30 September 2010

when I'm feeling blue...

While I was going through my closet the other week, I suddenly realized that my navy blues have significantly increased.  Usually this isn't a color I automatically go for because blue is one of those where finding the right shade and hue is a pain.  Too cool, too warm, too black, too royal, too grey...you get my drift...Some of you might think "It's navy blue...duh!".  This nightmare's response to that would be to ask you to remember a certain scene from The Devil Wears Prada.  If you haven't seen it, go watch it.  But if you're THAT type of person, I've transcribed the dialogue of one of the best cinematic put-downs I've seen, for you below.

MIRANDA: "You think this has nothing to do with you. You go to your closet and you select, I don't know that lumpy blue sweater, for instance...because you're trying to tell the world that you take yourself too seriously to care about what you put on your back.  But what you don't know is that that sweater is not just blue.  It's not turquoise.  It's not lapis.  It's actually cerulean.  And you're also blithely unaware of the fact...that in 2002, Oscar de la Renta did a collection of cerulean gowns.  And then I think it was Yves Saint Laurent, wasn't it, who showed cerulean military jackets?  I think we need a jacket here, mmm.  And then cerulean quickly showed up in the collections of eight different designers.  And then it filtered down through the department stores...and then trickled on down into some tragic Casual Corner...where you, no doubt, fished it out of some clearance bin.  However, that blue represents millions of dollars...and countless jobs  And it's sort of comical how you think that you've made a choice that exempts you from the fashion industry; when, in fact you're wearing a sweater that was selected for you by the people in this room...from a pile of stuff."

You're probably asking now, why does it even matter what shade or hue one wears.  It matters if you come from a family where both parents are fashion photographers.  Arguments about color is normal dinner conversation.



vivienne westwood


29 September 2010


This nightmare is a mystical empiricist.  Does that make sense?  Illogically, in a contradictory manner, probably.  

Let me clarify...

I learn best through experience; sometimes firsthand, sometimes vicarious.  If it cannot somehow be qualified and quantified, I have a hard time comprehending it.  I had to research the different chemicals and what parts of the brain are working when one "feels" love to understand that concept.  But I believe in the things that go bump in the night.  I have lucky charms and superstitions.  When something gets lost, I blame the dwarves that live in my house and follow me around.

This is one of my totems.  It always has to stay on top of the headboard because it stands guard while I sleep...At least until I become a vampire and no longer need sleep...;P

28 September 2010


When this nightmare likes something, she has the tendency to buy it in multiples.  If it's comfortable, looks good and is reasonably priced, all the colors and styles find their way into my closet.  This is a compulsion that I cannot control.  For the past 3 months, this nightmare has been obsessed with jellies.  Not the food, the shoes.  "Jelly" refers to the material; a molded plastic that will last forever.  Which is one of the reasons that feed this obsession.  Though I must remember to stop killing the cigarettes when wearing these...


27 September 2010

pardon my drool

What is it about Bottega Veneta and their bags?  I drool, I lust, I die, my kingdom for these bags!  I think they use the wagyu beef equivalent of leather because there isn't anything really spectacular about the designs but their bags are ALWAYS gorgeous.
bottega veneta spring 2011
image from vogue.com
bottega veneta spring 2011

image from vogue.com
This collection was slightly confused.  I would wear everything up to look 15; speechless at the ebony cameo cuffs.  Then it seems the stylist took a break from looks 16 to 38 because everything looked floofy.  Then the last three looks were ok again.  But the clothes are still the supporting cast to the accessories.

Nightmare note:  Invented "floofy" to mean a kind of fluffy sloppy because no other word seemed to fit.

26 September 2010


WOW!!! I don't know what else to say.  This is a sculpture entitled Bliss Dance done during the last Burning Man.  The other angles make the statue look almost solid but I prefer this.

image from Fashion For Nerds

25 September 2010

revenge on the clown

I can't help it...I know it's sick and evil...but I hate clowns and this is so funny...

