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Cos I actually like him better bald, eyebrowless and sickly.

I couldn’t find a decent pic of him as Taylor Ambrose (in My Sister’s Keeper). I suppose you have to watch the movie to fully appreciate him. I didn’t even recognize him. I mean, I’ve always thought he (Thomas Dekker) was good looking, but kind of in the pretty-ish Zac Efron side. But he was definitely not like that as Taylor. 🙂

Anyway, ya’ll should see the film. Major tearjerker. From the moment it started, I was trying to hold back the tears. But maybe that’s cos I read the book first and knew what was coming. They changed a LOT, but if you haven’t read the book, you’ll still like it. At least I think so.

Bring tissues.

PS: OMG THAT’S ELOISE!! She totally did not change, she looks exactly the same. Except bald. LOL


This might not be a first time confession because I already tweeted about it, but I still want to blog about it (and probably annoy Zoe LOL).

Anyway, after coming home from work today, my sister and I had our afternoon snacks (of crackers and blue cheese), then went upstairs, hooked up my iPod to the computer and proceeded to study the steps to Hoedown Throwdown. It took us a while (though we agreed we’d say we only studied it for about 5 minutes), we spent time and sweat, embarrassed ourselves when my mom walked in on us, but we finally did it. True, we probably (surely) don’t look like the dancers we were studying, but whatever, this isn’t our job. Haha We had a lot of fun goofing off and struggling to do it just as fast as Miley and the other dancers.

But most importantly, we EXERCISED. We sure did sweat a lot. And now my left leg hurts. I’m sure I’m going to hate Hannah Montana a little tomorrow. But right now, I’m quite happy. LOL

Tonight, I discovered Jason Mraz’ blog. I’ve been following him on Twitter for a while now (though someone else updates for him), but I only discovered his blog a few hours ago. And boy am I glad I did. After reading through some of his latest entries, I now feel embarrassed with my writing. I’ve always known that he was a great poet, but even his blog entries are effortlessly clever and beautiful.

Take, for example, this passage from his June 29th post:

At the tent poled city of Glastonbury, (population 200,000) I witnessed only a fraction of the humble madness. Should I wake up tomorrow transformed, believing life’s purpose is a Papier-mâché balloon rising on a single candle of love’s light, I will not be surprised.

From this view I can see resonating vividly over tangled and knotty hairs, halos bright enough to sunburn. A merry many dress in a very natural way of being, neither a dusty nor a muddy one per se, but certainly in a style responsive to or inspired by dance, considerate of five plus days of bare moon on flesh, bare foot in boot, and bare back on the hillfronts. Already a memory from this height, the code of dress comes together; a patchwork where the sum of colors are the non-colors of incense. Ash. Smoke. Vibe.

Wow. I must admit, some of that just went over my head. He could be talking about crap, and he’d still make it sound so beautiful and inspiring.

*sigh* I wish he’d come back and do a concert here again (I wasn’t really a fan when he came here before, I’m a late bloomer that way). I’ll cross my fingers.

I watched the MJ memorial and cried my eyes off. There were so many touching moments (Brooke Shields, MJ’s daughter Paris, Al Sharpton, Usher, etc.) and I wanted to share one of them here.

We Had Him

Beloveds, now we know that we know nothing, now that our bright and shining star can slip away from our fingertips like a puff of summer wind.

Without notice, our dear love can escape our doting embrace. Sing our songs among the stars and walk our dances across the face of the moon.

In the instant that Michael is gone, we know nothing. No clocks can tell time. No oceans can rush our tides with the abrupt absence of our treasure.

Though we are many, each of us is achingly alone, piercingly alone.

Only when we confess our confusion can we remember that he was a gift to us and we did have him.

He came to us from the creator, trailing creativity in abundance.

Despite the anguish, his life was sheathed in mother love, family love, and survived and did more than that.

He thrived with passion and compassion, humor and style. We had him whether we know who he was or did not know, he was ours and we were his.

We had him, beautiful, delighting our eyes.

His hat, aslant over his brow, and took a pose on his toes for all of us.

And we laughed and stomped our feet for him.

We were enchanted with his passion because he held nothing. He gave us all he had been given.

Today in Tokyo, beneath the Eiffel Tower, in Ghana’s Black Star Square.

In Johannesburg and Pittsburgh, in Birmingham, Alabama, and Birmingham, England

We are missing Michael.

But we do know we had him, and we are the world.

Gives me goosebumps every time. This woman is pure genius!


Is in her mid-20s. Is a girl. Loves to write. Loves taking pictures. Vents a lot. Finds her days too boring. Finds herself too sheltered. Wants to meet a faerie, for real. Swears a lot. Knows that's bad. Just might have too dirty a mind.

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July 2009
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