On the 8 Spot

To say that TRANSFORMERS: DARK OF THE MOON is a better film than REVENGE OF THE FALLEN isn’t really opinion; it’s simple arithmetic.  The second TRANSFORMERS film showcased everything wrong with Bay as a director.  And while DARK OF THE MOON suffers from many of the same problems –  Michael Bay enjoys his racial stereotypes a bit too much, and his sense of humor begins at pratfalls and ends at THREE’S COMPANY-like sexual innuendo and misdirection – when it comes to shooting action, Bay has improved as a director, something I would have never thought possible over the last film.  The camerawork is almost languid in comparison to FALLEN, and while Bay will never be mistaken for Stanley Kubrick or David Lean, the action has a visceral punch and jawdropping sense of scale.  I still couldn’t relate to any of the characters, but Bay really tried hard this time, darn it, and you have to admire that he put so much effort into it.  Shia LaBeouf plays Sam with all the earnestness he can muster, and I really can’t fault his performance at this point.  All the actors can do is look and react to the insane action going on for the most part, and even actors like Malkovich, John Turturro, and Frances McDormand can be made to look ridiculous in Bay’s 3D lens.  This ain’t a Coen Brothers film, by a long shot.

But, but, but… Jesus Christ, that last hour.  That last hour of TRANSFORMERS: DARK OF THE MOON, as Chicago gets the asskicking of the millennium, is action filmmaking at its goddamn finest.  That hour is what rises DARK OF THE MOON into serious greatness.  It’s what Bay does best, and with the nature of 3D forcing Bay to slow down his shots and edits, the special effects, the explosions, the insane – INSANE – setpieces, the climax – maybe it’s true that Bay has no interest in character development, or the subtle nuances of actor performance, but man, can this guy blow things up very, very well.  And it’s through the sheer bravura of the action that we begin to feel for the characters.  It’s not about the performances of the actors, or the plot – it’s that the sheer scale of what’s happening onscreen forces the audience to think, “I really hope that Shia LaBeouf doesn’t get hit by flying shrapnel.”

via Ain’t It Cool News: The best in movie, TV, DVD, and comic book news..

Must watch in 3D!!

Agree Vince, as I’ve been saying  The Church Groups (ALL) can keep “marriage” the word as long as there is a parallel union legal construct that for all legal purposes is a marriage without the religious side. Yes to same sex union

Funny thing is, I don’t even benefit from the passage of a law that allows LBGTs to marry. But, I also wouldn’t be inconvenienced by the passage of such a law, so really, why not let these people marry? It doesn’t harm you, it doesn’t harm me, and it would mean the world for LBGT couples who’re probably more committed to one another than many heterosexual marriages elsewhere.

via Irritable Writing On Same-Sex Marriage | Pinoy Everyman.

Note to self:

I’m a few irritations away from updating my resume. Probably just post migraine irritation.

People management is definitely a real skill, it involves having a good internal feedback mechanism.

Most companies suck at managing people, this is why most companies suck!

My Life as an Undocumented Immigrant

By JOSE ANTONIO VARGAS

One day when I was 16, I rode my bike to the nearby D.M.V. office to get my driver’s permit. Some of my friends already had their licenses, so I figured it was time. But when I handed the clerk my green card as proof of U.S. residency, she flipped it around, examining it. “This is fake,” she whispered. “Don’t come back here again.”

Confused and scared, I pedaled home and confronted Lolo. I remember him sitting in the garage, cutting coupons. I dropped my bike and ran over to him, showing him the green card. “Peke ba ito?” I asked in Tagalog. (“Is this fake?”) My grandparents were naturalized American citizens – he worked as a security guard, she as a food server – and they had begun supporting my mother and me financially when I was 3, after my father’s wandering eye and inability to properly provide for us led to my parents’ separation. Lolo was a proud man, and I saw the shame on his face as he told me he purchased the card, along with other fake documents, for me. “Don’t show it to other people,” he warned.

I decided then that I could never give anyone reason to doubt I was an American. I convinced myself that if I worked enough, if I achieved enough, I would be rewarded with citizenship. I felt I could earn it.

I’ve tried. Over the past 14 years, I’ve graduated from high school and college and built a career as a journalist, interviewing some of the most famous people in the country. On the surface, I’ve created a good life. I’ve lived the American dream.

But I am still an undocumented immigrant. And that means living a different kind of reality. It means going about my day in fear of being found out. It means rarely trusting people, even those closest to me, with who I really am. It means keeping my family photos in a shoebox rather than displaying them on shelves in my home, so friends don’t ask about them. It means reluctantly, even painfully, doing things I know are wrong and unlawful. And it has meant relying on a sort of 21st-century underground railroad of supporters, people who took an interest in my future and took risks for me.

Last year I read about four students who walked from Miami to Washington to lobby for the Dream Act, a nearly decade-old immigration bill that would provide a path to legal permanent residency for young people who have been educated in this country. At the risk of deportation – the Obama administration has deported almost 800,000 people in the last two years – they are speaking out. Their courage has inspired me.

I decided then that I could never give anyone reason to doubt I was an American. I convinced myself that if I worked enough, if I achieved enough, I would be rewarded with citizenship. I felt I could earn it.

I’ve tried. Over the past 14 years, I’ve graduated from high school and college and built a career as a journalist, interviewing some of the most famous people in the country. On the surface, I’ve created a good life. I’ve lived the American dream.

But I am still an undocumented immigrant. And that means living a different kind of reality. It means going about my day in fear of being found out. It means rarely trusting people, even those closest to me, with who I really am. It means keeping my family photos in a shoebox rather than displaying them on shelves in my home, so friends don’t ask about them. It means reluctantly, even painfully, doing things I know are wrong and unlawful. And it has meant relying on a sort of 21st-century underground railroad of supporters, people who took an interest in my future and took risks for me.

via My Life as an Undocumented Immigrant – NYTimes.com.

Dear Mr. Angulo:

The following are Bankard’s payment centers with their corresponding days of payment posting/clearing:

1. RCBC Commercial banks (all branches) =>the following day

2. RCBC Savings Bank (all branches) =>the following day

3. Bayad Centers (selected branches) =>after 2 days

4. Banco De Oro (over-the-counter) =>after 2 days

5. SM Bills payment center  =>after 2 days

6. All Bancnet ATM  (online payment) =>after 2 days

7. Robinson’s Bayad Center (Galleria) =>the following day

Ang galing para siyang pangloob na diyalogo ng dalawang pangunahing mga bayani ng Philippine Revolution.

Si Jose Rizal yung unang bersikulo tapos si Andres Bonifacio ang pangalawang bersikulo.

ang pamatay yung koro, pinapaisip sa atin papaano kaya kung mayroong pagdududa sa isip ng ating mga bayani.

Napaka bulok kong magtagalog. hehehe.