One of my favorite moments at work happened during the American Idol
finale two years ago. The ninth season. The season with Siobhan Magnus
on it. The season that didn't exactly turn out as well as it should've. We were blogging the whole thing live; I wasn't doing the actual writing, but I was on the comments, just talking to the people on there, laughing at the coincidence of occasionally off-key Lee DeWyze
singing "what would I do if I sang out of tune?"
And then, towards the end, people started thanking us. The winner was going to be announced (it was Lee) and already we were patting each other on the back, the readers who've expressed their thoughts, and us the writers, who've been acting ringleader all this time. "Thank you Abbey
, John and Henrik for reporting this season. Totally appreciate you guys!" That sort of thing.
I always braced that point in the American Idol
season. It's like we're all dying. But I like it. It makes all those days fooling around, in between writing your thoughts on why Siobhan didn't deserve to go early, worth it. Same thing happened the following year. A country boy
or a country girl
was poised to win, and we were patting each other on the back, in between talk of drinking games and the country boy singing Sex Bomb
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I was watching volleyball on television today. The UAAP women's volleyball finals, the Lady Spikers versus whatever Ateneo
's team is called. The blues won the first game in the series, but the greens (us, of course) had a twice to beat advantage, because they were undefeated throughout the season. Crazy? Apparently, not really.
I'd like to think my brother's watching the game because his girlfriend plays volleyball. Not for their high school, I assume. I mean, that should explain why he knows a fair bit about the sport's rules, partly. Except for the antenna rule, which we saw in play the last time we watched together - another La Salle
-Ateneo game, the five-set nail-biter that ended the elimination round and gave us a lofty trip to the finals.
Or maybe it's because it's another chance for my brother to cheer for the blues again. Whatever. I've gotten used to it.
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I bumped into Krizia
a couple of weeks ago. Well, that's not entirely accurate, since there was no physical contact involved. I did not bump into Krizia. I saw her. In fact, she saw me first. She was with a friend (I assume) at the CBTL
branch I frequent, and I had my earphones on, walking to some place I can't remember anymore.
I'm surprised I heard her call my name. Niko!
she probably went. I'm pretty sure she did it twice. I had my earphones on, after all. My hearing diminishes by half with those plugged in. Niko!
I remember looking up and seeing her, smiling, waving at me. I removed my earphones, waved... and then I had a conundrum. What do I exactly do now? Do I go to her and exchange pleasantries and ask what's up and eat up her time? Or do I acknowledge her presence, wave back some more and then go?
I did the latter. Yes, I realize that makes me look rude. Here I am, face to face with an old friend from college, and I don't even ask her anything. I have a bit of an idea what she's up to (note to self: visit her food booth, you've never visited her food booth, you've always forgotten to visit her food booth, Kroketten beside Odd Balls in front of that home furnishing store thirty seconds from Ruby's mom's store) but apart from that, asking would feel a bit awkward. When I get asked back, what do I say? The usual.
Stock answer. Because nothing really has changed. And besides, I had to meet someone, and I had to meet someone at that particular moment.
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The gaps between my blog entries are getting wider again. And to think I should, in theory, be able to blog more, now that I have a laptop. It's a temporary reprieve, sure, because in three weeks' time I'll be plunging back into the world of steady employment. But I should, in theory, be able to blog more, now that I have a laptop.
Now, if only I had something to write about. Ironically, I'll only get ideas if I'm out and about more. Not exactly a good idea considering the circumstances.
To be fair, I do have a few things to write about, but lately I've been feeling lazy. A couple of ideas playing in my head, all fully-formed, and yet I'm not jotting them down, or technically tapping them down. I don't know. I'm lazy.
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I thought I'd never write about this supposed celebration of love anymore, but here I am.
I guess today was just a bad day for me. Woke up on the wrong side of the bed, you'd say. I actually woke up at half past seven today, which is much later than usual, especially considering that I slept at a little before ten last night.
I log into Facebook
- I know, I've been blogging a lot over the past year over things I see on Facebook, but it's part of my job, so forgive me - anyway, I log into Facebook and I see lots of people posting photos of either the flowers they have received, or the chocolates they have received. Or cheesy lines.
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Stay away from trouble and you'll life a nice life.
It makes sense, really. What fun do you get, after all, if you find yourself with bad grades, a tainted reputation and a suspended jail sentence? People start thinking that you're so bad. And yes, you can still make ends meet with these things bogging you down - thus, the market for rags-to-riches stories - but still. People start thinking that you're so bad. People will assume that you're always up to no good, and if you seriously want to get ahead, then you will have a hard time.
It did not sound that way when we were kids, of course. There was no need to sound very sinister about it, except perhaps when you factor in our fear of going to hell. (Or pink slips. But that isn't as universal.) So, we all played by the rules, mostly, and genuinely felt anguished when we did something wrong. Unless you're a sociopath.
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