Memorial Day

Memorial Day Weekend: The Unofficial Start of Summer

Yay for Memorial Day. To celebrate the coming of heat and humidity (and because Ravi was leaving for DC in two days), we went to see the circus yesterday afternoon. I haven't been to see the circus in more then 10 years! John and I met up with nine other friends at the circus grounds over at Cunningham Park. It was fun, although I had a very obstructed view of the tightrope act, as we were seated right behind the rig that held the ropes together.

Then we all decided to troop over to Outback for dinner. More people. We had a really nice waiter, who was very accomodating. We actually had a little party going on near the back and we stayed there for about two and a half hours, just talking, eating, drinking. Generally just having fun. (I got carded ofcourse Ack. It was kind of stupid though, because the other people were obviously in their 30s, late 20s, so why the hell would I be in the same gathering if I weren't over 21?! But yes, I shall take it as a compliment -- I mean, do I really have a choice?)

Then to Jubie's apartment in Fresh Meadows for a rousing and hilarious game of Taboo. I think we woke up all the neighbors with all the racket we made. It sort of reminded me of Manila, you know, just hanging out, tambay-inuman-kwentuhan with a case of beer. Except, ofcourse, instead of beer we had Jack Daniels and vodka (and some sodas here and there). We finally left at 3:30am.

Bed at 4:30.

All in all, a good way to spend a Saturday night.

Added at 9:26 pm:
Yes, I tweaked the template a little bit. I was initially toying with the idea of a summer blog, featuring Boracay as my background, but I got frustrated. I was having a hard time relating what I could see in my head to what I could actually do with my fingers. Haha, too bad.

Just A Boracay Post.

Boracay, Boracay...

Pictures care of my family, who basked in the glory of paradise without me. Longing for the beach. It is summer (here), after all. Huay.


I miss Bora. I wish I was sitting under that kubo thing right now...


The rock I've come to love.


Postcard perfect.


Pretty, pretty.


Cute backdrop for a cute kid. My adorable little sister, Kyra.

And yes, I know blogger has a new photoblogging program. I tried it out. It's pretty cool and it has a lot of nifty little features. BUT. It's not for me. As of now, I don't like it, if only because I think the pictures come out too small. You can only adjust the settings to a max of 480 pixels. Until they increase that to 600 at least, I've resigned myself to doing the picture thing manually.

Skip This

Yet Another Post You Should Probably Skip.

This one's about clothes and my recent shopping spree. Yes I know I'm poor, but I needed interview/work/teaching clothes. Honest!

Victoria's Secret makes the best pants for people with my body type. They have this style called the Christie Fit, which they tout as their best-fitting pant ever. And it's true! Well, to me at least. I bought a white one at a sample sale in the city a couple of weeks back. It was a size 2 petite, and the fit was great, if slightly too loose in the waist (easily remedied by a belt). But I love them because their petite is cut according to proportion, not just shortened at the hem like the other stores. So then I bought a black one, a size 0 petite this time, and it fits incredibly well. I cannot remember the last time I had pants that fit me like this! Perfect inseam length, perfect low-rise, perfect flare, just perfect. And so comfortable. BTW, they make these pants in various materials (stretch cotton, stretch poly blend, seersucker, pinstripe) and in various cuts (flare, straight, capri, even shorts).

Also bought a vintage wash shrunken blazer from Abercrombie and Fitch in olive herringbone. So cute. It has that old English teacher vibe, but it isn't frumpy or dowdy at all. Got it for a tenth of its $145 price tag. Yay me.

And I got an Anne Klein skirt suit. (For interviews, ofcourse.) It was actually the only suit I could find in my size. It's really nice and not at all average and ordinary looking, which is what I though I would have to settle for. I was just looking at the price tags and on the blazer it says $445, marked down to $225. The skirt is $250. Needless to say, I got both for a steal. The money I put down for the whole ensemble would probably have normally just gotten me half the right sleeve. It's pinkish in a houndstooth kind of print. Hard to describe. Pull-over short blazer with a knee-length wrap skirt. Yay, yay.

And also bought shoes. Cheap shoes, but very cute.

So yay. Now all I need is a job.

Speaking of jobs, I want one. Actually, to be more to the point, I need one. This post may seem flippant and very insouciant, but that's only a ruse. Under this facade of frivolity is a very desperate desire to join the ranks of the great employed. Seriously. So. Please wish/pray/emanate positive thought signals for me.

So here I am again.

Finally ordered a copy of Writer's Market 2004, something I know I should have gotten hold of a long time ago. I guess I was a little intimidated by the thought of making everything so accessible and ready. I mean, up until this point I was comfortably ensconced under the description of being "full of potential" - which is excellent for dreamers like myself because you get to show off your desired future even if you haven't done the actual work for it yet. It's saying "I can do whatever I want" with youthful arrogance (and maybe more than a little naievete). Up until this point, it's the truth and no one can tell you otherwise, because there hasn't been any evidence to prove you wrong. As long as you stay in that place and stay still, the potential for greatness will always loom in your horizon. There are no setbacks to bring you down, and failure is an alien concept.

