Wait, this isn't a diary. Of course, not a dainty one. This is a blog. Main difference between a diary and a blog is that a diary is more of a confidant of thoughts and other stuffs deemed too personal to be marked for public consumption. Meanwhile, a blog is a repository of mostly (anything goes) stuffs that we all want to share to other Internet visitors, may it be a post about one's opinions, a news event that happened around the neighborhood, rants and complaints about some service, daydreaming thoughts and aspirations, and tons of pictures of anything to share and brag about.
But today, even yesterday and tomorrow, is marked hectic full of scheduled things to accomplish at work and at home. Momentarily, I just sneaked in this post in an attempt to break away from the monotony of analyzing and writing dead-end computer codes. Call it a "blogging" coffee break.
And what happened since the last post? Here is the list:
- Decided to go along with friends at work to supposedly watch Pagdadalaga ni Maximo Olivares (The [Feminine] Puberty of Maximo Olivares? Some say The Blossoming of Maximo Olivares) but ended up watching the last full show of Just Like Heaven. I dismissed latter film, thinking it would be a dragging mushy love story after looking at some of the movie's simple flyers (I almost thinked the same thing with Maximo though many regarded that movie a great film). I was wrong; the movie's script was witty and the jokes refreshing and not annoying. It's not the usual boy meets girl type of movie wherein dialogues are purely sweet nothings. The moral: Don't judge the movie. It's not a person. Er, I mean, see the movie, judge it later, puke at home if it's total crap.
- Later that night, me and my co-workers went to Temple bar in Greenbelt. My companions drank hard liquor; I drank water. Yeah, no joke. Not being purely a health buff person, I decided to avoid drinking since I was already sleepy. I feared I'll just aggravate my sleepiness and never wake up until sunlight. A couple of hours and the group decided to kill time in a dingy Videoke bar somewhere near Kamagong street, Makati (forgot the place, it was recommended by an officemate who happens to frequent this after work). Now, this I got to say: if ever you need to find a decent place for videoke belters and music lovers, choose a place where the locals don't sing songs out of tune and deliberately not follow the beat of the music. The place we got to was a torture chamber for our ears. All I could see across the faces of my companions in that dimly lit room where expressions of sourness as if we were served vinegar instead of beer. Imagine this: somebody behind you is nearly drunk, belting his own version of "That's What Friends Are For" in random tunes and six to seven words behind than the currently highlighted word on the videoke screen.