<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13944954</id><updated>2011-04-21T18:20:09.955-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The dailies of a filmmaker</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>chololaurel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15290278624285894983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/SwfFKfoCFgI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/uJX3GTJp1W0/S220/IMG_5768.JPG'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>52</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13944954.post-5912599571538828799</id><published>2007-11-26T19:01:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-26T19:22:38.875-08:00</updated><title type='text'>sieze and persist!</title><content type='html'>If you hear a voice within you say "you cannot write" then by all means write, and that voice will be silenced &lt; paraphrased from Vincent Van Gough's journals&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Past few days, I find that I need to drag myself to write. I say to myself, maybe I'm not really cut out to be a writer?...maybe i'm better off just doing what i do best?...visualizing the words...bringing internal and abstract ideas to real palpable life... &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, lame is the director who does not challenge his mind to use his imagination and create stories!...will he spend his whole life interpretting other people's scripts? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think maybe I'm just distracted with other "life issues" - career concerns,  matters of the ego, financial needs and wants,...ugh. God please release me from these futile bondages!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I need to write now!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I need to persist.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I need to fulfill this for him^.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13944954-5912599571538828799?l=chololaurel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/feeds/5912599571538828799/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13944954&amp;postID=5912599571538828799&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/5912599571538828799'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/5912599571538828799'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/2007/11/sieze-and-persist.html' title='sieze and persist!'/><author><name>chololaurel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15290278624285894983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/SwfFKfoCFgI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/uJX3GTJp1W0/S220/IMG_5768.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13944954.post-8271850940623293201</id><published>2007-11-25T22:10:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-25T22:40:34.108-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Ukay getting clearer and clearer</title><content type='html'>I promised I'd email MNR my draft of the outline by last friday and I did...quite pleased. But frankly, I still dont know how the story proceeds from the start of act 2 :(&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It will get to me :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think thats how it is for writers or all creators for that matter : It unfolds in your mind little by little. You see a movie and are struck by a line or a scene and something unravels...You read an article and are struck by an idea and something reveals itself...you talk to your partner and he says something...a whole new angle is revealed...you read the bible and it's an epiphany. It can get confusing at times as my imagination can run wild but I simply focus on the central theme...the mission of the project and I'm back on track :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday, Tor had gone to his Mom's for sunday lunch and I was left re-reading a funny book on screenwriting - SAVE THE CAT. It can be a bit too simplistic, but quite helpful really. Resulta, I was able to plot out clearly where I'm at and was able to lay a path for where i'm going! I also, stumbled upon an old documentary on my idol MICHEL GONDRY which gave me so many funky ideas about my opening! Ed dreaming a la gondry?...Michel is amazing. He's like a little kid. I guess thats what we need to always be...like a kid! even Jesus says so :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then, Tor and I watched ENCHANTED last night and I saw the same kind of treament of that which is in my mind for Ukay. How aliw it can be to see story book characters mingle with real people!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Its getting clearer and clearer now and I know this film will happen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/R0pqMNabkjI/AAAAAAAAAFk/VsuCjnKouzs/s1600-h/eliasj0040c.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/R0pqMNabkjI/AAAAAAAAAFk/VsuCjnKouzs/s400/eliasj0040c.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5137035082960966194" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;EXCERPT # 2&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Breaking into act 2 : They find an ukay ukay store in town&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Inside, while they go through the racks, the PROPRIETRESS, a rather peculiar old woman, watches them and asks, “kaninong bisita kayo mga anak?” RYAN, who is the one nearest to the woman replies with something wry. MON, embarrassed, interrupts and explains, “sa bahay po ng de los angeles jan po sa dulo…taga-dito po ang father namin (he gets chatty and elaborates on their plight)…dito muna kami dahil na-sunugan kami ng bahay sa manila eh… so wala kaming damit, as in… wala”. Embarasssed, LING distances herself. The proprietress is sympathetic and offers them a box of things for free, “ matagal nang di nabeneta yang mga nasa kahon na yan…baka para sa inyo talaga yan…sige na!...tulong ko na  lang yan…” Mon is gracious and chats her up some more while he checks out the stuff. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Meanwhile, LING, now by the store window, is pretending not to pay attention. She chats up a little girl whose companion is busy looking around, “wow, ang bata mo pa, may cel phone ka na!?” The little girl shows her phone which turns out to be a toy only. As she inspects it, shes amazed at how real it looks and how it even rings, “ang galeng no! super para siyang real!” She plays around with it as the little girl looks at her funny. As she turns towards the window, she sees a Tall, dark, able-bodied and absolutely sexy HUNK painting the façade of a small hostel across the street! Her jaws drop, She gets giddy and forgets the kid, walks out of the store with the toy phone and pretends to receive a call to get the hunks attention, “hello!....oh my gosh charisse!…yeah its sooooo nice here noh…as in super galeng!...kaya lang its soooo hot noooh!”. Hearing this, the hunk turns and observes LING. The more she tries to be cute and sosyal. The hunk looks at her funny wondering why she’s acting that way. Just then, MON comes out of the store with the poor bawling little girl, “Ano ba Ling! Ninakawan mo pa ng laruan yung bata! Isoli mo nga yan!”. Totally embarrassed, LING returns the kids toy and hurriedly walks away. Natawa si hunk.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13944954-8271850940623293201?l=chololaurel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='related' href='http://www.chololaurel.com/' title='Ukay getting clearer and clearer'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/feeds/8271850940623293201/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13944954&amp;postID=8271850940623293201&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/8271850940623293201'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/8271850940623293201'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/2007/11/ukay-getting-clearer-and-clearer.html' title='Ukay getting clearer and clearer'/><author><name>chololaurel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15290278624285894983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/SwfFKfoCFgI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/uJX3GTJp1W0/S220/IMG_5768.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/R0pqMNabkjI/AAAAAAAAAFk/VsuCjnKouzs/s72-c/eliasj0040c.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13944954.post-8407298077772798825</id><published>2007-11-22T19:37:00.002-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-22T20:30:59.880-08:00</updated><title type='text'>UKAY : Ano kaya?</title><content type='html'>Almost done with the treatment outline of act 1. It's looking good. It's funny. It actually makes me cackle while im writing. next step is to test market it and show it to other people to see if they find it amusing at all :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kahapon, I stopped writing at 4 pm really weary and slightly anxious about how I have not had proper income in the past few months. While I believe that God has a season and a reason,  I asked myself, "may mararating kaya itong lahat na ito?...ginugugol ko ang oras ko para maka-buo ng isang project na pinaniniwalaan ko...paniwalaan kaya ng iba?&lt;br /&gt;hindi natin alam yan diba? Pero... diyos ang nag-tanim nitong pangarap na ito eh...and " He who began a good work in me will be faithful to complete it" diba?... and, even more, "all things work out for the good of those who believe" diba? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sige, go lang ng go. God will provide strength, will, wisdom, creativity, and food for me and my family...and while we have free will...his will is still best.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Excerpt:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/R0ZXGdabkgI/AAAAAAAAAFM/Ve7ch_jsILY/s1600-h/dv1037037.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/R0ZXGdabkgI/AAAAAAAAAFM/Ve7ch_jsILY/s400/dv1037037.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5135888193548947970" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Act 1 Scene 1&lt;br /&gt;(a bright morning in march/ mainit/sa isang apartment sa singalong) Isang de-susing alarm clock rattles off. It’s 8 AM. The room is quite shabby and old. Sa isang tabi, may plastic aparador na de-zipper ang pintuan. Siksik sa mga lumang kahon ang maliit na kuwarto at mukhang maalikabok. Sa background, through the walls, Naririnig ang kapit-bahay na nag-bubusa at mga asong sumasagot ng tahol. Si ED, a middle-aged hardworking father with a pained look on his face is sitting at the side of his bed staring at the floor with a blankness so dull. Kagi-gising pa lang, mukha nang pagod. He ignores the alarm clock till it dies out then, weirdly, he picks it up, winds it up again, and lets it ring again! Instead of a morning stretch, he sighs deeply and peels himself out of bed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(credits start)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13944954-8407298077772798825?l=chololaurel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='related' href='http://www.chololaurel.com/' title='UKAY : Ano kaya?'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/feeds/8407298077772798825/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13944954&amp;postID=8407298077772798825&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/8407298077772798825'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/8407298077772798825'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/2007/11/ukay-ano-kaya.html' title='UKAY : Ano kaya?'/><author><name>chololaurel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15290278624285894983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/SwfFKfoCFgI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/uJX3GTJp1W0/S220/IMG_5768.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/R0ZXGdabkgI/AAAAAAAAAFM/Ve7ch_jsILY/s72-c/dv1037037.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13944954.post-934677557960793827</id><published>2007-11-15T05:42:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-22T20:00:32.541-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Ukay : Getting somewhere</title><content type='html'>Two years after NKM, I am more than itching to come up with a new movie! I have been working on something but only now is it starting to become a "come true" for me. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;January 24, 2007 I came up with an idea  about a dysfunctional family who accidentally acquire vintage clothes which magically grant them the gift to see a dimension of unlikely and rather funky angels who draw them into an unforgettable and life-changing adventure. I figured. Comedy? magical realism? definitely a bright and cheery film unlike my first one :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After mulling over it for a while and making some initial notes, I felt that the right person to co-write it with would be Wanggo who would inject some bold youthfulness into it. I wrote him:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;--------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;Wangs,&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; Finally I’m tossing my story idea your way. Sorry for the delay. I really just wanted it to solidify the concept in my mind before bothering you about it.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; Just to give you a brief history on this one. I had this in my “ideas file” for almost two years now and I actually  got the ukay ukay hook from a friend Judith who thought it would be a good horror flick. But HORROR IS SO OVERDONE! I want to approach this with a magical realism/comedy/family drama kinda thing. &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; The skeletal form is buo na. It just needs lots of meat and a heart. Notice in the synopsis when I suddenly go .... That means that’s the part I don’t know what to do about.hehehe Have you seen the movie - I love huckabees? I’ll give you the dvd and take a look at the characters and how the movie depicts reality vividly but in such a funny way. Take note of the characters that Dustin Hoffman, Lilly Tomlin and ysabel huppert play and we’ll talk about it :) &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; Take a look at what ive come up with so far. Tell me what you think :) If you want to co-write it with me, let me know. I am completely confident you are the right writing partner for this one. I need your crazy imagination! :) I’ll supply the realism :)&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; I believe in this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cholo&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;---------------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was actually intending to let wanggo work on it while I was attending my course in screenwriting at the London Film academy but, having nothing else better to present as a project, i had to submit my notes on this idea and my professor liked  it! no,...looved it!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I dissected the whole thing. Slowly  developing each and every aspect of the idea. I had to ask wanggo to allow me to work on it muna but i was quite sure i would need him back when i reach that much anitcipated dead end.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I took the most time in perfecting the characters and much as I would be criticized for spending too much time in this, I am so happy at the characters I came up with and the dimensions they will create! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Starting last week, I started working on the treatment for act 1. It's clear to me how i want act 1 but I know I will start struggling as we break into act 2. I suspect that I may even need to consult the genius mind of my dear friend MNR for me to be able to come up with something brilliant. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I realize many important things about myself in these past few months of trying to write. I am a visionary :) but I am not a writer :( I think in big broad strokes :) but i cant weave through the fibers :( I am brilliant at visualizing :) I am weak at getting it on paper :( I tried and I'm glad i went through school to know the intricacies of screenwriting but I know I will always need a co-writer...wala akong tiyaga sumulat! wala rin akong tiyaga mag-basa! I think in terms of images and pictures! I get excited about creating a scene visually....of well...But that wont stop me from writing...if it will take that for me to  be able to be able to make films...darn, i'll even study culinary arts if thats whats needed to make a good film! hahaha I can't even fry an egg properly!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But i'm confident this will get to the screen. I just need to persist.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next step, finish the tretment for act 1, talk to Marlon, and get back to the drawing board with wanggo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;God willing, This should be filiming by summer 2008!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Till the next udate :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13944954-934677557960793827?l=chololaurel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/feeds/934677557960793827/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13944954&amp;postID=934677557960793827&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/934677557960793827'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/934677557960793827'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/2007/11/making-of-ukay-getting-somewhere-with.html' title='Ukay : Getting somewhere'/><author><name>chololaurel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15290278624285894983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/SwfFKfoCFgI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/uJX3GTJp1W0/S220/IMG_5768.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13944954.post-8829749351026465074</id><published>2007-10-18T21:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-18T22:28:39.014-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Money, God..at buhay freelance</title><content type='html'>I woke up today thinking of the common things in life...BILLS...I realize that I have to crack open my hard-kept savings soon becasue i need to meet next months needs. While I am always thankful that I am never without, and that I even have the luxury of savings, I am often apprehensive about touching what i'm keeping for the future, but, at a certain point, we just have to.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hayup! ang bilis ng pera! kahit pa lahat ng gastos nasa lugar, ang bilis pa rin!