Tuesday, July 26, 2011

Blogs I Heart by Give Her Paris



First time to see something like this on the web. So this is what it feels like. Really flattered that someone actually reads my online diary and what's so much better, she even blogged about it! I'm a big fan of Deep Fried Jupiter and Call Her Hollywood too by the way!

Monday, July 25, 2011

Aguirangan Island

Aguirangan Island is such a heavenly place to be at especially when you're with friends. We had this ecosystem exposure for our Environmental Science class. We only had canned food for our meals. Visited 3 islands in one day! Used someone else's restroom 'cause the one we have in the island was not that clean and I really needed to change 'cause of an unexpected visitor -- if you know what I mean. Oh yeah, the highlight of my Barangay Maangas visit was when I tripped and fell flat. That was not fun at all and my body's still sore from that accident. Good thing I didn't get a bruise though! Anyway, it was really something at night 'cause it was really dark and it was my first time to see a lot of shooting stars. I hope my wishes come true! ;)

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First time to build a tent and we didn't sweat at all! Heehee, it was really fulfilling to sleep at the tent we put together! Gow CG!
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Good bye Aguirangan Island, 'till we meet again!
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Underwater photos by Janine Garchitorena

Monday, July 18, 2011

Blog Interview: Clara Murallos of Deep Fried Jupiter


1) What made you start a blog?

I got interested when I started reading Bianca Gonzalez' blogspot (http://superbianca.blogspot.com) and I thought that I wanted something like that. An online diary where I can vent out and share. So I made a blogger and then that started everything. :)

2) When you first started blogging, did you consider about who your audience are?

No. HAHAHA. I was 13, I never really knew anything about the internet. Meaning, the haters, the stalkers, the cute fans, yeah those. :)

3) What do you do when you aren’t working on your blog?

I work out, watch movies, sleep, and text. :) Bummmm.

4) Was it easy telling people how you feel through your page?

Yes of course, blogging helps me vent out things and make everything else better. Plus it is fun sharing things to strangers, because they give the best advice!

5) Any specific tips you have for new bloggers who want to make it in the blogosphere?

Just be yourself. People will appreciate you more if you are yourself and you don't really try to be somebody else. :)

6) Without giving anything away, what can you tell readers about your blog?

I deep fry jupiter and it tastes good

7) How is your blog different from other blogs?

It's mine, I think that is already something. My thoughts, my photographs, my artworks, my stories. It is definitely mine. :)

8) A message to The Purple Centipede?

Oh and if you don't know, Clara was the one who did this amazing renovation on my blog! Thank you so much! Anyway check out her blog @ Deep Fried Jupiter! She's really beautiful inside and out!

"The Difference Between A Writer And Someone Who Writes"

By Eliot Rose (Jul. 12, 2011)

A writer is not just someone who writes. In her head, it’s words all day. She sees the world not as a place made up of things but of words about those things. She knows more meaning is contained in a phrase like “poison friends” than a paragraph-long attempt at comparing emotional pain to a stab wound. A writer will divine a metaphor from a pattern on a dress, or a gesture, because sunsets have been done before. A writer understands the capacity for words to embolden, to eviscerate, to cut a man in half. A writer’s words have texture and an aesthetic – they mean one thing on paper and another in your mouth. A writer knows the word “perfume” has a scent, and “savory,” a flavor. She also knows that the technical term for making you taste her words is synesthesia, but she’d rather show you than tell you.

A writer’s mind is sticky, cavernous. It is a locus of constant invention and generation, but also of deconstruction and warfare. Its very synapses fire bullets between semicolons and periods. In the infancy of the day, or as it’s expelling its final breath, an errant phrase will show up there unannounced and become lodged in some furrow. It will keep the writer up at night, until she’s built a temple, or at the very least, a sand castle, around it.

A writer believes in truth but understands the utility of a lie. Someone who writes will think about a lie in terms of its anatomy: she’ll see it as something with dead legs, flayed on a cold steel table, reeking of that stuff we use now instead of formaldehyde, because formaldehyde will kill you, too. But a writer believes in a lie’s biology and knows it is still alive, animated by some preternatural aspiration, an amorphous mass of amorphous cells, dividing and multiplying and taking on some new architecture every time you look at it. A writer knows a lie doesn’t want to die.

Someone who writes writes from a place of common experience in a common language, beleaguered by tired phrases and obvious similes, for those we call in my day job “the mass market consumer.” This is the audience who rapid-fire tweets without adding commentary. A blogger writes for the Facebook share; a writer writes for mind share. But still, in a way, a writer writes for herself. She knows her best work will get the least traction because the mass market consumer didn’t study English literature and doesn’t have the means to do the heavy lifting of literary analysis. And that’s OK. She writes for them, too, but only because it’s a way in. It’s sort of like when Ryan Gosling does one Notebook for every four Blue Valentines. A writer knows you’ll get that analogy but kicks herself for drawing it.

Someone who writes writes as herself. A writer’s voice, on the other hand, is chameleon-like. She can write from the perspective of a nine-year-old child or a pair of hands and make you believe. A writer knows exactly what T.S. Eliot meant when he wrote, “Immature poets imitate; mature poets steal.” A writer not only fashions the image of a pair of ragged claws scuttling across the floors of silent seas, but could tease speech out of those waves and teach sign language to those claws. A writer drowns in deeper oceans.

