you touch ‘em, y’see. Just poke ‘em a little and see them glow. So, at nights, why, you won’t need no torch or fire or nuthin’. You won’t need none of them, no sirree. Nope. U-uh. So if guys wanna see where you wanna plant your feet in them forest, why, just touch one of ‘em flowers, or leaves, or whatever please ya, thank you very much, and you get your light, and you can just walk in that forest clear as day. And if you touch enough of ‘em leaves, flowers, whatever, why, you can have your disco night right there in the forest. Woo-hoo, yeah, yeah, uh-huh, uh-huh…ehm, so anyways, the animals in this planet also look damn great and alive. Boy, the way they move, as if they ain’t got no bones or joint, so graceful, if I do say so myself, unlike they way you or me move, no way. When they land on their six feet, my, as if there ain’t no impact between them feet and the hard soil. Damn graceful.

And, this planet has this thing called, don’t laugh now, coz it’s a darn hard name to say, this one, un-ob-taain-niuium. That’s what that is: Unobtainiuium.

Now, this Planet, Pandora, has got this Unobtainiuium aplenty, down in the eart— …err, soil. And this Unobtainiuium will get you mighty fine price here on Earth. Why it’s damn pricey, they have this gazillion dollars equipment sent from Earth to dig out this unobtainiuium, yessiree, that they do. So, even tho’ they have all these gazillion, gazillion pricey equipments, why, with them price that high, they’ll get more gazillion, gazillion dollars more from selling them unobtainiuium, so that’s okay—sending them pricey equipments.

Now, the problem with Halliburt—er, the company doin’ all them diggin’ is that, why, this planet has its people living on it, y’see. Not just some animals, small and big, no sir, uh-uh. The people there, why they have their own tails, yes, they do. And, they look kinda cute, as a matter of fact. But, they’re tall… Man, ain’t they tall… And they speak, and they sing, dance as you please… Damn fine lookin’ people they are, damn fine…whooeee…

Now, this company, Freeport-Halliburton-McMorran Ltd., had this, whaddayacallthat…charge de affair, sumthin’. This young charge de affair looks damn young he shouldn’t be in the movie, y’know what I’m sayin’? He’s damn too young. That director what directed the movie oughta get someone else playin’. Someone older. Now, I’m not against them younger actors, nosirree. But that guy, Ribisi, I think his name was, is just damn too young to play this Palmer guy. He got all worried about them Pandora people not liking one bit their diggin’ in their land, no sir, no ma’am. So Freeport here … wait, wait, did I say Freeport? Damn, that’s just plain wrong…There ain’t no Freeport up there on Pandora. No way.

…

What? I said Halliburton also? What’s Halliburton? I know nothin’ ‘bout no Halliburton, no way, uh-uh.

So, anyways, this company then hire these ex-soldiers, y’see. Toughest lookin’ sonsofbitches you ever did see. Hell, yeah. This Blackrock Company—they’ve got all these cool equipments, heavy artillery, crazy weapons, grrrrreat lookin’ choppers, and they have this leader, Colonel Miles Quaritch, with none-of-your-BS attitude. He’s all military and stuff, he’s all busy-like, barking orders, checking up all them fancy electronic computer equipments with them flashy lights and monitors—he forgets wearing shirt, this fine colonel.

Heck, this colonel is also damn smart, he could operate some of them fancy electronic computer equipments. He’s that smart. And this guy is one tough mutha, tough as nails, only even tougher than the toughest nail you can get down in them buildin’ material store. If this Colonel Quaritch looks at you wrong, why, you’d best crawl back into your mama’s belly, that’s what you gotta do. Yeah. Just crawl back in there you pansy, sissy pretty boy, you… Yeah, yeah, that’s right, don’t let me see your damn fine looking pansy face right there in front of me, you…

…Okay…

So these big boys (from Blackwood Company) with them big guns and big choppers, and cool looking robots—just like those in a movie I saw years ago, ALIENS, I think the movie was called, only here, them robots are all covered and closed up tight so as the people operating them can breath mighty fine, ‘coz, y’see, here in Pandora, we cannot breathe as we’d like to, no sir, uh-uh, so we gotta wear them fancy oxygen mask—are hired to make sure them fine company boys can do their important diggin’ to dig all them unobtainiuium out happy and safe as can be. Whooee, that’s one long sentence, that one. Yeah. Anyways, so as them engineers can do them diggin’ and singin’ them happy songs, all at the same time, they can.

