in which you are welcome to change my mind

When it comes to movies, certain movies at least, I’m gullible. There is complete willingness to suspend disbelief. In Toy Story, I am willing to believe that toys come to life when no one is looking, that their ultimate source of happiness is to be played with (preferably by their owner), and that they can be remarkably agile and durable when they have to (I must confess, though, that I’m having trouble suspending disbelief when it comes to Slinky. His springs should have been stretched out long ago).

That said, Toy Story 3 is definitely the most mature of the three Toy films – as mature as a film about toys can get, that is.  It’s not just petty rivalry, endless mishaps and  chase scenes here; the toys are dealing with very adult themes of loss, letting go, disillusionment,  question of self-worth, and – at one manipulatively harrowing point that was just starting to get corny until the three aliens came to the rescue – even death.

Eventually, of course, a happy ending was had by all, although, at the back of one’s mind, the nagging thought still lingers – what happens when that little girl grows up, and the toys have to face all that drama all over again? Will they even survive up to that point? Will they have suffered whatever fate meted out to Bo Peep? To those who will make it, I guess, they will be more realistic.  They will realize right away that there are far worse things than being stuck in the attic with the Christmas decorations.  In that sense, could it be that this film is not about (or not just about) growing up and letting go, but about settling for what you can have? That is definitely something to be afraid of.

An Encounter at Vinzon’s

Late at night last week. I had just finished a short run at the UP Acad Oval and was standing in line behind a couple in front of Vinzon’s Hall waiting for a Philcoa jeepney. The whole place was quiet, the air had that clean, just-rained feel, and there aren’t that many people about.

Then, an old man took his place in line behind me, and since I was facing the direction where the jeep would be coming from, I had my profile to him.  After a couple of moments, he spoke to me. Warily, I removed my earbuds so I could hear what he was saying.

“Taga-saan ka?” he asked. He looked like your typical kindly, stooped old man.

“Teachers’ Village po,” I answered.

“Ah nagre-rent ka doon?” he said. At least he didn’t ask me where in Teachers’ Village.

“Opo,” I said, wondering if I should put my earbuds back in place.

Then he said something I didn’t quite catch, something about Macapagal-Arroyo and Aquino. Something about Aquino winning, I think. I just nodded, not wanting to be drawn into a political discussion with a strange old man.

Then, without a word, he turned around, and walked away. He was clutching what looked like hotdog sandwich in a bun, wrapped in transparent plastic. My eyes followed him as he went inside Vinzon’s Hall.

I felt a little guilty for not talking to him. Maybe he just wanted a bit of company, since he apparently didn’t stand beside me to wait for the jeepney. Maybe he didn’t want to just go and eat his solitary hotdog dinner (midnight snack?). Maybe he’s just this old man who hangs out at Vinzon’s Hall and –

Then suddenly another possibility occurred to me, and I wanted to turn to the couple in line ahead of me to ask them if they saw the old man as well, or if it was just me.

I decided, I didn’t want to know. Nag-SM jeepney na lang ako. Ang tagal kasi ng Philcoa.

you think?

Got this text this morning from an unknown number:

hello po! nakuha kpo ung number m0 dito sa nabili k0ng ph0ne. 2nd hand po ciya! Sa sta lucia ko cya binili N0kia 3650 po unit nya. naka save lang po number u dito cguro sa friends mo ito! anyway i am ellen female 20 yrs of age frm antipolo! U want trade tau ng pic? Para makita mo pic ko tnx!

Why would I want to do that? Tell me, why?

gray alert

Dream last night (or, more accurately, this morning, because I woke up late): I’m in front of the mirror inspecting my hair, going through it by sections, and gets horrified to find alarmingly numerous gray hair on the left side of my head. Previously, you see, the odd gray strands have been more or less concentrating on the top front portion, making it quite easy for me to pull them out. But this, new bunch on the left side – where did they come from? And even though I try and I try, I can’t pull any single one out – my fingers slip, or I can’t isolate the grey strand from the black ones.

Okay, dream analysis – several possible meanings:

a.  My birthday is coming up and I’m freaking out about growing old. Sounds plausible, if a bit cliché-ish.

b.  The numerous grey hair that I can’t pull out represent the work backlog that have been piling up because of my chronic procrastination. Again, perfectly plausible, if a bit sad. I mean, if you’re actually having work-related anxiety dreams you’re probably not in good shape.

c.  It’s actually not a dream but a vision of a moment that will come in few years – kind of a déjà vu in advance. I remember some years ago when I first found a tell-tale sign of a wrinkle – I just paused, and went still for a few moments. Apparently, as I grow older my response will not be as dignified.

d.  All of the above <cue silent scream>

you wish they’d shut up, but no, not really

Most people have these voices in their heads – inspiring them to do better, reach higher, make a difference, and all that jazz.  For some, the voices say stuff along these lines…

As for me, my personal muse and I have not been on the best of terms for some time.  Lack of French fries and sugary stuff is not a problem, but she’s also not being nourished very well. And it’s not like she’s the only voice in my head, he he. Sometimes it’s a cacophony in there.

What would your muse say?

Image from http://www.inkygirl.com

SM City galit sa apostrophes

power tools

What did they ever do to you? They’re just helpless apostrophes!

ano daw?

Today’s humble contribution to the always fun genre of hilarious signs and notices:

in a ladies’ restroom somewhere in Batangas…

basuhan

Ako may mata, ikaw meron?