The thing is, in my mind, buying the damn book means stepping out of that space. It means moving from my complacent potential to the more risky business of "actualization". It means that I'm going to be submitting things in earnest. It means bags of rejection letters and an impending tidal wave of self-doubt. And it means that I can no longer hide under the guise of practiced nonchalance. It means stepping into the horizon, diving in, knowing that potential is just potential and dreams are never guaranteed. It means that I've begun the quest to see if I really can do anything I want, if I really am as great as I believe, if I really do have what it takes. It means measuring yourself against the universe and seeing for yourself where you stand. Failure suddenly seems larger than you remember it. And more present than you thought it would be.

Hah. All that drama triggered by the buying of a book. Good Gawd, Wanda.

Back on Earth, I had an interview yesterday for an editorial internship at Akashic Books, a small indie publisher in Chelsea. They're pretty cool. They share office space with Artemis Records, another indie company, and the office atmosphere is VERY casual. The receptionist has blue hair and multiple piercings. The best and most important part is that I like the work they want me to do. I'll be evaluating and editing manuscripts, writing press releases and write-ups for the catalog, and I'll also get to liase with numerous small neighborhood newspapers. There's also some internet research involved and the Macs they use are cute. Oh and I basically get to set my own hours (15-20/week). So that's really cool. I'm supposed to call the managing editor sometime in the second week of June to check in and see if they've got me figured out in the scheme of things yet.

I realized something after the interview yesterday as I waited for John to be done with his appointment with torture at H&M in Herald Square. (He had to go fix their inventory program-system thingamajigger.) I was browsing through the clothes for sale at all the shops lined up on 34th Street, sifting through the racks of goodies when John called to say he was done. I was surprised at the fact that I didn't get to buy anything after walking in at least four different stores. Not even a hair ribbon. I mean, I knew it was partly because the lines were too long and the things I liked were only available in sizes too big, but I also knew that it was really mostly because of my impending crash into the abyss of "art-induced" poverty. It sunk in that the morning of ogling display windows (without a single purchase) could really be my future. Ugh. Where is it written that writer-wannabes must be poor? And who the hell wrote it??? To whoever you may be: May all your descendants be brilliant but EXTREMELY misunderstood poets.

Oh and we discovered a cozy little Japanese restaurant called Tokyo Teriyaki. It's a tiny hole in the wall (literally) right beside the Forest Hills precinct. They've got the ubiquitous Japanese staples like sushi (spicy salmon roll!), some katsus and katsu-dons, teriyakis, teriyaki salads and soba, but they've also got some decidedly western fare like BLTs and breakfast sandwiches. And they're incredibly cheap. Six pieces of the spicy salmon roll only cost $3. An order of katsudon (which is served almost Pinoy style - piled on top a mountain of rice) is only $5. And the food's good to boot. Yum.

Plus. Tthe domestic in me awakens. I cannot believe how excited I am about our new home appliances. We bought a really cute airconditioner and an obnoxious but really good vacuum the other day. Actually, it's a wonderful vacuum that also cleans bare floors. (The old vacuum died a couple of days ago. All my fault. I tried to push it way beyond its capacity, poor thing.) It's so nice that I'm almost in danger of driving John crazy with constant pleas to clean. I think I'm justified though, since our apartment's been in a state of chaos for the past few weeks. We found a termite nest in the closet which is why everything has been a a mess (there John, happy?). It feels (and looks) like we've just moved in because of all the boxes strewn all over the place.

Hah. Should stop rambling now. It's just so good to be back!

Warcar Down

Warcar will be down two weeks, more or less. I have lost the ability to write for MYSELF. Well, not really lost. But too close to losing. Much too close.

I need to let ideas and metaphors simmer and maybe even fester in my brain. It's for the novella/novel-in-progress, you see. I can't let ideas, yes, even those that don't seem any good, continue to spill over here without my noticing. Especially when my novella is getting hungrier and hungrier. Especially when I feel the onslaught of a full-fledged block coming along. It's like storing for a drought or a terrible winter. It isn't pleasant, but it must be done.

As I review this month's (and last's)posts, I realize how meager the writing has become... not in length but in Wanda-ness. I don't feel like I can claim these words anymore. And that, dear boys and girls, is a very sad thing. I can't let the infection spread. So the blog is being quarantined. Just for a few weeks. Just for now.

See you when I ressurect. As you know I will. Two weeks. Well, maybe three.