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I contemplated and conciously tried to make all the fear go away, these thoughts spilled onto my journal:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;God is the source of all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What is given to you is meant to just flow through you. It is not meant to be stored and ammassed so you can enjoy it someday. It is meant to be enjoyed NOW towards living, loving, and giving. It is meant to help you live a good life the way God intends for you to live - ABUNDANTLY!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ofcourse it flows out quickly! Because its coming from a great source and is intended to flow though you and on to others! It's not meant to stop with you! You are blessed so you can bless others, who can bless others and so on...If you put a stop to the flow, naturally the source will have to stop pouring into your pool! you will simply drown! and he knows that drowining in too much is never good for anyone. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I should stop worrying. Period.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;LIVE. LOVE. GIVE.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and as long as his blessings are spent on good things, we should be ok.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hay, buhay freelance :) masarap na mahirap :) parang life :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13944954-8829749351026465074?l=chololaurel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/8829749351026465074'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/8829749351026465074'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/2007/10/money-godat-buhay-freelance.html' title='Money, God..at buhay freelance'/><author><name>chololaurel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15290278624285894983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/SwfFKfoCFgI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/uJX3GTJp1W0/S220/IMG_5768.JPG'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13944954.post-7912651401614902986</id><published>2007-09-27T21:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-07T01:09:57.795-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Star ka ba?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/Rvy08i2VKzI/AAAAAAAAABc/YT3lnKgsZWo/s1600-h/IMG_7759.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/Rvy08i2VKzI/AAAAAAAAABc/YT3lnKgsZWo/s320/IMG_7759.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5115162229025876786" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lately i've learned not to take my life all too seriously. I still hold on to my dreams. I still passionately work towards realizing them, I still give every job my best shot but i've realized that life will be the way God planned it to be - a series of problem solving situations and waiting tests. As to why we need to go through so much to find our peace is beyond me. I just revert to thinking they're meant to make me stronger and wiser. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simple-minded thinking? I guess, but then the simple-minded ones are those that easily find their peace right? besides, I believe that simplicity is good, its igonrance that we should avoid.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, being back in Manila for two weeks now, I'm starting to feel that "rat race mentality" again. I dont know why I only feel it here but when I talk to people, I really feel that everyone's out to outdo each other. Those on the top of the wheel gloat, others in the middle get fired up, some pretend to be strong, the ones in the bottom do nothing but compalin. One thing common to most - depression.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, today, i had to remind myself of some things...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No matter How good you are at what you do, there will always be someone better, more brilliant, and "savvier" than you. Accept that! There will even be the crap of the crop who seem to be beating you in the race! It's sad, it's real. But to keep your eyes on them is to slow down your own progress! To even turn your head to see if they are shinning brighter or moving faster is a waste of time! Like life itself, Every creative person's journey is personal and unique. In the memorable words of my dear friend Migs, "Some are bright shooting stars who shine brilliantly and fast...then there are those constellations that take centuries to develop". keep your eyes on your own canvas, look around only to be inspired by the brilliance of others, without the stain of envy or jelousy. Then with great passion and unceasing enthusiasm, keep moving towards that dream that God himself has planted in your heart. Take it easy. Theres no need to hurry the process because haste makes waste. In good time, your passion will shine...and even if fame or fortune evades you, Don't fret, one day you will find you peace in being a shinning constellation forever, while the shooting stars have inevitably fizzled out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will finish this script. it will be done well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will make another movie. I will do better than my last one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I will live out my own journey as God wills it...in his own time...for his own purposes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*Photo : I took this at the Fringe Arts festival in Edinburgh 2007. This boy was an important inspiration. His selfless passion for what he was doing was moving.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13944954-7912651401614902986?l=chololaurel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/feeds/7912651401614902986/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13944954&amp;postID=7912651401614902986&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/7912651401614902986'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/7912651401614902986'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/2007/09/star-ka-ba.html' title='Star ka ba?'/><author><name>chololaurel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15290278624285894983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/SwfFKfoCFgI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/uJX3GTJp1W0/S220/IMG_5768.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/Rvy08i2VKzI/AAAAAAAAABc/YT3lnKgsZWo/s72-c/IMG_7759.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13944954.post-6426498822137954160</id><published>2007-07-09T08:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-11-22T21:38:05.012-08:00</updated><title type='text'>LONDON home for now</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/R0Zm_NabkiI/AAAAAAAAAFc/U6LEJK4NDUE/s1600-h/home.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/R0Zm_NabkiI/AAAAAAAAAFc/U6LEJK4NDUE/s400/home.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5135905661180940834" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Were staying at a flat in West Kensington that is of my distant cousin-in-law Gina’s. She’s gracious to have us. Now a jewelry designer (who has been chosen to exhibit at the London fashion week this year), I had known her since the 70’s as the eccentric fag-haggy one who has lived in London most of her adult life but I never really knew till now that she is an artist herself and, true to being an artist, an incessant pack rat with a flat full of interesting books, cds, magazines, paintings and rummaged artifacts. Going through her flat is a bit like going through Lola’s old baul with curious things that all have a story. There is no order to anything, No symmetry to arrangements, but it’s thick with character. Ito yata yung tinatawag ni mareng Marlon na shabby chic? Our host left the flat to us as she is in Paris at the moment and may head on to Umbria for the summer daw. God, please stop me from re-decorating this flat! I might get evicted!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is home for 8 weeks…mighty fine. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Good room. Great kitchen.Place to study. Peace and quite. God provides :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13944954-6426498822137954160?l=chololaurel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='enclosure' type='' href='http://www.chololaurel.com' length='0'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/feeds/6426498822137954160/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13944954&amp;postID=6426498822137954160&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/6426498822137954160'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/6426498822137954160'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/2007/07/london-home-for-now.html' title='LONDON home for now'/><author><name>chololaurel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15290278624285894983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/SwfFKfoCFgI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/uJX3GTJp1W0/S220/IMG_5768.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/R0Zm_NabkiI/AAAAAAAAAFc/U6LEJK4NDUE/s72-c/home.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13944954.post-4680156247927545224</id><published>2007-07-02T08:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-11-22T21:09:24.514-08:00</updated><title type='text'>LONDON blurred arrival</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/R0ZgUtabkhI/AAAAAAAAAFU/Nb94sWyTaUo/s1600-h/blur.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/R0ZgUtabkhI/AAAAAAAAAFU/Nb94sWyTaUo/s400/blur.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5135898333966733842" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Arrived London early morning of the 2nd and quite frankly, everythings a blur. I'm here to take up a 6 week course on screenwriting at the LONDON ACADEMY FOR FILM AND TV...just sharpening my pen while i go on holiday ;) Incidentally, mah bubba is also taking up a course in make up for TV and Film :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First impressions? Not stunning but buzzing with life :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, heto na...God save the queen!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;PS. wish ko sana na hindi isipin ng mga nakaka-basa dito na napaka-yaman ko...pinag ipunan ko po itong trip na ito ng dalawang taon :) kahit ano naman makakamit sa konting bawas-labas :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13944954-4680156247927545224?l=chololaurel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='enclosure' type='' href='http://www.chololaurel.com' length='0'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/feeds/4680156247927545224/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13944954&amp;postID=4680156247927545224&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/4680156247927545224'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/4680156247927545224'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/2007/07/london-to-sharpen-pencil.html' title='LONDON blurred arrival'/><author><name>chololaurel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15290278624285894983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/SwfFKfoCFgI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/uJX3GTJp1W0/S220/IMG_5768.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/R0ZgUtabkhI/AAAAAAAAAFU/Nb94sWyTaUo/s72-c/blur.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13944954.post-9150894381138706872</id><published>2006-11-14T22:40:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-10-06T22:45:49.006-07:00</updated><title type='text'>In awe of HIM ^</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/RwhyTy2VK1I/AAAAAAAAABs/6rmZyAawTBo/s1600-h/bbb_nasaan_poster.txt"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/RwhyTy2VK1I/AAAAAAAAABs/6rmZyAawTBo/s400/bbb_nasaan_poster.txt" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5118466660899302226" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's taking a while to sink in but I do have the statuette, patterned after Rosa Rosal's firgure, standing proudly on my desk to pinch me and reassure me that this is not a dream. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, I got the big golden trophy on my first film! and our film garnered the most awards in this years most coveted FAMAS AWARDS! amazing. God is trully amazing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was not in the awards night :( I did not think i would win anyway! So That evening I was actually with my partner and my family. We had just visited the family niche in St, James Cathedral in Alabang and spent the afternoon there chatting in front of our beloved departed between silent prayers. In the meantime rume-red carpet na pala ang mga famas nominees! Then, just when my partner and I were about to go home, I recieved a text from the star cinema promo people asking whether I was going to the awards night. I simply said NO. I got a text back which said, " ok po direk, watch na lang po kayo sa channel 4". So, at home, i popped open a bottle of white, got bare to my undies and slouched on the couch while my partner went off to his room to tinker with his PC (thats how he relaxes).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;From where i was watching, the ceremony was a night of GLITCH and GLAMOUR! more GLITCH than GLAMOUR actually. So, honestly, at first, I was not all that excited nor honored about it. But as the cameras scanned the room, i began to notice faces of the cinema royalty i knew like tita mids, and eddie gracia! plus respectable actors and jurors! i said, "hmmmm, may K yata itu". Then the tension started when i noticed that, as the major awards were being announced, my film was bagging most of them! Which logically lead me to the feeling, "baka manalo rin ako?". Just when they were announcing the best director, I was standing in front of myTV, holding a bottle of white wine in my undies looking like a pervert who got off on awards. My partner, upon hearing that they were announcing the nominees for my category, comes into the room (also in his undies) ready to hug me and console me if my name was not called as winner. I remember clutching on to the wine bottles neck so tightly when i heard, " and the winner is...Cholo Laurel for Nasaan ka man". Picture this &gt; Two gay men in their undies hugging, kissing, screaming and jumping up and down in front of their TV. Sounds like a holywood gay film. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Later on that night, we bagged even the best picture award. One of the biggest sweeps in Satr cinema history.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My phone has not stopped ringing since then.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am reminded of a wish i whispered to God in my prayers sometime ago, "Father, Is this really my calling? if it is, please give me a slight pat on the back? ... even just a bit of an acknowledgement form my peers." I got a GAWAD TANGLAW citation and that was good for me. But God has a way of really laying it out clearly in front of you when he wants you to know his mission for you...thus...this. Amazing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I read the following fatcs about FAMAS in wikipedia.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am in awe.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My first effort, and I am placed amongst these great people whom I respect and look up to.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ika nga ni Maria kay von trapp, “ I must have done something good”.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;WIKIPEDIA on FAMAS&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The FAMAS Awards is one of the four main film awards of the Philippines. It is given by the Filipino Academy of Movie Arts and Sciences, which is an independent award-giving body composed of notable writers and movie columnists. The awards are doled out annually since 1952, which makes it the oldest film industry award-giving body in the Philippines and in Asia (the oldest in the Kinema Junpo Awards of the Japanese film critics).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;WINNERS &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BEST DIRECTOR:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Director&lt;br /&gt;1952 Gerardo de Leon&lt;br /&gt;1953 Lamberto V. Avellana&lt;br /&gt;1954 Cesar Gallardo&lt;br /&gt;1955 Gregorio Fernandez&lt;br /&gt;1956 Ramon Estela&lt;br /&gt;1957 Cesar Gallardo&lt;br /&gt;1958 Gerardo de Leon&lt;br /&gt;1959 Jose de Villa&lt;br /&gt;1960 Gerardo de Leon&lt;br /&gt;1961 Gerardo de Leon&lt;br /&gt;1962 Gerardo de Leon&lt;br /&gt;1963 Armando de Guzman&lt;br /&gt;1964 Lamberto V. Avellana&lt;br /&gt;1965 Gerardo de Leon&lt;br /&gt;1966 Eddie Romero&lt;br /&gt;1967 Fely Crisostomo&lt;br /&gt;1968 Cirio H. Santiago&lt;br /&gt;1969 Eddie Garcia&lt;br /&gt;1970 Lino Brocka&lt;br /&gt;1971 Gerardo de Leon&lt;br /&gt;1972 Augusto Buenaventura&lt;br /&gt;1973 Jun Raquiza&lt;br /&gt;1974 Lino Brocka&lt;br /&gt;1975 Lino Brocka&lt;br /&gt;1976 Lupita Kasiwahara&lt;br /&gt;1977 Augusto Buenaventura&lt;br /&gt;1978 Celso Ad. Castillo&lt;br /&gt;1979 Lino Brocka&lt;br /&gt;1980 Eddie Romero&lt;br /&gt;1981 Augusto Buenaventura&lt;br /&gt;1982 Eddie Garcia&lt;br /&gt;1983 Marilou Diaz - Abaya&lt;br /&gt;1984 Fernando Poe, Jr. [as Ronwaldo Reyes]&lt;br /&gt;1985 Celso Ad. Castillo&lt;br /&gt;1986 Eddie Garcia&lt;br /&gt;1987 Eddie Garcia&lt;br /&gt;1988 Elwood Perez&lt;br /&gt;1989 Eddie Garcia and Elwood Perez&lt;br /&gt;1990 Lino Brocka&lt;br /&gt;1991 Elwood Perez&lt;br /&gt;1992 Carlos Siguion - Reyna&lt;br /&gt;1993 Augusto Salvador&lt;br /&gt;1994 Carlo J. Caparas&lt;br /&gt;1995 Fernando Poe, Jr. [as Ronwaldo Reyes]; Willie Milan&lt;br /&gt;1996 Antonio Jose Perez&lt;br /&gt;1997 Amable Aguiluz&lt;br /&gt;1998 Marilou Diaz - Abaya&lt;br /&gt;1999 Marilou Diaz - Abaya&lt;br /&gt;2000 Laurice Guillen&lt;br /&gt;2001 Marilou Diaz - Abaya&lt;br /&gt;2002 Gil Portes&lt;br /&gt;2003 Maryo J. de los Reyes&lt;br /&gt;2004 Maryo J. de los Reyes&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;NO, not mine but Christ's victory…thru me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13944954-9150894381138706872?l=chololaurel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/feeds/9150894381138706872/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13944954&amp;postID=9150894381138706872&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/9150894381138706872'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/9150894381138706872'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/2007/10/in-awe-of-him.html' title='In awe of HIM ^'/><author><name>chololaurel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15290278624285894983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/SwfFKfoCFgI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/uJX3GTJp1W0/S220/IMG_5768.