24 September 2010


I read...a lot.  Books and reading was something that was automatic growing up.  It was never something I felt I had to learn because EVERYONE in my family reads.  My mom used to use the bookstore as a day care center when she had to run errands.  She'd let my brother and me choose 2-3 books, we'd look for an out of the way corner and she'd leave us after pointing out which sales girl to go to if we wanted more books.  Books, instead of toys were used as rewards for good behavior for my brother and me.  I remember asking for clothes or toys and my mom would always say that it was too expensive but when I bring 5-10 books to the register, it was always "That's it?".

You will see books almost everywhere in my house, even in the kitchen and bathrooms.  Both of my grandfathers dedicated one room in their houses as libraries so the smell of wood and old paper makes for a very vivid childhood memory.  My uncles would always be trading books and this is something that my cousins and I still do.  Books have even been used as leverage in family arguments.  I held my brother's Tolkien hostage for two weeks because he refused to let go of the remote.  Don't think first editions because none of our books are for display.  Dog ears, cracked spines, oily fingers, everything that would make a collector cringe.  Although I draw the line at tearing pages out, I've been known to use the blank pages as notebooks in a pinch.

Every time I move, my books comprise 35-40% of my stuff.  Aside from fixing my closet, packing, unpacking then arranging the books on the shelves is my official moved-in moment.  Makes me wonder what would happen if I have to move to another country.

As of this year, I have officially run out of shelf space.  Since the installation of new shelves is not possible, I have taken to bed and floor filing... 

striped fur?

If D&G was all floral, Prada was all stripes.  Although the runway was gorgeous.  I thought it was ice at first but a closer look showed it was glass and steel.  

Miuccia has always been intellectually chic.  Her clothes are never in-your-face sexy.  Spring 2011 was no different.  Think a geeky Carmen Miranda with a teensy dash of alien on skater girl platforms.  And striped fur tails should be a must have accessory for all fashionable geeks...

images captured from style.com

23 September 2010

floral explosion

One word to describe the D&G Spring 2011 collection: Floral.  EVERYTHING was floral; from the clothes, the runway, and the backdrop.  Not sure if those were Tiffany windows.  The only other pattern present was an oversized gingham (I think) on some of the head scarves and bags.  Talk about literal definition of Spring.

all images captured from dolcegabbana.com

porcupine dreams

Spring fashion doesn't usually get a big reaction from this nightmare.  Most probably because I am not a "spring" person.  Give me autumn or winter any day.  At least once a month; more often during the summer; I contemplate moving to a country that is perpetually winter just to be able to justify wearing fur all the time.  Watching the Burberry Prorsum show felt like the usual spring until the alarm went off...

Vogue Gallery
image from vogue.com
Don't look at the pants, which seems to be an early 90s biker leggings mash up of sorts.  Look at the jacket and the belt.
image from vogue.com
image from vogue.com
Shades of Adam Lambert but this nightmare has died with python wishes and porcupine dreams.

i died

OH.MY.GOD.  I LOOOOOVE the jacket and the belt.  Gucci Spring 2011.  Is that crocodile?  We fashionistas salute your sacrifice.  Rest assured that you will live hereafter treasured and loved, passed down from mother to daughter until you fall apart.

Vogue Gallery
image from vogue.com
image from vogue.com


image by katikut
I reserve the right to indulge in a fit of pettiness every so often.  I think one should fully experience all major emotions once a month and the secondary ones, every six months.  Might not be scientifically proven, but such outbursts are beneficial to my wellbeing.  Think of it as taking a ginormous crap everything so often.  Now imagine the relief that comes after that.

Normally, I try to limit myself to two petty-rants a year but there are some situations where raining down curses and hellfire is the only way to keep from imploding.  Grandma Maleficent not only wrote the book on petty, she published it, sold the rights plus directed and starred in the movie.

