Saturday, December 31, 2011

What Are You Doing New Year's Eve?

A few hours till we kick this year in the balls and shove it out the door, good riddance goodbye. After some last-minute gift shopping for the kids - spanning the length of Greenhills in the morning all the way to Mall of Asia just a couple of hours ago - I was lying in bed wondering...well, having no solid plans, what to do this New Year's Eve.

Ah, but leave it to serendipity that my question would be answered by a delightful version of this lovely old ditty from two of my favorite people in the celluloid universe: the star-crossed couple from (500) Days of Summer themselves.

Although this song isn't very familiar to most of us, I've always liked its upbeat hopefulness, much the same way I enjoy the naughty playfulness of its Yuletide companion piece, Baby It's Cold Outside.

Anyway, I'm meandering. Just thought I'd leave this as my last post for 2011, instead of some whiny year-ender look back or some pithy commentary on how we're getting older and some shiznit like that.

Anyhow, here are Zooey Deschanel and Joseph Gordon-Levitt. Enjoy, and Happy Nude New Year!

Bonus: Lyrics. Sing along. You know you want to.

Maybe it’s much too early in the game
Ah, but I thought I’d ask you just the same
What are you doing New Year’s
New Year’s Eve?

Wonder whose arms will hold you good and tight
When it’s exactly twelve o’clock that night
Welcoming in the New Year
New Year’s Eve

Maybe I’m crazy to suppose
I’d ever be the one you chose
Out of a thousand invitations
You’d receive

Ah, but in case I stand one little chance
Here comes the jackpot question in advance
What are you doing New Year’s
New Year’s Eve?

Wonder whose arms will hold you good and tight
When it’s exactly twelve o’clock that night
Welcoming in the New Year
New Year’s Eve

What are you doing New Year’s Eve?

Monday, December 26, 2011

Nick of Time

I just discovered last night over Noche Buena with the fam, that my 15- and 12-year old nephews still believed in Santa Claus - no thanks to my wicked, fairy-tale enabling brother.

Hence, I bring you the Santa story, by way of Neil Gaiman. From his original poem "Nicholas Was."

Ho, ho, ho.

Monday, December 19, 2011

One Less Wolf In A World Of Sheep

“We keep on being told that religion, whatever its imperfections, at least instills morality. On every side, there is conclusive evidence that the contrary is the case and that faith causes people to be more mean, more selfish, and perhaps above all, more stupid.” 

- Christopher Hitchens, 1949 -2011

Bitterly divisive, cleverly outspoken, caustically opinionated and infuriatingly brilliant. Writer, author, and "polymorphous polemicist." Contributor, columnist, and essayist at Vanity Fair, Slate, and The Atlantic Monthly, among others.

Famous atheist, author of God Is Not Great: How Religion Poisons Everything and The Portable Atheist: Essential Readings for the Unbeliever. Rebuker of organized religion, scourge of Henry Kissinger, and not-a-big-fan of Mother Teresa (in his infamous article in Slate, he called her "a fanatic, a fundamentalist, and a fraud." 
He also called her a "thieving, fanatical Albanian dwarf" at one point - and this was shortly after she died.) 

As the Washington Post put it, he was "the world's most articulate unbeliever."

Christopher Hitchens was egotistical, maddening, and for all his intelligence, not always right (he was, curiously, a staunch supporter of the Iraq War which, coincidentally, officially ended on the day he died). He could be mean, stubborn, petty and callous - but his intellect was always sharp as a knife, and he was never afraid to swipe, stab, and slash at stupidity in all its infinite forms.

He was supremely, uncompromisingly confident in whatever position he took, but would always welcome debate and dissent - often at the opponent's risk. He was the living, ruthless, and often vicious embodiment of "Let's agree to disagree, even though you're an addlepated twit." Indeed, as he said in the video below (after excoriating, in short order, Mother Teresa, Hitler, the RCC, and meeting Shakespeare in the afterlife) :

“I'd urge you to look at those who tell you, those people who tell you - at your age - that you're dead till you believe as they do. What a terrible thing to be telling to children. And that you can only live by accepting an absolute authority. Don't think of that as a gift; think of it as a poisoned chalice. Push it aside, however tempting it is. 