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/RwhyTy2VK1I/AAAAAAAAABs/6rmZyAawTBo/s72-c/bbb_nasaan_poster.txt' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13944954.post-7411845448254791634</id><published>2006-11-12T22:37:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-26T02:12:07.637-08:00</updated><title type='text'>All credit to HIM ^</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/R0qbk9abkkI/AAAAAAAAAFs/Mpnnbujr36Y/s1600-h/BBB+nasaan+poster"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/R0qbk9abkkI/AAAAAAAAAFs/Mpnnbujr36Y/s400/BBB+nasaan+poster" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5137089384232489538" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Nasaan ka man” sweeps the FAMAS!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Filipino Academy of Movie Arts and Sciences awarded Cholo H. Laurel’s debut film “Nasaan ka man” most of its major awards in the 54th FAMAS awards night last November 12, 2006.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Among other awards garnered this year, Laurel’s film won this year’s most coveted FAMAS for&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Best Actress – Claudine Baretto&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Best supporting actress – Hilda Koronel&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Best Story – Rafael Hidalgo&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Best screenplay – Ricky Lee and Rafael Hidalgo&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Best cinematography – Charlie Peralta&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Best Director – Cholo Laurel&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Best picture of the year 2006 – Nasaan ka man&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When i finished that film last year, All i asked God for was a little pat on the shoulder for giving it my best...I got a big fat kiss :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;God is trully an answering God.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13944954-7411845448254791634?l=chololaurel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/feeds/7411845448254791634/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13944954&amp;postID=7411845448254791634&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/7411845448254791634'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/7411845448254791634'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/2006/11/all-credit-to-him.html' title='All credit to HIM ^'/><author><name>chololaurel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15290278624285894983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/SwfFKfoCFgI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/uJX3GTJp1W0/S220/IMG_5768.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/R0qbk9abkkI/AAAAAAAAAFs/Mpnnbujr36Y/s72-c/BBB+nasaan+poster' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13944954.post-114810964921295833</id><published>2006-05-19T23:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-05-20T00:41:29.416-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm really lost</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/IMG_4997.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/400/IMG_4997.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hastily entitled this blog LOST IN MY HOMETOWN almost a year ago when I started it. At that time I really didn't know what it meant to me except that I felt that at that point in time, I wanted to move on...Doing more movies? Another location? Another life? In short, that title didn't mean much.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BUT, today I deem it uncanny that it seems to be a really apt title for how I feel about my life here in Manila - I'm home but I feel lost. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wonder why I am more in my elements when I'm abroad?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My happiest and most fulfilling moments in life have been during my travels.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My most victorious shoots (for ads) have been abroad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am most relaxed when walking a street I know nothing of.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I find it most enjoyable when I'm talking to someone I have just met and belongs to a totally different world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am most inspired outside of my own realm. Abroad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is it simply because there I am not faced with the issues of home? You see, when IM there, I know it's a temporary stay and so I take things as they come. I have work to do, I work. I have nothing to do, I lounge. I have too much to do, I do em and do em well. At the end of the day, I take a good meal, relax and not think of other issues in my life primarily because I cannot do anything about them (well, being away from home and all). Done. Next. Life seems easier. BUT, Here at home, Everyday I am faced with issues about the house, the kids, expenses, mortgages, my career in Philippine movies, love life (or the lack of it), Even "nothing to do" is a strain because I want something to do to keep my thoughts away from the realities! whew!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Or is it also because I feel more appreciated by my creative peers abroad than here in my own country? There, creative directors from all over the world LOVE the work I do for them and they express it through constancy of works! Here, I feel like I'm last priority or pahabol na request. Is this feeling valid? Maybe I'm being silly and depressed?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The truth is, I drive the streets feeling like I shouldn't be here. Like there must be a better place for me. I feel like being in a cleaner place, a more orderly place, a more developed place, a more productive atmosphere. Or am I being silly and depressed?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think I'm just depressed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;God willing, I may not feel like this about my beloved home by tomorrow?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Who knows.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13944954-114810964921295833?l=chololaurel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/feeds/114810964921295833/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13944954&amp;postID=114810964921295833&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/114810964921295833'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/114810964921295833'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/2006/05/im-really-lost.html' title='I&apos;m really lost'/><author><name>chololaurel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15290278624285894983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/SwfFKfoCFgI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/uJX3GTJp1W0/S220/IMG_5768.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13944954.post-113281834828035376</id><published>2005-11-23T23:43:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-11-24T01:09:22.013-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Digital-happy</title><content type='html'>I had my old film Photographs digitized and I'm soooo happy. Now I can share them:) Looking at them again brings me back to the time when my only preoccupation was to absorb the world. Angst-filled times but full of learnings. &lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/13.trees%20centralpark.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/400/13.trees%20centralpark.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Fresh out of school, Central Park, New York&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13944954-113281834828035376?l=chololaurel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/feeds/113281834828035376/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13944954&amp;postID=113281834828035376&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/113281834828035376'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/113281834828035376'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/2005/11/digital-happy.html' title='Digital-happy'/><author><name>chololaurel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15290278624285894983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/SwfFKfoCFgI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/uJX3GTJp1W0/S220/IMG_5768.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13944954.post-113258820510367513</id><published>2005-11-21T06:25:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-11-21T07:50:05.153-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Quiet time, a breezy night, good company and fireworks is all it takes:)</title><content type='html'>I thought that I was falling into a bad spell of what Winston Churchill called the "black dog". That dog scares the hell out of me! I'm reminded of days spent sitting overanalysing life and sinking deeper and deeper into a sorry state. In my 30's, I had spells that lasted for months! Spells that called for a shrink. Futile. Futile depression.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I first suspected that the dog was in the premises just a few days before coming back to Manila. I woke up, after a naughty night, lethargic and my levels of insecurity were fever high. Not my usual self, believe me. I tried shooing it away by sweating it out at the gym but a muscle work out cant cure a malaise of the soul. The soul is too deep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Arriving home in Manila cured it for a while. Being with Monina and getting the house ready for the holidays got my mind off things. For a bit of time only. And then when the excitement of "welcome home!" died down, there it was again, strutting into my senses determined to drag me down. One morning, in it's fiercest attack, I felt fluish, I didn't want to get up and see anybody, and when I thought of having to go out and meet people, all I could see in my mind were insincere faces. Awful. Unexplainable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Seeing Wanggo was elixir. That night, no matter how a certain matter turned out, was a sure winner that week. The moon was bright, the wine was good, and as usual, the conversation was anything but boring. It was also a great to have a heart to heart talk with an old friend chico. But, the next morning, there it was again. Worse than ever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had to get down on my knees and dig deep for the peace I needed at that point. I had to ask God. I had to beg. Fervently.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got the answers. He always has one. It was about WANT &amp; NEED.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;after mass last Sunday, where many questions were answered (or had been there all the time except I couldn't get the point!) I met up with Chico, Farrah, and good ol' Topper. There was something about that night. It didn't tingle with too much sensation but just proceeded with so much silent warmth. The kind of warmth I needed. The breeze was wonderful and the fireworks display made me smile quietly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes, we chew too much on our WANTS Like a dog would uselessly chew on a dry bone. We allow ourselves to be consumed by our dreams and what we feel we need in order to have JOY. We go around telling ourselves and the world, "I will only be happy if______ I have this, I get that, i achieve al that" In truth, WANT is like a dry bone! No matter how much you chew on it, you wont get meat out of it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"If your ship never comes in, If your dream never comes true, If the situation never changes, could you be happy? "&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've thrown that dry bone as far as I could and the ghastly black dog has chased after it :) and although I still have certain longings in my heart, I wake up each day...Free.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank God.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/IMG_4068_1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/400/IMG_4068_1.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;*a boy's pout at beauty of venice, 2005&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13944954-113258820510367513?l=chololaurel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/feeds/113258820510367513/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13944954&amp;postID=113258820510367513&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/113258820510367513'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/113258820510367513'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/2005/11/quiet-time-breezy-night-good-company.html' title='Quiet time, a breezy night, good company and fireworks is all it takes:)'/><author><name>chololaurel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15290278624285894983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/SwfFKfoCFgI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/uJX3GTJp1W0/S220/IMG_5768.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13944954.post-113075235619666468</id><published>2005-10-31T01:45:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-10-31T02:12:55.010-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>The Lady of Saigon wept&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/editIMG_9982_1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/200/editIMG_9982_1.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Half past nine last Saturday night, I was still at the creperie updating my blog. Suddenly my heart starts to pound heavily for no reason. Thinking it may have been because i've had to much café da, I packed up and rushed to my hotel. On my way, I noticed there was an unusual crowd on the streets, especially towards the cathedral, but decided to ignore the incident and hurry to get dressed to meet my staff for a drunken Halloween celebration. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In my hotel room, I jumped into the shower, scrubbed up every part possible, slipped into my sexiest low-rise jeans, a crisp white dress shirt and my classic “alpha man” leather shoes, ready to glow in the dark. The palpitations persisted. I was wondering why.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On a cab, en route to the club district, there was mammoth traffic by the cathedral area. I figured maybe an accident? Or Maybe a Halloween concert? who knows. So, I gestured to the driver to take another route. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got to the SAMSARA club that was packed with all sorts of hungry gay men. I strangely felt ill at ease. I stretched my neck looking for my friends but none to be found. I ordered vodka and stood by a group of oggling brown men. Suddenly I heard someone speaking in tagalog! I looked at this person and noticed he had just come into the club and looked really shaken. Speaking to the other pinoys in the room, he tried to hide his emotion but it was obvious, “hala! Andito tayo habang lumuluha ang birehng Maria sa Cathedral!” I pretended not to hear as they huddled. I have always been cynical about these Marian phenomena but for some strange reason I was a bit shaken by this news. So that explains the traffic and the crowd gathering! Would it also have been the reason why my heart was pounding? It started to bother me. After a few minutes and a vodka, I got impatient and left the club. I moved on to the Q bar to see whether my friends were there. Still none. Fortunately, I bumped into some flight attendants whom I had known way back. So, The party commenced. Less than an hour had passed when my friends finally appeared! Both looking extremely flushed. Mio was quick to break the news, “ we took a look at the crying virgin.” I Looked at them demanding for news and knew from their faces that they had seen something quite spectacular. After their vivid account, I asked Mio, whom I knew was a Christian, “ as a Christian, what do you think?” He was quick to answer, “ Whatever it is, it just tells us that we should pray”. Now that got to me! Not that I don’t, because I do, But because if the world was ending tonight, id want to be in manila. I looked at Joji for other answers but he was in one corner, weeping, “This is a wake up call for me”. I stood there stunned. At that moment I wanted to leave the club and see the crying lady. I made my way out with the two guys but suddenly friends and colleagues started showing up looking too pleased to see me. I was practically cornered and showered with drinks. Debauchery took over.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next day, Sunday, I woke up with the worst hang over and a vague recollection of how I got through the night. I had only one thing in mind though as I dragged myself out of bed – Go and see the weeping lady.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Under a slight drizzle, I walked to the square in shorts and a Tee. The sky was grey and boy did it really feel like judgment day! As I worked my way through the crowd of thousands, my heart pounded like it did the night before, and then there she was. I stared at her face, my vision trying to zoom into her cheek. Yes there were marks of tears running down her cheeks on to her neck. I stood there and cynically studied it. Quite honestly,  It wasn’t moving me the slightest bit. But, upon shifting my gaze from her cheeks to the crowd around me, I was stunned by the crowd’s reaction to it! Every man, woman, and child stared at her face in utter awe, teary-eyed and chanting Vietnamese songs of praise. It was what moved me. I had the urge to sing with them so I may join the voices that were being heard in heaven but I didn’t know the words so I shut my eyes and just lifted my heart, drifting with the melody of their chants.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The rain started to pour as I opened my eyes. I looked at the grey clouds beyond the statue and asked, “What’s this all about?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ok, maybe it was bird shit? Maybe it was acid? I don’t know… but I walked away knowing…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Knowing that whatever it is, the effect is what’s important. If it will take something like this to keep on reminding the world that there exists a spiritual world beyond our shallowness, so be it.