"Oh, you "forgot" to send me the invitation to your daughter's christening?  No hard feelings but don't expect her to live beyond sixteen."

In my case, just because I say that I don't like weddings in general, doesn't mean that I don't want to go to yours especially if you are supposedly one of my closest friends.  This year, that count of supposeds has gone up to three.  Is it so wrong to be pissed because they did not even tell me?  One of them came home for a "vacation".  Non-committal responses to my questions of meeting up then I find out later that they did the church wedding here.

National Geographic had a commercial that said in high school, one has twenty friends which will go down to three by the time you hit forty.  I think this will be extremely true for me.

No one had bloody well better complain if and when I get married and I get very selective with the guest list.

22 September 2010

false grumble

I thought my stomach was growling because I haven't had lunch and it's 3PM.  Turns out it was far away thunder.  There must be something wrong with the nightmare's ears...Don't get me started on how I lose days all the time.  

gift suggestion

People, it should be simple.  If you have to give a gift to a bookworm and you're not sure what she would like, get her the biggest denomination gift certificate to any major bookstore that you can afford.  Barring that, get her a bookmark.  It's only logical that someone who owns a lot of books will need and appreciate receiving a bookmark as a gift.  This nightmare is giving plus points to her two friends who gave her bookmarks as a gift.  See the kitty and the N?  The K bookmark was from this nightmare's mom so technically it doesn't count.

We are also calling out to the bookworm bookmark that disappeared.  Did the dastardly bear-napper get you too?  Or did you run away like the Zippo man?  If you did run away, please remember that abandonment of one's post is a crime punishable by death.  If you were bear-napped, tell the dastardly bear-napper that we are still waiting for his ransom demand...

21 September 2010


This was last Sunday...yawn...sleepy, sunny day.  

Dog and the cats were snoring and sunbathing respectively.

And this is today...torrential downpour much?

But then, I've always preferred the rain...


sharing from Jessica Zafra

You don't know what the joke is but you laugh all the same...

20 September 2010

Rx for depression

This gets a smile every time I play it...

18 September 2010

peeking out

image by marta bevacqua
I stay indoors most of the time.  I once went two weeks straight without stepping out the front door.  I am comfortable being alone.  My house sits on a street that used to be a beach.  It has a wall that is a  window that overlooks the street and I can watch the world pass by.  My mom has a potted garden of sorts so the vines creep up the wall so the world outside cannot really see me, seeing them.

I looked up agoraphobia and the symptoms don't really fit and it isn't really "fear".  More of an intense dislike of having to deal with the paramecia that abound in this world.  Part of my stress avoidance.

autumn+new york = spring

Autumn in New York guarantees two things; leaves changing color in Central Park and Spring Fashion Week.  This year, the tents have been folded up and the whole kit and caboodle moved to the Lincoln Center.

Spring fashion isn't really my thing.  Given a choice, I would rather wear fur than florals.  A preference  rarely indulged due to the fact that I live in a tropical country.  That said, I love the collections of Proenza Schouler, Rodarte, Marc Jacobs, Twenty8Twelve and Ralph Lauren.

Sending up a thank you prayer that wide legged pants are back. YIPEE!!!

To view the collections: 

17 September 2010

girl power

The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins and Graceling by Kristin Cashore are part of a growing subcategory for the young adult genre.  

In both stories, the main protagonist is a girl and she kicks ass but not in a Tomb Raider or Tank Girl type of way.  Think Gladiator with Hunger Games and Robin Hood with Graceling.  Excuse the Russell Crowe reference.  I've been watching too many Ridley Scott movies. Take away the setting and the subplots, you're left with two very similar story lines.  Girl fighting against an oppressor, meets a boy who helps her save the day.  Even the character names mirror each other; Katniss and Peeta for Hunger Games; Katsa and Po for Graceling.

