And I'm stuck. Humid stuck. Figure that? ..soaking must be terrible!
WAA-TTERR!! Here I come. That's terrific in the end I know. K, settle down now.
Down.. Cut it. Now, that's better. Not usually the way I come off eh. Just sticky all over I guess. And it can't be helped.
Besides, my sweat gland's become active again. So, 'am an excessive sweater, OK. Happy to realize at least that beauty soap just won't do here. Wise budgeting? piece o' cake! So!! 'Doesn't come as a surprise at all to have pores leaking. Mine, yes. Care to lick its leak? Ewe..
Hu! hu! hu! (sobs).. can't even shoot that 'lovely guy' a nice stare. Shame on you untidy pores! By the way, hey.. cut that out for a moment.
I chose to be sporty, right? Oh yes! Then, how's summer heat to be taken care of? Lots of water to plunge in, free-styling from end to end. Wait. I have significant report to make. What, a confession? For the record, I had the PSC's 50m-pool length covered six times, wearing a t-back one-piece (behind shorts, of course what do you expect?). Haha..the pool had eyes (bunch of kids 'round, for the censoring board, *that sake alone* who would have helped it?). Everyone's busy anyway, so was I.
As aforementioned (bore word again..), TANNING.. one ultimate goal to consider (for the lovers of darker, deeper complexion, excuse me). Well, that's just drop-dead HOT, right? Bronze dark's as RAVISHING as it gets, but not as gay to feel stereotype-trash about when almost everybody seems to be signing up for it.
(Well, well.. Thanks for those who ignore. Haha.. for giving away better odds, just like that)
WHOA! Finally, I have decided.. to pull out this blog (or is it really one?! in the first place) out of the gloom, and into the L-I-G-H-T. As if from a cave of no return. Yes, I've just realized I wasn't being fair to the general audience who needs normal breathing. Hehehe ^_^..^_^
But I do appreciate the genius it was. No wonder what with the 'TOLSTOJAN' -- ok, let me take a little opportunity to explain that. Leo Tolstoy, being my inspiration. I had both 'pride' and 'shame' in keeping that. 'Pride' in the sense that I very much look up to the person's spirituality.. like no one's ever done this kind. You're gonna have to really dig man, to see that. 'Shame' because for some reason, I couldn't make such a definite stand.. like who cares, it's weird and stuff. We're so INTO THE WORLD! And I just can't be so detached. K, fair enough? Clear am I?
K..k.. nowadays, there's a lot to explore. BUT!!!! Worrying about IT is my first hate (h-e-y-t-!!) so there's no way (HIGH-WAY!) i'll allow it DO me. Why? I've had it scream the hertz off my good neurons so brain coordination gets screwed, if you can picture as such (nasty!). It's been summerrr..
What I'm obsessed about? TANNING.
And like, I'm one hell of a dummy all about it. If you can please, to the best you could, leave a comment with your due advice, that'll be GRREAT!
Where do chicks, or at least a chick, a babe.. hang(s) out nawadis ? Spot 'one' at the PhilSports (PSC), or Ultra however it's called. Yes, 'been there twice a week and would like to keep that routine, because I've come to LOVE WATER.. so this one-hell-of-a-babe won't be missed, well at least by the sun's beat, the WATAAAHH.. no one else comes close.. ^_^
The picture may not be worth what Ian McEwan’s novel was given credit for, but it surely deserved critical attention. Firstly, the truth was clear with the manifestation of a thirteen-year old psyche of the imaginative Briony Tallis (Saoirse Ronan) who, in that stage, was aspiring to become a playwright. On a conventional British estate of the 40’s, she lived with an older sister Cecilia (Keira Knightley) whose sexual maturity largely bothered the world she supposed ought to be filled with chaste fantasies.
That aspect of the film accounted for how the adolescence of Briony was caught between her unfolding inventive exertion and the underlying malice of a transformative puberty. There was enough intricacy in her role, seeing that her innocent command had been staked to pursue moral standards in her own conservative discernment while she maintained prudence with an ensconced regard for Robbie Turner (James McAvoy), the housekeeper’s son privileged to study medicine. Robbie’s passion about Cecilia drew over for them a surreptitious affair which nobody had the least idea was bound to be rifted by a single, heedless act.