&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/editIMG_0005_1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/200/editIMG_0005_1.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; If it takes a tear in this lady’s cheek to know that God wants some attention, so be it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because we need it. We are so deafened by life's noise. We need to be reminded to be still and know that He is God.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13944954-113075235619666468?l=chololaurel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/feeds/113075235619666468/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13944954&amp;postID=113075235619666468&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/113075235619666468'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/113075235619666468'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/2005/10/lady-of-saigon-wept-half-past-nine.html' title=''/><author><name>chololaurel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15290278624285894983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/SwfFKfoCFgI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/uJX3GTJp1W0/S220/IMG_5768.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13944954.post-113290463952516008</id><published>2005-09-16T23:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-11-25T00:14:43.096-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The  palaces and gardens of the past</title><content type='html'>The monuments to man's vanities do not impress me...&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/IMG_4434.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/320/IMG_4434.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;as much as the secret gardens...&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/IMG_4407.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/320/IMG_4407.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The staircases that lead...&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/IMG_4400.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/320/IMG_4400.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/IMG_4386.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/320/IMG_4386.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;...the cobbled stones, the abandoned rooms, the windows that look out into lonely courtyards. In their corners echo the stroies of generations that have passed. If they could only speak, they would have so much to say about what we deem as true today.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13944954-113290463952516008?l=chololaurel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/feeds/113290463952516008/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13944954&amp;postID=113290463952516008&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/113290463952516008'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/113290463952516008'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/2005/09/palaces-and-gardens-of-past_16.html' title='The  palaces and gardens of the past'/><author><name>chololaurel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15290278624285894983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/SwfFKfoCFgI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/uJX3GTJp1W0/S220/IMG_5768.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13944954.post-113152677737156737</id><published>2005-09-13T12:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-11-17T05:42:53.336-08:00</updated><title type='text'>AN UNEXPECTED DELIGHT</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/IMG_3806.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/200/IMG_3806.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Vienna State Opera&lt;br /&gt;I had come from a long walk around the ring-kai-ring when i decided to stop and see the performance schedules at the opera house. In Vienna, one simply must. Whilst trying to find an english version of the schedule, A woman approaches me and offers me a ticket for that night's performance of Manon Lescaut. Ok who the hell was Manon Lescaut? I really couldnt care after the woman had said that she was willing to give me the ticket for 10 euros! I grabbed it! With no time to go home and slip into a frock ;) I remained casual in my jeans and pullover looking extremely jologs amidst the glitter and glamor but nobody really cared. I was in for an evening of lovely images...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/IMG_3823.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/200/IMG_3823.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/IMG_3848_1_1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/200/IMG_3848_1_1.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now can somone tell me who the hell Manon Lescaut was? ;)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13944954-113152677737156737?l=chololaurel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/feeds/113152677737156737/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13944954&amp;postID=113152677737156737&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/113152677737156737'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/113152677737156737'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/2005/09/unexpected-delight.html' title='AN UNEXPECTED DELIGHT'/><author><name>chololaurel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15290278624285894983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/SwfFKfoCFgI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/uJX3GTJp1W0/S220/IMG_5768.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13944954.post-113125797405586671</id><published>2005-09-12T22:09:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-11-24T22:59:22.736-08:00</updated><title type='text'>WHAT WAS VIENNA LIKE?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/IMG_3764_1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/200/IMG_3764_1.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/IMG_3761.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/200/IMG_3761.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Vienna turned out to be a time to really kick back, have a glass of wine, read a good book, and be happy about life. No place to merely be a tourist. Nope, it's too elegant. This city is the epitome of understated elegance, subtle sophistication, and culture. I couldn't help but smile all the time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A big smile and breakfast in ken's balcony&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/IMG_3742.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/200/IMG_3742.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The morning after a night's stay at the Liechtenstein castle&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/CIMG0443.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/200/CIMG0443.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The oriental room of the Liechtenstein castle&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/IMG_4607.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/200/IMG_4607.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The walls behind me were part of a roman city the Austrians found under the city of Vienna when they were building the underground. Imagine layer upon layer of civilization...yes, relax and know...&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/CIMG0372.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/200/CIMG0372.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then again, there were the dinners with fine wine and excellent food. Converstaions with novelists, filmmakers, tenors, and pure intellectuals. &lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/IMG_4676.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/200/IMG_4676.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/IMG_4512.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/200/IMG_4512.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/IMG_4661.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/200/IMG_4661.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/IMG_4658.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/200/IMG_4658.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Thats Vienna for me, Food for the mind. nourishment for the soul.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13944954-113125797405586671?l=chololaurel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/feeds/113125797405586671/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13944954&amp;postID=113125797405586671&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/113125797405586671'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/113125797405586671'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/2005/09/what-was-vienna-like.html' title='WHAT WAS VIENNA LIKE?'/><author><name>chololaurel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15290278624285894983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/SwfFKfoCFgI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/uJX3GTJp1W0/S220/IMG_5768.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13944954.post-113048170167232802</id><published>2005-09-11T23:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-11-17T05:45:40.123-08:00</updated><title type='text'>BEING IN DISNEY</title><content type='html'>VIENNA OF PRINCES, PRINCESSES, AND WOUNDED SOLDIERS&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/party%203.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/200/party%203.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The best of times are such. &lt;br /&gt;When an occasional hit of weed and a fine brew brings forth the raw convivial self - Friends babble with intensity, cackle shamelessly and open their hearts to possibilities, fearing no judgment.  &lt;br /&gt;The best of times are such.&lt;br /&gt;When princesses shed their vanities, abandoned soldiers forget their sorrows, Intellectuals listen, young men disregard their youth, Aristocrats kiss the earth, and I, a traveler, sit quietly, feeling at home…watching and absorbing every story told, capturing every glance, every smile.&lt;br /&gt;The best of times are such.&lt;br /&gt;Times when we would defensively claim, “I am not myself”,&lt;br /&gt;But know in our hearts that that is indeed our truest selves.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/party%202.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/200/party%202.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Times when I just sit and wonder,&lt;br /&gt;“Am I in Disney?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/sebastian.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/200/sebastian.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Sebastian&lt;br /&gt;Glances held some mysterious curiosity and smiles secretly slipped through the busy room.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’m sorry that my hawk eyes kept on staring, but the arrows darted right through the barriers, piercing your supple flesh as well as mine. The pain was irresistible…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I proceeded with quiet comfort...trying to pull out one arrow at a time, breaking the barriers, finding nothing but wounds that would not heal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lemi : The soldier of peace&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/lemi.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/200/lemi.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With shoulders wide as Neptune’s, you stride with such ease.&lt;br /&gt;Your pointed Nordic nose perches awkwardly between your soulful longing eyes.&lt;br /&gt;You laugh sheepishly and drink merrily and somehow I hear the voice of a boy longing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What is it that you long for soldier? Why does your handsome face beg?&lt;br /&gt;Why behind that boyish grin, your soul cries for a need unknown?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A warm hug?&lt;br /&gt;A lost brother?&lt;br /&gt;Another soul to live for?&lt;br /&gt;Or merely the love of the heart that’s abandoned you?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The longing is palpable.&lt;br /&gt;It’s inescapable.&lt;br /&gt;No te preocupes, It’s universal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But you smile, you hug generously, you raise your glass and compliment sincerely,&lt;br /&gt;As if life has always been too good to you.&lt;br /&gt;Maybe it has been, in it’s own way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh soldier of peace,&lt;br /&gt;Your demeanor amazes me. For despite this longing that sits on the lap of your wounded soul, you find it in your heart to be sincerely warm, loving, and, yes, seemingly unaffected, like a true soldier of peace.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/ken.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/200/ken.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Kenneth : The man after life’s own heart&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Old soul, my dear friend, you are a bundle of contradictions.&lt;br /&gt;Believe me, that is a compliment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your heart basks in the city of your affections with its grand palaces and aristocracies but you cannot deny that your soul shall always lay in the hills and valleys of your own past.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You dine and cackle with kings and queens, princes and princesses but find it easy to speak gently to our countrymen who seek your help.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You fill your mind with so much knowledge but know that true wisdom is found in a searching heart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You live to acquire but know how to give them all up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You play to the edge&lt;br /&gt;But you know in your soul of souls that you shall one day be answerable to the one who sent you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You are a bundle of contradictions.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, My friend, I too have been called a bundle of contradictions. I have embraced that label and ask these questions,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have they, who judge, enjoyed an unbridled life as much as we have?&lt;br /&gt;Have they learned the lessons we have learned painfully and deeply?&lt;br /&gt;Have they embraced the forgiveness that heaven offers?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In this journey,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Give me a man who claims unfailing righteousness and I will shun him&lt;br /&gt;For he is evil.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Give me a man who admits his struggle and I will follow him after life’s own heart.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13944954-113048170167232802?l=chololaurel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/feeds/113048170167232802/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13944954&amp;postID=113048170167232802&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/113048170167232802'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/113048170167232802'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/2005/09/being-in-disney.html' title='BEING IN DISNEY'/><author><name>chololaurel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15290278624285894983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/SwfFKfoCFgI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/uJX3GTJp1W0/S220/IMG_5768.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13944954.post-113048156074693408</id><published>2005-09-10T23:40:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-11-17T05:47:26.283-08:00</updated><title type='text'>DISCOVERING WHY I TRAVEL</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/old%20man%20chair.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/320/old%20man%20chair.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;En route to Vienna, I remembered something that Pierre had said earlier today, over espressos and cigarettes, about their upcoming 8-month trip to Asia. I don’t remember the exact words but he had said something about not merely jumping into a plane and traveling senselessly. That there be a philosophy behind the journey is vital. I pondered on the thought during pockets of silence in the airport and asked myself, “What is my philosophy in traveling?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was pleased that, almost instantly, I had answers…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I travel not just to do what the privileged do or acquire what others have. Too shallow a reason for something so costly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don’t do this to add feathers to my hat or make scarp books to show off. Such impressions pass too quickly through people’s minds and sometimes even leave a bitter jealousy in their hearts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don’t need to be seen in the shi-shiest of places. Who will see me anyway? The one who feeds me? The one who will deem me worthy in the end? If so, Will it matter? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don’t need to prove to be an expert in the routes of cities that are not my own. I can only be an expert on my hometown.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rather, I journey to seek my own peace,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To feel the earth around me and realize that we all live under the same sun,&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/derulle.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/320/derulle.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To watch the world go by with its joys and sorrows painted on faces that are stored in my mind, my library of emotions.&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/juju%20claok.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/320/juju%20claok.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I allow my mind to wander and my spirit to soar beyond the confines of my own realm. Somehow, It fulfills my need to understand things, people, phenomena…my need to hear their stories in order that I may learn not to judge.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I see far off lands, listen to foreign tongues, and gaze at writings I cannot comprehend. I observe, I write, I capture, I sense, I try to relate. Not for mere vanity but rather to sharpen the blade of my identity and return home with a deeper understanding of who I am, where I come from, and who I owe this all to.