Capoeoira se me chamar eu vou

Sweat dripping. Chest heaving. I'm trying to catch my breath.
The berimbau is telling me to play. And not just play. It's telling me to play fast.
And so I do. My ginga is not even for resting like it's supposed to.
I'm moving. Sideways. Trying to find an opening.

He makes a move but I know what's coming.
I fall letting him think I'm got.
Hoping all the while that the glint in my eye does not show.
I escape and I make my counter.

When we're done. I clap and sing.
Try to give back what I took.
I raise my voice just as I had raised my legs, my arms and my body.
Let them feel how I feel when I start to play.
With him, with her, with you, with myself.
In this circle. We are one.

I played 5 or six games tonight. And it felt like everyone wanted to play with me. I'm ecstatic. So this is what Fantasma feels like when he steps into the roda. Pure. Complete. Utter rapture.

MBP is his Tiffany's

I remember a conversation I had with Cy regarding one of the many differences between the male and female gender. This particular one spawned from a scene in The Devil Wears Prada where Andy hands Lilly a Mark Jacobs bag and Nate fails to understand why women need so many bags. Apparently, Cy has a bit of Nate's character in him as he gave me a suspicious look and asked me what my excuse was for having so many myself. Ever since we had that conversation, the differences between our male-female interest became more prominent that we gradually added to the list of our agreed upon differences/quirks over time.

Yesterday, Cy got his Macbook Pro. A 17" beauty of pure computing power which I'm sure will make him all the more addicted to his work (that is, if he could get any more addicted). He's yet to give it a name but I am none less happy and excited for him. Congratulations on your MBP and I hope you write many more kick-ass programs on it. :)

Here's a Photobooth (using my MB Neve) of us with Cy's yet nameless MBP and Scylax (Cy's MB) at the back.

i am myself. even if the whole world should change.

there have been a lot of things that should have been written about as soon as they ended. a multitude of it since my blogging lethargy. but that doesn't mean that they didn't happen. nor does it mean that they are less than those i have written about in the past. and i guess, more than elevating them by writing about them, i transcend them over words and memory so that upon recollection, they are better than they ever were.

how do i know that i am more happy? you only smile. i laugh. :)

Have you?

Have you ever met one? Someone who was all talk? Someone so full of herself that she thinks everything is about her or at least relates to her? Someone who, butts in to your conversations or worse, gives her opinion or advice, however unsolicited? Someone who when you ask her something always says 'Yeah I know that' or 'Sure, it's easy' and then when you try to ask her to elaborate, she falters and tries to change the subject? Someone who thinks she's better than you just because she speaks with an accent?

So, have you ever met one? Have you ever met a phony?

If you've ever met one, or just in case you meet one, here's an advice: Let them run their mouths dry and let them waste all their energy trying to impress you. Even if they don't come with a self-destruct button, they always manage to dig their own graves.

(As an add-on, if you want added entertainment, always play the innocent and ask them one question after another when they try to monopolize the conversation to highlight their proficiency on the subject matter.. watch them squirm as they begin to realize that you know better than they do and eventually shut up.)