Now, these Papuans—only they are called Na’vi here in this fine movie, I saw just last night, don’t take too kindly these white folks—with some blacks thrown in for good measure—diggin’, and fellin’ their precious shining trees. No way.

So they fight with them cool, cool looking bows and arrows, only since these Papuans are so darn tall, their arrows are like spears to us. Now, you won’t want no spears run thru’ your chest, no sir, no ma’am, thank you very much.

So this cunning people from this Halliburton-Blackwater Company get together, y’see, and talk about how they can solve this damn problem. So they decide to get someone into this Na’vi people. Damn, that was just brilliant, if I do say so mesself. You won’t see that kinda trick pulled here anywhere on Earth. No way. Not in Aceh, not in Afghanistan, not in America, not in Iraq, not in Palestine, not in Zulu, not anywhere. Only in Hollywood, people, only in Hollywood.

So this guy, this spy, this Jake Sully (that’s this guy’s name), get into the tribe, and pretend to wanna be one of ‘em Na’vi people, only at nights he’d, hush-hush, report to this tough-as-nail-only-tougher Colonel With No Shirt On.

Then in the morning, why, this spy, this Liutenant Dunbar, Dances with Wolv—er… learns them Na’vi ways: Hunting, running and jumping from trees to trees like monkeys, catching them fine looking horses that look suspiciously like seahorse, and learn to ride them so damn fine lookin’ birdie with no feathers, y’see, so they look like them dinosaur birds in that Spielberg movie about them dinosaurs. Whooee… Only, of course, he still acts like white boys, debating everything, touching like they are already close, like, comparing with what they know, etc, etc.

Now, the darnest thing is that this Dunbar guy, this spy guy, can’t keep his eyes off his mentor, this fine looking Na’vi lady, Stands With a Fist … that’s ain’t right. It should be shorter…

…

Damn, I was wrong. The name should be Pocahontas, yup, that’s it. Shorter.

So, this John Smith guy, this spy guy, start to get all softie with this Indian princess. And, yup, you know it. They fall in love….. oooh, pooey…. Heh, heh, that Donald Duck, he’s damn funny, he is, heh heh…

So, Pocaneitiri and John Sully-Smith, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-I-N-G, and them looking hardcase soldiers get bored waitin’ for them reports from this Sully guy, this spy guy, about them Indians, when are they gonna move? When are they gonna move? huh? Huh? And this young manager, played by this Ribisi actor, is also like that: When are they gonna move? When are they gonna move? Huh? Huh? I want them diggin’ done in their village there. They’ve got this huge load of unobtainiuium there. The hugest load in the radius of 200 kilometers. Sure, this planet is big (we ain’t talking about island like Papua, here), and we can go look for other motherlode anywhere in this planet, but if we do that, we won’t be able to kill them damn Na’vi then now, would we? Heck, no. There won’t be no damn cool looking battle then now, will there? No sir, no ma’am.

So, we go to war. Whooee… and that was some battle, that was. And this Colonel Quaritch lead the damn invasion with a cup of coffee in hand... And a shirt. Well, well, whaddaya know… It’s that damn caffeine, I guess.

And them arrows, whooee, in the beginning, them arrows can’t break them chopper glass windows, but finally…Yess… them arrows shot through them glass and kill them pilots, yeah, yeah…

Whooee… that was a fine movie I saw just last night. Damn, fine.

