Curious Beast

Melodic. Soaring refrains. Even as the words fade, the humming draws circle eights around your heart. Folksy, disjointed prog-rock and lush crazy arrangements, as expected, but also disco guitars, rock riffs, and a duet with Laura Veirs.

There are stories, too. The Decemberists, particularly Colin Meloy, can't help but to weave words into tales cautionary, or Canterbury rusty lyric. But there is grace in the primitive telling---not nostalgia, but a studied stubbornness on eloquence.

The Crane Wife is a curious beast. There is both overwhelming emptiness and infectious childlike glee. A melancholy that is more an impression than a feeling. A smile that can't be contained when Meloy asks us to fill our moths with cinnamon now.

And it's the memory of the smile that makes you want to give this record a spin over and over again.

Star-Crossed Lovers

Literally. Crossing universes and lifetimes. Hawkman is from JUSTICE series 3 and Hawkgirl, JSA series 1.

Posing care of me. Purty, huh?

My Space

There it is. My own private. Mornings are the best. Most of the people come in late so that means music, coffee and cigs at my desk, my thoughts to myself. Not full-blown thought balloons of to-do's but shuffled ideas.


Tail-ends or very much middle of the road ideas as I go through the day's job orders. Two today. And highlighted at the bottom: Must not be copy heavy.

It's going to be a good day.

Live Forever

Gods. We pray to them, read about them, and worship them. We bridge the gap of improbability willingly. Blindly, to a fault. But that is for another entry (one that I would never write because it hurts my head). This is about the gods that if possible we could will into being. Gods that save not our souls but people in trouble.

Gods that we also call superheroes.

Neil Gaiman and John Romita Jr. take on the daunting task of resurrecting one of Jack Kirby’s shiny gods, The Eternals. Issue #7 came out yesterday and just like any proper geek porn collector, I took all the issues out from the box and started reading from the first issue all over again.

As a serial, Eternals was underwhelming mostly due to the months in between issues. And if you pick-up quite a number of titles, the slow awakening of each Eternal was too leisurely paced to be memorable compared to, let’s say, the appearance of Thor on the last panel of Civil War #3.

The entire seven issues in one sitting make all the difference. A fourth world of difference. Cinematic, thanks mostly to Romita Jr’s strong, square-jawed, supersized art. And epic. Which is the tricky part. The story is quite familiar; American Gods meets Paul Jenkins’ The Sentinel. Gaiman takes his time to introduce the men and women who would be gods. Quirky has always been his game; Sersi as a flighty party planner is just precious and Makkari the struggling stubbled intern is, ahem, sexy. As the events turn from dangerous to fucked up, all their inner gods awaken and they do save the world just in the nick of time.

Is it as good as The Sandman thingy?

Hell yeah.

Maybe even better. Seasons of Mist is the only book that I’ve read more than once. And that serial killer convention arc. Blame it on age but I just can’t get back into the ominous saccharine of the Endless anymore. But I still dig the toys.

Eternals is Gaiman at his most relaxed. Technicolor compelling. This is Gaiman writing superheroes. Mythical, yeah, but still superheroes. And he delivers. The funnies. (Digging Yellow Jacket here.) The action. The larger than life. Gaiman is back to being “my man, Gaiman.”

Stripped of gothic men in drag, his storytelling is blade sharp, slicing and dicing the reader’s defenses with characters that pulsate with pain, anger, deliverance.

Eternals ends with quiet tragedy and a new quest, and quite ready to be picked up by a new writer. Just in time for J. Straczynski’s relaunch of Thor. And the return of the New Gods over at DC.

Gods do live forever.

Imbestigador

Got this from Chockwit. So yeah, a little accurate. A little too accurate.



free enneagram test

MEME: By the dozen

Meme from Dodo:

Say you were meeting a new person, and you wanted them to have some idea of what kind of person you are. But you can't actually tell them in so many words. Instead, you have to give them a box with a dozen things in it for them to look at/read/listen to/taste/whatever - - -and a copy of your journal or a link to your LJ would be the same thing as just telling them directly yourself, so that's not allowed.

What would you put in the box?


1. HAWKMAN FIRST APPEARANCE - I was around seven when I had my first Hawkman action figure, the kind that flapped its wings when you pressed its legs together. It had been a hand-me-down from a cousin, along with other toys, all lost. But Hawkman. I collect Hawkman. I don't know. There's something about flying with actual wings. Whoosh. Whoosh. It's the flapping noise, wings slicing air. And definitely the chest.

2. THE ELEMENTARY PARTICLES by Michel Houellebecq - Two brothers on the quest for love. One is an inaccessible molecular biologist, the other a hedonist. And they both fail miserably. And I think I've read it three times already. Uh-oh.

3. A pack of cigarettes. I know. One day, I will.

4. Moleskine notebook. Naks. Handy for scribbling down copy points and jokes. And when jotting down lists. Top Tens. Must Haves. Must Buys. Never leave home without it. Fits snuggly in back pocket of jeans, adds much needed volume to ass.

