I think it’s absolutely repugnant that some people are now treating Christmas as a license to mooch off money. Their justification being that this is the season for giving and so it’s just a-okay to treat anyone who looks like he eats three times a day as a cash dispenser at their beck and call. To all these freeloaders, fuck you!!!

Oh, and a happy holidays to everyone else!

King Kong

When a friend of mine was conned into buying the 1933 version of King Kong instead of what she thought would be Peter Jackson’s latest opus, I thought it’d be a good idea to borrow it and watch the original King Kong movie ahead of the latest incarnation to get a better understanding of this apparent fascination Peter Jackson had with the movie. After all, he did say that watching the 1933 version of King Kong back in his native New Zealand made Jackson want to be a movie director.

So did I like the new King Kong movie because I saw the original first? That’s a resounding yes. I could only imagine how people back in the 1930’s were astounded by the special effects. Admittedly, the stop-motion photography utilized to feature Kong is very crude compared to the magic that CGI weaves in the current movie. However, the original film exposed a world of prehistoric animals that could somehow exist bearing in mind that technology had not advanced to the point like right now that we could say with absolute certainty that such fantastical creatures could not live among us. People were less jaded by the modern world back then and so the idea of a giant ape falling in love with a woman doesn’t seem so farfetched as it does now – although the original downplayed the possibility of any emotional bond that Ann Darrow had toward Kong.

Jackson also chose to retain several of the characters which appeared in the first King Kong although he made some changes with these: Jake Driscoll, Ann Darrow’s love interest, is now a screenwriter and not the first mate of the ship Venture; the ship’s captain, Englehorn, is now a much younger and tougher man who bickers with the lead character, the movie director named Carl Denham; the Chinese cook named Charlie is not the stereotypical stupid and cowardly Asian (read: non-Caucasian) character who affords comic relief with his bumbling ways; and the natives of Skull Island aren’t stereotypical stupid and cowardly black (read: non-Caucasian) people with atrocious afros and coconut shell brassieres (Skull Island is supposed to be near Sumatra – how people who apparently came from the African continent got to settle there was unexplained).

If I had any complaint about Jackson’s version of King Kong, it’s the three hour running time of the film. The original King Kong clocked in at about one hour and half so where the other one hour and a half go with the new version? Well, exposition and CGI. This time, Jake Driscoll doesn’t just blurt out “Say…I think I love you!” to Ann Darrow and this is enough for her to melt in his arms for a kiss. We’re given the back story that she’s always been in love with him eventhough Ann Darrow only knows of Jack Driscoll through his work as a playwright and he eventually falls in love with her because, well, she’s freakin’ Naomi Watts, that’s why. The CGI scenes with Kong and the assorted ginormous resident-beasts of the island are mind-boggling to behold. I guess Jackson had to go showcase the cutting edge of special effects currently available so as to impress the present crop of moviegoers, in the same way the original King Kong made a number of mouths gape open in rapturous admiration.

All in all, the new King Kong is certainly worth the price admission but seriously given the less weight in popularity the source material had compared to his previous directorial effort, Jackson could have trimmed one good hour off the film’s running time. Seriously, we’re talking about a giant ape here.

There's this blog called The Superficial which is chockful of Hollywood chismis written in a tone dripping with such acerbic wit and bitchiness that I have to take a shower after I read the entries. I worship at the altar of whoever the guy is behind the blog. He doesn't just pin the tail on the donkey, he sodomizes it. Case in point, here is how he describes the new James Bond, Daniel Craig:

"I haven't seen a James Bond film since somewhere around the dawn of color tv, but I'm guessing that the reason they've had so much trouble finding a Bond girl is that the new Bond guy, Daniel Craig, looks like a cross between James Woods and my testicles. He better be a terrific actor, because right now I have a hard time believing he'd be able to seduce the fat russian chick working third-shift at the local 7-11, let alone a supermodel. "

I’m living back at home now since I gave up my condo this week. I’m technically homeless right now pending my departure for Singapore this January 01. And so I’m back at the house living with my mother and brother. The idea of having my mother monitoring my comings and goings again did faze me at the start but it’s a price I have to pay for living under her roof. Independence really is the forbidden fruit in the Garden of Eden sense of the phrase, where tasting is some form of demarcation line from which one cannot get back from. Sigh. I miss the times when my room was in serious competition with Las Vegas as the funnest place in the world or when I could do stuff which I thought was only possible in my gin-soaked dreams – like ironing my clothes without my pants on. I can’t wait to be alone and independent again at the start of the year.

This morning, my mom prepared breakfast for her barkada and they all caught me eating cereal in the dining room. As expected, I was barraged with the usual set of questions especially reserved for single adult males – When are you settling down? Why haven’t you met anyone yet? Why are you so picky? I had the sneaking suspicion, however, that the point of all the questions was to generate some sort of reaction from me which would lead them to conclude and then answer the one question they collectively wanted to but was afraid to ask: Are you gay?

No. I’m not gay. Not to brag but if my mom’s friends only knew how much heterosexual sexual experience I’ve had over the years, they’ll all check me into a clinic so I could be examined for genital ticks and/or venereal disease. I think my problem boils down to a problem with committing to a relationship in the long-term, meaning anything longer than a one-night stand. But I think I’m guilty of oversimplifying the problem and, not to mention, having my own damn self as my patient. Well, the good book did say, Physician heal thyself…of genital ticks!

I love being single and all the mobility and variety the life affords. At this point in my life, I think I’m not yet ready to commit myself to anyone or anything – except perhaps adultery or any one of the seven deadly sins.

Sorry for not updating in the past, oh, seven years. I’d like to blame work but the truth is it’s just plain old laziness on my part. Anyways, the big news is that I’m moving to Singapore next year. I’m booked on the afternoon flight on, ahem, business class on, fucking shit, January 01, 2006. My contract states that my employment starts then and so I have to be at the office on January 02. However, I was told only recently that January 02, is a holiday there. Quite an auspicious start for me I admit but I would still have preferred knowing so I could have booked to fly out on January 02 instead.

I’ll still work for the same company I’m in now. The job’s going to be a little different as it’s now regional – whereas at present I deal with crap that has to do with, vaguely, the local investments of foreign clients or foreign investments of local clients. With my new job, the role’s been expanded to taking shit from our branches all over the Asian region and teams based in the States and Europe. So there’ll be some days where I have to stay at the office beyond the official working hours to take in calls from New York and London. I’ll also have to travel around Asia to make pitches for this product we have which is as marketable as a tub of lard with hair on top. Moreover, I’ll have to deal with politics multiplied a thousand fold compared to here since it’s the regional office we’re talking about here – it has a direct line to the fickle corporate gods based at the home office somewhere in Europe.

Oh, well. That’s that…

Does it say something about me that this I guy whom I’ve been with in the office for years and years didn’t invite me to his wedding last week? Or may be it just says something about him and not me that he invited everyone in the department except me. Either way, I really don’t give a shit about him and his stupid wedding.

I’ve been thinking of ways to embarrass the shit out of him as a way of exacting revenge but I thought that better of it. The more I let the snub get under my skin, the more I seem to care that I didn’t get an invite. So forget him...and that fucking horse he rode in on (I meant his wife, by the way).