What's different is that the girls aren't looking for and they don't want the usual fairy tale ending.  They also don't need to use their "feminine wiles" just to get ahead.  When they meet the guys, they don't go girly and most of the time, they're saving the guy's ass.  It's not that the guys are useless, I'd rather think of them as so secure in who they are that they don't need to prove themselves to the girls.  Which is very refreshing and non-existent in the books I read growing up.

I got Graceling in 2008 and The Hunger Games in 2009.  Although I prefer Graceling for now, I reserve final judgement after I get copies of Catching Fire and MockingJay; books 2 and 3 of The Hunger Games trilogy, respectively.  Fire, which I read early this year is more of a companion/prequel book to Graceling, so not really connected.  Although BitterBlue will be coming out next year, I think, so we'll see...

All I know is if I had a daughter in her tweens, these are must-reads.

16 September 2010

schizophrenia benefit

entomology 101

the lesson of the moth
By Don Marquis, in "archy and mehitabel," 1927

i was talking to a moth
the other evening
he was trying to break into
an electric light bulb
and fry himself on the wires

why do you fellows
pull this stunt i asked him
because it is the conventional
thing for moths or why
if that had been an uncovered
candle instead of an electric
light bulb you would
now be a small unsightly cinder
have you no sense

plenty of it he answered
but at times we get tired
of using it
we get bored with the routine
and crave beauty
and excitement
fire is beautiful
and we know that if we get
too close it will kill us
but what does that matter
it is better to be happy
for a moment
and be burned up with beauty
than to live a long time
and be bored all the while
so we wad all our life up
into one little roll
and then we shoot the roll
that is what life is for
it is better to be a part of beauty
for one instant and then cease to
exist than to exist forever
and never be a part of beauty
our attitude toward life
is come easy go easy
we are like human beings
used to be before they became
too civilized to enjoy themselves

and before i could argue him
out of his philosophy
he went and immolated himself
on a patent cigar lighter
i do not agree with him
myself i would rather have
half the happiness and twice
the longevity

but at the same time i wish
there was something i wanted
as badly as he wanted to fry himself


15 September 2010

misanthropy defined: wikipedia

While misanthropes express a general dislike for humanity on the whole, they typically have normal relationships with individual members of society. Misanthropy may be motivated by feelings of isolation or social alienation, or simply contempt for the perceived prevailing characteristics of humanity.

Misanthropy is commonly misinterpreted and distorted as a widespread and individualized hatred of humans. Because of this, a great number of false negative tie-ins are often associated with the term. An extreme misanthrope may indeed hate the human species generally, but it does not necessarily entail psychopathy. Misanthropes can hold normal and intimate relationships with people, but they will often be very few and far between. They will typically be very selective with whom they choose to associate. This is also where their aversion is most prevalent, because their perspective may show an overriding contempt towards common human faults and weaknesses in others and, in some cases, themselves.

It is because of that aversion that most misanthropes will often be categorized as loners, living in seclusion. They may not find solace or effective functioning in society as a result of their perspective. However, effectively functioning in society may have little or no value to the misanthrope, and the prospect of fitting into their culture may seem unnecessary or undesirable.

Misanthropy can often be characterized as disillusionment with what is perceived to be human nature. The misanthrope, having grown to expect humanity to assume a romantic and simplistic ideal, is consistently confronted with conflicting evidence. On the other hand, the object of a misanthrope's dislike may be a pervasive culture which is perceived as denying human nature. In both cases, the misanthrope may (or may not) view themselves as somehow distinct from a majority of the human species. Many misanthropes often express a highly sarcastic sense of humour, and often have a preference for various forms of social or political satire.

Overt expressions of misanthropy are common in satire and comedy, although intense misanthropy is generally rare. Subtler expressions are far more common, especially for those pointing out the shortcomings of humanity.

14 September 2010

off grid

Almost 365 days ago, my mobile died.  I think it contracted a cellular form of pancreatic cancer because it was ok one day then dead the next week.  The repair guy couldn't even figure out what exactly went wrong and the only recommendation he could give was to sell it.

