Soul Society update!

Bleach is taking over my life, obviously. Lammy's the only one whom I can rant and worship characters with endlessly; at least I can vent out the Bleach mania. We both adore Kuchiki Byakuya for different reasons. While we both agree that he is all powerful and his bankai is nothing to be ashamed of (seriously, Zabimaru?), I'm all for pairing him with Ichigo no matter how much of a crack pairing it is seen. But as much as I put Byakuya on a pedestal, the 11th squad is the best and the most fun-filled squad amongst the thirteen. Yachiru spitting on Ikkaku's pachinko-ball head is just the start of continuous hilarity. I love Zaraki Kenpachi, too, by no small means. I just wish he would discover his bankai before the manga finishes so he'll be all invincible. Just imagine that; he can probably pawn Ichigo in his sleep.

I skipped several episodes because Lam kept drilling me about the damn fillers, and fillers they were; nearly forty of them for heaven's sake! That's like a year long stagnation to make the original script with the manga run smoothly. So they inserted the Bounto arc which I decided to skip except for the three episodes where Byakuya and Ichigo fought with Kariya. That was lovely and very inspiring. I can just imagine the two of them having a lovers' tiff even in the middle of a freaking fight and still win. That's taking foreplay to another level. Anyhow, back to the episodes. I skipped from episode 68, I think, and jumped to the main storyline around episode 110. The problem with me, according to Lam is that I read too much spoilers online (through fanfics and Bleach Wiki) so the surprise element is not that felt. I can't help it! But for some reason, even if I already knew from the start, I seriously didn't see Isshin suddenly slashing the Grand Fisher in the middle of the night bearing a captain's haori as a sash. He obviously still has his captain class intuition if he were able to detect that Ichigo was having a stilted conversation with Shinji while Kon was being pummelled around Karakura by the Grand Fisher in a pseudo-Arrancar stage. Aizen's on the move, already. Gah! Oh my god, I can already see Grimmjow on the 116th episode. Crap, I know I have to be at the dentist by nine tomorrow because I've been skipping appointments for nearly two months now but I have to watch him. Now.

I think I should thank Bleach too for making me write something passable for a new fic. It's not weighed to be a comeback fic but I'm hoping my Bleach muse will stem out continuously until I drive myself to death with Byakuya/Ichigo fics. There's the chance too of taking up the manga sometime this weekend if I can. All the better if I can keep up with the manga and anime to see other details.

Left or right

God, this is a bad one. I've been grateful to myself and the powers that be that I'm back to reading which makes my brain run a bit faster despite its rusty cogs. I've loaned and pleaded with friends and acquaintances to donate books for my charity case. I'm reading two books at the same time, something which is not part of my reading discipline. I am happy. I am content. But noooo, the powers that be decided that today, I was too bored to turn off the laptop a tad too early even if I've been blankly staring at Google's homepage for several minutes until a Zoro/Luffy comment made me look for the 138th episode. My stupid self got amazed that hey! there's a website solely dedicated to the manga and anime of One Piece and up to the 400th something anime episode! I scrolled down and saw affiliated websites and voila! Bleach has gripped me by the oesophagus enough to choke me to watch the first episode and the slow fire of lust for another anime is building up to be a conflagration. And fuck it all, I cannot stop myself. My patience cannot stand the fact that my ISP's bandwidth cannot withstand a torrent download, a video buffering and a manga page downloading so I'm all going ballistic here writing something to assuage my unquenched hunger. Fuck, the animation is lovely as hell because come on, it's the first time I've seen an anime with more yuri potential (with all those androgynous faces; you can start with Kuchiki Rukia, all right) and it's a big time out from CLAMP-like animes.

So you know? Goodbye The Sopranos, you're first up in the long queue of Collect-Dust-Till-Kingdom-Come along with the other books I have prepared. It's bad enough I feel ashamed when I see them, but it will become worse if I can't get past the first ten episodes of Bleach, which has more smashing material than any of Naruto's adolescent aspirations laid out. After all, Itachi's long dead and my Uchicest fandom died with him; unless Sasuke's into necromancy leading to necrophilia, then that's another story.

Hopping, skipping, tripping

I've known Sergei Rachmaninoff's works for years yet appallingly, I am only familiar through auditory retention. Far from being isolated as the lesser known composers of the classical Romanticism period, his works far preceded his name and reputation through the present years. I'm absolutely in love with his works; the precision and magnitude of knowing his unique capability for salient notes are perfection and timeless. I think Piano Concerto no. 3 and Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini are unquestionable in their importance. It takes precedence however, that Tchaikovsky--who had a chummy relationship with Saint-Saëns and drowned in depression--once became Rachmaninoff's significant mentor.

How gratifying it is to indulge myself in the works of long dead people, long defunct bands, the long forgotten and the under appreciated. These folks are probably rolling in their graves considering the bandwagon of today's refinement. A cemented reason to my long running ignorance of today's music vogue.