Someone who writes understands writing in terms of something she does, not in terms of something she is. A writer is aware of the singular stuff of which her soul is composed, but will never shake that gnawing feeling of inadequacy. She will be at once inspired and made to feel inferior by other writers’ words. But she’ll never let that stop her. She’ll continue to see the poetry in a broken watch, or a dog with one blue eye and one brown. She will give you her heart on a Saturday night for the story she gets to tell on a Sunday afternoon. She will give you her soul always. And she will give it to you in writing.

Friday, July 15, 2011

Braces Go Bye-Bye

After a year of having those dreadful chains inside my mouth, I'm free at last! Mouth sores, inflamed gums, more mouth sores. You name it, I had it inside my mouth! Okay, enough with the gross details. The point is that now I'm brace-free and I can smile without having to worry my braces would ruin the photo!

Exhibit A:

I don't think I still have to explain. The photo says it all! I swear, next time I see them this won't happen again! I mean of all the photos my braces would shine like that, why with Saab Magalona and Julius Valledor? I'm still devastated.


Exhibit B:

You know, that awkward crooked smile you have 'cause the brackets may scratch the insides of your cheeks. Gosh, that happened a lot and it hurts a lot too! Even when I just feel my brackets with my tongue (I don't know why I do it, but I do), that moment when your tongue gets stuck in a bracket. That feels heavenly.


Anyway, got an appointment with my dentist today and it was amazing that he removed my braces in less than an hour. I thought it would take hours but it didn't. Right now it feels really good with no braces -- really soft. It will take time to get used to, but I'm good with that! Here I am sporting my "new and improved" teeth! Hihi


Think Before You Click

GMA news and public affairs came up with a campaign called Think Before You Click which aims to promote safe social networking. Everything today is just a click away -- it may be a positive thing or worst, something that may hurt someone else's reputation. So before we hit that enter key, think about it.

SOTD: Best Thing I Never Had

"So sad, you're hurt,
Boohoo, oh, did you expect me to care?
You don't deserve my tears,
I guess that's why they ain't there,
When I think that there was a time that I almost loved you,
You showed your ass and baby, yes, I saw the real you,"

TINACIE - Friday (Rebecca Black)

This was taped two weeks ago and I thought I just had to share this 'cause it's Friday. It's a first that I have a really long weekend and I don't have anything done yet. I still have to read the novel for my World Literature class and I haven't even started reading it. Emily Brontë, please help me read your novel. Wuthering Heights has really good reviews but I don't know why I haven't tried reading a page yet. Ugh, why am I so lazy.

Thursday, July 14, 2011

Blog Interview: David Guison


I still think I'm a little biased since I've had a crush on him since I first saw him on the internet (if you're reading this, please don't get creeped out!). At first I thought he was a little haughty but he proved me wrong when he agreed on this interview and has been replying to me on Twitter. I usually don't do write-ups whenever I post interviews I have with people but with him, I just thought I have to make an exception. Well if you don't know the David Guison, you're missing out on a lot. David is a creative blogger and a really talented photographer. I rarely see guys who can dress up really well without trying too hard and he's one of them. He has an awesome taste in fashion. He can wear a plain shirt and still look really good! You don't believe me? Check out his looks!


1) What made you start a blog?

When Multiply became the new Mega Mall haha! I moved to Tumblr because it was easy to use and a lot of people my age were on Tumblr as well so I tried it out.

2) When you first started blogging, what kind of readers were you expecting? Do you think that everyone should consider this?

I never took it seriously because I knew no one would read my blog because it was mostly about funny stuff I see on the internet. I made a blog just to keep myself busy.

3) What is your style when it comes to writing?

Usually short and straight to the point. Like my answer to this question, haha!

4) Was it easy telling people how you feel through your page?

I never tell my readers how I feel on my blog. I leave that to my Twitter haha!

5) Any advice you would like to give the people who are thinking of starting a blog?

Keep it original and keep inspiring others!

6) Did it occur to you that you'll get famous through blogging? Well, do you consider yourself famous?

I never consider myself famous. I am just very blessed and overjoyed that some people get inspired and appreciate the things that I do.

7) One word that best describes your blog?

Life. I blog about everything. Food I eat, places I go to, people I meet, etc!


Visit David on his Blog
Follow him on Twitter
See his looks on Lookbook

Monday, July 11, 2011

Suite Life Of TINACIE

We just thought it would be fun to check-in at a hotel so we did. We all got sick two weeks ago so we decided to move it last Saturday and it was a blast! Met up around 2pm then just decided to chill at our room until about 3pm then went to the mall to eat at Bigg's and to buy some booze then went back at the hotel.


Grace doing my hair. Waterfalls braid! Looks really hard but she didn't look she had a hard time doing it given that I have it re-done everytime I screw it up.

Getting ready to tape our music videos. Wait for our videos! Haha

Had dinner at a Japanese restaurant. The food was good, thanks to Kristine!

