mom, look what tv did

 It’s been done countless times: the final scene, two liplocking figures as the camera zooms away just as the killer soundtrack kicks off. And yet, and yet… we fall for it. The kilig just gets to you. All these flicks messed me up irreparably. There’s always the undeclared desire for your own moment. And what happened to me these past few days is mediocre–a series of scenes with an eerie similitude to high school days, and no semblance at all to that dreamy air enveloping Cusack & Beckinsale or Ruffalo & Garner. Which brings to mind a Liz Phair song that’s been a soundtrack favorite for romantic comedies…

Why is it so difficult to find a good conversationalist? Someone you can have dinner with once, and then every single night for the rest of your life thereafter.

* * *

The guy who was ignoring me on purpose? I lost that battle, I made contact first. What that says about me is I’m a sissy. I can’t stand it when people are mad at me.

* * *

I’m flying to Legazpi later, first time to “slice through the clouds like butter” as JTT said in a flick, I’m not sure which one. Whatever happened to Jonathan Taylor Thomas? I digress…

First time , and I’ll have a taste of the finally-completed NAIA Terminal 3.

Ciao!

p.s. Ciao reminds me of Italy, naturally. Italy reminds me of Roberto Cavalli, which reminds me of Zein’s parents, which reminds me of Zein, and of her promise of a closetful of Cavalli tops… sigh…