5. BODUM Coffee Press - In orange. Bodum. Bodum. Bodum. Just saying it makes my heart race.

6. Paper. Any kind of paper. I love paper. I love the smell of paper.


7. MY NEIGHBOR TOTORO DVD. I'll put this in the box just so you can see me placing it inside the box and snatch it out when you're not looking. I cannot part with this. Hayao Miyazaki's most fun, most thoughtful, MOST. Childhood bottled. Open in case of drunken sentimentality.

8. Rilo Kiley's TAKE-OFFS AND LANDINGS. Build your own television receiver / Staying home can't be that bad for me / Cause I'm not scared / But I'd like some extra spare time / Easily earn me big money / I'm ready to go. Intersecting highs and lows of love, life, death and everything else in between (employment and break-ups among others) in crisp guitars and lazy melancholy.

9. Ear plugs. Peace and quiet that fits the pocket.

10. FABLES VOL. 4: MARCH OF THE WOODEN SOLDIERS. Bill Willingham at his edge-of-your-seat best. Immortal wooden soldiers marching down Manhattan. Magic. Fire. Jealousy. And love, of course. All colliding, all battling it out. Willingham is the best storyteller in this genre who doesn't have a club of kids who love to play dress-up. Good. I'm keeping this to myself. (In other words, madamot ako sa geek porn. Haha.)

11. EROPLANO Minus-One CD. The song minus the vocals. I know I can string together notes but this one surprised me. Along with Grace's lyrics, this was actually a great song. This is me, mimicking The Reivers. Go record this for us, Ave.

12. KFC Bucket.


This is more work than I thought it would be. Day 2. Feeling better already.

Speaking of dickheads

It's a breath of fresh air. A walk in the park. I'm just waiting for all the little birdies to sing outside the window. And what a fucking relief.

No dickheads in this office.

Or maybe I'm the only one. Heh.

A far cry from the daily tug-of-war at my previous workplace where an actual Dwight exists. I didn't mind much the watchful eyes. They can watch me all they want. But when Dwight-ess started picking on my people, pressuring them, well, bullying them behind my back, well that's a different story. I didn't even know there was a problem until someone came out in the open and showed me the emails. Then the claims of lazyness, lying, and non-performance. And all this went directly to the boss. I could've handled it. If I knew about it.

So it was like that. Every fucking day. As much as I love most of the people I worked with, it wasn't enough to keep me on board. I hate fighting silent wars. It's just too time consuming. I catch only a couple of hours sleep and still I'm way behind on my TV shows and comic books.

Now back in advertising. At ThreeSixty Design, Inc. Late nights, sure. But also rubbershoes, shirts, shitloads of cash (I'm exaggerating) and people who work hard but also don't give a fuck with whatever you do with your time as long as you deliver. And it feels fucking great.

(Metal Men cover from Superdickery.com)

Sine Kwela

Meme from Dodobird. (Di ako makatulog.)

1. The Last Movie You Saw In A Theatre, And Current-Release Movie You Still Want To See.

Curse of the Golden Flower. With bosses from the company I used to work with. Long story. I could never say no to the person who asked.

Maganda ba TROIKA? Ang bakla ng title. Hehe. Hindi na lang tawaging threesome. D'Threesome.

2. The Last Movie You Rented/Purchased For Home Viewing.

Ultimate Avengers. P199 lang. Wala nga lang extras.

3. A Movie That Made You Laugh Out Loud.

Johnnie To's Love on a Diet.

4. A Movie That Made You Cry.

Johnnie To's Love on a Diet.

5. A Movie That Was A Darling Of The Critics, But You Didn't Think Lived Up To The Hype.

Crash. Little Miss Sunshine (Not bad, but just, err, cute). The Departed. Gladiator. Basta ata panalo ng Oscar Best Picture. Superman Returns and Batman Begins. Muro-Ami (Napanood ko kasi sa TV si Cesar).

6. A Movie That You Thought Was Better Than The Critics.

Marie Antoinette. Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. Jurassic Park 3. Little Children. HULK. A.I.

7. Favorite Animated Movie.

My Neighbor Totoro. Princess Mononoke. Happy Feet! Watching Naruto movie now.

8. Favorite Disney Villain.

Iago from Aladin. Kamukha ng ex ko.

9. Favorite Movie Musical.

Prairie Home Companion. Masaya pa rin Moulin Rouge. High Society. De-Lovely.

10. Favorite Movies Of All-Time (Up To 5).

Of all-time meaning kung ano lang maalala ko at 3 a.m.

Park Chan-Wook's Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance. Bong Joon-ho's Memories of Murder and The Host. Neil Marshall's The Descent. Alfonso Cuaron's Children of Men. Joey Gosiengfiao's Temptation Island.