See Jane Lynch like never before in Madonna's cover "Vogue"

This video will send Gleek tongues wagging—*wags*

† I do not own the rights to this video, Fox does.

A Tribute to a Friend Who's Found Peace (Repost)

It has only been just a while, since I could remember how Karl had been a part of my life. It was when I began my pursuit of music as a member of the school chorale back in high school, there, where i first met him. He was this very loud and cheerful person, dark, and I mean literally dark guy who possessed this extraordinary guttural voice, I almost thought he had a throat disorder. Later, I found out that we had the same vocal section, and I thought, it was such a drag to have him around. I was a person shrouded in mystery and silence back then, short-tempered and irritable, not to mention very fat... so I was quick to flee from his wake to avoid ridicules that were uncalled for. I never expected that he would actually be the greatest bully; a practitioner of the arts of trickery.

Some time during camping, I remember him being the one who gave me this awful nickname, a word possessing such graphic mockery to my physical form. He called me "butchokoy", a name which became quickly accustomed by the people around us. It was very tormenting for me to walk around having this metaphorical placard tied around my neck. I was the laughing stock most of the time, all thanks to him and his wonderful deeds of mischief. Eventually, he was starting to become a pain. Save all the comforts I imagined by joining the chorus, which would have been a great interest as I'd expected. It turned out the opposite when I started experiencing the same stratum of childish jeers I had back then. But this time, however, with his company. Though I can't say he was really a rotten fellow. The way I saw him changed only some time after he did me a great favor in teaching me hurdle through my very first piece, the "Rosas Pandan". Somehow, it changed my impression of him being this good-for-nothing, insensitive oppressor. From that point, I found a sense of responsibility from him, having seen him direct all his attention and efforts to me without having to bully me.

When I stepped up to college, I never gave up my desire to sing in a choir. This was where I thought we'd part ways. Surprisingly, I found out that he was as determined as I in chasing this dream when I saw him in the school chorale. I can't say acting maturely would have meant me having complacency with myself, but it proved to be the best way to cope with the situation. I was glad to know, we have both grown. It was a fresh new start. Like having to know the person all over again and see the good things in him. Though I can't really say it was the end of our childish ways, but it was because we were old enough to laugh about the silly things we've done. I have changed, and so had he. And here, I can really say, I changed for the better because of him. I was thinner then. Things were starting to feel okay and he became one of my greatest friends.

I never thought he would come to startle me once again. I received a text message saying he passed away. Knowing him, I was bound to be skeptical, or rather I had the right to be. Having thought that it was a nasty little game he was playing, I just had to see it with my own eyes. Seeing him lying down in the coffin just gave the impression that he wouldn't go this far. He still was the greatest shocker of all time. It was for real. I never cried though, not because I still hate him, but because I never really knew him very well. It took days until I became reminiscent of him. For some reason, I cherished the memories we had even though it wasn't really that nice to remember, because his acknowledgments were far better than the friends who promised me to be there with me but really weren't.

Karl was pivotal in my life. Without him, I would still have thickened to a bum sitting on the couch all day. If it weren't for him, I'd still be closed off from all the opportunities that went my way. Proudly enough, I could say he was formidable next to Vicky Belo or anyone else who offered slimming. It was the great push, the positive nudge in my life that he had been responsible for and it had made me eternally thankful to him. I pray with all the angels and the saints, that they would be able to send my blog to heaven...

Happy Anniversary, Karl. you will never be forgotten...

Alice in BLUNDERLAND???

When Tim Burton fans (myself included) have heard of his recent project on a spin-off of Lewis Caroll's long-time novelty, fans went mad as the Hatter. Things got curiouser and curiouser on how Burton's "re-imagining" of Alice would turn out. For those unfamiliar with Burton, he shaped goth through most of his subversive works, most notably with Nightmare Before Christmas and Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street. As expected, the film was subject to be texturized with Burton's signature dark and quirky theme, along with a Disney convention, in a clever mix of live action and 3-D animation. However, after the film finally hit the big screen, casual movie-goers and fans alike shared similar sentiments in a mix of disappointment and amazement. Although through the years there had been many adaptations of Alice in Wonderland that we came to know, this time however, we would wonder, is it really THE Alice we've known?

Subsequently after the movie release, Burton's Bettlejuice purists were fazed by this new installment, dissatisfied for lacking the same degree of "creepiness" prevalent in Burton's previous works. Literary loyalists of Caroll's original Alice's Adventures in Wonderland on the other hand, despise the reconstruction of the plot, sacrificing the minimal narrative coherence in the book. Much of its character concentrated on the "literary nonsense" it was supposed to delineate, that of which according to them, was lost, making Burton's undertaking on the plot not so well-received. Whether or not Burton had lost his muchness after deciding to derail the story from its original plot scheme to give ground to an emotional framework, which he felt was inadequately portrayed in the book, still, people come to enjoy its marvelous visual compensation.