Playfully, Briony meant to satisfy her curiosity as she yearned attention from her sister’s lover. Convicted that something was going improper between Robbie and Cecilia, Briony intercepted every letter which she was assigned to bridge them with, perusing it firsthand. It surely was disquieting how her imagination would read Robbie in print: “In my dreams, I kiss your cunt. Your wet, sweet cunt,” as a price for intruding their unsolicited privacy. The lovers couldn’t care less yet they were also chasing moments from a general gathering to have any room for a child’s concern, which apparently was a huge one.
In the library, in the middle of aiming to witness depths of love without witness but them save the books neat at shelves closed behind, Robbie and Cecilia shook across borders just like openly, and wildly. At the height of sensations, an unexpected visitor came along beyond notice. The setting quite implied a perfect irony of books, a symbolism of the much as against too little a knowledge of the more real, consequences that were to originate from something neither learned, nor (slightly) anticipated. At least not from Briony but which only used to be impossible, as she’d never understand. Then the monster of deed ensued almost at no time when, that same night of family reunion, sensations dropped to regret.
“It was him, I saw it”—few words enough to startle a moment, likened temperature-shift that could break a glass. Briony saw him indeed, though not to mention whom her cloudless vision did look on while the other girl out in the bushy dark, she thought, was assaulted. Without due trial, the innocent’s claim of a sighting bore false accusation, on Robbie Turner. At the spate of World War II, at the battlefield he was found paying the cost of someone else’s lie much authoritative than was merely even-getting. So was Cecilia fated to confinement in her nursing career as vastly a drifter than a lover in the following scenes that doomed their history at its most tragic.
“I saw it” –in full emphatic admission was, perhaps, in no way meaning to be disavowed as Briony moved on, very unhappily consumed by the truth bound to inexistence for miles of time until she willed to expend for redemption.
The horrifying sight of casualties warred the 18-yearold Tallis (Romola Garai) within—a relevant analogy to the view of the appalling damage, which cost the lovers not only reputation but also their happiness and lives at the very end, recollected with the culpability that made it, the one solely hers, and waiting atonement. Through conscientious servitude as a nurse just like Cecilia, she had tried to find solace or something that would at least lessen such haunting flashes, because nothing but empty solitude kept her company. Nothing worse than being noosed by self-reproach from a fabrication which cannot ever be uncommitted. Feeling just like a 20th century suicidal Judas was anything but peace specially to have Briony’s sight born at the supposed victim in deliberate engagement to the erring party, at the face of truth effaced by her constant denial.
The film was art, and a stabbing one. As Briony Tallis became full-fledged novelist, she knew the past had twinned her destiny and wouldn’t exonerate her one-time misconduct. So the old lady (Vanessa Redgrave), this time with dementia, made a life-worth of investment and wrote her last which finally opened her door to freedom. In that creation, she’d furnished the most remarkable of settlements Robbie and Cecilia had for very long justifiably deserved, or equivalently, the writer’s most accountable confession with which to finally, be atoned.
Getting to know both sides now deepened as Bella spent nights away from Charlie to avoid the newborn trackers of unknown coven, on the loose. Unpleasant mystery behind Rosalie’s dour attitude was brought to light of understanding upon a startling revelation of her hapless human destiny with confession that she was pettily grim her vain splendor couldn’t draw on Edward’s interest. With the same degree of enlightenment, Bella had better discerned Jake’s identity when the pack’s assembly threw a welcome party in the mountain, inviting her to meet the new members. Under Old Quil and Billy’s supervision of the event, ancestral legends had Bella and everyone else deliberating solemnly as Billy took charge in chronicling the trace to werewolf origins. Jacob nursed Bella’s rest with warming comfort of his arms where she drifted off insightfully, absorbing the quaint narrative of the leader until it faded.
Keeping Jake’s presence led Bella to escape indecisions about Edward’s marriage proposal and made her play around options as well. Her incompletely explained fondness of his company and apprehension toward the state of their friendship furthered Jacob’s aspiration as qualms evaded off her beleaguered faculty. She had hung out not just with him but with his pack whose concept of imprinting in their tradition she’d later learn was a little more unique than that of soul-mating.
It took Jasper’s reminiscing of his struggling past to hypothesize what may have triggered the sudden outbreak of the newborn vampires which horrified Seattle with massive carnages. The Cullens had agreed that whoever sent them on exposure would assuredly have the Volturi, for reputation’s sake as decreed upon, intercede to cut them down. Both Edward’s and Jacob’s families were specially fretful with the odorous mark left in Bella’s room, evident of a neat intruder who targeted Bella in a way that wouldn’t access Alice’s foresight.
