QB 1

There are no words--for how great, how subtle, how real a character Matt Saracen was; for how wonderfully Zach Gilford played him.

So I'll let the experts do the talking.


"Every character on "Friday Night Lights" gets a raw deal in some ways...but Matt Saracen has consistently been the universe's punching bag, in part because the writers recognize how well Gilford plays Matt's pain and confusion every time life comes in to mock him again."

For over three seasons, his quiet consistency has been underappreciated on a show that itself has pretty much rewritten the definition of “underappreciated.” Matt Saracen isn’t the pretty-boy superstar bound for the NFL, nor is he the brash trash-talking RB from the wrong side of the tracks. Heck, he’s not even a funny-looking dude with a Christian rock band and a thing for willowy blondes. He’s simply a good guy, a dependable if slightly mumbly rock of politeness and good intentions. From the character’s beginnings as an in-over-his-head backup QB through his sweetly awkward courtship of Julie Taylor, his championship season, and his current situation as pizza deliveryboy with dreams of being a capital-A artist, Gilford has embodied Matt so effortlessly that it’s hard to believe that there’s any capital-A acting going on at all.

Except, of course, there is.

"Either way, what Gilford showed us was a boy, who had to be his own father for so long, accepting what it meant to truly be fatherless. What a good kid. What a good actor."

Naloloka sa holster.

Fine. Sa lalaki na rin na nakasuot ng holster.
I can't decide what would be nicer: getting a holster like that, or getting a man in a holster like that.
Hmmm...


Okay. This is just NCIS withdrawal symptoms. And a funky white night.
Why do our favorite shows have to go on break? Hindi pa ba sapat ang mataas nilang suweldo? Paano naman kaming mga walang buhay?

Bang-Bang Weekend!

What is bliss? 69 9mm rounds + 48 .45 rounds + 2 hours at the range.



The men who made it happen: Col. Dad and Lt. Bro. Maraming salamat! Nothing like the smell of gunpowder in the morning.

Fathers.

Today my father texted, "It's my daddy's 99th birthday. Please say a prayer for him."

My Dad's dad was one of many who died in World War II, while my grandmother was pregnant with Dad.

Lolo Elo and Lola Lettie

So I texted back, "How I wish he had been there to love you as much as you have been there for us Three Eggs. I love you, Dad."

The Band of Brothers, Javier Chapter
(Marco the Sniper. Cybs the Spotter. Dad the Handler.)

Burot 1 and Burot 2 (9 months old)

"Come to it with clear eyes and a full heart, and you can't lose."**

**Stolen from here.

Last season:


This season:


I see red and I likey.

Go, Coach Taylor!

From time.com:

And Taylor's move, pitting him against longer odds, establishes him as the true protagonist of the show. At a time when many of the best TV dramas feature antiheroes (House, Breaking Bad, Mad Men), he's a rarity: an example of classical virtues — integrity, loyalty — depicted without gush or cynicism. His signature locker-room slogan "Clear eyes, full hearts, can't lose" would be moving regardless, but the Gary Cooperlike Chandler makes us see the grit and belief with which Taylor delivers it, even when he's pumping up a team he knows probably will lose.

Taylor can be stubborn, hot-tempered and petulant. But he is an actual hero, someone whose virtue is to be respected, not subverted. And he and Tami — whose role is also prominent this season — have one of the most mature, combatively supportive marriages on TV (not to mention, for a 40ish husband and wife in a medium obsessed with young couples, an awfully hot one).

As I get ready to fall off the calendar...

...I would like to thank The Dude Upstairs for the last thirty years of my life.


Thanks a bunch for my family.
The tribe is small; the hunters and the gatherers have strong opinions (that sometimes come with quick tempers); but I wouldn't have the Band of Javiers any other way.

My first birthday party (October 1979)

Thanks a bunch for my friends.

Old and new; near and far; cyber and fleshy--you have all made your mark on me, and wherever you are in this world I carry you with me. I am honored to see (well, see photos of) your children grow; to witness your strength and grace as you go after your dreams; to talk and laugh about the little things that make life so cool.

Photo from sxc.hu

Thanks a bunch for this body...
...and all the things I get to do because of it. Walk around the world. Do the dishes after chopping up garlic and onions. Fill my lungs with breath, with each sun salutation and icky sit-up. Allergies, stretch marks and scars, rickety knees and bizarre tan lines--this body is my body is my body and because of all it has done for me and continues to do for me it is beautiful.

Chambord, 2008.

Thanks a bunch for this soul...
...and the things she lets me see and hear and feel. And know and learn and love. And I hope I do right by you, Little Soul.

Greece, 2006.

Thanks a bunch for this heart.

