Sunday, May 11, 2008

Your Mom Goes To College

Happy Mother's Day! This post is dedicated to mothers.

So those of you who know me personally know that I have a somewhat twisted sense of humour... which means, among other things, that I go around telling Yo Mama jokes on Mother's Day.

- Yo mama's so fat when she gets on the scale it says to be continued.
- Yo mama's so fat she's got her own area code!
- Yo mama's so fat she's on both sides of the family!
- Yo mama's so fat that when she sits around the house she sits AROUND THE HOUSE.
- Yo mama's so fat she fell in love and broke it!
- Yo mama's so skinny, she turned sideways and disappeared.
- Yo mama's so skinny, instead of calling her your parent, you call her transparent.
- Yo mama's so skinny, she only has one stripe on her pajamas.
- Yo mama's so skinny, she has to run around in the shower to get wet.
- Yo mama's so old her social security number is 1!
- Yo mama's so old that when she was in school there was no history class.
- Yo mama's so old that she was alive when the Dead Sea was only sick.
- Yo mama's so old, she knew Mr. Clean when he had an afro.
- Yo mama's so old, she has an autographed bible.
- Yo mama's so stupid, she put lipstick on her forehead because she wanted to makeup her mind.
- Yo mama's so stupid, she climbed over a glass wall to see what was behind it.
- Yo mama's so stupid, she took the Pepsi challenge and chose Jif.
- Yo mama's so stupid, she thinks socialism means partying!
- Yo mama's so stupid, she ordered her sushi well done.

And when I have children I am sure they'll say this:
- Yo mama's glasses are so thick she can see into the future.
- Yo mama's glasses are so thick that when she looks at a map she sees people waving at her.
- Yo mama's so short, she be jumping off curbs talkin' bout "Weeee!"
- Yo mama's so short, her homies are the Keebler Elfs.
* and maybe the Yo Mama So Fat ones too. We'll see.

And if I decide to live in Europe...
- Yo mama's so poor she can't afford the O or the R.
- Yo mama's so poor when I ring the doorbell she says,"DING!"
- Yo mama's so poor she can't pay attention.

But more importantly, I recorded a solo for my mom just for kicks. This is one of the solos I didn't get in "A Chorus Line" because they switched my role out (and I didn't get any solos, ha ha).

A Chorus Line - Mother (by Joanne!)

I hate the sound of my voice but I really liked the song. It's short though.

And in honour of my London trip in two days, a song by the Spice Girls!



And you know who ELSE will be in London in two days? The Backstreet Boys...



(it sucks that Nick has a bad relationship with his mom, though.)

... and Josh Groban.



But my favourite "mom" song has to be Boyz II Men's "A Song for Mama."

Sunday, May 4, 2008

I probably should not be doing this right now, but whatever.

5 Things found in my bag
1. Homework
2. Usually my laptop
3. Water bottle (all this running around Paname will make you thirsty, and they have NO water fountains anywhere)
4. Highlighters
5. Plus all the stuff you would find in my purse (I carry my life around with me. Literally.)

5 Things found in my purse

1. Keys
2. Cell Phone (this and "keys" are always the first two things on my checklist when I pack for anything)
3. Wallet
4. Moleskine (I love this book so much)
5. Digital Camera (because this is PARIS, for God's sake; there are a million things going on at any given time.)

5 Favourite things in my room

1. My giant sacred heart pendant (which my aunt Ruth bought in Paris seventeen years ago)
2. My malong (which has travelled the world with me, which will continue to travel the world with me, and in which I plan to be buried, according to Southern Filipino tradition.)
3. The giant print of Audrey Hepburn as Holly Golightly, which was put there by my host sister Marlene
4. The view (it just looks out onto a courtyard with nondescript buildings around it, but the fact that this courtyard is in PARIS makes up for the boring view.)
5. Nick (I mean, really. If you know me, I don't have to explain this at ALL.)


5 Things I always wanted to do

1. Go to Paris (and I'm heeeeeeeeeeeeeere!)
2. Dance competently en pointe. (I did one dance en pointe when I was seventeen, which links to the sub-wish that I had started ballet earlier. If I had, perhaps I might be able to do fouettes en pointe now... or be able to do fouettes period.)
3. Bartend. Not only do you make friends over alcohol, but it is good training for a psychologist (the listening, not the drinking).
4. Meet a celebrity that I liked (so far I've been lucky with Josh Groban, Andy Samberg, Orange and Lemons, and Carine Roitfeld. I'm still holding out for Nick Carter, though - it would be such a laugh to see him now after all those years of adolescent crushing. While I am not madly in love with him anymore, he will always hold a special place in my heart.)
5. Pretend to live a glamorous and luxurious life, like I like to do now, but NOT HAVE TO PRETEND.

5 Things I am currently into

1. Japanese television, especially the series "Nodame Cantabile"
2. Fashion (haute couture as always - especially since my friend Shanna and I bummed around during Fashion Week here - but especially the awesomeness that is H&M because it is all that I can afford)
3. Camille Dalmais (a French singer who goes just by "Camille"; I did a report in French class on her, and as she has just released a new (and BRILLIANT) album she is very in right now. I actually got to meet her
4. Hermes (which is linked to the first two things on this list)
5. Travelling the world and butchering everyone's language (so far I've slaughtered Dutch, Czech, German, Italian, French, Japanese, Spanish, Tagalog and Kapampangan.)

