Make-overdosed... con't.

I woke-up this evening with a text message,

"Evryone was amazd s trnsfrmtn hngng opis ko dala me un mag... U wer rly a blssing 4 us..."

It was from Grace, the home-owner of RL's grand make-over winner. The same make-over that I was whining about a few weeks back. I called my boss after that. She asked me if indeed, the whole thing was worth it. I can't help but agree with her. It was worth it.

Admittedly, it took me some time to decode the message, but surely, it is making me smile right now.

Buy your copy of the september issue of Real Living Magazine and you'll see why.

Here's a preview...

the other blog...

multiply.com

It was not so long ago when I got my account on that site. I totally forgot about it because I would rather doodle something here in blogspot.com. Somehow, I feel more at home with this site to write anything. I refuse to write a blog in friendster.com either primarily because the people there got to know me first before they got to read me. And there are just a lot of them in my list. Blogspot however gave me this false shroud of anonymity, no matter how false, it still is a shroud.

Anyway, it was my sister that reminded me of multiply dot com. She was creating an account and thinking of inviting me in her network when I was having dinner in their house. That did it. A few days later, it became a family reunion of sorts. My mother, of all people is part of my network. My mother to my nieces. 

When the pictures were uploaded and posted, our network became a family album. Until the blogs came. It was then the very core of our relations are tackled and observed. Reading each blog and comments made me think what a complex family my mother has. Each has their own opinion on things. Each has the capacity to pierce but would rather use it to heal. 

It was different when we were just kids. When all we care was to go to the beach as a group then walk through the nyugan (which is now gone and converted into a public market), tell Inggo to get us all the buko to quench everyone's craving, then spend the afternoons climbing sineguelas and mangga. Our only problem during that time was one of our aunts- she had the temper of a stereotyped spinster and by virtue of being single, she was our all time guardian, or better call that a security guard. 

And now, we are actually as old as she was during that time. Each possessing a trait similar. Quite interesting and yes, the story has just started. I really don't know where this leads to.

this is not a movie review... ratatouille

Admittedly, I am not a food junkie except maybe for it's function to the human body- to nourish (and yes, for work, when I'm styling edible materials for Yummy magazine...)

Having lunch or dinner can only be taken on a table if I am with somebody, or else it will just be one of those 'to go' meals I can eat inside a cab or while watching TV. I don't  cook unless necessity calls for it. My kitchen is already converted into a stockroom. 

It was this evening when we watched Ratatouille and of all creatures, it was a rat that made me re-think the purpose of the kitchen in my house. To know the taste and smell of each ingredient made me remember my dad trying to name each item added to the Binakol when we were eating in Iloilo some years ago. To know the flavor of each and trying to combine them to form one experience made me realize that more than just the food, it is the sensation that goes with it that makes the cook an artist, a master, a god. 

It made me realize that preparing something to nourish the body is not just done for the sake of its purpose. It made me realize that the kitchen is one big studio to create an experience.

image from Disney

But Ratatouille is more than just that. One character that struck me most is Peter O'Toole's Anton Ego. In his critique voice over, 

"In many ways, the work of a critic is easy. We risk very little yet enjoy a position over those who offer up their work and their selves to our judgement. We thrive on negative criticism, which is fun to write and read. But the bitter truth we critics must face is that, in the grand scheme of things, the average piece of junk is more meaningful than our criticism designating it so. But there are times when a critic truly risked something, and that is in the discovery and defense of the new."

When I was in design school, I would always say, "I'm a better critic than a designer." It made me re-think on passing judgements on other people's work. Thank goodness, I have not earned the reputation of being such. Or have I?