Update

The blog people banned the comment-er (and deleted some comments). Apparently, he/she's been leaving rude messages left and right.

Straaaange

I got this comment in that work blog today:

"I guess your more of a writer than a fashionista, the morbid thing about fashion you see is going thru a phase, piecing together these iconic word “fashionista” honey youll go thru this article of yours literrally over and over and over again before you can be a fashion magazine writer, much more to be “a” fashionista!!! and when I said your more than a writer I literrally meant “a” writer, not a fashion magazine writer, now dont take this personnally, all that Ive said is nothing but benificial to you and to all your so called bloggers. good luck, and I wish you all the best in your chosen path, for what youve chosen is long road to trek! heck your just runarounds in my case, theres a whollatta things you dont know about, but youll get there!!! ciao!!!mythoughtsexactly!!!"

To which I wanted to reply, "Huh?"

See, my entry wasn't about fashion at all so I was left scratching my head! (Added to that was the fact that I couldn't quite make out what this person was trying to say.) This same person has been leaving disparaging comments in the other blogs, and even dared to attack Myrza (with a grammatically incorrect, heavily misspelled comment). That got me riled up. But whatever. There are haters everywhere (some more eloquent than others) and the best course of action is to ignore. And blog about it somewhere else. Hahaha. But yeah, the comments speak for themselves (read them, I tell ya!) so tralala. (Hold on a minute, I just realized: I have a hater, which means I have "arrived"! Yeba. Hahaha.)

On a side note, there was some weirdo who kept attacking Donna before--this person actually created different accounts (traced by the blog people) so that she could make it seem like Donna had a lot of people hating on her. Donna handled it swimmingly, but when the person started maligning her kids, she put her foot down. Her kids, can you imagine? Some people need to get a life.

He got Serbed!

I still can't frickin' believe it--world no. 1 Federer, THE Roger Federer, got booted out of the Australian Open by no. 3 Novak Djokovic! In straight sets! On the one hand, it's cool 'coz at least tennis has become somewhat unpredictable again. On the other, it's kind of sad. A grand slam final without Federer. I didn't think it would happen any time soon. (Nadal ain't in it either. What's going on?!)

Federer's thoughts? "I've created a monster that I need to win every tournament," he said. "Still, the semifinals isn't bad." That's true. It must be hard coping with people's expectations of him.

I'm still stunned though. You can read about it here. The women's final is supposedly a glamorous match--Sharapova vs. Ivanovic. See? It is possible to be hot AND at the top of your game. It's just weird that none of my manoks are in the finals: no Nadal, no Blake, no Henin! OK, Blake I can understand. But Nadal and Henin? Can't wait til the next Grand Slam.

P.S.
While I wish I could take credit for that title, I just paraphrased the Yahoo! heading. I thought it was brilliant!

Heath Ledger: 1979-2008

What is it about celebrity deaths that affects us? Particularly young celebrity deaths? I was surprised to hear about Brad Renfro, and was slightly saddened by it--I could barely even remember him, but somehow I still cared that he died. And just a few days after that, it's Heath Ledger. I couldn't believe it. I actually exclaimed, "OHMYGAWD!" when I read the headline.

Not Heath! He had such a promising future ahead of him. He was so anti-Hollywood. Why couldn't it have been one of those dime-a-dozen/talentless matinee idols? (But even then, I'd probably still care.)

Perhaps we care because these celebs seem to have been living the life we dream of. Perhaps we care because we think about the people they left behind (in Heath's case, a two-year-old daughter), the movies they'll never get to make, the songs they'll never get to sing (Kurt Cobain comes to mind). Perhaps we care because we realize that, even with fame and fortune and a bright future ahead, no one lives forever.

~*~*~*~

(The following is taken from the Time website)
Heath Ledger: Star in Distress
by Belinda Luscombe

Even with his big face and chiseled jaw, Heath Ledger was one of those guys who blended in easily. In November 2005, waiting for me outside a pub, as he would have called it, he looked like any other scruffy Brooklyn local. He was then a little bleary eyed from being a new father, but also a little wary of the press from being a heartthrob. We were meeting to discuss what would be his Oscar-nominated performance in Brokeback Mountain. We went to a local cafe. He didn't eat.

He was what we call in Australia a bloke, a guy who could rough it and wasn’t given much to talking. But his masculinity framed an urgent sensitivity: He had his mom's, sister's and two half-sisters' first initials tattooed in Gothic letters on his wrist. He gave off the air of being willing to punch someone but only if it would mask his own pain. Because of this combination of machismo and sensitivity, like a more handsome Russell Crowe, he was in demand. He just wasn’t sure that he wanted to be. "Heath," a studio boss once told me, "needs to decide who he really wants to be."

He won't have to, now that he has been found dead in an Manhattan apartment, at the unbearably young age of 28. It's tempting to look for signs of a melancholy temperament in our brief meeting, an interview for a story in TIME. But mostly what he gave off was dissatisfaction.