K-20: Legend of the Mask

K-20: The Legend of the Mask (K20: Kaijin niju menso den) is a Japanese movie (you can tell from the title. D'uh) adapted from the novel of the same name. It is one of the movies bawled me over with its slick overall production and tone and setting (by God, those sets!) and whatnots that got me all pumped up and excited and thrilled (see how I got all redundant, here? I was that pumped, excited, and--anyways...). AND, the movie stars that hottie Takeshi Kaneshiro of Red Cliff 1 & 2-fame, among others. The story is set in a 1949 fictional Tokyo(in the movie, it is Teito), with Zeppelins flying in the sky of te city. And police choppers bearing the legend POLIZEI flew out of it. Below, Teito is a city very much influenced by many post-apocalyptic or alternate-reality-set movies or comics. It is dirty. It has colors of rust dominating just about everything. It has buildings and vehicles fitting with the the year (1949). And rusty old Tokyo Tower is the tallest structure, majestic and horrific at the same time. And, boy, those rusts. The society comes in standard the lowest class and its opposite, with no place for the middle class (That only exists in the real world, apparently). And we see the the city's police (POLIZEI?) captain's engagement ceremony performed in a big beautiful building and guarded heavily by armed soldiers. City officials apparently have it extremely easy in this world. The technology this world apply is the craziest kind of techno-wizardry that only Nikolas Tesla could have come up with: The story opens with the demonstration of an attempt to send (electrical) energy nary all those troublesome wiring, followed by things going wrong: A bad guy, explosions, audience running this way and that, etc. etc. you know the drill. The lead character, Heikichi Endo, played by that breath-takingly handsome Takeshi Kaneshiro, is an unsurpassed magician and acrobat, performing for a struggling travelling circus. And, with his mentor's health failing, he gets an offer to use that acrobatic skill of his to get some real money. And that's where his adventure begins. The movie is powerful due to its strong human drama, for one thing, though some people might not like the cliches the movie is rife with. Poor kids, abandoned or orphaned, living in the garbage dumps are all over the movie, serving to strengthen the characters (especially those played by that cute hunk of guy, Takeshi Kaneshiro and Tokoko Matsu's Yoko Hashiba) and help direct their relationship. But, this is not a drama, no sir, as when the actions start, they come fast and long and beautifully orchestrated. One fight scene that takes place in an small alley made me forget the fight happens in an alley: The two fighters move with so much ease, they seem like fighting in a big open ring. And the actions nod more to the direction of Hong Kong's finest action movies, rather than Japanese short-burst actions in Samurai flicks. CGI, of course, is on the table but, again, some CGI effects are so smooth, my jaw dropped (though some others are bleh...) The acrobatic actions on the rooftops (And walls. And streets. And alleyways) are blatantly parkour, so anybody who is into this, will have his wet dreams made real on screen. Yesss...the--er-- irony? antithesis?. Of course, the movie is Batman-meets-Zorro-meets-Blade Runner-meets-Steampunk (comics), and even the score takes some notes from Indiana Jones's and some others from Legend of Zorro's, but hey, when it is done this good, I'm all forgiving. So, with 137-minute runtime, the movie has its hits (the actions, characters, the story) and miss (the cliched drama), but it is a damn beautiful movie with crazy actions and cool stunts, and that gorgeous-even-when sulking cute-as-puppy-when-smiling Takeshi Kaneshiro really nails the character with his boyish looks but commanding on-screen presence. And some Japanese humors added to the mix may seem fresh for those not familiar with manga, anime or dorama. * * * What? The title? K-20 and all that? Oh, it refers to this Robin Hood/Zorro-like thief, famous for his mastery in disguises, that supposedly steals from the rich to give to the poor, but somehow or others, the public like their handsome police captain, who vows to catch the dastardly thief, more that they do the thief, and that astonishing looking-with-hot-bode-to-boot Takeshi Kaneshiro character thrown into the spiraling conspiracy related to K-20, and the plan for world domination using crazy gigantic cannon powered by nature's very own limitless electrical power of the the good ol' lightning.

Puzzling 'poo

Torment hath been but a word, like

all flowers this world hath borne.

Lexis-all meaningless to this tongue for scorn.

Kisses naught but these brows fevered hike.

Into thine eyes thou hath me drowned, but

sail me back to thy harbour then as night's nigh near

Charge me, hard and true. What

hail of love, I am torn asunder.

Exile me from these nations of men.

Arrows thru my heart those words you sent

Playfully render me heated and bothered.

Woe, o woe is me,

To o'ershadow mine eyes with aught else to see

Perplexed feeling this heart of mine

Words so sweet mine ears are thine

Roses bled their perfumed blood

To breathe in your scent I'd hold mine breath

Sweets rolling in thy tongue to me the world's wealth

To win to earn to treasure to hold.