Thursday, May 1, 2008

Stockholm Syndrome

Sitting in a park in Paris, France
Reading the news and it sure looks bad
They won't give peace a chance
That was just a dream some of us had
Still a lot of lands to see
But I wouldn't want to stay here
It's too old and cold and settled in its ways here

Oh, but California
California I'm coming home
I'm going to see the folks I dig
I'll even kiss a sunset pig
California I'm coming home

- Joni Mitchell, "California"


According to Wikipedia, UC Santa Barbara is:

- Holder of he #2 best school psych program in America as of Winter 2007, the quarter when it was obvious I would have to change out of the psych major
- The approximate location of the Hellmouth
- Ranked 94% selective, on a scale of 1 to 99, by the U.S. World and News Report
- The only university in California to offer an undergrad degree in Pharmacology
- Home to six Nobel Laureates (although any good tour guide will tell you that right off the bat, lest you think your precious darling is going to a good-for-nothing party school)
- The fourth most selective UC in admissions in 2005, the year I got accepted (I'm guessing the other three were Berkeley, which rejected me, LA, which I refused to apply to, and Davis, which accepted me)
- Third in applications to the UC system, behind LA and SD (neither of which I ever wanted to attend)
- Giver of Pell Grants to 25% of the student body (including my own lucky self)
- The 35th university worldwide (and the 27th in the United States) in the 2007 Academic Ranking of World Universities
- One of sixty American members (including Canada, sixty-two in all) of the Association of American Universities
- 44th best university (13th public, fifth UC - behind Berkeley (DUH), LA, San Diego and Davis) in America, according to US World and News Report in spring of 2008
- The #4 party school in the nation as of 2005, the year I entered
- The #10 party school in the nation as of 2007, and tied with the #3 party school (University of Austin) for highest-ranking party school (#44) according to US World and News Report
- Home to the only Freebirds outside of Texas besides Norman, Oklahoma (the newest branch), the first of the chain, and founded the year I was born
- Probably the only school whose mascot is named for Argentinean cowboys (which, coincidentally, lend their name to a style of pant popular with its female students)
- Second only to UC Berkeley (those hippies) in antiwar activity during the Vietnam years
- Associated with (although not located in) a city which is a sister city to where I was born
- Site of the first Kinko's (well, kind of - it's in IV, right at the border of campus where the bike path ends)
- One of a few universities in the United States with its own beach (which is why I chose it over Davis, har har).
- About a mile away from the first McDonalds to serve an Egg McMuffin, the McDo version of my favourite American breakfast food (Eggs Benedict)
- Going to have Nas play at Extravaganza this year (YOU BEEZIES. I LOVE NAS. Nobody stands between me and Mr. Jones.)
- Now home to Santa Catalina Dorms, the off-campus halls formerly known as Francisco Torres (and affectionately as "F--- Towers")
- Where I will graduate

You know, I don't feel that bad for being rejected by Berkeley a second time. I don't hate Santa Barbara as much as I used to, especially now that certain people are gone going to Berkeley would throw a wrench in my plans to graduate in 2009 with a double major ANYWAY, since they use semesters instead of quarters. Also, I can always find a place on the beach to be alone and just SING. I can't do that in Paris because the walls are so freaking thin, the music room at AUP is always reserved when I am free, and the parks are filled with tourists (or creepy people).

I love Paris (in the springtime!), and I don't want to go home yet (if ever, haha)... but I kind of do. If, for nothing else, you can eat wherever the hell you please without someone making a comment (French people look at you funny if you eat outside your house, a park, or a restaurant, even though everyone does anyway) and there's always someone to walk you home at 4 in the morning.

Monday, April 21, 2008

Updates

It's the weekEND before "A Chorus Line" opens (we begin Wednesday) and my French project is finally done (my teacher and classmates were very impressed, AS THEY SHOULD BE because I worked for about two months on this freaking project), but there's still projects in three other classes to tackle. After a couple of weeks where I was shuffled around due to some girl quitting the play, I am officially playing the role of Bebe. (Before the girl quit, I was Tara, a cut dancer who isn't even a real name - I'm serious, I looked through the script - and Vicki, a cut dancer who had some parts but is supposed to be a tall, sexy blonde...lol. After she quit, I was asked to replace her as Maggie, who has the most singing parts besides Cassie, the "main" character, and Diana, who gets the show's most famous song, "What I Did for Love".) The part of Bebe has been drastically cut down because (1) she doesn't speak much to begin with and (2) before I had been called to fill in the cast they had given Bebe's solo to someone else, and Maggie's solo to the girl who was playing Bebe at the time. The girl playing Bebe had told the directors that she had played Maggie before, and so she got the solo (and eventually the part of Maggie after the directors thought they were cutting up the role too much). I don't want to be catty, but I just wanted to point out that I already knew Maggie's part better than this girl did RIGHT OFF THE BAT... apparently my voice was "not strong enough" for Maggie, which makes me laugh (I'm sure it would make everyone who knows me from church laugh too, because they know that couldn't be farther from the truth... when I have MORE THAN ONE DAY TO REHEARSE A SONG, THANKYOVERYMUCH). My friend Ignacio (also in the play) gave me his word that everyone had been gunning for me to keep the role, but the girl playing Maggie had TOLD them that she had already played Maggie and could just step in. (However, everyone thinks she told a lie because it took her forever to learn her part.) ANYWAY. Long story short, I am now Bebe.