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It has been a long established truth that I gain more satisfaction and enjoyment when embarking on an adventure in Quiapo or Divisoria rather than the gilded visage of malls these days. Not only can I buy tons of useful knick knacks here and there even with five hundred bucks but the chance of being part of the pleb and not be scorned for it is a breather. I joined Cors in her escapade to have her fortune mapped out for her research paper; at the same time, we had a blast buying accessories and DVDs to ensure our jobless days will at least run brighter.

My hypocrisy and impulsiveness acted way out of hand when I decided to buy the complete seasons of The Sopranos. When I got home, I couldn't help but cringe in dismay by the lack of restraint I showed and the stack of books that welcomed me.

Simply eureka

Even before I had the consciousness to admit it, I've been fascinated with science. It is a subject that is the root of all other discipline in terms of theory, hypotheses and rule-based conclusions. It does not lean towards the mysterious, cryptic, far-flung ideas and approximations that human beings are capable of. I wasn't raised to fall head deep in science's clutches but the vicariousness I undergo through seeing people write and re-write history on everything worth to be proven provided by human beings' geniuses is exhilarating, awe-inspiring at best and disturbing at worst.

Fermat's Last Theorem is one of the many topics BBC Horizon focused on. It is the ultimate, perplexing, preternatural and infamous mathematical problem that has been left unsolved for three hundred years. Until Andrew Wiles was born and decided early on in his life that he will prove Fermat and all other theories and conjectures that branched from the immemorial scientific mystery true by the ends and limitations of mathematics. The episode barely intended to show the final solution as seeing the dedicated forty-five minutes to the history and consecutive historical events are still not enough to convey the very significance of it. A handful of mathematics professors supported the very thought of impossibility and wonderment in relation to the seven years of continuous dedicated Wiles had, not suffered, but thoroughly relished and enjoyed in attempting to solve.

Nothing so simple and elegant could be understood by plebeian thought but isn't that what's great about it? I can barely understand half of my relentless endeavour for science and its complexities but it is indubitable in its concreteness and solution that all of the blossoming problems of today will have a definite answer tomorrow. In short, science is my religion.

Drumming keys

My brain was running 250 mph last night that I couldn't even think of even sleeping even when it was late enough for sleep. I turned on my laptop and hailed inspiration in writing a capsule review for Californication which is meant to be submitted for Richard's new blog. That went smoothly until I had decided to entertain myself with Kirepapa. All throughout the first episode, I kept on mistaking it for another demented yaoi anime I had watched before where the 'father' was in cahoots with the son in more ways than one. Anyway, it totally woke up my senses that it led me to checking the manga version. The changes and comparison did not vary much but two of the chapters were intentionally not put into the anime version although majority of the panels were adapted onscreen.

That said, I slept past midnight and woke up around nine with my brain and body realizing the consequences of a 250 mph adrenaline rush last night. Inevitably, I have to succumb to the fact that nearly everything turned out rather well today. The four torrent downloads (Rachmaninov, Making of the Resistance--a total fucking failure, Where the Wild Things Are and a BBC Horizon episode) I managed were completed throughout the night and the books I ordered on ebay were delivered on the same day. For the first time since I started buying things online, I came face to face with a courier and my desired package. It's Roald Dahl's Fantastic Mr. Fox which was recently adapted to film. The other two books, Voltaire's Candide and a thesaurus, mysteriously landed on my grandparents' house two phases away from us. Even papa was baffled why it reached their home when the packages obviously had enough address details to determine that the street indicated is far from being located at phase 3.

Anyway, it's my sister's birthday today and Uwe and mom are currently in a silent war because my sister only got home this afternoon. Mom has compared my sister and my dad, who's celebrating his birthday tomorrow, since time immemorial that they both run the temperament of an active volcano. I cannot agree more although I'd prefer keeping my gob shut when mom's diatribe still rang my ears invalid.

Show me how it's done

Is it really too much to ask for those big, conglomerate companies to minimize the process for application? Sure, they're big enough to conquer the world in one quaff but what the hell is it with fifteen steps to ensure even the first experience of riding the MRT is indicated on your data? Obviously, a resume sometimes does not cover everything the company needs but jeezy creezy, it's not even worth the effort. I'm also, indubitably, deluding myself if I really think I can get in ADB or UN even without a master's degree. Perhaps it is possible, after all, a high school batchmate recently shared that he's working at ADB and he doesn't even have a dream for the future for heaven's sake. The universe really has a weird sense of humour. I cannot even fathom where its wisdom lies.

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Muse's music video for Undisclosed Desires is pretty ridiculous. It has no sensical form whatsoever and apart from that adrogynous dancer doing a piss poor job of a dance interpretation of the song, the whole vid is a mess. Matt's overall appearance is cringe worthy especially those hideous sunglasses. Dom's darker mane suits him more and I reach out in protest why Chris' camera time exceeds that of a blink of an eye. I like the song, really. The bass line, the soft distortion and the chorus treatment are a tad awesome. I can't understand why the vid failed to live up as a tribute to the song.

Capital!

