I was shaken out of my self-induced lethargy recently when the one and only Calliopia ordered me to update my blog since it was getting mouldy... and believe me, when Calliopia tells you to do something, you'd better do it.
Since I am about as uninspired and uninspiring as only a PMS-ravaged woman in a bad mood (throw in a persistent backache from washing the bathroom tiles a little too enthusiastically) can be, I thought I would do my bounden duty and get it over with by giving some updates of how I've been spending my days, and a few random thoughts - and I do mean random - to fill up the space.
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I hardly ever get to watch TV, especially movies, anymore, so I decided to indulge myself this weekend. Among other things, I finally got to watch the much-hyped Jackie Chan/Jet Li starrer, The Forbidden Kingdom after practically everyone has watched it. I've always loved kung-fu films, and this one was a special treat because unlike the westernized, Americanized, technicalized kung-fu films that are churned out by the dozen, this one really brought me back to my childhood days when my sisters and I would huddle up and watch those "authentic" Chinese films, complete with terrible dubbing. For a long time, I thought that was how the Chinese spoke... words still coming out of their mouths long after their lips had been clamped shut. C'mon, I was just a kid. Anyway, The Forbidden Kingdom has those typical elements of beloved Chinese movies of yore, like the drunken master, the hero-in-training, the ill-destined heroine, the silly antics and even slightly yucky eating habits. Definitely unbelievable, definetely enjoyable.
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I watched a sex-tape that had "leaked out", something that I don't normally do. I mean, I'm not that frustrated... yet. But this time, the girl was particularly young, and sadness overwhelmed me after I saw it. It just hit me so hard that our society has become so sick that young people feel the need to resort to gimmicks such as these to feel important and loved. And here we were, passing on the tape, no less implicated; let's not dwell on this too long.
I also watched a movie on cable TV which had Jonathan Rhys-Meyers (have I got it right?) the guy from August Rush. The movie was called Match Point. It's about this married guy who falls helplessly in lust with a woman, persuades her to have an affair with him, and then kills her because she gets pregnant and wants him to leave the guileless wifey. Quite a study in human psychology. I enjoyed it in a warped kind of way.
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Last Saturday, a group of youngsters - school kids - came together for a Clean Mizoram campaign. They cleaned up the commercial areas of Aizawl as best as they could, and they were cheerful and earnest in what they did. I just knew there are good kids still around, despite all the flack they get because of a few rotten apples in the cart.
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My Internet connection has been temperamental, to put it mildly, and hence the sluggishness about updating my blog. My bills came, and there was nothing sluggish about the way I've been billed. I don't even want to talk about it. Let's just say I may work off my debts in a few years' time if I work at my regular job and take all the part-time jobs available, and butter up my dad into making a few concessions, and wash dishes in restaurants, and babysit neighbors' kids... well, you get the idea. This lady not only has PMS and back pain, she's in a very bad mood.
So I went and bought a new car (on loan).
Oh yeah, I also straightened my hair. I know, my poor hair suffers everytime I go through an emotional crises. It was straight to begin with, until I decided to perm it, streak it, and so on and so forth. Now I'm back to being me, with my regular hair. However, I have now a new-found respect for people who straighten their hair on a regular basis. The amount of time and patience it takes to go through one sitting is incredible. And, people, I was not allowed to wash it for three days. Believe you me, I did not smell good. Ah, the things we do for the sake of beauty! But what fun! I bet guys don't have stories like these to tell.
Rambling may be fun for me, but not for you, methinks. So ciao until next time.