For the uninitiated, "A Chorus Line" is a play, originally performed in 1975 (and the longest-running Broadway show until "Cats" came along), about an audition to get into the chorus of a play. From the huge audition ("I Hope I Get It"), the director chooses eighteen (now seventeen, in our play) people to examine further before whittling down his (her, in our play) choices to four men and four women. During the play, we get to know these seventeen people and their life histories in a Tony Award-winning extravaganza of song and dance incorporating all styles from disco to rock to funk to Motown to classical to music-hall to burlesque. At the end of the play, the eight are chosen, and get their final bows before melting into the chorus line. However, the frightening thing about this is that those eight people, who have poured out their hearts and souls onstage for an hour and a half - and who become almost like old friends by the end of the play - become just eight more people in an anonymous chorus line. Despite their fascinating personalities and histories, in the end they sing, dance, act and become just like everyone else. The piece they sing, "One," is very well-known and a classic Broadway-style strut with a kick line at the end and everything.

Backstory on Bebe: Bebe Benzenheimer ("I know, I gotta change it!") is a somewhat neurotic modern dancer from Boston, Massachusetts. According to "At The Ballet," her mother told her she would be very attractive when she grew up because she would be unique and "different." However, this made her hate her mother because she wanted nothing more than to be just pretty. "Different is nice," she sings (in my solo that they gave to someone else, but the girl they gave it to is awesome so I can't hate on her), "but it sure isn't pretty." Thus, she sought refuge in dance, because the graceful movements of ballet made her feel beautiful. She seems to be a Broadway rookie, because in the one scene (besides introductions) that she talks, she begs people to stop talking about the decline of Broadway because she just got there.

Now, although I am not a Jewish East Coast girl like Bebe (and I certainly do not hate my mother), I can see a lot of myself (or I put a lot of myself) in Bebe. The way I see her, she's always a little nervous and shy because she's a rookie (and in fact, she feels kind of excluded from the rest of the cast, which is how I sometimes feel in big groups of people whom I may or may not know). She's got a bit of a beauty hang-up, like me, but LOVES to dance (and CAN dance), like me, so that ameliorates everything. Neither of us is ugly (I hope), but our looks are unconventional and that's what makes us feel a little bit like outsiders. Also, she just seems like a nervy character, and I have been told (to my face) that I am too uptight, so I can see how I can fit the role. Plus I'm relatively new when it comes to theatre; as I never got into plays in high school (what, I wasn't good enough? ... okay, probably. I know I can't act.) this is only the fourth play I have been in, and the third musical. Everyone else has done years and years of school plays and such, and I feel like such a n00b compared to them.

I also like that her name sounds like my mother's nickname, Bibi (which means "duck" in Kapampangan). It's like a giant circle of nomenclature: Bebe sounds like Bibi which means Duck which is modified to become Duckie. And here I am.

The only problem I have, though, is that with my leggings and jazz shoes and red lame American Apparel baseball jacket and the pleather (or, as my castmember Kyle calls it, "pu-pu-pu-pu-pu") fedora they gave me to practice with, the costuming girl has essentially made me Michael Jackson.

Thursday, April 10, 2008

I get to sit next to this guy in class.






Seriously. I'm not lying. There are some interesting people at this school, since it's all diplomats' kids and oil heirs and scions of exiled royalty and stuff. Andrea Casiraghi (that's the elder son of Princess Caroline of Monaco) went to school here (as did KC Conception, as any Filipino will tell you).

Anyway, as we were on our computers in class on Monday, he told me to go vote for him at the V Magazine Web Site so that he can win this model search.

Even if he's not your type, it's still a matter of honour for me to help my classmate. XD

(Also, he looks much, much younger in person, like 16 or something, and much more classically cute, i.e. fresh-faced. It's amazing what professional photography can do for a person.)

Thursday, April 3, 2008

Musings of a (Definitely-Not-From-Harlem, Since I Suck at Basketball) Globetrotter

"How does it feel? How does it feel
To be on your own? With no direction home,
Like a complete unknown? Like a rolling stone?