Good night! zzzz

"You Should Date An Illiterate Girl"

By Charles Warnke (Jan. 19, 2011)

Date a girl who doesn’t read. Find her in the weary squalor of a Midwestern bar. Find her in the smoke, drunken sweat, and varicolored light of an upscale nightclub. Wherever you find her, find her smiling. Make sure that it lingers when the people that are talking to her look away. Engage her with unsentimental trivialities. Use pick-up lines and laugh inwardly. Take her outside when the night overstays its welcome. Ignore the palpable weight of fatigue. Kiss her in the rain under the weak glow of a streetlamp because you’ve seen it in film. Remark at its lack of significance. Take her to your apartment. Dispatch with making love. Fuck her.

Let the anxious contract you’ve unwittingly written evolve slowly and uncomfortably into a relationship. Find shared interests and common ground like sushi, and folk music. Build an impenetrable bastion upon that ground. Make it sacred. Retreat into it every time the air gets stale, or the evenings get long. Talk about nothing of significance. Do little thinking. Let the months pass unnoticed. Ask her to move in. Let her decorate. Get into fights about inconsequential things like how the fucking shower curtain needs to be closed so that it doesn’t fucking collect mold. Let a year pass unnoticed. Begin to notice.

Figure that you should probably get married because you will have wasted a lot of time otherwise. Take her to dinner on the forty-fifth floor at a restaurant far beyond your means. Make sure there is a beautiful view of the city. Sheepishly ask a waiter to bring her a glass of champagne with a modest ring in it. When she notices, propose to her with all of the enthusiasm and sincerity you can muster. Do not be overly concerned if you feel your heart leap through a pane of sheet glass. For that matter, do not be overly concerned if you cannot feel it at all. If there is applause, let it stagnate. If she cries, smile as if you’ve never been happier. If she doesn’t, smile all the same.

Let the years pass unnoticed. Get a career, not a job. Buy a house. Have two striking children. Try to raise them well. Fail, frequently. Lapse into a bored indifference. Lapse into an indifferent sadness. Have a mid-life crisis. Grow old. Wonder at your lack of achievement. Feel sometimes contented, but mostly vacant and ethereal. Feel, during walks, as if you might never return, or as if you might blow away on the wind. Contract a terminal illness. Die, but only after you observe that the girl who didn’t read never made your heart oscillate with any significant passion, that no one will write the story of your lives, and that she will die, too, with only a mild and tempered regret that nothing ever came of her capacity to love.

Do those things, god damnit, because nothing sucks worse than a girl who reads. Do it, I say, because a life in purgatory is better than a life in hell. Do it, because a girl who reads possesses a vocabulary that can describe that amorphous discontent as a life unfulfilled—a vocabulary that parses the innate beauty of the world and makes it an accessible necessity instead of an alien wonder. A girl who reads lays claim to a vocabulary that distinguishes between the specious and soulless rhetoric of someone who cannot love her, and the inarticulate desperation of someone who loves her too much. A vocabulary, god damnit, that makes my vacuous sophistry a cheap trick.

Do it, because a girl who reads understands syntax. Literature has taught her that moments of tenderness come in sporadic but knowable intervals. A girl who reads knows that life is not planar; she knows, and rightly demands, that the ebb comes along with the flow of disappointment. A girl who has read up on her syntax senses the irregular pauses—the hesitation of breath—endemic to a lie. A girl who reads perceives the difference between a parenthetical moment of anger and the entrenched habits of someone whose bitter cynicism will run on, run on well past any point of reason, or purpose, run on far after she has packed a suitcase and said a reluctant goodbye and she has decided that I am an ellipsis and not a period and run on and run on. Syntax that knows the rhythm and cadence of a life well lived.

Date a girl who doesn’t read because the girl who reads knows the importance of plot. She can trace out the demarcations of a prologue and the sharp ridges of a climax. She feels them in her skin. The girl who reads will be patient with an intermission and expedite a denouement. But of all things, the girl who reads knows most the ineluctable significance of an end. She is comfortable with them. She has bid farewell to a thousand heroes with only a twinge of sadness.

Don’t date a girl who reads because girls who read are the storytellers. You with the Joyce, you with the Nabokov, you with the Woolf. You there in the library, on the platform of the metro, you in the corner of the cafĂ©, you in the window of your room. You, who make my life so god damned difficult. The girl who reads has spun out the account of her life and it is bursting with meaning. She insists that her narratives are rich, her supporting cast colorful, and her typeface bold. You, the girl who reads, make me want to be everything that I am not. But I am weak and I will fail you, because you have dreamed, properly, of someone who is better than I am. You will not accept the life that I told of at the beginning of this piece. You will accept nothing less than passion, and perfection, and a life worthy of being storied. So out with you, girl who reads. Take the next southbound train and take your Hemingway with you. I hate you. I really, really, really hate you.

Sunday, July 10, 2011

A Sudden Need For Change

It was a Friday and we decided to dye our hair. We thought it would be a fail but it turned out really good. All we needed was cheap dye, newspapers, old to-go styros and a yellow comb. We're pretty satisfied with the outcome though we're going to do some retouch with it a couple of weeks from now.