Mine body trembles for thine

Thy love my own my wont

Use me, love, o'erwrought me I'm thine

For want a puzzle solved, agitated not but read and reread.

"Comment" your answer if you would

Torment hath been but a word, like

all flowers this world hath borne.

Lexis-all meaningless to this tongue for scorn.

Kisses naught but these brows fevered hike.

Into thine eyes thou hath me drowned, but

sail me back to thy harbour then as night's nigh near

Charge me, hard and true. What

hail of love, I am torn asunder.

Exile me from these nations of men.

Arrows thru my heart those words you sent

Playfully render me heated and bothered.

Woe, o woe is me,

To o'ershadow mine eyes with aught else to see

Perplexed feeling this heart of mine

Words so sweet mine ears are thine

Roses bled their perfumed blood

To breathe in your scent I'd hold mine breath

Sweets rolling in thy tongue to me the world's wealth

To win to earn to treasure to hold.

Mine body trembles for thine

Thy love my own my wont

Use me, love, o'erwrought me I'm thine

For want a puzzle solved, agitated not but read and reread.

"Comment" your answer if you would

Delectable Details

"Having children doesn't make a woman a mother" ran an [facebook] status update of one of my estranged colleagues.

You can argue until your lips crack, your throats hurt, your veins ready to burst, you're all ready to act as only humans can possibly do: tear your interlocutor's throat and drink the person's blood, only you aren't thirsty, over the issue. Yet, it is a tough job being a parent to little kids though it all comes down to You want it, they've got it (They being your kids):
- As babies they could do no wrong: all cuddly, cute as can be with everything they do sending you into ecstatic love and pride. You've been wanting this pride since you knew that kids don't come with the mail, and they couldn't care less as long as there is a teat to suckle everytime they open their mouth.
- Come toddler age, and they look for you, among their toys, when you are starting to regain your love to soap operas. And yet you mollycoddle them, dress them to the nines and parade them around town. All the while scanning those tabloids and bulletin walls in the hospitals for the next Baby Contestas you want to enter them to it and taking notes of the prizes offered, should your kids win.
And you find all your diplomas now come complete with thick-red-crayon drawing of figures suspiciously looking like a sausage having been run over by a truck, with curious-looking protusions and big circular things which if you let your imagination runs really wild may resemble a bit like feet, tail or eyes. Figures which upon interrogation are revealed to be those of dogs, cats or pigs--lipsticks used-up, unsigned contracts now paper planes after taking a dip in the bathtub, walls a scene of batlefield among soldiers of fairy, zoo crew and Ferrari drivers. You bite your lips and try to maintain composure, explaining to them the connection between the importance of your lipsticks to your overall presentability to everyone except your husband; the risk of their living their days like "those kids in Africa" now that daddy's paper is just another one of those Titanic wannabes, with wings to boot; the big, BIG possibility of their grandma's failing to remember their birthday, what with all the walls looking like that--they being kids the connection, or the lack thereof, would escape them, so you can get away with this trickery. All the while you curse under your breath for their losing in those baby contests, into which you've invested quite a lot for the admission fee, new clothes for them and such like. You want the world to acknowledge how great the parties involved in presenting such joyful bundles of cuddly love to the world and see if they care.
- And they grow by the millimeter, occupying more space than you yourselves have trouble filling (being there is not enough space to fill yourselves with in the first place), more and more you bump into them, more and more they ruin your concentration just when you need to focus all of your thought, mind and heart into texting or chatting, more and more often they appear behind you and startling you when you were this close to coming up with that winning move in the chess game against that damn computer(!!!), more and more often they come to you with all their stories which day-by-day sound more and more to you ridiculous, tiring, Why-do-only-I-have-to-hear-this-?, Who-is-going-to-listen-to-ME-?, Don't-I-deserve-attention-just-the-way-I-show-them?, I-want-my-ME-time, Don't-I-deserve-MY-self-actualization-after-everything-I've-been-through,That's-it-I-may-go-to-Komnas Perempuan/Komnas Pria (this writer's pipe dream)-tomorrow. You want your ego stroked, and those kids' big eyes wonderment and dependent love to you just don't cut it.
- And, of course, should you lose your kids' nanny and all their grandmothers or great-aunts have (Surprise!) their own lives to live so that they cannot be there for you to take care of your kids (for you, don't forget that...), you have this to say: "Yeah,yeah, I know, I'm late. Again. Sorry, boss. Got problems at home." You want your excuse, and they provide.