- Bob Dylan, "Like A Rolling Stone"

So I've been wondering what I really am, at this moment. I am more than halfway home (literally, since we end in mid-May), and I have been doing my best to adapt to life in France. Yet every time I speak to a French person outside of the house (and sometimes in the house) I feel like I'm actually regressing rather than advancing in my French skills. All my friends say that I'm really good at it (and why shouldn't I be? I studied it for four years, and it has been seven years since I started) but those three years without French lessons really killed me and I I stutter every time I try to speak in French. I also noticed in my video blog that my vowels are impure and very American (it's okay, Josh Groban has the same problem. No, really. Listen to him sing. He'll be singing away in perfect Italian or French or Spanish and then he'll suddenly slip in an American dipthonged "oh" or "ay" sound rather than the pure "o" or "e" sound that Romance languages have... it's noticeable even on his recorded - i.e. not live - albums. Oh, Josh). However, my mom keeps saying that I'll be really Frenchy when I get home and my host mom says that I'm already really Frenchy. I constantly stun both her and her daughter with my sheer knowledge of France and French culture (remember, I grew up reading the encyclopaedia. I'm not even kidding. Ask my mom. And my knowledge keeps expanding, given the vastness of the Internet and the average human's usage of only 10% of the brain), especially in casual conversation. Once I said "mec" (translating to "guy" or, since I'm from California, "dude") in conversation and Marlene (host mom's daughter) cracked up because I said that. I suppose it's something like a Japanese person, who's only really learned English through schoolbooks and the occasional movie, saying "dude" in the presence of Californians, but every time I go outside I feel like more and more of an outsider as time goes by. Like when I'm absolutely starving and have no time to eat except on the metro (and French people are absolutely fanatical about eating properly) and get stared at. Or when I'm speaking in English on the metro and get stared at. Or even when I'm the only non-white person in a particular compartment on the metro and get stared at. Ordering things in restaurants or buying things in stores (especially with my American magnetic-strip credit card, and my California ID that has to be shown with it) makes me nervous because I DON'T want to be the Obviously Stupid American in the room.

I know I'm not French, and don't pretend to be, but I CAME TO FRANCE TO PRACTICE MY FREAKING FRENCH SO I DON'T BECOME THE STUPID AMERICAN ALL FRENCH PEOPLE MAKE FUN OF. I am obviously American, but I don't want people patronising me by speaking in English unless I ask first... they usually end up speaking to me in English anyway. I don't always understand right away, and have to have things repeated, but I WANT THEM REPEATED IN FRENCH SO I CAN BEGIN TO UNDERSTAND. I speak enough English - to my friends, to my professors (except Attal because he is the French professor and we are in an advanced French class anyway), to my family, even IN MY HEAD - so I need to practice French. I'd rather slog through the rapid French of a snobby salesperson rather than have them sneer at me in slow English. (There's only been one salesperson - at the ticket booth in the opera house - that has been rude to me so I've been lucky. But still, she didn't have to be such a B$%&# when I only asked where the bathrooms were. "Ce n'est pas publique" (It's not a public toilet), she snapped at me when, just ten minutes earlier, she had been all smiles and sunshine and lollipops when I had bought a ticket. I'M NOT THE PUBLIC. I AM A PAYING CUSTOMER. I PAID YOU, YES YOU, NOT EVEN TEN MINUTES BEFOREHAND AND BOTH MY BRAIN AND BLADDER ARE THISCLOSE TO EXPLODING because it's THAT TIME OF THE MONTH, SO STFU AND TELL ME WHERE I CAN PEE. (...now if only I could yell that fluently in French.)

And you know what else is weird? I speak more Filipino here than I do in America because there's quite a few Filipinos in Paris (we have our own fellowship at the American Church) and I see them work as domestics all the time in the 16th since that's where al the rich people live. I feel like I owe it to myself, Manila native that I am, to still remember Filipino in the jumble of languages I've spoken since I was here (stuttering French, mangled Czech, WTF German, gringa Spanish, fangirl/gaijin Japanese), and I am heading to Manila two days after returning to San Francisco ANYWAY. I want to be like Jose Rizal and speak twenty different languages, except (1) I don't know who I can inflict Sanskrit on and (2) Jose Rizal would probably make fun of me for how badly I speak Filipino. I mean, despite my natural love and knack for languages, and my best efforts to subsume my acquired American accent, Filipinos can still tell that I am American (and sometimes laugh at/make fun of me for it). NEVER MIND THAT I WAS BORN IN CARDINAL SANTOS, A HOSPITAL IN METRO MANILA NAMED AFTER A PRIEST FROM MY MOTHER'S HOME TOWN IN PAMPANGA, AND THAT I SPENT MY FORMATIVE YEARS IN SAMPALOC, THREE MINUTES AWAY FROM UNIVERSITY OF SANTO TOMAS, THE OLDEST UNIVERSITY IN MANILA. MA.NI.LA. AS IN, WITHIN THE CITY LIMITS OF THE ACTUAL CITY OF MANILA.

Anyway, yeah, it's weird how I feel like I'm regressing in French only after I've come to Paris. It's kind of like when you practice something so much that you begin to forget it (which is also happening with me right now, as I practice for my play which I don't even have a main part in, despite the fact that I've been one of the most faithful attendees of practices and a freaking good singer if I do say so myself, but WHATEVER).
Also, it's weird because I don't know what to call home (especially since "Like A Rolling Stone" is playing on the radio): my place of birth, my place of upbringing, my original ("home") university, or my current (temporary) domicile (which is in what has been my dream city since I began to wear glasses, and my home base in Europe - I actually got to tell people "I'm from Paris" when I was on spring break)? I call all of them home at the same time. My mom uses the same verb ("muli," meaning "to go home" in Kapampangan) to refer to me going to the Philippines and America, and my host mom sometimes reminds me that the apartment is (for now) my home too. When discussing study abroad, UCSB is referred to as my "home" university. However, none of them are really HOME at the moment.