While both parties kept an eye on what lurked in ambush for Bella, the Cullens had been thoughtful of their contacts who they’d hoped would agree to offer help in numbers. With the time outrunning their schemes, nothing occurred much that they got to the bottom of asking the Quileutes to tag their force, a venture with werewolves, instead. Such pact is rare-to-never in motion picture’s history and Stephenie Meyer’s creativity had gone as far as having animal instincts follow rational control to keep up with the facilitating enemy, ensuring a much united front after training. That proved relevant with possibilities for reconcilable convergence of two different warring worlds with a common, solid purpose. Edward understood Jacob’s language in his wolf-form so they took turns at taking Bella round the clearing for entrapment of the suspects who’d trail after her scent.
Since Bella never wanted to lose sight of Edward, anxious for his safety despite word of confidence, he missed out on the fight but discovered just then that she was right all along about Victoria, who sneaked past the battle zone to head off where they two were. Personally, I would suggest this part is equally breathtaking as the scene when they first met with the Voturi in Italy. I couldn’t help wonder whether Victoria’s power would estimate above that of Edward’s or that he may get her over with at Seth’s expense though. Anyhow, it was relieving to have read on how that part wrapped up with the duo (Victoria and Riley) defeat, a sign of ultimate end to Bella’s unremitting threats.
The real climax however wasn’t even in the duration of the fight with the newborns or the confrontation with Jane and cohorts, nor in grave episode for Jake whose healing was expedited by Carlisle’s support. Bella knew that her most personal torment was more than fatal. To come to find out that she’d fallen for Jake in love, even with the kind she had for Edward, was squarely climatic.
Just when we’ve thought to this point that we get all the tenses right for Bella, just when we’ve kept our expectations soaring fixed at an eternal compromise with Edward since the beginning, I am suddenly unsure about how to treat her character (no matter how depleted) when the foundation weakened at Jacob’s appeal. New Moon gave no indication of a tumor which spread the way Bella found herself incurable, as to wish apathy for what she had been dying to hold in denial, not even Alice’s fleeting vision was near contingent to guess.
To Edward’s disadvantage, the tent scene vivified the conflict of his overprotection, of his not being totally sold out for fear of hurting Bella. When Jacob offered himself around, all that Edward could do was glower back at the live space heater since his weather-congruous skin had barely anything to warm Bella who was freezing to death. A real fight for the inner cause at that point, a virtue may be alleged to have stood in the way of the warm and the cold-blooded, or that which already was fiction formed itself another one. In the words of a patient vampire: I cannot live without my life; I cannot live without my soul and of an avid werewolf: the clouds I can handle, but I can’t fight with an eclipse—could we place the better understanding of Bella that whatever choice remained was tearing her, caught between the protective present and what might have been with Jacob. Still, invitations under veto were sent out while Jake chose reclusive distance with a speed to brush down his spine. Why must heart beat both ways at everyone’s risk? Now, she’d be doomed by guilt ‘til the Breaking Dawn.
I must admit I couldn’t yield to sleep the first night I left the theater still half-dazed by Mirrors. Trapped in the oppressive virtuality of evil, there lay a point of conceiving how could such dimension be freed from if it left curse as it passed one reflection onto the other, very unavoidably.
Only one source of evil was believed to have unleashed its clout. She’d been a schizophrenic patient at St. Matthew’s Hospital in the early ‘50s (which burned as Mayflower store) whom the psychiatrist clutched in a cell filled on all sides with huge panels of mirror. The doctor devised as much as he theorized that confronting such disorder vis-à-vis would enable his patient, Anna Esseker, to filter down a reasonable identity out of her disturbances.
Nearly six decades later, Ben Carson (Kiefer Sutherland), a suspended NYPD officer was sent over to replace the night watch at the now eerie Mayflower ruins. Despite what crept in the basement and in the middle chamber, Ben was curiosity-driven rather than stupefied. While Ben walked on, clueless, the mirrors absorbed his reflection and magnetized back its darker spirit which freely roamed his place, thereby affecting the loved ones close by with its power to inflict everywhere through adverse reflections.
Ben’s wife, Amy (Paula Patton) would only shrug off any confidence toward his annoying behavior, sustained with self-righteous view of things around the incapacitated husband who’d been rendered weak due to a former vice. Then when she finally attested to the horrifying answers herself, Amy deplored her lack of faith and cooperated as he matched pieces of evidence from the former victims, Gary and Terrence.