You'll be given love
you'll be taken care of
you'll be given love
you have to trust it

Maybe not from the sources
you have poured yours

Maybe not from the directions
you are staring at

Trust your head around
it's all around you
all is full of love
all around you

All is full of love : you just ain't receiving
All is full of love : your phone is off the hook
All is full of love : your doors are all shut

All is full of love

-Bjork

Singapore Snippets

Walk this way.
From the hotel to Little India to the Marina Square to Orchard Road--Singapore is definitely a walking city and I love it.

Weapons of choice: Trusty belt bag (with shoulder bag option), trusty tourist map (tore off all the unnecessary parts), and trusty crocs.

Lessons learned: It's hotter in Singapore than in the Philippines. Jeans have no business there! I'm so glad I brought a skirt at the last minute, thunder-thighs and all. And that half of my tops were white cotton.



Mister Elephant
The Night Safari gave me goose bumps. And even if the lions were sleeping instead of roaring (darn it), it was still worth it, thanks to Mister Elephant. I can still see him in my mind, standing under the soft lighting, staring straight at me (at least it seemed like he was), all wise and...noble. As the tram turned a corner, I looked back at Mister Elephant; and a part of me really wanted to wave a quiet goodbye.

Lessons learned: Thanks to the Javier School of Travel I'm pretty good at navigating the metro, but I need to jack up my bus service IQ--I couldn't find the bus interchange when we got off at Ang Mo Kio Station. A woman approached us at the station (free ride to the Night Safari for the price of an admission ticket + tram ride), and after seeing a family of four accepting her offer we followed suit (but I would never have done that in Manila--sadly).

And with the no-flash policy during the safari, my camera was pointless. Note to self: if you go back, do so with a handycam in tow.

Photo by Syd

F1 Fever
I spent a few hours before our flight reading articles like Formula 1 101 and Formula 1 for Motor Racing Ignoramuses, in 10 Easy Lessons (But No Tests). I figured if I was going to spend the next three nights watching it I should know more than the fact that Jenson Button (Syd's favorite driver; the Brit whose career he has followed even before the guy was with Honda) is pretty cute.

Photo by Syd

So I read about pole position (so that's why we watch them go round and round for two nights before the race), and the cost of joining a race (utang na loob), and techie stuff like downforce and aerodynamics (why didn't I listen to Ms. Telen in Physics class) and the different kinds of tires, and the safety car, and the Crashgate of last year's Singapore Grand Prix.


I was pleasantly surprised. I sometimes sorta-kinda understood what was happening (a huge LCD screen was right in front of our seats, and Syd and I were communicating via text--we'd type questions and answers on my phone). There were moments that I sorta-kinda got excited (Ooh! Somebody overtook somebody! Ooh! Somebody hit somebody!). But I think the biggest surprise was seeing just how rabid F1 fans are, standing and cheering every time their favorite driver zoomed by (a blur in my photographs). It was amusing to see Syd so happy, too.

Bursting with fruit flavor.

Weapon of choice: kikay purple earplugs (complete with cute case!) from Robinson's Handyman. At P185, my best investment for the trip! Perfect for F1, basketball games, the firing range...

Bussorah Street (Photo by Syd)

Pleasant surprises
Sometimes guidebooks exaggerate and you get that awful Water-Sprite Syndrome (you ordered Sprite; they gave you water). Sometimes they barely mention something and you run into it and it's wonderful.

The Abdul Gaffoor Mosque was as pretty as they said it would be (unfortunately there was a service going on when we got there, so we couldn't go in). Bussorah Street behind the Mosque was a very pleasant surprise: quaint shops and cafes, pretty windows and trees. Would've loved to hang out there longer.

While Singapore is undoubtedly clean, orderly, and safe, it feels kind of...flat? Empty? I mean, Hong Kong is a lot noisier and dirtier and more crowded, but it seemed to have more charm and character.

Or maybe I wasn't in Singapore long enough to see her other, more candid and charming parts.

The Storm

Far away
Syd and I were in Singapore when the typhoon hit Manila. On Saturday afternoon, Cybele texted "Weather bad, but we're okay." She and Gabby were stocking up on supplies. (I found out when I got back that "supplies" meant the usual "3 million candles and batteries" and, ahem, marshmallows and chips.)

I wasn't that worried; storms are a dime a dozen in the Philippines. I even asked Cybs and a friend for an online price check (Syd and I were eyeing a gadget at Sim Lim Square). At six in the evening said friend texted "It's baha in whole of Manila. No kuryente in our condo. Lampas tao in front of condo."

And then we saw the pictures and status messages and videos on Facebook. And then a friend from the U.S. rang to check up on me. And then we saw the reports on CNN. And then Cybele rang me, crying because an officemate--one of her kids--had not checked in.