Ledger was very serious about his work, trying to forge a path like that of Sean Penn or Jack Nicholson, trying to walk the line between what the studios wanted him to be (a romantic hero such as those he played in 10 Things I Hate About You and A Knight's Tale, his first two big hits) and the more renegade figures he was drawn to (Ennis Del Mar in Brokeback Mountain, the iconic Australia outlaw in Ned Kelly or the junkie in Candy). "I wanted to scrub it all away," he said of his early forays into stardom, "and start again, to see what my abilities are, if there are any." He was hard on himself and on his performances, but wounded by criticism from others. Of the publicity for his role in A Knight's Tale, he told me, "They put my face on a poster with 'He Will Rock You' written underneath it, which I certainly didn't think I was going to.. and what if I didn't?" He added, "That freaked me the f--- up. That's where I really felt like my destiny was in somebody else's hands, and it was all being masterminded." The role in Brokeback, a sheep rancher trying to come to terms with his homosexuality, attracted him because of its complexity — and because it contrasted with his Hollywood "image." "It was going to be a challenge," he told me, "It was going to be one of those roles ... I would have to mature as a person and mature as an actor in order to tell."

Born in 1979 in Perth, Australia, he told me that he grew up playing hockey with his dad and his sisters. And his heroes were musicians. "Kurt Cobain and Bono," he said. "I guess they were about the only heroes I really had. I wasn't raised on movies." He moved to Los Angeles at the age of 19, and fame came very quickly, including a big break in the 2000 movie The Patriot co-starring fellow Aussie Mel Gibson. Celebrity had its discontents, though he found solace with the actress Michelle Williams and their daughter Matilda. But he complained about the scrutiny and the pervasiveness of the paparazzi. "They talk to you, they taunt you, they try to get you to react... and you just gotta keep walking and it's embarrassing."

Since Brokeback, he had been having general career success but personal distress. He had separated from Williams and had moved out of their sunny yellow Brooklyn home. At the same time he was receiving accolades for his performance in the Bob Dylan biopic I'm Not There and had completed filming his role as the Joker (a character Nicholson immortalized) in the new Batman movie The Dark Knight, a potential blockbuster. At the news of Ledger's death, Mel Gibson said, "I had such great hope for him. He was just taking off, and to lose his life at such a young age is a tragic loss." Ledger leaves behind a career of great promise, a too small body of films and the sense that he never admired his work as much as others did. With reporting by Rebecca Winters Keegan/Park City, Utah

Photo by Nicolas Guerin/Corbis, taken from the same site

Wham! Bam! Thank you, ma'am!

Whaddya know? A month after I was wishing I were back in Bora, it actually came true! Went for just three short days--half the time I was working, the other half it was raining! OK, there were the occasional bursts of sunshine. But that must be what having an affair feels like--trysts are rushed, frenzied. You try to cram every ounce of pleasure into the limited amount of time. And you just keep wanting to come back for more.

I spent most of my limited down time at Real Coffee, which was right outside the nice little hotel we stayed at. Ocs snapped a photo of me snapping a photo of the kitty snoozing on the bar stool.

On my birthday, I had lunch with my parents at Mingoy's , where my dad was looking forward to having the paella and lengua. Unfortunately, these two things tasted much better in his memory. He seemed disappointed with the meal, but seemed intent on making up for it with dessert. As I headed for the restroom, I saw him hovering outside Cold Rock, looking curious. I asked if he wanted to check it out, and he obliged. We went in, and I read out the different flavors and the toppings he could put on them. It kind of took me back to my childhood.

When I was little, my dad would take me to this ice cream stall--perhaps it was the old Bun on the Run--and buy me some vanilla ice cream coated in chocolate syrup that magically hardened. I was so in awe of how the syrup solidified into a shell as it dripped down the vanilla peaks. It made me think that this particular cone was special, that I was being given an exceptional treat.

My dad and I aren't close--never were, not in the way that my mom and I are. Truth be told, part of me will always be somewhat scared of him. But I have fond memories of him taking me to play mini golf, of taking me shopping, of trading corny jokes with me as the two of us watched TV. We don't spend a lot of quality time together, but I realize now that he did make an effort--and he wanted each time to seem special, magically hardening chocolate syrup and all.

So as the dude behind the ice cream counter topped my father's cup of mocha ice cream with cherries, it made me smile. I paid for the ice cream and watched as my dad took a bite. And I realized--it's my turn to give him those special little treats.

Derailed

My grand plans of redoing my room have been put on hold. Apparently, there's a slight chance we're moving out...knowing my family, the chances are very slim indeed, but I don't wanna risk spending moolah (or H's moolah, to be precise!) on a room I won't be staying at for long. So I'm stuck with my coral walls a little longer. No complaints. I'll just find other ways to spruce it up a bit.