In the meantime:
Jessica Zafra's Conspiracy of Buns
Danton Remoto's Poems

Really Boring Stuff

Got my hair cut at Antonio Prieto's Salon in Chelsea (25 West 19th St., 212-255-3741) for $20! (Hey, in a city of $100 trims, that's an achievement!) It's called Training day: the hair gurus teach the hair-gurus-to-be the secrets of lovely locks. What if they screw up? Well, look at it this way. It's a top (meaning very competitive) Manhattan Salon, not a beauty school. Even the trainees usually already have years of experience... some of them have even owned their own salons. And they're cutting your hair under the scrutiny of the master. For $20. In New York. It's almost a miracle.

Most other top salons have training days too. I chose Antonio Prieto for the youthful, edgier vibe, but my friends have gotten their hair snipped at Frederic Fekkai, Prive, and John Frieda, where the scissors they use cost as much as my monthly rent.

You go in, do the consultation (I did it with both trainer and trainee) and then they begin. Mine took a long time, because they would occasionally stop, lecture a little, and then the guru would intervene and then we resume. Just be sure you voice out what you want, and bring pictures.

Now I have blue-black hair that's cut with angled layers that go well with my round face. They even said I can go back next week if I want a more "dramatic" change.

If you want hair/beauty/spa recommendations in the city, or training day specs (salon numbers/addresses) drop me line. My very vain friends have done lots of research on the subject.

Gym daw.

Took out a gym membership. Plan to go regularly and do yoga.

Dyed my hair blue black. My hair's been a faded brownish at the tips, blackish at the roots for quite some time now. Needed to do something, but didn't want to go too normal. John says it looks like blueberries. This, ofcourse, will necessitate the buying of new makeup.

John subscribed me to Lucky. Yay, I really like that magazine.

Going to sample sale tomorrow. Hoping to find a nice suit and some really comfortable but dressy work pants.

Cleaned the living room. Dusted, vacuumed, swiffered and polished.

That's all folks.

Sofia Coppola's...

Want to hear Lost in Translation director Sofia Coppola sing the Philippine National Anthem? Got this clip from Ramon, who got it form someone else. It was recorded in 1977, Francis Ford Coppola is interviewing his five year old daughter Sofia. Cute.

New Blogger

I'm still unsure about how I rate this new blogger interface, but I don't hate it, which is good. Anyway, Ive still got 2 two-page papers to write but I'm putting that off for tomorrow because I'm just all written out.

So I've involved myself in a little kitchen fun. Used the new blender to make strawberry-banana smoothies. Yum. Made chocolate chip cookies. Yum. Made John's lunch for tomorrow. Again, yum, but off-limits. And watched oodles of TV.

I'm planning to make a layer cake with strawberry cream filling and a white frosting this week. Still doing research on that though, because I'm not sure what kind of cake will work best with the filling I have in mind. Narrowed it down to either a white vanilla cake, or a yellow buttery chiffon. I don't know what to do about the frosting either. Maybe buttercream.

I still can't believe my new found domesticity, but I'm really getting into the the whole food making thing. I swear, I'm going to need a bigger kitchen in my next apartment.

Hell Week

In the span of 3 days I have gotten and lost a job offer (yes, dangled in front of me and then quickly snatched away), written and printed out close to 40 pages (maybe more, can't remember, but there will definitely be more by week's end), double-checked reams of pre-checked papers (I'm a stickler for this type of thing), had my brain collapse, rise, and re-collapse too many times, drank a reservoir of water, and speedread five novellas (Mann, Dostoevsky, Harrison, and Steinbeck and Conrad (I like variety).

In the span of 10 days I have done all the above and checked two courses' worth of final papers, helped plot a defense, gone crazy, gotten sane, and went crazy again.

Yes, this is my requisite two-weeks in hell.

Just a few more days, Wanda. Just a few more.

Must keep sane. Must squeeze every drop of creativity from my brain. Write, write, write. It's almost over, me. It's almost over.

Things I did today when I really should be writing:
1. Went to the post office to get parcels and packages and a money order.
2. Took the home survey test from some IQ society.
3. Stared at the monitor while my brain, a little desperate thing, tried to unearth every gadam bit of thought that can in any way be twisted into at least the shadow of a plot.
4. Stared at the monitor while my brain tried to commit suicide because it finally realized that the task is impossible.
5. Stared at the monitor while my brain slipped into a coma from the effort of trying to commit suicide.

Ugh. Death.

I need to buy a suit. A real suit. But so far, all the suits I've seen are too scary-looking and make me look like a dumpling. Plus, they don't really fit my "petite asian" frame right. Anyone in NYC have any suggestions? I like the suits in Neiman Marcus, but I don't have $600 for a skirt set. And even if I had $600 to spare, I don't think I'd spend it ona suit anyway.

All I want is a simple pants and jacket ensemble. Pants: wide tab, bootcut/flare, preferably in something stretchy. Jacket: short, 1 or 2 buttons, well-cut, nice fit. In black or putty. Or pin stripes. Any suggestions?