Fortunately, the times have been able to cope up with the intricate demands of Burton's imagination. The CGI advantage rendered breathtaking ambience of the espousal between Burton's and Caroll's imagery. On top of that, the cast displayed a bedazzling gothic Victorian pomp spectacle as the flamboyantly whimsical entourage behind the concept, but few seem to have been able to stretch their characterization through the aisle. Let alone Johnny Depp, who played as Tarrant Hightopp, the Mad Hatter with his eccentric best. Though the noticeable disparity may give a wrong impression on his own interpretation, likewise, the instruction of Burton suggested that his delight in the oddity gave reason beyond doubt. Better yet, we know that Johnny Depp acted as a loosely-based Hatter, and not as himself.

Among the grotesques designed by Burton, is his franchisee and domestic partner, Helena Bonham Carter, as the imperiously shrewd, both literally and figuratively "bloody big-headed" Red Queen, Iracebeth of Crims, according to the ever evaporating Chessur, the Cheshire Cat voiced-acted by Stephen Fry. Alongside her is the menacingly cadaverous Ilosovic Stayn, Knave of Hearts played by Crispin Glover. Her completely virtual opposite is Anne Hathaway, who played the overbearingly dramatic White Queen, Mirana of Marmoreal. As for Alice Kingsley, she was played by Mia Wasikowska, specifically chosen by Burton. We have known her as Alice Lidell, this curious and imaginative little girl, who chased the unceasingly jumpy Nivens McTwisp, the White Rabbit, voice-acted by Michael Sheen, and fell down the rabbit hole 10 years earlier. But now she comes back as a 19-year-old ingenue, who appears to be "Not-exactly-Alice" as described by the sagely smoking caterpillar Absolem, voice-acted by Alan Rickman, although some don't completely agree like the tubby twins Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum, both played by Matt Lucas. Hereon, we find that the adolescence of Alice was a device used by Burton to dismember the lingering traces of her childish temperament for the sake of the film's plot development. She was the Alice we knew alright, but now she has grown, slightly different with a new surname, but all the same, striven to be in propriety with the book's conceived persona.

The film's overall composition was viewed indecisive in terms of the insignificant differences made to cover up for its flaws, but on the contrary, its appeal reconciles those changes made to be realized that Burton intended for it to be solely an extension in its own right. Compared to its predecessors, Burton escalates it into a whole new different worldview, an ideology possessed by directors based on their own personal foundation; a way of representation unique of his own perspective. Burton fans could not deny the feel to it, as to clearly he had already established his penchant for his subversive ways, which Burton fans came to love, long before in his older works. Even Lewis Caroll may fall into the rabbit hole of Burton's consciousness, and surprisingly he may find a Wonderland of macabre wonders he could relate to the underlying sadism that elude immature readers from his bizarre fantasy.

Simplistic—a word inappropriate to describe the elaborate redesign, but in the confusion of its making, it proves just as worthy. Obviously evident in the story pattern in the film was a succeeding climax, which proves necessary in my opinion, as a relief from the monotony of Caroll's intellectually evasive nonsensical word play. I personally had myself inflicted with a pounding head after reading Caroll's work, which compelled me to immerse myself in footnotes, later to find out that even serious scholars grovel over his works just to decipher and simplify it to bring out the sophisticated humor that it had been selfish of.

It is utterly useless to debate over things, which have not been fully grasped, especially to those brash movie critics who fail to put gravity on the weight of their accusations to justify the faults within the aesthetic values of the film. My sentiments goes compliant with the disposition of the Red Queen: Off with their heads!

☆☆☆☆

Reminiscence...

I miss playing this game...

So much more, I miss the one whom I've been playing it with...

Attempt at Haiku

a lone butterfly

perched on a bell unknowing

graces spied it rang

A Separate Piece: Chapter 1

I first met this guy in college. A typical grunt, a common face among the unattractive lot. His dark complexion gave little away from his overall countenance. He dressed horribly, and one look at him hints that he also smelled as terribly. His voice, in plain speech volume was a raucous, vulgar and disquieting. He best loitered around spreading mischief. Along with his peers, he loafed spewing out ribaldry with outbursts of laughter, resounding hormonal issues burning from deep within his loins. He was an infamous scapegrace all around campus, and always got into trouble. He was reputably incapable of moral uplifting, and obviously was unable to outgrow the juvenile delinquencies that were ought to be left behind in High School. He very much resembled those underage louts I detested from way back. They were those who spurted disarray into the confusion of adolescence. His and their comparison compounded into a common stereotypical image—a bully.