Like with most urban legends, working beyond nature was no surprise for the living mirror’s request to restore possession of Esseker. High with vindictive will to survive with his family and to give his sister’s case fair justice, Ben plunged into great lengths to reach the destination of hope, where mirrors did not dare follow. Wimpled Esseker was holding on to seclusion at St. Augustine Monastery which concealed the fact that she was still (untouchably) alive, contrary to the legal papers claiming otherwise. Ben didn’t leave her room for reluctance, forcing her return to end what she had started. She then took the cost resolutely, allowing the mirrors of the cell rapaciously exude back to her all the ripping personalities from which young Anna triumphantly broke away once prior her distant retirement.
Where on one hand Amy and their two kids emerged on the surface from near-drown depth to jubilant ending, Ben also rose to his feet on the other. And boy after real defining clash with the solid devil, shall I say, a mere sign of life for him ought to be alarming. Was it over? Almost. In fact, the enthusing twist was there. And guess what composed him other than lesions from violent jolts? The mirror. Who’d have imagined the misery’s open-ended like that? Everything went smoothly virtual while he saw the course of the real world on the same set running just as normal. Difference is, this time, nothing confined him like before when souls were always collected and tortured to mourn inside the mirrors. How come? Well, that must be a bit insane unless there’s inconspicuous link awaiting thought or that the film may have actually implied part two. How could Ben Carson ever go back? Was there supposed to be another key after Anna’s death?
Sutherland’s attempt at suspense wasn’t much of a thriller but he obviously invested efforts to fit himself in an unlikely role who exasperated the worst as well as the better off, in response to devastating truth behind horrible deaths for which most people’s logical concerns remained inattentive.
Clearly it was not just psychiatric disorder at its extreme but one which wouldn’t avail healing by human resources. It was contagious evil siege with its own set of psychokinetic powers, flooding waters where it may to create more reflections (of personalities based on how worse their opposites could get). And the mirrors, maintaining defiance, just couldn’t be shattered. To witness a reflection which, once implanted by the person staring at the mirror, would eventually detach from synchronization, moving differently and hurting itself to kill the person, competently qualified a goose-bumps-raiser, being very seldom concept that it was.
Lion in Winter is a 1968 classic depicting the 12th century love conflict between Henry II (O'Toole) of England and his formidable wife, the deposed Eleanor of Aquitaine (Hepburn) whom he had kept imprisoned for ten years. With King Henry getting conspicuously full of years, the crucial time to find a successor to the throne was met. One Christmas (1183), the three sons with whom to convene the matter were summoned, though the king had already settled his resolve secretly on John's (the youngest) account to be the official heir. On the other hand, the disparaging Eleanor would act in her best authority to beat Henry down with a very much unchained aversion toward his preference and building up Richard 'The Lion-hearted' (Hopkins) instead, menacing her husband's subtle plans. The other son occasionally stood in the way to neutralize the steaming air between the apparently irreconcilable parties so as to mellow the ticking span for weighing options where he conspired with both sides to earn the king and queen's favor headed for the crown.
Individual attempts grew pathetic as the shattered family lost control of power, subjugating one another. Such angle was vividly elaborated through the film at the characters' exchange of stabbing lines, evident of seething madness beneath their seemingly tranquil civility.
While the atmosphere was heavily charged with the torn, scheming couple's intellectual fits over whose side must triumph, Eleanor's jealousy on allowing Henry and his courtesan kiss brought twitches on a wife's real feelings about a husband who had long vanished from her presence. This eventually made her pretense hurled more against him, claiming that she was fervently determined to have the Aquitaine back and wouldn't stoop low upon the king's equating proposition.
It was turning out that the complicated personalities among the siblings took root on their parents' relentless discord, leaving them no choice other than to bear the family's irrational undertakings with divided, favored ends to justify all wanton means deemed proper. The king and queen's stormy affair went to further bounds, having themselves armed by the children's weaknesses as they marched up against each other, the consequences of whose acts had attained poignancy prior to the unthinkable twist but which, stayed in one setting wherewith the resolution would later be sought.
When it had to come to an end after tiresome factions that reached the point Henry II caught himself off guard at John's declining loyalty and unpleasant indifference from the other two, he had thought of deserving to disown his sons, nearly cutting them down by himself with his own sword until he was reprieved by a sudden understanding of the 'good' that used to be, somewhere in his distant memory: a flash of harmony and connection, especially at the view of Eleanor standing still next to solitude in her eyes among their children's distorted frame.