Public Enemies Review

Following other DC's A-list storyarcs getting celluloid treatment, Superman/Batman--Public Enemies the Movie finally hit the DVD with all the WHOMP!s and UUMPH!s that will send the fans banging on WB/DC Studios doors demanding the powers-that-be to animate more of their favorite stories, and that they'd better be quick about it, or else...
The film is based on Superman/Batman--Public Enemies storyarc that DC ran from October '03 until March '04, with the creative power house of Loeb, McGuiness and Vines delivering what I felt when I read the story to be a very refreshingly jubilant joyride of slugfest, though there is still much darkness scattered inside the colorful panels (The event in the story did lead to one of the biggest projects ever conceived by DC).
Yet, as the film needed to be a standalone, avoiding much mucks that drag many serialized comics (and hurt this comic fan's wallet), we see pretty big changes that fortunately won't cause the viewers who might be unfamilliar with the source story or even with (horror...) the characters and the universe scratch their heads and, halfway through, decide to switch to America's Got Talent instead.
America was in the dumps (bet nobody saw that coming), the God-fearing weapon-loving Americans voted Lex Luthor POTUS. And, whaddayaknow--he seemed to be doing a pretty darn good job at it. But, as a big chunk of space rock the size of Brazil believed to be a part of Planet Krypton after its End Day (the planet exploded, not getting major shower, that's what leads to the End of Days, sheesh...) was ready to hit Earth and wipe out all existence, President Luthor saw this as the ultimate opportunity to show the Americans how his xenophobia had all those times been nothing short than prophetic, i.e. Superman-being from-Krypton-somehow-attracting-that-big-BIG-meteorite-to-Earth. And as Luthor was a certified ex-evil genius, who were we to argue?

And so Superman became a fugitive and the hunt for the Last True Boyscout (accompanied by the ever-cunning Batman) began; hence, the title.

The actions in the film (and in the comics) were superb and the people working on the film did some terrific job translating the comic panels to animation: Superman-Batman vs. Metallo; Superman-Batman vs. the whole damn army of supervillains; Superman-Batman vs. President Luthor federal sanctioned superheroes; Superman-Batman vs. Captain Marvel-Hawkman--the fights went fast but with enough details that can make you appreciate seeing just about everybody get the chance to try to rearrange the Big Blue's mug (sometimes I wonder if the people responsible for the story are also xenophobic. Those ba----ds!).

The biggest change made for the movie that I notice is taking away Captain Atom's big role and having Batman (again) replace him, to do what needs to be done--in the comics we get to learn quite a lot about Captain Atom from this part of the story.

The film's animation by Korean animators, and I like the way the characters move. Sometimes in the fights, fists flew pretty slow with the result that we can see that rearranging Superman's mug-thingie pretty clearly, so I guess those were intentional.
Many dialogs, utterance, one-liners abd jokes from the comics make their way to film, and that is nice.
The character designs tried a bit too hard to translate the clear artworks of McGuiness and Vines, resulting in the bulbous upper arms, chests, thighs and much of everything else, including chins...or are they jaws??
And Power Girl did a great job providing an, uh, ogleful.

It's Dead –Sincerity*

* aka. You'd laugh out loud if I tell you there some funny s**t down here

aka. There Might Be a Part II Somewhere Here, or Not

It's so nice to live in a world full of people always willing to help one another.

'Here's my number. Call me anytime. Anytime, y'hear? I'm all yours the moment I got your call calling me for help. I'm there the moment we cut the connection.
'I'll be a fly, stealing into your abode—just give me a door or a window ajar for me to fly through.
'I'll be a mammoth, all horns and tusks announcing to the whole wide world that I'm here for you, should you want you prefer it that way.
'I'll be an eagle, flying high and plunging into your heartache and with talons sharper than blade, tearing it out and dropping it down from up high.
'I'll be a mole, blind to fear, digging tunnel to your place of retreat.
'So, call. Hear?'
…
…

'Why haven't you call? I've been sitting here by my cell phone waiting for your call. How could you
not call!? How could you?!'