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13944954-113048156074693408?l=chololaurel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/feeds/113048156074693408/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13944954&amp;postID=113048156074693408&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/113048156074693408'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/113048156074693408'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/2005/09/discovering-why-i-travel.html' title='DISCOVERING WHY I TRAVEL'/><author><name>chololaurel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15290278624285894983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/SwfFKfoCFgI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/uJX3GTJp1W0/S220/IMG_5768.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13944954.post-112884554996733221</id><published>2005-09-10T10:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-09T01:23:17.986-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>LEAVING PARIS&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/IMG_3719.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/200/IMG_3719.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Paris' sense of humor talaga! After making me fall in love, he sees me off with something funny to remember.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;From where the taxi took me down, I clumsily negotiated the cobblestone sidewalks beside the Opera Garniere not caring who passed me by or what I was walking on. With a "whew", I  boarded the roissybus. I noticed that everyone was looking at me strangely as I loaded my heavy luggage. Not caring and thinking it may be some racist shit, I just picked my window seat and put on my head phones. As I settled into my seat, ready to start my moment (this is the part when one looks out the window of a bus and looks back at the old familiar places with one tear falling on the left cheek). Just when I had worked up a tear, a waft of stink disturbs my moment! My tear retreats! Upset,  I look around and realize that the crowd in the bus is still looking at me strangely! One English woman gestures to cover her nose looking at me! I slowly sink, I examine my whole situation, I rewind my mind, and almost instinctively lifted my leg to look at the underside of my sneakers. Great...I stepped on dog shit! A really huge one! Indescribably embarrassed, I hid my sneakers and my dignity under my seat hoping they would just cover their noses. At that moment , the bus was about to leave the city into the suburbs that led to the airport. I could hear Paris' hearty laughter. I sat back and smiled as his voice echoed in my mind, " A revoir!...mon ami!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13944954-112884554996733221?l=chololaurel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/feeds/112884554996733221/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13944954&amp;postID=112884554996733221&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/112884554996733221'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/112884554996733221'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/2005/09/leaving-paris-paris-sense-of-humor.html' title=''/><author><name>chololaurel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15290278624285894983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/SwfFKfoCFgI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/uJX3GTJp1W0/S220/IMG_5768.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13944954.post-112884349442572315</id><published>2005-09-09T12:25:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-09T00:39:47.973-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Paris has a beautiful church in almost every block. Architectural feats! But thats all they seem to be for many in this city, Just beautiful monuments...empty historical reminders, frequented only by those who realize that they are close to the reality of dealing with their faith. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/IMG_3440.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/400/IMG_3440.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;                                                                 Where has the faith gone?&lt;br /&gt;                                                                 What do other generations believe in?&lt;br /&gt;                                                                 What do they hold on to in the changing seasons?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13944954-112884349442572315?l=chololaurel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/feeds/112884349442572315/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13944954&amp;postID=112884349442572315&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/112884349442572315'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/112884349442572315'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/2005/09/paris-has-beautiful-church-in-almost.html' title=''/><author><name>chololaurel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15290278624285894983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/SwfFKfoCFgI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/uJX3GTJp1W0/S220/IMG_5768.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13944954.post-112875949260853881</id><published>2005-09-09T01:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-11-17T05:48:22.990-08:00</updated><title type='text'>DEBAUCHERY D'ORSAY</title><content type='html'>Meet Nero the host&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/nero%20d%20host1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/200/nero%20d%20host1.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13944954-112875949260853881?l=chololaurel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/feeds/112875949260853881/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13944954&amp;postID=112875949260853881&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/112875949260853881'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/112875949260853881'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/2005/09/debauchery-dorsay.html' title='DEBAUCHERY D&apos;ORSAY'/><author><name>chololaurel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15290278624285894983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/SwfFKfoCFgI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/uJX3GTJp1W0/S220/IMG_5768.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13944954.post-112875977332407974</id><published>2005-09-09T00:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-08T01:22:53.323-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>and achilles, "No pictures please!"&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/no%20pics%20pls.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/200/no%20pics%20pls.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13944954-112875977332407974?l=chololaurel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/feeds/112875977332407974/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13944954&amp;postID=112875977332407974&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/112875977332407974'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/112875977332407974'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/2005/09/and-achilles-no-pictures-please.html' title=''/><author><name>chololaurel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15290278624285894983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/SwfFKfoCFgI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/uJX3GTJp1W0/S220/IMG_5768.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13944954.post-112876009786680492</id><published>2005-09-09T00:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-08T07:26:33.426-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Thats Jean Batiste scandalously shouting out to the heathen, "please pass the lube!"&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/pass%20the%20lube.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/200/pass%20the%20lube.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13944954-112876009786680492?l=chololaurel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/feeds/112876009786680492/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13944954&amp;postID=112876009786680492&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/112876009786680492'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/112876009786680492'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/2005/09/thats-jean-batiste-scandalously.html' title=''/><author><name>chololaurel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15290278624285894983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/SwfFKfoCFgI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/uJX3GTJp1W0/S220/IMG_5768.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13944954.post-112876050483012891</id><published>2005-09-09T00:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-08T07:23:47.526-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Narcissus who needs to get to the top&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/need%20a%20top.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/200/need%20a%20top.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13944954-112876050483012891?l=chololaurel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/feeds/112876050483012891/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13944954&amp;postID=112876050483012891&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/112876050483012891'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/112876050483012891'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/2005/09/narcissus-who-needs-to-get-to-top.html' title=''/><author><name>chololaurel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15290278624285894983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/SwfFKfoCFgI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/uJX3GTJp1W0/S220/IMG_5768.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13944954.post-112876101730548314</id><published>2005-09-09T00:54:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-08T07:19:54.310-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/killer%20butt.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/200/killer%20butt.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; ...and this is Samson, The usual star of the occassion.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/tie%20him%20up.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/200/tie%20him%20up.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;He likes to tie em up...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/spank%20him%21.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/200/spank%20him%21.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;and spank em...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/killer%20torso.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/200/killer%20torso.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Yes, he does have an ego problem. Its bigger than his weapon.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13944954-112876101730548314?l=chololaurel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/feeds/112876101730548314/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13944954&amp;postID=112876101730548314&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/112876101730548314'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/112876101730548314'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/2005/09/blog-post.html' title=''/><author><name>chololaurel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15290278624285894983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/SwfFKfoCFgI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/uJX3GTJp1W0/S220/IMG_5768.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13944954.post-112884171986787519</id><published>2005-09-09T00:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-09T00:08:39.866-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>feet anyone?&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/foot%20fetsih.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/320/foot%20fetsih.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13944954-112884171986787519?l=chololaurel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/feeds/112884171986787519/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13944954&amp;postID=112884171986787519&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/112884171986787519'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/112884171986787519'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/2005/09/feet-anyone.html' title=''/><author><name>chololaurel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15290278624285894983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/SwfFKfoCFgI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/uJX3GTJp1W0/S220/IMG_5768.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13944954.post-112884192724320285</id><published>2005-09-09T00:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-09T00:12:07.243-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>...and , oh yes, thats David in the corner. He always gets into these Post-orgasm guilt trips.&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/pog.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/400/pog.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13944954-112884192724320285?l=chololaurel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/feeds/112884192724320285/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13944954&amp;postID=112884192724320285&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/112884192724320285'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/112884192724320285'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/2005/09/blog-post_09.html' title=''/><author><name>chololaurel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15290278624285894983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/SwfFKfoCFgI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/uJX3GTJp1W0/S220/IMG_5768.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13944954.post-112884056123055429</id><published>2005-09-08T23:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-09T00:24:09.693-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>RANDOM AND ACCIDENTAL &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/IMG_3523.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/200/IMG_3523.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/IMG_3610.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/200/IMG_3610.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;et voila...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13944954-112884056123055429?l=chololaurel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/feeds/112884056123055429/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13944954&amp;postID=112884056123055429&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/112884056123055429'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/112884056123055429'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/2005/09/random-and-accidental-et-voila.html' title=''/><author><name>chololaurel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15290278624285894983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/SwfFKfoCFgI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/uJX3GTJp1W0/S220/IMG_5768.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13944954.post-113151586533360179</id><published>2005-09-08T21:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-11-17T05:49:11.053-08:00</updated><title type='text'>THAT WOMAN ON THE BRIDGE</title><content type='html'>I had been walking for hours just savoring all I could of a perfect afternoon in Paris, the romance was palpable . Crossing the bridge to the Iles St. Louis, I stopped to watch the Seine shimmering in the light of sunset and there she was. She stood still there for the longest time turning her head slightly from time to time, scanning the waters of the river. My presence did not move her. I could not see her face but somehow I felt her tears running down her cheeks. It seemed like forever, she just stared at the river in deep, very deep thought. I could feel her memories. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is she regretting her life? Or is she thanking God for it? Had she lost her one and only love? Or does she grieve for having lost the opportunity to love? Is she contemplating death? Or is her heart finally at peace? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/IMG_3458.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/320/IMG_3458.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Love.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Death.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the depth of our souls you find only these to contemplate on.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13944954-113151586533360179?l=chololaurel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/feeds/113151586533360179/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13944954&amp;postID=113151586533360179&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/113151586533360179'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/113151586533360179'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/2005/09/that-woman-on-bridge.html' title='THAT WOMAN ON THE BRIDGE'/><author><name>chololaurel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15290278624285894983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/SwfFKfoCFgI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/uJX3GTJp1W0/S220/IMG_5768.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13944954.post-112869195342920684</id><published>2005-09-07T21:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-08T00:10:31.833-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Semetiere Montmartre&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/pink%20rose%20of%20death.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/400/pink%20rose%20of%20death.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I sit and contemplate on the puzzle of tombs beneath me,&lt;br /&gt;allowing nothing about life to distract my thoughts.&lt;br /&gt;I sit and attempt to feel the souls that surround me,&lt;br /&gt;hoping they may whisper the answers that I seek.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dalida-chanteuse&lt;br /&gt;Edgar Degas-peintiere&lt;br /&gt;Did they wonder as I wonder?&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/weary%20soldier.jpeg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/320/weary%20soldier.jpeg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jacques Offenbach-compositeur&lt;br /&gt;Pierre Ponson du terrail-romancier&lt;br /&gt;Did they question as I do?