Due to budget constraints and a chronic inability to make a decision, I have been phone-less for almost one year.  I am resisting the call of the iPhone for the sole reason that I do not want to be an Apple whore.  I've narrowed my options down to the models below although I could still be persuaded to change my mind...see?  I told you it was chronic...  Maybe I should go crackberry?

Going off the mobile grid has been very liberating in one sense and time-warpy (?) in another.  It's been very easy avoiding people but I have to finalize all plans before leaving the house.  Or at least make sure I have people's numbers written down in my planner.   Alcohol for the payphones is another essential.  It's also very funny how the fact that I don't have a mobile doesn't register with most people.  I mean, how many times do I have to say "I don't have a cell!"?!?


I had to write an autobiography as part of an application to an unnamed company. This is what spewed out...


You’re born, you live, you die; cycle of life. Zero control over the first, partial over the third and relatively total control over the living part. I say relative because we make choices as we go through our lives. We do exercise free will but the source of the actual choice comes from everything and everyone around us. Anyone who says otherwise is lying. For a partially obsessive-compulsive bookworm, the thought of not having complete control over anything can be scary but at the same time, liberating. My coping mechanism is to divide everything up into controllable and uncontrollable parts therefore avoiding as much unnecessary stress as possible.

Uncontrollable: I was born 33 years ago; 5 months after my parents were married. My dad’s best friend asked me once if I knew that I was a preemie. My response was a smile and a sarcastic remark.

Controllable: St. Scholastica’s College Manila for my primary and secondary education, DLSU-College of St. Benilde for the tertiary. The last I left before receiving that rolled up piece of parchment which would have been purchased with several hundred thousand pesos of my parents’ money and is the only evidence of 4 years of blood, sweat, and tears. The highlight of those collegiate years was a stint as the Features Editor of my college paper where I terrorized my writers with a red Sharpie. Eventually, I realized that everything I was learning in the classroom was prehistoric compared to what was being used in the real world of my chosen field. So I decided to get a “practical” education.

Uncontrollable: The Philippine economy at that time. Nothing was available in my line of work.

Controllable: Opted for the scenic route and entered the unknown field of call centers. I figured that if I can’t use the left side of my brain, I’d use the right. Joining Adobe Tech Support was the perfect segue as I was required to spend the entire day playing in PhotoShop while trying to explain to some idiot in the Asia Pacific that it wasn’t the software’s fault that his 200mb file was completely corrupted and no, it does not automatically create a back up file.

Uncontrollable: My parents not believing that Philippine holidays; including Christmas, are normal working days. It also didn’t help that I had the worst schedule ever and that it kept changing every 2 weeks.

Controllable: After 8 years, several call centers and a stint at Accenture; I had totally veered away from any artistic leanings. A few years back, I entered the Quality Assurance department. In the industry, these people are known as the police, the watchdogs and the naysayers. They are the know-it-alls, pointing out your mistakes and telling you how to do things right or better. This fit my anal-retentive self to a T because I spent my days which were technically nights, telling everybody that they were doing their jobs wrong. My resume, however, summarizes my job description as “Identifying areas of improvement through historical data analysis then formulating recommendations for the continual progression of identified metric, ranging from individual agents to entire sites.” I progressed from Quality Monitoring to Quality Assurance, then Process Improvement and finally Process Management.

Uncontrollable: The onset of boredom. Ennui. The problems were always the same, only the names of the people and the sizes of the groups changed. It was like ordering a steak well done, carving into it and seeing the blood ooze, sending it back and after 5 minutes, it arrives with a whole lot more gravy plus extra potatoes but the blood was still there. Screaming at the manager isn’t going to help. Better to just cook the steak yourself.

Controllable: Getting out and starting anew. Making sure I don’t die of a heart attack or a stress disorder.

Author's note: I've decided to periodically update this because it might come in handy if I have an egotistical brain fart and decide to write my memoirs...