[Recycled from my old blog. ]
It was a few days before Valentine’s Day and romance was in the air. But after a long day, all I wanted was a quiet ride home. I hailed a cab, got in and, BOOM, was immediately pinned to my seat by sentiment so heavy it reminded me of the 12-hour bus ride that got me acquainted with the entire Power Ballads of the 80s boxed set.
~ ‘Cause when she was bad (so, sooo bad), we danced. ~
Favorite Donna Summer tunes?
From the depths of my keepsakes box, an old note from high school:
Written by a classmate and marked ‘CONFIDENTIAL’, it was secretly passed hand to hand in class until it reached me, who as class president had the responsibility to resolve weighty matters such as:
When are we going to watch Betamax? Before YDT (P.E.) or after Chem?
Ah, the 80s. When 13-year-olds made a momentous event out of watching E.T. The Extra-Terrestrial.
My high school class, c. 1986
While the boys dressed for comfort, us girls dutifully wore our school uniforms and did our best to look prim and proper — qualities that were much admired.
Times have changed.
I was just over at Clarissa’s lively blog and read her post about Milk Magic Melon Milk. It reminded me of something that happened to me some time ago so I started writing a comment. Then I decided to post it here instead because some mention of a medical procedure might not sit well with the readers of a food blog, hehe. (Check out that blog if you haven’t; Clarissa posts daily reviews and notes about restos and foodstuff — some of which you might not otherwise notice — available in the metro.)
So ok, my little melon milk story: Magnolia used to sell melon milk in bottles and back in college (a loong time ago), it became a daily treat for me. Everytime I crossed the street from our dorm to the convenience store, my sisters knew I would be coming back with a chilled bottle of melon milk (we did not have a refrigerator).
This is why I haven’t posted anything for some time.
That’s me with my
classmates friends from high school and we are all holding copies of our class’s Silver Jubilee Memory Book. Yep, we are 25 years past high school.
Kids who were born the year we graduated are now in their 2nd or 3rd jobs. Madonna is 50 years old. Michael Jackson is dead. There is no going back to the USSR.
I (and Sheila and our friend Kyn) worked on this for months and for no pay. On top of our day jobs. I have gray marshmallows under my eyes. But my childhood fantasy of putting out some sort of publication (however minor, however limited the run and readership) has … *cue the thunder!* … come to pass.
I am more pleased than pleased with the outcome. Happy, happy, happy. (Sorry, Ma, I know it’s the Holy Week but I can’t help it.)
So in less than a week I’ll be seeing everyone again.
Eeek, my hair!
(The husband and I went to the Tears for Fears concert at the Araneta last Sunday. I flew back here from an assignment in the province. TFF had never been to Manila and we were not about to miss this.
This is a cross-post from my other blog.)
Speaking of nosebleed seats…
We were so high up that oxygen tanks should have been passed around. But it didn’t matter because as soon as Tears for Fears went onstage, the entire crowd, including us of course, became part of the show. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
I already knew the concert was going to be huge when Manila tweeps were all ”Leaving for the @tearsforfears concert now” as early as 3:00 pm.
I was so excited (and so old) that my blood pressure rose and I had to pop a Captopril before I got in the car.
Rico Blanco called it ”Tears for Fears Day”’ and at least in Cubao it was. We had a hard time looking for a place to park near the Araneta Coliseum and had to settle for pay parking two blocks away.