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Julius Slowacki-poete&lt;br /&gt;Emile Zola-ecrivain&lt;br /&gt;Did they believe till the end?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/la%20loi.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/320/la%20loi.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Francoise Truffaut-cineaste&lt;br /&gt;Henri Georges Clouzot-cineaste&lt;br /&gt;Do they still believe?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Where has their faith brought them?&lt;br /&gt;How has their faith saved them?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh Death. He has always enthralled me.&lt;br /&gt;He invites with a smile, becasue he knows he is the way.&lt;br /&gt;The only way to that state where the truth I seek... &lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/deaths%20light.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/400/deaths%20light.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;is clear.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13944954-112869195342920684?l=chololaurel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/feeds/112869195342920684/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13944954&amp;postID=112869195342920684&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/112869195342920684'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/112869195342920684'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/2005/09/semetiere-montmartre-i-sit-and.html' title=''/><author><name>chololaurel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15290278624285894983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/SwfFKfoCFgI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/uJX3GTJp1W0/S220/IMG_5768.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13944954.post-112875357860046362</id><published>2005-09-07T20:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-11-17T05:49:56.156-08:00</updated><title type='text'>OH TRUFFAUT</title><content type='html'>Oh Truffaut&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/truffaut.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/200/truffaut.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wonder before your solid grave&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How must one think in order to produce greatness as you have?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I close my eyes praying that your soul might touch mine, &lt;br /&gt;so I too may do what I have to do,&lt;br /&gt;and live the way I am meant to live.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I reach out trying to imbibe even just a bit of you.&lt;br /&gt;So I may not waste my mind, my eye, my heart...&lt;br /&gt;so I may be able to  leave, upon my own grave, &lt;br /&gt;inspiration for generations...&lt;br /&gt;as you have.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13944954-112875357860046362?l=chololaurel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/feeds/112875357860046362/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13944954&amp;postID=112875357860046362&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/112875357860046362'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/112875357860046362'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/2005/09/oh-truffaut.html' title='OH TRUFFAUT'/><author><name>chololaurel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15290278624285894983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/SwfFKfoCFgI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/uJX3GTJp1W0/S220/IMG_5768.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13944954.post-112868842442627726</id><published>2005-09-07T17:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-07T05:36:26.830-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>"French gay men...&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/marais%203.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/200/marais%203.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When they look at you once, they're merely sizing you up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/marais%201.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/200/marais%201.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A second look means they'interested.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/marais%202.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/200/marais%202.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A third means they want to get into your pants! badly!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/IMG_3502.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/200/IMG_3502.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, they want you to come up to them. They'll neevah make the move. &lt;br /&gt;Feeling. &lt;br /&gt;Parang mga pinoy!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bogie Caoili&lt;br /&gt;A pinoy gay man in Paris&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A conversation over beer and peanuts at the Open cafe,&lt;br /&gt;les Marais, Paris.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13944954-112868842442627726?l=chololaurel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/feeds/112868842442627726/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13944954&amp;postID=112868842442627726&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/112868842442627726'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/112868842442627726'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/2005/09/french-gay-men.html' title=''/><author><name>chololaurel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15290278624285894983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/SwfFKfoCFgI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/uJX3GTJp1W0/S220/IMG_5768.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13944954.post-112868039906286760</id><published>2005-09-07T03:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-07T03:19:59.070-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/paris%20sun1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/320/paris%20sun1.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When taking unbeaten paths, Paris has what the Parisiennes call "little pockets of views" - places only they know of, cafes only they have sat in, corners, alleys, and courtyards only they have sulked in...Like little gems hidden in the folds of a velvet spread.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13944954-112868039906286760?l=chololaurel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/feeds/112868039906286760/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13944954&amp;postID=112868039906286760&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/112868039906286760'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/112868039906286760'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/2005/09/when-taking-unbeaten-paths-paris-has.html' title=''/><author><name>chololaurel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15290278624285894983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/SwfFKfoCFgI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/uJX3GTJp1W0/S220/IMG_5768.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13944954.post-112868949774109173</id><published>2005-09-06T17:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-09T00:02:02.970-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/elodie.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/320/elodie.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Here he comes!&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/pierres%20b%20day.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/320/pierres%20b%20day.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Et Voila! Happy Birthday Pierre!&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/Jojo%20in%20Paris%20Canon%20092.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/200/Jojo%20in%20Paris%20Canon%20092.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;pardon moi. I got too drunk, i think :( no thanks to magic!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13944954-112868949774109173?l=chololaurel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/feeds/112868949774109173/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13944954&amp;postID=112868949774109173&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/112868949774109173'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/112868949774109173'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/2005/09/here-he-comes-et-voila-happy-birthday.html' title=''/><author><name>chololaurel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15290278624285894983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/SwfFKfoCFgI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/uJX3GTJp1W0/S220/IMG_5768.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13944954.post-112860523718088661</id><published>2005-09-05T06:17:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-07T05:44:52.033-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>A Letter to Monina&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/IMG_3717.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/400/IMG_3717.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My dear girl,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Travel! Because it is the best way to grow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Converse with all sorts! because it is the only way to widen your perspective.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Question things! Because it is the only way to deepen your insights.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Never remain in your zone of comfort. Dare to live out of that confined happiness, and you will reach the end of your life happy, learning not to judge, learning to understand.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If I have enough, I will see to it that you do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If I have enough.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Love,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tito Cholo&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13944954-112860523718088661?l=chololaurel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/feeds/112860523718088661/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13944954&amp;postID=112860523718088661&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/112860523718088661'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/112860523718088661'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/2005/09/letter-to-monina-my-dear-girl-travel.html' title=''/><author><name>chololaurel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15290278624285894983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/SwfFKfoCFgI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/uJX3GTJp1W0/S220/IMG_5768.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13944954.post-112861085562329800</id><published>2005-09-04T19:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-06T08:00:55.630-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>With magic, beer, and good friends&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/00000411.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/400/00000411.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;one must take the plunge&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/a%20la%20hockney.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/400/a%20la%20hockney.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13944954-112861085562329800?l=chololaurel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/feeds/112861085562329800/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13944954&amp;postID=112861085562329800&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/112861085562329800'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/112861085562329800'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/2005/09/with-magic-beer-and-good-friends-one.html' title=''/><author><name>chololaurel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15290278624285894983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/SwfFKfoCFgI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/uJX3GTJp1W0/S220/IMG_5768.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13944954.post-112861191164370513</id><published>2005-09-03T08:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-07T02:43:23.106-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Sophistication is effortless.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/00000416.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/400/00000416.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is from the freedom of one's mind,&lt;br /&gt;the openness of one's heart,&lt;br /&gt;the depth of one's spirit,&lt;br /&gt;that sophistication emanates.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pity those who try without these.&lt;br /&gt;Their lack of sophistication shows in their eagerness to look sophisticated.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13944954-112861191164370513?l=chololaurel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/feeds/112861191164370513/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13944954&amp;postID=112861191164370513&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/112861191164370513'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/112861191164370513'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/2005/09/sophistication-is-effortless.html' title=''/><author><name>chololaurel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15290278624285894983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/SwfFKfoCFgI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/uJX3GTJp1W0/S220/IMG_5768.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13944954.post-112861274396013567</id><published>2005-09-02T08:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-06T08:32:23.960-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Oh the joy of friends&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/DSC04206.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/320/DSC04206.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/DSC04222.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/320/DSC04222.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/00000321.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/320/00000321.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;It is unthinkable to live in this world without them&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13944954-112861274396013567?l=chololaurel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/feeds/112861274396013567/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13944954&amp;postID=112861274396013567&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/112861274396013567'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/112861274396013567'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/2005/09/oh-joy-of-friends-it-is-unthinkable-to.html' title=''/><author><name>chololaurel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15290278624285894983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/SwfFKfoCFgI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/uJX3GTJp1W0/S220/IMG_5768.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13944954.post-112860415669152782</id><published>2005-08-31T23:31:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-06T06:09:16.726-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Adobo at ensaladang kamatis sa probinsiya&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A dinner served under the stars, &lt;br /&gt;Caressed by a cool southern breeze,&lt;br /&gt;and deepened by gracious conversation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/00000382.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/200/00000382.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Under that star-lit sky, the white linen glowed,&lt;br /&gt;whilst stories of the past were exchanged.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/00000383.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/200/00000383.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, There are some meals taken in one breath,&lt;br /&gt;many taken without gusto.&lt;br /&gt;Then there are those dinners, like this one, &lt;br /&gt;taken slowly, sparingly,&lt;br /&gt;in between pockets of memorable conversations.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/00000376.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/200/00000376.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;at one point, as we sipped digestif,&lt;br /&gt;We listened to Piaf.&lt;br /&gt;Monique and Andre, with a glint in their eyes, hummed to her tune.&lt;br /&gt;Pierre and Deruelle were in each other's arms.&lt;br /&gt;I smiled to myself,&lt;br /&gt;happy, deeply happy.&lt;br /&gt;knowing we had served our gracious hosts, &lt;br /&gt;not only a good meal, but with one brief moment of joy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/00000381.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/200/00000381.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13944954-112860415669152782?l=chololaurel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/feeds/112860415669152782/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13944954&amp;postID=112860415669152782&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/112860415669152782'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/112860415669152782'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/2005/08/adobo-at-ensaladang-kamatis-sa.html' title=''/><author><name>chololaurel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15290278624285894983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/SwfFKfoCFgI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/uJX3GTJp1W0/S220/IMG_5768.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13944954.post-112859528664815943</id><published>2005-08-29T08:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-06T05:17:45.190-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Neules, France&lt;br /&gt;The summer home of the the Kemulas&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/Neules%206.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/320/Neules%206.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh when life offers its graces!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Weathered stone walls with tales to tell,&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/00000354.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/320/00000354.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;unkempt gardens with seasons to bear.&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/00000197.