When we flew in Monday night everything looked so normal (from the airport to Greenbelt, anyway). Not experiencing the storm...being far away when it happened...I think it added to my...disbelief? Shock? I don't know what the word is. But it just didn't seem real to me--but not in a "I don't believe it" sense, but more of a "I can't believe it" sense. If that makes any sense.

When I got home Cybs told me about volunteering at the Red Cross (and running into Col. Dad there); how her officemate was safe, thank God; and how awful it was to take calls at the Red Cross and have to be calm about it; and how kickass Facebook was (Amen).


Idle hands
Yes, Facebook seriously kicks ass. Through friends' posts I found out about Megatent and started walking to their relief center at around 1pm. But when I got there they told me (and a whole bunch of kids who had just arrived) that they had a surplus of volunteers. Would we consider coming back at 6pm?

I was slightly frustrated, but at least I had just walked over. I don't know about the kids; but as we crossed Meralco Avenue I heard one of them say, "Haay. Mag-Megamall na nga lang tayo." I felt bad.

So I walked to the MRT, thinking I'd try the RFM Relief Center in Pioneer. I figured if they turned me away, worst case scenario I burned calories.

I'm glad I went. And I'm kind of glad I went alone--nobody knew me, so small talk was limited to what had to be done, and a joke or two about our tasks (cutting string with somebody's nail clipper, for one).

We sorted and packed clothes (lugi ang mga lalaki; which shows just how much women love to shop). Packing baby clothes made me teary-eyed; I thought about the mother or father who had donated them, the now-grown child who had worn them, and the child who would receive the baby pink sando and the baby blue pajamas.

We formed bayanihan lines to unload boxes of canned goods (thank you, sun salutations and tripod headstands, for what upper body strength I have). The emcee would call on the macho and makisig men for the sacks of rice (bilib ako sa inyo).

We sorted food donations and packed them into plastic bags. There was an ocean of bags in the gym; in the back of my head I thought, "Yes, we're doing a good thing. We're getting food to people. But are these plastic bags going to wind up littering our cities and clogging our drainage systems?"

By around 7pm the workaday world people started coming in, dressed in polo barong and slacks, and carrying leather handbags. Bilib ako sa inyo.

Syd was one of them; he had even volunteered with the Manila Jaycees on our second night back from Singapore. By around 10pm there were so many volunteers that a lot of them were just standing there--looking so eager to help, even asking what they could do. I felt bad and great about that--that people were so game.

Walang tatalo sa Pinoy. I'm sorry, but we rock. Reading about heroism and random acts of kindness, humor and compassion in the face of loss and tragedy...and seeing all those young volunteers...I just came from one of the cleanest and most orderly countries on the planet, but I'm sorry, I'd still rather call this crazy country of ours home.

God Bless Google.

When I need to figure out cooking stuff like how to make a brown girl's version of creme fraiche, you are there to guide me.

When we watch a television show and see an actor we know but can't name, you are there to prevent sleepless nights wondering about it.

I'd probably be a smarter human if I had grown up with Google. Anything and everything! Anyone and everyone! With just a few keystrokes!

And no search is too stupid: I just Googled "F1 for Dummies" and relevant results turned up. How cool is that? Now I might actually understand five percent of the next three nights...

God Bless Google!

KSI: Apartment (Kiddie Scene Investigation)

The scene of the child.

Kiddie was spotted in the living room. He was being entertained by two wanna-be Titas (SPO Javier and SPO Gregory) while his Poppa was being detained in the VO room/home office by SPO Karen Borbon-Seno. Kiddie exhibited great interest in the classic terrorist vehicle (see Volkswagen Kombi Van in photo), so a road was crudely drawn for him by SPO Javier. (Not in picture: SPO Gregory's toy cow, which Kiddie happily took home as a gift from SPO Gregory)

On the trail of a child.

Kiddie also exhibited Jackson Pollock-like tendencies, as seen in photo above. SPO Javier credits Commander Mallillin of the Lifestyle Network district for reminding her that, when in doubt, paper and crayons can save you from kiddie tantrums.

Victims at the crime scene.

Kiddie was also observed subjecting a set of Russian nesting dolls (Codename: Matushka) to cunning interrogation techniques (isolation in the Kombi Van, sleep deprivation, etc.) SPO Javier is happy to report, however, that nobody was beheaded, quartered, or hanged. All dolls have been given a clean bill of health by the local hospital.

Not in picture: two wistful wanna-be Titas.

Home-schooled: Behind the Scenes

It's a tight squeeze, but we make dinner happen.

Our trusty whiteboard on the fridge (thanks, Ka!).

I heart garlic.

Our weapons of choice: rice cookers!

Fancy (but frugal) mac and cheese for grown-ups.
Fancy = Mozzarella and Parmesan. Frugal = Eden!