And you call.
And you go and wail away spilling your heart out.
And you get all the help you feel you so justly deserve, and then some.
And you get your trouble sorted out, lifted up off of you, thanks to the help rendered.
And you turn away all sunshine and birds and bees, and all the colors of rainbow are you.

Then it takes only a moment with words not necessarily in a sentence, but you will be made sure you understand.
You have your say and you want the reply, a question that would demand an answer:
‘And now I use your help.’
Sincerity? That’s for suckers.

I give and I take.
Sell me yours. You then buy me something.
I do this for you. Wait there—your turn will come when you do me stuff.

‘There. That should do it.
… Hey, don’t I at least get a thank?’
Wow. That’s sincere.

Throw your hands to the heaven, and bargain God. ‘This, O God, Your servant offered Thee. Deliver, O Lord, from Thou aplenty.’
Bargaining with God: Yea, that always turns up good profit.

‘The person has helped me. Surely, I should return the favor.’
‘No one would help me, if I don’t do likewise.’
And that’s what you teach our children, since the moment they recognize you as more than merely an extension of their mouths: That nothing comes for free. You don’t help unless you get something in return. And you sure as Hell don’t get help without paying.

You don’t get your allowance unless you show me respect that I deserve.
You don’t get that new toy car provided you don’t flare my temper for at least four days straight.
You don’t get to play with your friends if you lose the paperwork I bring home.
You don’t get my love, as you don’t act the way I want you to act.

I got taught that one should not fall into the same ditch twice. I know that people change. I positively believe that people also change back. Let loose a dog, which for ten years you’ve been feeding nothing but the most expensive dog meals sold—the kind whose price you’d better not let your domestic helpers know for it would send them into terminal fit—and which you bathe and take to pet salon thrice a week, into the city dumpster and it would see you as not merely its master but its god who has magicked it down to a dog’s heaven.
‘All you stale bread, half-eaten chicken bones, baby’s puke, and everything else that squirm in there, HERE I COME!’

Yep. Dog’s Heaven, all right.

But dogs are not people.
Absolutely true, for dogs are incapable of being insincere.

Do I stay away from people because of whom I spent moments of my life in the dumpster? I do.
Do I forgive? Uh-huh.
Do I learn my lesson? I’d better.
Do I stay away from people with the help of whom I stared Devil in the face? Hell, yeah.

One sided short report on the L-word

Many people would say that ten years is a long enough time to know a person. Let alone a spouse.

You get to know how your spouse's mind work, know what she might say to things you ask her before she even says it, anticipate her words before they even form.

You know how your spouse moves, how she walks and turns corners, anticipate her moves to avoid colliding.
Sometimes you succeed in avoiding, at other times you seek the collision.

You learn how your spouse breathes during the night's slumber, you know when she exhales and inhales and you join in her rhythm. And you feel that your sleep is the sleep of a baby.

Yet time and time again, you find yourself newly acquainted with your spouse of ten years. Her everything is new to you. And you like it. And this is as it should be.

Love is in the air *Might be for Consenting Adults*

Love has certainly been around:

Love for politics gets you started running for your head of neighborhood watch hoping it would be your stepping stone to something a little bigger in seven to ten years' time, say, a country's prez.

Love for your job lands you in a position envied to death by your peers: Your boss's shoeshine boy (or girl). You might wanna watch where you park your vehicle at your office building parking lot here. Closest to the security post is recommended. Or under your office window--provided you don't spend too much of your working hours tending to your boss's needs in your boss's room.

Love for a type of music puts you at odds with those not listening to similar kind of music: You listen to your music wanting the whole world to have the same appreciation you have to it, to sing with you, to shout at the sky of the glory which are the notes, the power within the lyrics, the strength the verses possess, the delicacy the arrangement delivers, the harmony wrung out of the diverse instruments played with such precision bordering on miraculous. Music from Dismember, Slayer, Cradle of Filth, Judas Priest comes to mind...
Someone plays his, or her, favorite music--whose singer you'd just love to see give a never ending concert at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean with all the singer's fans attending--out loud for all the world to hear, you grind your teeth trying to keep your cool and not to run up to the person and tear him, or her, a new windpipe. You do not forget to bring your headsets wherever you go. Period.