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/320/00000197.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Old chairs,&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/00000106.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/320/00000106.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;fresh plums,&lt;br /&gt;blades of grass,&lt;br /&gt;and toys left to rust.&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/00000375.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/320/00000375.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I live for these moments that simmer in time!&lt;br /&gt;No longer needing to measure. Instead, to savor.&lt;br /&gt;Let my body be my clock!&lt;br /&gt;Eat only when my stomach churns,&lt;br /&gt;drink only when my throat is dry,&lt;br /&gt;sleep each time my eyelids fall.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel like leaping in the wind!&lt;br /&gt;running like a boy!&lt;br /&gt;laughing like a child!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and when the sun is setting...&lt;br /&gt;when the sparrows cuddle in their nests,&lt;br /&gt;When time seems to have passed so quickly,&lt;br /&gt;an aperitif, perhaps?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh when France offers its graces,&lt;br /&gt;One cannot help but just ... Be.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13944954-112859528664815943?l=chololaurel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/feeds/112859528664815943/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13944954&amp;postID=112859528664815943&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/112859528664815943'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/112859528664815943'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/2005/08/neules-france-summer-home-of-the.html' title=''/><author><name>chololaurel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15290278624285894983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/SwfFKfoCFgI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/uJX3GTJp1W0/S220/IMG_5768.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13944954.post-112843685864167293</id><published>2005-08-28T14:25:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-04T07:53:47.290-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>On my way to Cahors, France.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/to%20cahors.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/200/to%20cahors.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A baguette with fromage and prosciutto, a diet soda, eating on the floor of the gare d'auserlitz - they all contribute to a feeling. &lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/austerlitz.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/200/austerlitz.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;a book to read, my journal to express, my camera to capture.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/book%20on%20train.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/200/book%20on%20train.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The view from my window were like post cards flying by. There was an ease...A peace so sweet.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13944954-112843685864167293?l=chololaurel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/feeds/112843685864167293/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13944954&amp;postID=112843685864167293&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/112843685864167293'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/112843685864167293'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/2005/08/on-my-way-to-cahors-france.html' title=''/><author><name>chololaurel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15290278624285894983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/SwfFKfoCFgI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/uJX3GTJp1W0/S220/IMG_5768.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13944954.post-112843573617920462</id><published>2005-08-27T14:17:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-04T07:22:16.180-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>A Classic Marco in Paris&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/IMG_2641.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/320/IMG_2641.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I often go to Paris to live yesterday tomorrow.&lt;br /&gt;                                           Malcom Maclaren&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13944954-112843573617920462?l=chololaurel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/feeds/112843573617920462/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13944954&amp;postID=112843573617920462&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/112843573617920462'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/112843573617920462'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/2005/08/classic-marco-in-paris-i-often-go-to.html' title=''/><author><name>chololaurel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15290278624285894983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/SwfFKfoCFgI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/uJX3GTJp1W0/S220/IMG_5768.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13944954.post-112843487858788677</id><published>2005-08-26T20:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-04T07:09:51.176-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>My arrogant Paris &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/alone%20siene.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/400/alone%20siene.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Paris, Paris, when you take him at face value, is an arrogant lover. But ignore Eiffel and all his monuments of vanity and you come upon a different Paris. Passionate, insatiable, forever discontented, and always longing to be loved. Like many of us, really.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13944954-112843487858788677?l=chololaurel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/feeds/112843487858788677/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13944954&amp;postID=112843487858788677&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/112843487858788677'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/112843487858788677'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/2005/08/my-arrogant-paris-paris-paris-when-you.html' title=''/><author><name>chololaurel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15290278624285894983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/SwfFKfoCFgI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/uJX3GTJp1W0/S220/IMG_5768.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13944954.post-112843298243687881</id><published>2005-08-26T12:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-04T07:11:41.946-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/arriving%20paris1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/200/arriving%20paris.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Arrived Paris later than scheduled. It wasn't a good flight - cramp, nauseating, cold,... Or am I getting old and impatient?  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Upon boarding the roissybus, I was biologically confused but I had to keep myself mentally awake to absorb everything, everything that surrounded me on, this, my second trip to Paris. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The minute the bus turned into the city, I lost the weariness. My Body shut up, my heart started beating, my mind churned. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Paris is indeed magical. It was made out of passion, with passion, and for the purpose of passion. It breathes love. Heaven has to look like this! Otherwise eternity won't be so attractive.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Got off the bus at the Opera Garniere. After the irritating burden of unloading luggages, I sat on the steps, gave out a subtle "whew" and looked up at the sky. It was grand. God really knows my need for drama...And he delivers :)  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/ariving%20paris%202.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/400/ariving%20paris%202.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13944954-112843298243687881?l=chololaurel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/feeds/112843298243687881/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13944954&amp;postID=112843298243687881&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/112843298243687881'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/112843298243687881'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/2005/08/arrived-paris-later-than-scheduled.html' title=''/><author><name>chololaurel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15290278624285894983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/SwfFKfoCFgI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/uJX3GTJp1W0/S220/IMG_5768.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13944954.post-112490670012537983</id><published>2005-08-25T23:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-04T06:38:50.750-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>11:23 pm: PACKING SIYET!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- 3 classic cotton dress shirts (black, white, grey)&lt;br /&gt;- 4 wash n wear pairs of pants (maong, black, khaki, white)&lt;br /&gt;- 6 wash n wear sport shirts&lt;br /&gt;- 3 undershirts (black, white, grey)&lt;br /&gt;- sexiest undies&lt;br /&gt;- socks&lt;br /&gt;- 2 belts (black and white reversible &amp; red)&lt;br /&gt;- 1 black turtle neck&lt;br /&gt;- 1 evening suit&lt;br /&gt;- 1 sports jacket&lt;br /&gt;- 1 hooded sweater&lt;br /&gt;- 1 ube colored scarf ;)&lt;br /&gt;- black loafers&lt;br /&gt;- rubber shoes&lt;br /&gt;- white uber chic driving shoes&lt;br /&gt;- swimming trunks&lt;br /&gt;- board shorts&lt;br /&gt;- my journal&lt;br /&gt;- a compact bible&lt;br /&gt;- camera&lt;br /&gt;- i pod shuffle&lt;br /&gt;- tootbrush/ paste/ floss&lt;br /&gt;- facial wash&lt;br /&gt;- exfoliating scrub&lt;br /&gt;- mosturizer&lt;br /&gt;- toner&lt;br /&gt;- condoms&lt;br /&gt;- lube&lt;br /&gt;- asthmador&lt;br /&gt;- vitamins&lt;br /&gt;- ticket&lt;br /&gt;- passport&lt;br /&gt;- wallet&lt;br /&gt;- address book with the numbers of Pierre, Martin, Bogie, KC, Darra, Theophile, Ken, Chita, Julien.&lt;br /&gt;- the spartacus guide&lt;br /&gt;- and a determination to just watch the world go by and smile :)&lt;br /&gt;im ready:)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13944954-112490670012537983?l=chololaurel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/feeds/112490670012537983/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13944954&amp;postID=112490670012537983&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/112490670012537983'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/112490670012537983'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/2005/08/1123-pm-packing-siyet-3-classic-cotton.html' title=''/><author><name>chololaurel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15290278624285894983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/SwfFKfoCFgI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/uJX3GTJp1W0/S220/IMG_5768.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13944954.post-112490713277763912</id><published>2005-08-12T00:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-09-30T05:17:35.540-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/IMG_2468%20small.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/320/IMG_2468%20small.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Au Lac Hotel, Saigon 10:30 pm &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I sit in my hotel room trying to find rest. I have been working so hard that my body has gotten so used to this annoying restlessness. Eating has become a necessary bore, sleep a luxury. If I really dig deep, I think i'd come to the common conclusion that I am suffering from that proverbial "doing a lot but feeling empty" syndrome. It's true, Man is strange, he always finds some reason to feel not good enough. I'm no exception! I should actually be the happiest man on earth - I have a great career thats looking up, My peers like me, my colleagues respect me, I am not lacking in suitors, I travel a lot, I have children to fill my life with laughter and meaning, I have GOD in my heart! I'm what aspirants call a self-actualized human being. So, why am I restless? why can't I be still and just be?... Whats bothering me tonight?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In retrospect, I spent most of my day in the editing room forming and curing the nth TV commercial of my fabulous career. I'm being catty to myself :/ As i watched what I was doing and listened to my agency creative director praise me for the good work I have been doing, I examined my own work and thought to myself, "thats good for you?...it's crap!". I suffer from fear of being mediocre. I habitually backslide towards self-chastisement. Silly. It's really silly. It's the devil whispering stupid stuff in my mind!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This sweet madness...this glorious sadness!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think i just miss being in love. &lt;br /&gt;But, I'm liking my freedom.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think maybe i just miss home.&lt;br /&gt;But, i love Saigon too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm confused.&lt;br /&gt;But, I know where I'm going&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Stuff it...all will turn out good.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13944954-112490713277763912?l=chololaurel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/feeds/112490713277763912/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13944954&amp;postID=112490713277763912&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/112490713277763912'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/112490713277763912'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/2005/08/au-lac-hotel-saigon-1030-pm-i-sit-in.html' title=''/><author><name>chololaurel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15290278624285894983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/SwfFKfoCFgI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/uJX3GTJp1W0/S220/IMG_5768.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13944954.post-113266110295031442</id><published>2005-07-26T04:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-11-22T04:05:02.970-08:00</updated><title type='text'>turning 44</title><content type='html'>La frenetre retaurant, Saigon, Vietnam&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/DSC00374.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/400/DSC00374.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Turning 44 was a blur. I guess it was the amount of wine consumed :) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/DSC00375.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/400/DSC00375.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But i spent it with a bunch of great guys!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Happy Birthday to me :))))&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13944954-113266110295031442?l=chololaurel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/feeds/113266110295031442/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13944954&amp;postID=113266110295031442&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/113266110295031442'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/113266110295031442'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/2005/07/turning-44.html' title='turning 44'/><author><name>chololaurel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15290278624285894983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/SwfFKfoCFgI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/uJX3GTJp1W0/S220/IMG_5768.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13944954.post-112014546783215952</id><published>2005-06-26T21:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-06-30T08:31:07.836-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/IMG_1933.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/400/IMG_1933.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She looked nervous on stage. She couldnt smile but her moves were right and she was graceful and pretty. while watching her, I thought to myself, "what a beautiful blessing it is to be able to help a child grow up properly - To develop confidence...feel secure that no matter what happens, someone will be there for her...to be compassioante towards others... value education...and faith in God."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ballet recitals are always long and i can get very impatient, but I sat there for 2 and a half hours not minding it at all. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When she took her bow during curtain call and they announced her promtion, I could see her scanning the audience. I waved silly and when she saw me, a great big smile suddenly filled her tiny brown face. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Monina is my little girl. Not my daughter but my special little girl.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the cab, still ih her blue and brown tutoo, she held my hand tight and fell asleep in my lap.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bliss.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pure.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Joy.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13944954-112014546783215952?l=chololaurel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/feeds/112014546783215952/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13944954&amp;postID=112014546783215952&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/112014546783215952'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/112014546783215952'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/2005/06/she-looked-nervous-on-stage.html' title=''/><author><name>chololaurel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15290278624285894983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/SwfFKfoCFgI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/uJX3GTJp1W0/S220/IMG_5768.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13944954.post-111977325645873759</id><published>2005-06-26T16:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-07-10T00:22:43.803-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/IMG_0941.