Home-schooled: More Tales from the Kitchen

So. I haven't been doing my cookwork as much as I should. (The temptation that is Shakey's Pizzanatic Card is too great. My neophyte skills and love handles are paying for it now.)

But it is a spankin' new month, so here are the latest winner-dinners from the Javier-Gregory Kitchen.

Exhibit A: Squash and Potato Gratin with Walnut Crust

(Check out the recipe here.)
The verdict: Heaven. We used crushed graham crackers instead of breadcrumbs for the crust, and all-purpose cream instead of heavy cream (abuso na iyon).
Realizations:
I enjoyed making the "walnuts, finely chopped." I think I'm beginning to get the hang of holding the huge (...Googles the correct term...) cook's knife. There were a few rebel walnuts screaming "Abandon ship!" though.
Cutting, peeling, and removing the "seeds and fibers" of a whole squash is an absolute BIYATCH. Cybs showed me the way, but I think we both got temporary carpal tunnel syndrome. I almost killed another kitchen utensil. We felt like two English women in an Austen or Bronte kitchen (without the beauty shots).

Exhibit B: Italian Meatballs (that became burgers instead)

The verdict: Wagi na naman! This recipe has reinforced my belief that it is very hard to go wrong with Italian cuisine. Parang everything tastes good.
Realizations:
Without my "I wear contact lenses" excuse, I am no longer exempt from mixing raw meat and eggs with my bare hands. Cybele could barely contain her glee. The texture still makes me squeamish.
I seasoned without fear or favor! "The nose knows" may be a good indicator for me (i.e., "I can smell the salt/pepper/herbs more than the raw meat, so I think I'll stop seasoning now")

Exhibit C: Chicken Pomodoro with Tomato-Basil Garlic
(Not in picture: Camille praying the steam won't mess with her camera.)

The verdict: Dang, those Italians really know what they're doing in the kitchen.
Realizations:
I, Camille "Never Liked Tomatoes" Javier, will cheerfully consume tomatoes when they have been peeled and/or crushed. This isn't the first time it has happened, but the first time anybody said it out loud. Thank you, Gabby the Housemate.

A closer view (without the steam).

On my plate with Poppy Seed Vinaigrette Salad

Realizations (not of the cooking kind)
If I'm going to keep doing this I need to figure out how to take pictures of food! I feel the same kind of...detachment...to taking food photos as I did (and sometimes still do) with cooking. Hmm.

Winner Dinner!

Squash and potato gratin with walnut crust + Italian meatballs (na ginawang burgers).

So worth the carpal tunnel syndrome I'm sure Cybs and I now have from cutting up the huge-ass squash.

The Voyage of the Balangay begins!

"We've talked enough and read enough about this. Now it's time to sail." (Something like that, anyway.)

That's what I remember from team leader's Art Valdez's chat with the press before boarding the balangay with the rest of the crew. I jump-started out of bed and into the shower this morning (ah, memories of GamePlan shoots) to clap, shriek, and cross my toes with the rest of the crowd at the Balangay site.

I felt the collective pride, affection, and concern of the crowd for the crew as they boarded the balangay, waved goodbye, and started rowing away.

My heart was in my throat (together with a bunch of screams). And Karen's supercalifragilisticexpialidocious gadget was in my shaky hand. Windows Movie Maker is a biyatch, though--I could barely trim video and audio clips without Evita hanging--but it was fun to play around. (If there are jumps or badly cut shots, I apologize. And I'm sure you'll hear me screaming my head off, so I apologize.)


You can check a real-time location update of the Voyage of the Balangay via Spot Beacon. (Thanks, Erik, for the tip!)

Who's the fattest of them all?

Michelin Man

Stay Puft Marshmallow Man

Yours truly at 2 years old.

Lab?*

Age does not protect you from love,
but love to some extent protects you from age. - Jeanne Moreau

*What my parents call each other. Also known as "Love?"

Score one for the bookworm.

Best book purchase to date:

Seventeen tiny, hardbound classics
(Not in picture: Oscar Wilde's The Picture of Dorian Gray)

Original price: P6,249.00
Da winner price: P1,250.00 (a wonderful 80% off)


How it happened:

I only wanted these (so I would never have to worry about not having a book in my bag, something to read when I had to pass the time somewhere).

Tried and tested...

...and only slightly longer than my cellphone!

BUT they were part of a boxed set. BUT two very sweet, helpful salespersons at Powerbooks Greenbelt said, "Sale naman ang Powerbooks ngayon. We'll give you the entire set at 80% off."

Oh joy oh bliss.

Not-too-small text.

Mala-gold effect pa ang leaves.

And look at all the pretty colors!

So now I have no excuse not to beef up by Charles Dickens IQ.