Or maybe they are.

I suppose that one can argue that I'm trying to keep up with the exoticism of AUP students by asserting my transnationalism (lots of rich people, multinationals, expats, study abroad kids, and/or diplomats' kids go here), but one (I) can also argue that I am a transnationalist because I was born in one country, raised (with heavy, heavy links to the former) in another, and currently live - like, with a NON-TOURIST visa and everything, however temporarily - in another.

But I'll leave the entry about transnationalism for another day (sociology/Asian American Studies student that I am).

I suppose it'll get even more confusing once I go back to the Philippines. My mom actually told me once that I was not Kapampangan (never mind that she speaks to me in nothing else), and I never feel Just American, EVER, and I never feel Just Filipino, EVER, and I am Obviously Not French. So... what am I? And don't say Filipino-American, because that just brings up dreadful images of either

(1) suburban kids who spent their adolescence wishing, or trying to, be "normal" (read: WHITE) and then all of a sudden bursting into Rabid Filipino Pride upon attending college,

(2) suburban girls who dress in Abercrombie or Hollister, dye their hair a brassy blonde-brown, have white boyfriends and Volkswagen Jettas, join overwhelmingly blonde sororities (and thus are the darkest person in the sorority picture no matter how much they try to block UV Rays), and (if they have enough money) get surgery to sharpen their flat noses, or

(3) suburban kids dressed in Fubu and Sean John and Girbaud, braid cornrows in their straight Asian-but-insisting-they-are-Pacific-Islander hair, and American accents mangling words in Tagalog far worse than I could ever do.

Unless, of course, you're Don. He's cool. (And grew up in the Philippines until, like, age 16 so he still speaks with a slight Filipino accent even if he dresses like everyone else. And lives within SF city limits, which gives him automatic street cred.) I miss Don, insufferable dork that he is... Or Rianne, who is a mix of EVERYTHING (half Filipino, half black-white-possibly Hispanic, I never remember, but she went to school in the Mission for like eight years so that probably counts for something) but grew up with her resolutely Filipino grandparents. Or Casey, Sergio, or Noni - I think they are the perfect mix of Filipino and American. I always envied how they could mix well with Fil-Am kids in the way I never could, but without the ghetto-wannabe affectations or atrociously American-accented Tagalog of some other kids I know. And they still mano adults and say "po" at the end of every sentence and everything. Or even Andrea and Kyle, who moved to America when Eeyah was nine and Kyle was sixteen (I think), but they still are fluent in Tagalog (although Eeyah was born in Pampanga and sometimes I give her crap for not knowing Kapampangan since she grew up in Manila) and are obviously Filipino, BUT STILL ASSIMILATED WAY BETTER - AND COOLER - THAN I DID. (Even if Eeyah is a little too blunt towards her parents to be the perfect Filipina - hey, "pnaysoblunt" is/was her screenname - but then again, she inherited it from THEM. LOL.) Or Joan and Jordan, who are the "typical" Filipino American without being obnoxious about it (speaks predominantly English, but understands Filipino fluently; may or may not have been Philippine-born, but has been raised in America from an early age; leans toward hip-hop culture without going overboard with "ghetto" affectations; the life of every party; actually LOOKS LIKE A FILIPINO PERSON; digs in heartily at any Filipino dish on the table... you know, now that I think about it, kind of like the Antonio kids). Or Leonard and Gail, who actually DO use their Tagalog skillz in addition to ticking all the boxes of "typical Filipino American". Or Megan - or Ruth - or Janice - or Toby! - who are in their own categories altogether.

OKAY, FINE. I MISS YOU ALL. AND YOU ARE ALL UNIQUE. I LOVE MY FRIENDS.

The more I think about it, the more I realise that among my friends there is no one set "Filipino-American" archetype - I mean, you see the caricatures at PCN (I played the fobalicious mother, w00t) and in movies like "Lumpia" and "The Debut" and "The Flip Side" - but growing up I always felt like I (and perhaps Adrian #1) was always the odd Filipino out. Too white to be Filipino, too Filipino to be white, and nowhere near the African-American/Latino hip-hop normative, ethnically, culturally or psychologically. And no one ever thought I looked Filipino. (At least Adrian had that... but at least I knew I wasn't the typical Filipino and never tried the ghetto immersion thing. Bwahahaha. Okay okay okay, cheap shot, sorry like I have anything to apologise about) Being Manila-born, I felt like I had to work THAT MUCH HARDER to prove to everyone and myself that I am Filipino. I relearned Tagalog and Kapampangan at ten, I did folk dance from the age of seven right up until I left for college, and it is telling that within my immediate circle of friends - save for Michelle and Rianne, but again, Rianne is an SF-born-and-raised mix of everything (I so envy people who grew up in the City) so she can do whatever the freak she wants and not have to worry about being Filipino enough - that I am the only one who had a debut. I think I still don't fit in anywhere - and will never fit in anywhere - because I was alone all the time when I was little, and so was left to my own devices ithout social references from anyone, except my parents, with whom I slogged through everything so I can never act like a typical Filipina - or a typical ANYTHING - towards them either. And then you throw France into everything, and the cultural melange of WTF increases.