Take the risk of thinking for yourself. Much more happiness, 
truth, beauty, and wisdom will come to you that way.” 

Goodnight and goodbye, you great godless heathen.

Christopher Hitchens, 1949-2011

Wednesday, December 14, 2011

O, Hai and Dry

Well, I knew I'd miss the date.'s been a little over a year since I quit stopped smoking.

I shoulda taken bets. Still...yay, me, I guess, right?

And thanks to my latest waltz with mortality, I also haven't been drinking for more than a month now. 


With all the drunken Christmas parties left and right, the timing sure sucks. And I so miss alcohol. It's so useful when trying to get into straight guys' pants.

Good thing I never get the DT's *casts side-eye at the late, lamented Amy Winehouse*

In a bit of good news, though, I finally, FINALLY shot my wad after more than a month of abstinence, courtesy again of the grim fandango. *thanks Pamela Handerson*




I may not be a lush anymore, but I am not some fucking ascetic! 

You people.

Tuesday, December 6, 2011

Il N'y A Pas D'Amour Heureux

Il N'y A Pas D'Amour Heureux was originally a poem written in 1943 by novelist and poet Louis Aragon. It was later revised and set to music by composer Georges Brassens. While the mood of both poem and song is melancholy and pessimistic, Aragon - whose work was deeply colored by his experiences of hardship during World War II - actually focuses on both the negative and positive aspects of love. His point, essentially, is that true love is not free from sadness or pain.

Hence, the titular "There is no (perfectly) happy love."

Rien n'est jamais acquis à l'homme. Ni sa force.
                                             Man never truly possesses anything. Not his strength.

Ni sa faiblesse ni son coeur. Et quand il croit
                                              Not his weakness nor his heart. And when he thinks

Ouvrir ses bras, son ombre est celle d'une croix.
Of opening his arms, his shadow forms a cross.

Et quand il croit serrer son bonheur, il le broie.
And when he tries to embrace his happiness, he crushes it.

Sa vie est un étrange et douloureux divorce. 
His life is a strange and painful divorce.

Il n'y a pas d'amour heureux.
There is no happy love.

Mon bel amour, mon cher amour, ma déchirure.
My beautiful love, my dear love, my torn heart.

Je te porte dans moi comme un oiseau blessé.
                                                    I carry you in me just like a wounded bird.

Et ceux-là sans savoir nous regardent passer
And those who unknowingly watch us walk by

Répétant après moi les mots que j'ai tressés.
Repeat after me the words that I have woven.

Et qui pour tes grands yeux tout aussitôt moururent.
                                                And which have already died in your bright eyes.

Il n'y a pas d'amour heureux.
There is no happy love.

Le temps d'apprendre à vivre il est déjà trop tard.
The time to learn to live is already long gone.

Que pleurent dans la nuit nos cœurs à l'unisson.
Our hearts cry in unison at night.

Ce qu'il faut de regrets pour payer un frisson.
What it takes in regrets to pay for a thrill.

Ce qu'il faut de malheur pour la moindre chanson.
What it takes in sorrow for the simplest song.

Ce qu'il faut de sanglots 
What it takes in sad tears

Pour un air de guitare.
For one tune on a guitar.

Il n'y a pas d'amour heureux.
There is no happy love.

Unlike the song, the original poem ends on a more hopeful note, acknowledging that sadness, conflict and suffering are integral, unavoidable components of love. And yet,if we are genuinely in love with a person, all the unhappiness that accompanies love becomes worth it.


Il n'y a pas d'amour qui ne soit à douleur.
Il n'y a pas d'amour dont on ne soit meurtri.

There is no love which is not pain.
There is no love which does not bruise.

Il n'y a pas d'amour dont on ne soit flétri.
Il n'y a pas d'amour qui ne vive de pleurs.

There is no love which does not fade.
There is no love which does not live from tears.

Il n'y a pas d'amour heureux.
Mais c'est notre amour à tous les deux.

There is no happy love. 
But it is our own love.