The heart of the matter sends in the truth to culmination no one would have thought possible when Eleanor had finally admitted, with everything else behind, that Henry was all she ever wanted back. The once was hidden, burning passion for Henry, though somewhat ironic, emerged the most wonderful reason for her desperate raging all along. Hence, after such revelation which took everyone by utter surprise, the lions managed to part ways with tamed hearts after the long winter.
The movie has that overall feel of something relevant taking place in the modern day basic community--one that's very much attributive of marriage and family ties over the undoubtedly much-anticipated historical conquests of the ancient English monarchs. It had been remade into a 2003-version produced for the highly-acclaimed performances by Glenn Close and Patrick Stewart (under Andrei Konchalovsky's direction) with the same exact flow of ingenious scripting as the old one.
In all its downright American wit like most home-grown themes, my best friend’s girl was pronounced. Kate Hudson echoed herself from How to lose a guy in 10 days in this comedy which blended modest Will Smith’s specialty of character in Hitch in a way Dane Cook’s does with perversion as Tank got to be ‘the man who solves pathetic’. What more to expect? Audiences who’d for the moment go past moral critique to rampage giggles they’d easily have beyond help at the debauched humor of the main lines that were designed to serve the story’s purpose.
Tank was a guy who sold, in and out, as a call center professional with his natural scam tactics and as one who claimed he knew much of female psyche he could both seduce and scream the hell out of women, furnishing them setbacks they’d deem (better off with ex-beaus back) of regaining the dumped guys, who furtively hired Tank to do the job, in ten maddening steps. Either fashion, cashes filth-flooded in for him until he crossed a lifetime deal he suddenly found refundable before he could even close. A challenge was set to be waged when he attempted recovery of his masturbating friend, Dustin (J. Biggs), from chasing too much fantasies and corrected him with the reality of having real partner.
Course of actions manifested themselves very conclusive, occurring to lead twists undeniably predictable. Nothing really more unusual than the anticipated exaggerations round frolics between Dustin and Tank, the former asking the latter’s help so that he could have Alexis (the colleague he’d had wild dreaming of) for a girlfriend he would rightfully settle with. Wholly entrusting his friend (he treated as if technically next of kin) to do the work of courting Alexis for him, Dustin off the hook was yet to learn of the conspiracy which eluded his notice.
Alexis was just about to rock Tank’s world and turn his diabolic scheming against his own nature the time she offered Dustin her friendship with insultingly little effort, practically going her way, handing Tank over to her preference. The helpless boy played nice sport then. Such a sunny betrayal barely rayed through Dustin’s clouds prior, believing that Tank was well guaranteeing good shape for his future with Alexis until one late evening. Dustin could no longer suppress himself and crashed in at her place, breaking loose from the upsetting intuition that the girl was seeing someone, so there! Like no second guesses could be truer than the clear view which framed the red-handed two, with Tank looking dubiously undoing their sign of magnetic fondness.
The next scenes of course were crudely eventful. Tank looked forward to making amends with Dustin and took advantage of their attendance at the wedding of Alexis’s sister, only to discover that she was a former victim betrothed to Tank’s client. That nonetheless did not make him decline his countdown (reaffirming the genius asshole behind his restless chorus “That’s what I do!”) and ruined the entire ceremony, remaining viciously cocky towards Alexis’s mother who had been the last appalled by Tank’s exhibition. Not to mention the controversies that followed, everything got back to norm except for the amendments portion.
Attempt upon attempt stack forth on building official pardon from Tank, now admitting seriously how foolish he had acted at the expense of Alexis, of the ‘love’ that (before wasn’t less than sidetracked by his spiteful caprices) abruptly planted him under sound perspective, beating monotony out of his hopeless situations. So chances had to be taken at whatever rate for odds of getting the angel back, or he’d be asshole for life. When Dustin dismissed him, professor had to take over pal’s role and it was hard to believe, even for Tank in dire need of fatherly advice, that a Casanova’s function must be reversed.
The end of this feel-good film ought to be by some ‘ever after’ mood so, both parties gave in like a deal closed without much rebuttals, only exchange of smartass smug phrases again to stop up the breach through their unsurprisingly practical characters. Dustin got restored in his best relations, casually as devised by his persona yet the real-time resentment no aspect of picture ever insinuated, was to be decided upon by any viewer’s concern of that presumably minor part. It went highlighted after all on turning Tank straight angle from the pits to a virtuous guy degree.
I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear, nor did I wish to practice resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms, and, if it proved to be mean, why then to get the whole and genuine meanness of it, and publish its meanness to the world; or if it were sublime, to know it by experience, and be able to give a true account of it in my next excursion.
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