He seemed friendly, but I was very hesitant even to go so near him so as not to give him any slightest idea about my orientation. Whenever I stumbled across him, I've always tried to put on a somewhat genial expression, and I always appeared to be in a hurry to avoid his attempts of striking any conversations. We had never drawn upon each other more frequently than ever, but it was always an essential endeavor that I advanced onto him in a civilized approach in hopes of having a similar respond as well. I remember having to endure a moment with him during enrollment. He was extremely talkative, though he only spoke of nonsensical things that weren't very engaging to stimulate even so much of an interest for a chat. His humor is inevitably the same. His lowbrow jests are disapprovingly lacking of amusement, and he ridiculously laughs at them so loudly as if he were convincing me that it was actually funny. Oftentimes he even does this with the recurring compulsive behavior of either picking or poking me to get my intentionally fleeting attention. That annoys me very much, though to some tolerable extent, I manage to ground my temper, realizing that I wouldn't want to be in a mess with such a gorilla. Clearly he had brute strength under his athletic build, and I don't want to suffer the wrath of his loathing.

I soon regretted putting up with him. Wherever I went, I always had this rain cloud following me. What could be worst than having him sit beside me in every class we were in? I had three consecutive subjects in the same room where I had different sitting arrangements. In all of which, he was seated right next to me. His growing fondness had soon become alarming, and I had to break away. In my efforts to erect a wall between us, I was dumbfounded to know that the more I did, the more he roused curiosity in my personal life. I can't seem to shake him off my tail. He was like a lost puppy who kept following me. Even when I try to go the rest room, he tagged along and chattered during when I take a leak. Since then, I never took one from urinals, instead I went straight into cubicles.

One faithful day, I was attracted to a pink magazine with sexy coverboys in skimpy underwear and bought one immediately for spoils later. Class hours were yet to finish so I stashed it in my bag for safe-keeping. Then, he went on doing what he did best, annoying me with the best of his interest. Unexpectedly, it was the same awful day in which he felt like rummaging through my bag. Behind my unsuspecting back, he saw it and took it out. This event had never been accounted for! Seeing it on his hand, that nauseating sight of him tearing through its seal was starting to blur, as though I was fading through the thickening vagueness of the surreal. Then I felt as though a sudden staleness in the air chokes me of my breath. As his fingers ran through the pages, I was compelled to sprint toward him and grab it, but I was so unnerved to do so, seeing the thronging crowd around him. I stood there, with cold feet, hemming and hawing at the amassing fuss it had made. When the fear of discovery struck me too soon, I was seconds apart from being stalemate to the queries of the intriguing mob. I was gone.

I found myself running. I ran away from the room, from the class, from him, and from the memories I've been so bitterly ashamed of. From thereon, the road seemed endless, but not far enough to lead me back home. Dismayed over unsettling matters, the next few hours were uneasy tosses and turns, the steady ceiling, and noisy thinking amid the silence of isolation. Torn between being foolishly careless and being inconsiderately encroached, I swayed back and forth from a tug-of-war of whose side it was to blame. As I got tired of rocking back and forth, one thing became very clear; There was actually no one culpable to the ironic situation. My mind rested on a debate between, "He wouldn't have done it if I had just protected it" and "He shouldn't do it, because in the first place it was disrespectful". After hours of battling over these two notions, there I had lain defeated, frozen and suspended in disbelief, yet the vivid scenario plays over and over again, burning itself into my memory. Further into the depths of my brooding capacity, my perturbed consciousness diluted those memories with my imaginations of the unspeakable. I've thought so much that dinner came as the last thing on my mind.

ʚϊɞ

Spinning the cocoon...

The concept for this blog has dragged me for, hmmm... months I think??? I actually have so much plans for this blog: my very own journal (which I have been planning to do for ages now), my encounters (not sexual btw, sad to say, i'm a romantic... gah!), sketches (probably), my own quotations, progress on my projects, film reviews, book reviews, films I recommend (mainstream or indie), random thoughts (most of the time), techie stuff (i'm a geek in the pink), pictures (if i'm actually impressed), a lot of randomness!, and more things to come, i guess... I'd love to fashion this blog with the cycle of my life...

'Til then, I'll be gathering lots of material for this post. I can't really say if I could keep up posting spontaneously on this blog... With that I quote:

Butterflies were caterpillars once...