Love for learning invites questions from mostly senior members of your great big family (grannies, great aunts and the likes): "You're a Doctor, now, dear? How wonderful. When are you going to get married?" "You're doing your thesis now? How nice? When are you going to get married?" "You're getting a full grant for that Fellowship program? Bless you. When are you going to get married?" etc. and grants you titles bestowed by those close or not-so-close to you: (Note on those not-so-close to you: There comes a time when you see someone, learn a thing or two (that's right: A thing or TWO)about that person, such the person's name and age, and you feel like that you know the person enough to pass judgement): Withered Flower, Cold Donkey, Mrs. D----, etc.

Love for money has you knock on doors, open drawers, shuffle paper, clear throat, check stationery, steal glances, have second thought, think better off it, draw lines, feel like taking a downer, or oft times, upper. Go figure.

Love for your children gets you to do some of the coolest things around: Go down on all four so that they can donkey-ride you (for little tykes, of course), teach them how to dribble a ball and watch them look at you with those admiring eyes that fly you straight to heaven (the fact that you were the lousiest athtlete in your high school loses its significance here), dig in the dirt to find those earth worms and teach them biology (That's right: Biology is very much about digging in the dirt and finding worms), spray water from the hose in a hot afternoon to create a rainbow (which lasts for about three seconds after spraying for about 20 minutes) and teach them physics (That's right: Physics is all about playing with colors. And lots of water), eat half of their ice cream after saying that too much ice cream is not good for them... What? One is supposed to put his his kids to school, feed them good food, sing them lullabies and help them with their homework??? Oops..

That Dying Breed: Reader

Unlike some guy I know whose name I should not mention as it might get me sued what with all this EIT Law--his name is David--who wrote that the notes he wrote should not be taken seriously, this note should be taken seriously:

I read the other day, an article on reading. It talked of how people (yeah, people. Meaning you, people...) today have gotten more estranged with reading. We are living in an era where we are constantly bombarded with updates: on TVs, on radios (for those who still listen to them *snigger?*), newspapers, tabloids, Net.
Especially, Net.
You open your social network account, wherever your account it is: F********R, T*****R, P***K, M*****E, M**T, F****U, B**O, mm, what else?

... Okay, that's all of it.

And you'll see updates, updates and more updates: which football team lost, who lost a bet (and a house, and a wife) because that $*#Tt* football team lost, who won a bet because that d@#*ed football team lost, what meals this-and-that made today for this-and-that's loveliest, who sang better today, whose bombs exploded where bringing how many closer to wherever (PIT might laugh at this. Or not) etc, and so on, and so forth...
Of course, what I mean by reading here is not reading those updates consisting of no more than 160 characters (who decided on the number, anyway?!): I'm talking about reading books. I'm talking about delving into a world which may not be wholly similar, or acutely different than ours. I'm maybe talking about reading fictions, but you can also get a kick reading non-fiction books. I'm talking about leaving the present and going back ten, twenty, one hundred, thousands of years into the Earth's past to see the making of the civilization, to read about humans killing humans, strong nations straddling the weaker ones, loves bloom--lost--crushed--regained--strengthened, trusts given and betrayed, promises delivered and broken, loyalty proven and demanded, honesty, integrity, the whole shenanigans.
You might argue those are things you get "reading" status updates, breaking news or latest gossips in tabloids, but I'm talking about world-shattering, nations-building ones, people, come on...
Or, you can jump to distant or not-too-distant future and see how the world of tomorrow unfurls. Though this kind of reading material belongs almost exclusively to fictions you can see the reflection of the past or present world in those worlds of tomorrow because that's where the authors draw their inspirations from anyway: Humans change but a little.
You might say that you don't have time to sit with a good book. I said that.
What I do now is reading on the train, on the bus, in bed, in the john.
What I read now are mostly e-books, either on my PDA or my NDS.
It is a luxury to sit down with a good book, real book I mean, and to smell the paper and feel weight of the book in your hands, but I don't stop reading.
No one should.