I suppose I should follow the advice of the song playing on the radio - "Relax, Take It Easy."

Tuesday, April 1, 2008

Video Blogging!

Am dipping a toe into the exciting new world of video blogging. I was supposed to say "Hi, this is Joanne" at the beginning, but that part got cut while I was importing the video to the computer T_T Anyway, here are the results of my labours.

Monday, March 31, 2008

Addendum.

OH MY GOD I WANNA CRY.

As soon as I finished this post there sat a girl, who looks like she's barely out of the lycee (which is quite young, considering my own "looks way younger than she is" complex and the fact that she is ethnic French and White People Age Differently Than Asians and all that), in front of me. She is wearing a neon t-shirt and jeans, and on the seat next to her is -

A taupe pebble leather Hermes Birkin bag.

HERMES. BIRKIN.

Let me repeat that the girl barely looks lycee age. I don't even know if she goes to this school. And she is schlepping around a Birkin. The best I've got is my mother's beat-up Louis Vuitton Speedy - something so commonplace and counterfeited as to become borderline vulgar - that is as old as me (and which I left behind in America because I accidentally broke the handles when I was fifteen and we still haven't fixed it) and the even more beat-up Prada that my grandma got from a Goodwill for two dollars (which is awesome in itself, and is useful enough for me to bring to Paris, but seeing as my Gran doesn't know Prada from Primark that isn't saying much).

I can't even afford the 86-euro Benetton version of the Birkin.

Life is so unfair.

A wedding? I love weddings! Drinks all around!

"You got your passion you got your pride
But don't you know only fools are satisfied?
Dream on but don't imagine they'll all come true."
- Billy Joel, "Vienna"

So apparently my cousin Selang is getting married even though she has never told me about her fiance - I get all my news from my mother. This same mother told me that I have to change my flight ASAP because I'm the maid of honour... sweet Lord, I'm not even 21 yet and I am already serving as maid of honour as weddings. This only lends more credence to the stresses I've been having all weekend about my insanely busy schedule and life. I feel like there's never enough time and money, and I have to give up a whole bunch of things I wanted to do because of it. Here's a rundown of concerns I have right now:

1. Book a flight from Paris Charles de Gaulle to San Francisco, first of all (am waiting for STA Travel in Santa Barbara to open so I can get help from the travel agents there)
2. Book a flight to San Francisco to NAIA (my mother's job, but she is waiting on my schedule... it will come soon, mum. promise.)
3. 10-minute French presentation, including a 3-page dossier and the shooting of a 4-minute music video, due next Thursday
4. 10-page music term paper due next Friday
5. 10-page English term paper due the Friday after next
6. "A Chorus Line" from April 23 to 25
7. A bunch of Communications reading logs due throughout the semester
8. Finals on May 12, 13 and 16
9. London trip May 13-15, including Josh Groban in "Chess," May 13 (actually I'm really happy about this other than the freaky-deaky exchange rate)
10. Maid of Honour at Selang's wedding in June
11. Philippines trip for one month (another bright spot, but again, so much timing and budgeting to do on both Mum's and my part)
12. Ma's birthday (present?)
13. Summer School from June 24 to August sometime - CHOOSE CLASSES APRIL 1.
14. Senior Year beginning in late September, and graduation in June 2009... and grad school afterwards...
15. General ticking of my biological clock, which SHOULD NOT BE A PROBLEM BECAUSE I'M ONLY TWENTY YEARS OLD, AND HAVE BEEN TOLD SO REPEATEDLY, but if I want to have a kid by 27 I only have seven years to find the absolute love of my life and actually keep him in my clutches this time. Seven years seems like a long time, but time is going by faster and faster and faster and if I want to achieve everything I want to before I'm thirty it's going to take a lot of time and money, neither of which I have, or expect to have for a while. I'm afraid to end up alone and broke at thirty, not having achieved anything that I want to because life keeps passing me by. I am in my favourite city in the world and things are going by just SO QUICKLY that I don't have time to enjoy anymore. Sometimes I want to give it all up and just bum around Europe Hemingway-style, but since I do not share his talent or his bank account I know darn well I can't do that and must keep on slogging away at whatever I'm doing. I don't want to be disappointed by Paris, and I refuse to be disappointed by Paris, but even with my share of exhilarating, euphoric moments, I still feel the ennui setting in, like, "why am I here? Why am I at school? Why can't I do the things I want to? Why can't I have enough money as the rest of everyone?"

