Two for envy, three for jealousy
Stupid city children stories:
Me: When I was a kid I thought daing na bangus was a two-headed fish.
Carlo: When I was a kid I thought daing na bangus was naturally boneless.
Me: I know someone who thought coconuts grew under the ground like kamote.
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Finally someone explains the difference between envy and jealousy. It takes two to be envious and three to be jealous.
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Saw the Stalingrad episode of The World At War at last. It is by far the best documentary I’ve seen on that pivotal battle: more historical background, maps, insightful analysis. Hitler’s Sixth Army was confident about taking Russia, having just conquered France. Didn’t anyone read War and Peace? Even the Cliff Notes would’ve done. Thanks to farmer_jay for telling me where I could get the old TV series.
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Telly Monster and I discovered that we share a weird admiration for super-villains who construct complex, detailed plans for destroying the hero and taking over the world. True, their success rates would be higher if instead of explaining their complicated strategy they just shot the hero on sight, but can you blame them for wanting to make their opponent see the beauty of the plan? The direct, business-like approach is efficient, but boring. Super-villains think of themselves as artists. Clearly, they’re more in love with the means than with the end. And that’s why they lose.
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If you’re looking for Muriel Barbery’s The Elegance of the Hedgehog (reviewed here in January), I just spotted several copies at Fully Booked Highst and at National in Rockwell. They also have stacks of the Watchmen anthology.
By the way if you were planning on seeing Watchmen on iMax, I just called the iMax theatre at Maul of Asia and learned that they will not be showing Watchmen. Their screenings have been cancelled. Drat.
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Wandered into Powerbooks Greenbelt. The coffee shop is gone, there are fewer shelves and benches. There are fewer books and hardly any new titles. Depressing.
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Anything to make conversation. Every time I run into this casual acquaintance he always says something annoying/presumptuous. Like, “Depressed again, huh?” and “Shopping again, huh?” I used to reply as politely as I could. “No, unhappy writer is a tired cliche.” “No, I just eat and walk, I cut my credit cards years ago.” Aah, what’s the point. Now I just give him the testicle retractor look. Silence is good.
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