Love in the Afternoon and More

My tear ducts are definitely ultra sensitive (as opposed to "super" sensitive. Now, I have the abomination towards the use of "super" as an adverb. Big thanks to the "board sport icon." Ugh. Read my blog on the men and sports to get the drift.) I cry even over a TV commercial.

In Breakfast at Tiffany's (1961), I cried with Holly Golightly (Audrey Hepburn) in the cat in the rain scene.

In Roman Holiday (1953), I cried at the scene where Joe Bradley (Gregory Peck) drove Princess Ann (Audrey) home for good after her Roman Holiday as an ordinary girl. It is the don't-follow-me-and-drive-away plea that wrenched my heart. The real princess that she was, Ann was just too much for the often-broke journalist Joe. Joe showed up the next day to Princess Ann's press conference before she went home to her country, maybe hoping she would change her mind. But her head sat securely above her heart. She acknowledged her love for him, but she had duties more important than herself.

Now, Love in the Afternoon (1957) is one very unlikely movie that you would think would draw tears even from a crybaby like me. It is about a philandering playboy Flannigan (played by Gary Cooper) - yes, he's that much of a womanizer I have to be redundant - who was saved by Ariane (Audrey Hepburn), daughter of the detective hired by the husband of Flannigan's lover. The duped husband, learning about his wife's infidelity plotted to kill Flannigan. Ariane heard about the plot and she decided to save him. She saw Flannigan's picture while snooping among his father's detective paraphernalia. She was immediately smitten by Flannigan's good looks and air of "suave brutality" - to borrow a line from Gone With the Wind, a description drawn for Rhett Butler (played by Clark Gable in the movie version). Hepburn, though virginal, claimed to be living in with a man and had been having affairs with multiple lovers of various kinds, color and culture. She had to level with him to be noticed by him, she thought. And she fell so deep she suffered the worst case of "tulak ng bibig, kabig ng dibdib" disorder. The final scene at the train station left my ducts buckets of tears wanting.

Here's that scene:



If you want to watch the whole movie, just go to youtube.com and look for it. The movie has been divided to 13 parts by the angel who uploaded it.

My Two Nephs: John Michael and Kristian Lloyd

What's with the double names? Please, don't ask me. I'm just the aunt.


John Michael, barely one, in my room, colorful.

JM and Fries

JM faces camera squarely.

Kristian Lloyd, the teletubby. Cute! Cute!

Three gents from three gens: Tatay, Chen-Chen, Lilet

Halata bang mag-ama yung nasa kaliwa at kanan? Hairline na hairline pa lang...! :P

Michael Bublé: The Clark Gable, Gregory Peck and Cary Grant of My Time

Because there is so much to say. And words are not enough. Nay, because I'm not good enough to write about what I want to say.

Because Bublé...

Chow Yun Fat and Jose Rizal: The Men I Almost Married Had Fate Not Interfered

You know that someone is your friend when she or he can tell you who your men had been and how crazy you were about them. You can forget. Your friends don't.

It happened when I confessed to Ana about my current infatuation, nay, addiction to anything Michael Bublé. I told her he is the man I want to marry. Right now. That I love his wit, his humor, his good looks (Oh, how can this century produce a man whose charm can match that of Cary Grant, Gregory Peck and Clark Gable!), his stage presence, his charm, his singing voice that both melts the ice and ignites fire.

And to hell with his womanizing ways and pretty ex-girlfriends and current Argentine lover. Oh to hell with his money and fame and fortune! What I know is that he adores his family, his grampa and his gramma Yolanda! Oh what a co-incidence! Yolanda! OK, I have just been shot dead!

"You know what, you're just like that with your two ex-fantasy boyfriends - Chow Yun Fat and Jose Rizal!" So she reminded me.

Chow Yun Fat in early 2000. My one-way love affair started with Anna and the King. Hence, I read all articles I could find in the net about him. I even asked my Hongkonese friend about him. I was told he was the Prince to the folks in Hong Kong and China. Knowing someone who had actually met Chow Yun Fat at that time was humanity's gift to me.

Seven years later, Jose Rizal rose from the dead. I was asked to teach Rizal in school as there was no one else available. And because I had to cut operating expenses. And because I had to do something else to keep me sane where I work, I agreed to teach Rizal. Being the professional that I was, I had to be prepared. So I read three history books on Rizal and bought and read three books written by Ambeth Ocampo, THE certified Rizal scholar, and read as many articles on Rizal in the Internet. I taught about the life of Rizal so passionately I made some of my students cry, literally cry when I discussed in exalted admiration the causes of his death and how wasted his sacrifices had been because now, we regard him only as the head embossed on our almost useless peso coin or simply a name of a street or a town or a bank or a bag of cement. For 14 weeks, I lived, breathed, ate Rizal. And I came to love him. Loved him enough to almost join the Rizalistas.

Then came Bublé.