The last issue is particularly jarring to me, because of the declining dollar value (I KNEW I WAS BORN TEN YEARS TOO LATE) and impending recession, according to my mother. Even though I am the daughter of two accountants, and you all know how my mother sometimes finds my budgeting peculiar and over-the-top (I write down everything. EVERYTHING.) the money is never ever enough. I grew up hearing my mother's stories of how my grandma was too poor - and busy raising her own siblings, and then fighting World War II, and then raising her own children - to go to school, and how she herself was so poor in college that she couldn't even afford a slice of pizza or a snack out of a vending machine. I am so determined to make her proud, but somehow I always, always, ALWAYS screw up and my bank account is dwindling away. And here I am whinging about how I can't go to Italy (one of my other dreams) after crossing Europe because mommy won't let me (technically, she will, but then she holds the money thing over my head, which obviously means "no").

I hate how going to this school makes me feel so petulant and plebeian - I just talked to my friend Lindsay and she shared the same concerns. As her home university is NYU and she is from a middle-class Asian family like myself, she hates how she can't share in the same luxuries that our real AUP classmates can, like jetting off to Greece for a weekend or getting that new Chanel purse. At the same time, she feels guilty about spending so much of her and her parents' hard-earned money because of the infernal exchange rate. We barely (well, I barely) spend any money on anything but food and transportation, but it all adds up. It's like my mother's experience on a grander, yet still a pettier, scale: whereas she couldn't afford pizzas, vending machine snacks, or sometimes trips home on the jeepney like her classmates, I can't afford nights out, Chanel purses, or trips to Rome like my classmates. The exchange rate makes my experience a bajillion times worse, but the superficiality of the things I complain about makes my experience a bajillion times pettier in comparison. I have just enough to survive, but that's IT, and there's SO. MANY. THINGS. TO DO. IN EUROPE. and whereas my mother always came back to the Philippines (our current problem concern) I get the feeling I'm never ever coming back to Europe. I told my mom so in a fit of petulance this morning, but it feels truer and truer as time goes by. After AUP comes the Philippines (spending time and money), then summer school (time), then senior year (time and a bit of money), then GREs (time and money), then grad school (time and MONEY), then trying to find a job (MONEY MONEY MONEY), then finding a boyfriend and possible husband like five years down the line (time time TIME... I don't care what anyone says about being too young, every time I see someone making out in the metro my blood starts to boil because I know that I don't have anyone, not even for marriage or baby daddy purposes - GOD FORBID I SHOULD HAVE A KID AT MY AGE... Ana and Justine, I salute you - but for selfish purposes like love and snuggling and some sort of comfort), then having kids before my ovaries go kerflooey (time, MONEY), then worrying about the emotional, physical, and financial development of said kids (time, time, money, money, time, money), then worrying about spoiling grandchildren and other descendants (time and money), then death (money).

Who has time to eat, or sleep, or go to Europe, or LIVE, when there's all this crap to do?

At least I can eat.

And I'll get plenty of rest when I'm dead.

Saturday, March 29, 2008

Okay, it's a month late, but...

Paris Fashion Week!

Chanel, February 29, 2008

Claudia Schiffer. I saw her at Valentino in January. She's still stunning close up.




But wait - who is that in the distance?




It's the editrix of American Vogue (and inspiration for a certain eponymous Prada-clad devil) Anna Wintour!




Kanye West and his "black Kate Moss," Alexis. Say what you will about his arrogance, but I love love LOVE his beats.




The plebes (aka Shanna and me).





An awesome action shot of Anna (taken by Shanna) - I still have no idea how or why Shanna got that close. I was so afraid to come near Anna that I shot her with my zoom. LOLLLLLL.




Some models coming out. Not really feeling the gold eye makeup mask thing, but hey, it's Chanel. I'm sure the clothes look awesome with more wearable makeup.










Gaspard Ulliel, the French actor who played the young Hannibal Lecter in "Hannibal Rising," prequel to "Silence of the Lambs." Sexiest psychopath ever? SEXIEST PSYCHOPATH EVER. (But there is actually a really, really sad story behind how Dr. Lecter came to be criminally insane.) Here he is with some of my new fashion buddies.






Marc Lavoine, a famous French singer.




The awesome Irina Lazareanu, who was kind enough to pose with my friends.





Ashley Olsen (or is it Mary-Kate? Now that they're both blonde again I can never tell behind those freaking sunglasses.)




Some celebrity exits: Claudia, Kanye and Alexis, and Rihanna. (And no, I respected Miss Rihanna's personal space - I just forgot to un-zoom the camera.)






Okay, back to school. (The book in my hand is "Wuthering Heights" - I was slated to give a presentation immediately after the fashion show.)



Thursday, March 20, 2008

there is NO way I could post all of my Eurotrip pictures in one post or one sitting (hello, eight cities in fifteen days); I simply do not have the time and sanity for it. So here are a few snaps from the journey, with accompanying blurbs. More to come later.




Guru Bar, Barcelona. I bought the drink because it was called San Francisco. :D



Las Ramblas, Barcelona - New friends I've made along the way. Left to right is: Johannes, from Innsbruck (Austria), Melanie from Austin (Texas), me, Sandra, also from Innsbruck, and Alexis, from Houston (Texas).