Mum asks me if I bothered sending the neighbor's third son a Christmas present; I'm the godmother, that is. I shrugged it off since I already gave one to the kid on his christening which, by the way, I was forced to do after my mum caught me and my sister howling in laughter over the kid's face. He looks like a baby tianak.

It's not so much as a social nicety that I'm highly affected by these kinds of appreciation. In the first place, I was asked to be the godmother; I did not offer. Like a good friend had mentioned, the christening gift should be bombastic to conclude the anticipated lifetime supply of yearly presents. I'm no saint, that's for sure. I won't point out that Catholics are half hypocrites that they go beyond what they can to maintain proper social conducts, I'm sure half the world's population also have that kind of mentality.


The mood for applying for another job is still on vacation. The one time I tried when I wanted to update my data on ADB's recruitment site, everything went downhill fast. I can't even blame my bandwidth because I there's only one PC running in the house. So, fuck them. I'll try again along with the other job-searching websites when I'm in the mood to roll out my patience.

I'm finished with the first part of the Valley of Fear. I find this novel to have a better ground than Hound of the Baskervilles because there are more characters involved in the problem and the solution. Inspector MacDonald is a pure twat; he's had less experience thus he's more likely to be the bloodthirsty type to not pay attention to the subtle nuances Holmes is pointing out. He's a good stooge, though. What impressed me about The Tragedy of Birlstone was the continuous conundrum on whose to blame. There's a limitation to the people to be pointed out and seeing Mr. Douglas himself emerge from the corner is a good eye opener. After all, it was only Holmes amongst the characters and the reader that treasured that hidden knowledge.

Detached

I fail to recognize why sleep passed me by last night until the wee hours of the morning. Granted, one in the morning is still rather late than early but I'm beyond exhausted mentally and physically that I'm literally stumped in bed last night. Twisting and turning, and listening to Muse for the sake of gaining some inspiration in writing a review merely extended my sole conscious existence inside the house. Could it be the philosophical diversion on whether the physics skin and water contact every other day be relevant to my dilemma last night? I'm not sure, though I'm adamant on the new tradition. After all, water conservation is the key. Or so AIM say back then, and look at their olfactory-challenged students.

Reading and enjoying The Hound of the Baskervilles makes me giddy in success. After all, it's not everyday I binge on reading especially for the past year or so. Being naturally wary perhaps took out the initial sense of adventure in reading a crime-mystery story. In short, I kept doubting every person Holmes and Dr. Watson acquainted with. Sherlock Holmes' personality immediately purports a highly intelligent, critical and standoffish man. He takes pleasure in riddles that plague his genius and several times gives approbation when due of Dr. Watson and rescind it to a sketch that leads to more of his discovery. I sympathize with Dr. Watson; he's loyal and intrepid, but still dependent on his partner's aptitude in ironing the edges. Dr. Mortimer strikes me as a dubious person considering his amicable and unambitious demeanour; Stapleton's too charming and invitingly cheerful disposition ticked my curiosity. I hunched that his so called sister has a far more platonic relationship with him. It's an exhilarating novel without the excessive opportunity to strike and detail what is more than necessary. Therefore, I like Doyle's plots and plot telling skills.

I can consider that reading this is somewhat a preparation for watching the movie adaptation however, I loaned the second volume of Sherlock Holmes nearly six months ago after my first transition to the jobless era. I took pleasure in several pages of the novel but switched without any justification I can recall to reading John Berendt.

Now I'm off to watch for Voltaire's Candide on ebay.ph. No one has placed a bid yet and I'm pretty assured that no one is going to buy it.

Mash Game: Predict Your Future at eSPIN.com

		I will marry Matt Bellamy.
		After a wild honeymoon, We will settle down in Madrid in our fabulous Shack.
		We will have 6 kid(s) together.
		Our family will zoom around in a White Aston Martin.
		I will spend my days as a Embalmer, and live happily ever after.

Needful Things

Dear JB,

Try to start the year right; that means setting up a disciplined routine that does not involve turning the computer on and off at the designated time. If you really can't cope with the dilapidated state your brain is in right now, it's time to wake up! You can start doing that by following these simple rules tomorrow. If you can do the first few steps, I'm sure the rest will follow in due time.

Remember, the success of this first step can add to the guarantee of you slowly getting back to writing. Your few drabbles on your LJ is a proof of that.


1. Clean your room.

2. Re-arrange your books and list them on a paper.

3. Re-arrange your list into how you want to read them; the unfinished ones not necessarily your priority.

4. Meditate. You know you can.

5. Start reading the book you really want to read.

6. Do not look for books you currently do not have. Finish what you have right now.

With a flat

My lack of spirit hits an all-time low today as our household suffered half the day of blackout. I could not even open a book because I would regard it as a futile attempt to salvage my reading habit just because I don't have another choice. The power returned nearly six in the evening and I still had to call up Smartbro to re-check the internet but it's was my fault, really. The firewall was just blocking the Smartbro portal.

I also forgot that I have to request for a COE at CA for future employment purposes. I'm not sure if I can drop by the office any time but perhaps I can ask my co-researchers to visit.

Merde, this is getting bad.

Heaven help me.