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/320/IMG_0941.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gay pride was nothing to be proud of&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish the earlier part of the evening drew longer. I was enjoying he intelligent conversation. I actually didn't want to leave the cafe :( but I had to pay homage to the queens of malate and he needed to go too :(&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Malate : I dashed into Sala expecting the same same , and yes it was same same. Old friends. Much as I love them and am always amused at their conversation too, I feel I have outgrown that "Joan Collins" culture. I was immediately handed a goblet of red. Colin always serves the best :) I sat with him, his giddy boyfriend, and a fun aussie chap (who calls himself a traveler. Interesting.). On the other table were two of my exes and a former best friend of mine in college. Across from them were robert and the French contingency. While the heathen outside the restaurant was reeking with bench cologne and sweat, everything inside was all quiet civilized and pinky rosy. That's how they like it. I kinda prefer it that way too but seedy me wanted some dirt on my tight white tee :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I managed to convince the divas to get rid of their heels, get their sneakers on and brave the crowd. I was in my chucks :) I later on figured it was a wrong move. It was way too crowded! It was pickpockets haven! persistent me,  I tried pushing into the crowd determined to feel an energy that would make me want to drink myself mad and make out in public. But shit. I didn't feel any energy! I don't know. Have we ran out of exciting guys? Or have I lost my taste for such? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Whilst trying to negotiate my space between an over-fed vaklah who was wearing angel wings, and a seemingly belabored lesbian, I bumped into the head of the star cinema promo department. Roxy. Oh how he hugggggggged me! like he saw his resurrected mother! " oh direeeek! We are doing so great! Your movie is a hit!" In disbelief, I replied, "really? Are you sure?". I think he took that badly, like I didn't trust his judgment because he kinda just walked away. Oh well. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I tried a few more inches into the crowd. It was like doing it with a reluctant virgin! Inch by inch by inch slowly and gently. But nah. I gave up. I looked back and none of the divas had persisted along with me. So, I walked back and found them in Castro.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now Castro was a bit of a high. The moment I entered the room, my name was flying all over the room! Everyone was congratulating me for a job well done on my movie. I was elated but I wondered to myself, " are they for real?". hmmmm I think IM really getting jaded. I ordered a cosmopolitan. Shit ang mahal! P240 friggin pesos for an alcohol shake! Two strange moments - 1. A drunk and hungry looking dude came up to me and insisted that i remember him. huh? He claims to have been the oncologist who came to my house one time. I sort of remember the oncologist but he didnt look like this guy! So I was polite. He proceeded to speak in tongues which sounded like he was talking about going to bed with me and that he was going home to his wife. Surreal.&lt;br /&gt;2. A guy I had been flirting with in conexxion was there and he came up to me greeting me ever so warmly. "nice to see you out tonight" he said, I replied, " well , I do come out of the closet once in a while:)" and then he just walked away. Talk about sustaining a conversation. Oh well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I needed some air and so I went out to the street again and there before me was a gay world- muscle marys, drag queens, shallow twinks, no conversations, each one trying to be like the other, no individual characters. For people who are proud to say that they are different, they are actually clones of each other and imitations of queer as folk. I stood there and wondered. Is this me? Is this where I belong? Its not so attractive is it? Then someone uttered, " lets go to government" and in 20 minutes I was there, hoping it would refresh the current page I was at. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The same. I met a guy named chase who claims I tried to flirt with him 6 years ago. huh? And I ran into some more muscle marys, divas, and yes, imitations of queer as folk.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Enough. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I could have gone home with chase. He asked me to wait but I just found myself slowly walking into the street and hailing a cab. I was thinking of my home. I was thanking of my little girl. I was thinking of someone I just met.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Brushed my teeth. Washed my face. Put on my youth preservation cream. And slept tightly. Peacefully. Away from the mad crowd. zzzzzzzzz.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GAY PRIDE.....hmmm.... is there anything we can really claim to be proud of? Lets try and re-think that term....Better yet, lets re-think the way we live our lives?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13944954-111977325645873759?l=chololaurel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/feeds/111977325645873759/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13944954&amp;postID=111977325645873759&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/111977325645873759'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/111977325645873759'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/2005/06/gay-pride-was-nothing-to-be-proud-of-i.html' title=''/><author><name>chololaurel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15290278624285894983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/SwfFKfoCFgI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/uJX3GTJp1W0/S220/IMG_5768.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13944954.post-111969285216591664</id><published>2005-06-25T01:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-07-10T00:12:03.416-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/1600/IMG_6529.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4236/1246/320/IMG_6529.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;lost in my own town&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They just released my first film.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While i am happy that the critics have said good things about it (not all but most), and it seems to be a box-office hit (one never really knows), I feel it is not yet THE movie ive always wanted to make...actually,  i feel lost these days. I'm trying to figure out why.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I figured...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm personally not satisfied with the end product? Then again, Am I ever satisfied with my own work?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe I am queasy about the industry that just gave me a big hug. it reeks of a  cologne called insincerity. I've always been a medium-profile kinda guy who thinks BIG but likes to remain grounded - I like to cruise the malls alone, observe people over a cup of coffee, getting seedy in malate once in a while, doing crazy stuff in my private quarters, Or, on the brighter side, playing with my kids. I try to keep everything as real as possible. I can anever last a moment of pretense. I never imagined myself in this whole fantastic plastic world called showbizzzzz! with its put-on smiles, choreographed tears and hypocritical "praise God " lines. Madre de mi alma! If I was to be selfish, I'mm otta here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; But there is this inner voice that tells me i cannot back out now! I have a calling! Especially now that it seems that better quality films are moe appreciated and possible (with the introduction of digital films).  I feel i was brought to this point to persevere and be part of the movement to put the pinoy genre gack in the world cinema map! whew...scary. How does one bring back the brilliance of Brocka, Mike de Leon and Gallaga without being drowned in lala land!?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Or maybe i'm eager to do a new and even better film but i'm getting anxiety attacks as to who can help me find or make a great material to do!?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SO HOW NOW?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not a writer. I know others have more ground-breaking ideas. I need help.I am what the frensh would call a Visualist. Give me a good material and i will make sure the writer pees in his pants in delight at how it is translated in cinema.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BUT,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm a fine collaborator. I Iisten and i give em my darn best.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm able.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not boxed in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess i can try one more swing. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;THIS recent film was merely my first. It's not THE ONE. I know there are better scrpits. I know i will someday do a film that i could really gloat in pride for (oooops pride is not good) but wadaheck! I just know brilliance will come out of this life!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Will my town like it? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Will they come and see it?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I dunno. I'm lost.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; I'll try.  And with God's strength, ...can do :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13944954-111969285216591664?l=chololaurel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/feeds/111969285216591664/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13944954&amp;postID=111969285216591664&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/111969285216591664'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/111969285216591664'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/2005/06/lost-in-my-own-town-they-just-released.html' title=''/><author><name>chololaurel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15290278624285894983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/SwfFKfoCFgI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/uJX3GTJp1W0/S220/IMG_5768.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13944954.post-112490948421377089</id><published>2004-09-01T11:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-11-17T06:23:52.370-08:00</updated><title type='text'>THE ETHICS OF A GENTLE MAN</title><content type='html'>Ethics of a gentle man&lt;br /&gt;When in a bar and wanting:&lt;br /&gt;- Make sure your predatory mood is not obvious. Once you enter the place, Stand confidently in the middle of the room looking like you don't need to get laid (even if your idle hands are trembling). Make sure you are smiling and acknowledging everyone but DO NOT stare at anyone in particular (even if you see Brad Pitt by the bar!). Stand there long enough to be slightly obtrusive. While there, Scan the room for a place to nestle. Make sure the area you pick has good lighting and ample ventilation otherwise your freshness will wear out fast. Try out several places before you finally settle down. &lt;br /&gt;- Settled in a cozy little corner now? now get a drink. DO NOT START CHECKING PEOPLE OUT YET! Keep your eyes on the bar and Just look at your glass. When you take your first sip, keep your gaze steadily at what you are drinking and THEN discreetly lift your eyes whilst turning around 360 degrees to scan the whole room. You must learn to do this in less than a minute! If the lighting and the crowd is not as bad as BED's, you should be able to spot a potential in one sweep. If not. Be patient. It's either they have not arrived yet or they may be in the toilet checking people out. Occasionally greet a friend or two and be sincere about your greetings. You are more transparent than you think.&lt;br /&gt;- Once you have spotted a potential bait. Relax. If you are with a friend, tell him to take a hike. Order another drink. Relax. Repeat step 2 : eyes on the drink then slowly lift up to check him out. Then, stand there smiling at everyone. SINCERELY! Contrary to popular thinking, Having a grin on your face is not ugly as long as your eyes are not rolling. Be patient. Your radiance will shine through. Work on that sincere energy oozing out of you. Draw it from the heart. Think LOVE. Breathe deeply and think LOOOOOVE. Watch your potential bait carefully. See if he is deserving of your time . Once affirmed, STARE! NOW! AS IN REAALLLY STARE! WITH HAWK EYES...But smile...That's it...Sincerely.&lt;br /&gt;- When he finally feels the electricity you are projecting across the room, he will look back at you. If he looks once, you have his attention, if he looks a second time, he is curious, if he looks a third time what the hell are you still doing standing there! GO FOR THE KILL!(note: If he doesn't look at all...To hell with him! Just go inward again and think...I am beautiful...Repeat it...I am beautiful...ummmmm...ummmmmm). &lt;br /&gt;- A fourth glance back from the target man would be your cue to start basing yourself in his area of the room. Please make sure your right hand is not sweaty in preparation for a decent handshake, and that your lips are not chapped, pop a mint so your first breath is not stale. (Note: Do not Start wetting your lips or brushing your hair in public! If you feel a need for a touch up, discreetly slip into the men's room). &lt;br /&gt;Now, Valuable tip: a good way to make sure you have his attention is to shift to another part of the room. Watch him. If he scans the room to look for you. You have it!&lt;br /&gt;Once you are sure, WALK TOWARDS HIM NA! You can take that grin off your face now, walk slowly, non-chalantly and manly (Note: Internalize a suave disposition. Think Jude Law not Jude Estrada). Once you are half a meter away from him, smile...Sincerely! And try this:&lt;br /&gt;Base 1&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You: Hi, I was wondering,...ummm (seem bashful) Why are you staring at me? (remember to smile) &lt;br /&gt;Guy's Possible responses : &lt;br /&gt;-huh? duh! Like what? Or Ano? Or Nyek! (should the man respond this way turn around and leave the bar immediately).&lt;br /&gt;-Oh my god! Why, I wasn't noh! You ha! Your so presumido (should he be this way, you can stay, but prepare to be patient)&lt;br /&gt;-Oh, I was just noticing that you were alone ( this is a hungry man and he just wants sex. Bite if you wish)&lt;br /&gt;- Oh, pardon me but really,how can anyone not stare at you? (this is your dream man. Keep your composure)&lt;br /&gt;- Oh, your radiance envelopes the chamber which I share with you. I think I love you...(this man may be Jeremy Barns, proceed with a grain of salt)&lt;br /&gt;You: Not that it's an issue. I don't mind actually...I'm ( state your real name) and you are?&lt;br /&gt;Guy : I'm (name)&lt;br /&gt;You : Can I get you a drink? ( If he agrees, call the waiter and speak in a very humble manner. Do not start speaking like Joan Collins) Boss, may I have a gin tonic for (his name) over here...Salamat boss. &lt;br /&gt;Base 2&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Engage in niceties with him. Ask him questions and please sincerely listen to his answers. Look into his eyes and stop checking other guys out. Listen. Ask some more. Listen.&lt;br /&gt;- Do not say much about yourself except your name, profession, and make sure he knows your alone (even if your not). Talk about funny things. Don't get too deep.&lt;br /&gt;-Please do not indiscreetly slip your sweaty palms into his jeans in public, you don't know whets been in there lately and two, it is extremely distasteful!&lt;br /&gt;- Do not attempt to kiss him! What you can do is while you are listening to him, draw your face very close to his so that you are cheek to cheek and your lips are brushing against his left ear when you respond. In this position, you can actually seem innocently listening to him but you can also steal a quick and discreet tender peck on the cheek when the time is right. A tender peck on the cheek is never offensive.&lt;br /&gt;- After a few drinks. Start to look irritated at the crowd. Try to get his opinion and talk about it. Then go for the next base.&lt;br /&gt;Base 3&gt; &lt;br /&gt;you: This place is wearing me out. Would you like to chill out somewhere else? &lt;br /&gt;Possible repartee (assuming he's the guy of your dreams)&lt;br /&gt;Guy: Sure. Where do you want to go?&lt;br /&gt;You: wherever you will be comfy.&lt;br /&gt;or &lt;br /&gt;guy: Oh, I actually came with some friends but I'd like to get your number and we could continue this some time (this guy deserves a chance. Don't feel rejected)&lt;br /&gt;you: great. Heresy my number.&lt;br /&gt;or &lt;br /&gt;guy: My place or yours? (be careful, this guy may turn out to be needy)&lt;br /&gt;you: another bar perhaps?&lt;br /&gt;Once your out of the smoke and loud music. Take a walk with him. Be quiet for a while. Be contemplative and think " do I want to have sex? Or a relationship?&lt;br /&gt;If you feel he is for sex, say:&lt;br /&gt;You: You know what, lets go to my place.&lt;br /&gt;If you feel he is a potential partner:&lt;br /&gt;You: You know what, I have a strange urge to see where this first night is going to bring us in the bigger scheme of things. Let's take a long walk in the bay? Have coffee? Watch people pass until the sun rises?..Then maybe meet up again tomorrow? For dinner?...Lets not hurry, we have a lifetime.&lt;br /&gt;Then discreetly watch him blush and eat out of your hands :)&lt;br /&gt;More tips to come :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13944954-112490948421377089?l=chololaurel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/feeds/112490948421377089/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13944954&amp;postID=112490948421377089&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/112490948421377089'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13944954/posts/default/112490948421377089'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chololaurel.blogspot.com/2004/09/ethics-of-gentle-man.html' title='THE ETHICS OF A GENTLE MAN'/><author><name>chololaurel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15290278624285894983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZFTHCZS5gcc/SwfFKfoCFgI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/uJX3GTJp1W0/S220/IMG_5768.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