Cerbere, France (on the border of France and Spain, on the train from Barcelona to Avignon) - Nick enjoying a snack and some comics.




Columbus statue, Barcelona - Apparently Christopher Columbus is pointing to America. By this point of the trip my sense of direction was shot to hell so I couldn't tell you if he was right.





More descriptions to come later, but for now, enjoy the pics. And try to guess where I am - it could be fun!























Friday, March 7, 2008

Slow down, you crazy child.

"You're so ambitious for a juvenile...
You got so much to do and only
so many hours in a day."
- Billy Joel, "Vienna"

So I'm in Vienna right now, after spending the last day-and-a-half in Prague. I'm staying in the Hutteldorf hostel, which is like 30 minutes away from the centre of Vienna. The walk here was kind of creepy, as it was SO quiet on the way, and kind of bucolic for a major city - I think I'm in suburban Vienna, actually. The hostel reminds me of CI all over again - a bunch of bungalow-like things that I have to trek in the (very cold) dark to enter, wooden bunkbeds, scheduled times for everything, lots of trees, hella far from anything, etc. The only differences are the people smoking and drinking behind me (I still hate cigarette smoke, and I live in Paris), no bible study, and no piano. Oh, and also the fact that I'M IN AUSTRIA LOL.

The past few days have been fun, but hectic (WELL DUH) and more than a little stressful because I keep getting lost. Ordinarily getting lost in a big city is fun for me, but ordinarily that city is San Francisco or Paris, both of which I have known and loved (if not inhabited) for many years and I have a map (paper or mental) of where I am. It's not as fun when you don't speak the language and it's 11:00 at night because your train came in late or you took the wrong tram/bus/metro line and time is running out and you're hungry and out of cell phone minutes and carrying a huge-ass bag of stuff that includes your ten-pound Oxford Anthology of English literature because your English professor got the brilliant idea of giving you a take-home midterm over spring break when you're visiting eight cities in fifteen days and already have a major French project to do.

I've got some interesting travelling stories already and I'm just a little worse for the wear - I'm still able to walk, I've got all my essential accoutrements (KNOCK ON WOOD) and I wrote down a bunch of German phrases in my Moleskine before arriving so I think I'll be fine.

There's so many things to do in Vienna and I'm only here for a day and a half so I'm going to look those things up now. And go to sleep, because I am EXHAUSTED. Vienna waits for me, but my own circadian rhythms do not.

Friday, February 29, 2008

VOGUE!

Click click click to enlarge.





If you don't know who this woman is, click here.

Now, I don't know if she was just feeling benevolent, or if she really is that nice all the time. Or even if she just felt like humouring this chubby, shy, bumpkinesque American girl (well, girls, because I was with Shanna) who stuttered her admiration in rusty French. And she doesn't know this (much less care), but to this girl - who has spent her entire life playing dress-up (yes, even at age twenty) and who taught herself foreign languages by reading fashion magazines at age ten - this means the world.

Saturday, February 16, 2008

Late January to February





A writer's tools. (That big pink thing in the foreground is the most expensive sandwich I've ever had, it being an open-faced smoked salmon sandwich at the Cafe Select, where Hemingway used to go; the postcard is to my friend Toby, to wish him happy St. Thomas' Day since his actual name is Thomas.) And NO, I don't smoke, although Paris has already given me a smoker's cough. >_<




The window display of the flagship store for Hermes. As a Francophile, a Japanophile, a fashionista, a geek, a prepster and a woman, I love love LOVE this store. And as a balletomane, I love this window display.




The slogan for this store is "The House of Beauty" (I just found out that it's a cosmetics company).




I met Jane Goodall! (She's the English lady who's really famous for working with chimpanzees.)




Notre Dame Cathedral at night. "Paris is worth a Mass." - Henri IV of Navarre




Place de la Bastille. That big thing to the right is the Opera Bastille; while I love opera, I don't love this building. I much prefer the elegant Palais Garnier (which is the setting for "Phantom of the Opera").




Ah, the Metro.




Funnily enough, I saw this restaurant on the way home. It made me smile.




Rachel in front of the Eiffel Tower on Valentine's Day.




Obviously not Rachel.





Goofing around.




My favourite shot of the session. :D I think it looks very mod/60s, with the light and the peacoat and the cherry blossoms and all. When I showed it to my friend Lindsey, she said, "I need to hang out with you so you can take pictures of me!" XD (I was very flattered; I like to think I take good photos.)




La Grande Arche de la Defense; built in 1989 for the bicentennial of the French Revolution, it stands 6 km away in a straight line from the Arc de Triomphe...




Which you can see from the Grande Arche.



La Defense is awesome; it is futuristic, whereas the rest of Paris is very antique (there are buildings over a hundred years old still in use in some arrondissements, like mine). My host mom hates La Defense, though. "C'est moche" (it's ugly), she says. I love it - it looks like what people (including myself when I was little) envisioned cities would look like in 2008, sans the flying cars. (I really wish they had them though.)




It was freezing (well, two degrees Celsius above freezing; I checked) so I finally gave up and had my first ever Starbucks in France.