To hating tension, no pension

Okay, just got home from a cross-metropolis trip (with "Total Eclipse of the Heart" on the radio as I rode on a bus, the wind sending my hair every which way, mostly sa mukha ng katabi kong mama), so bear with me. Anyhoo, here's today's edition of brainfart, from yours truly:

1 - Here's to Pancho, who celebrated his fourth year of painting full-time last Monday, to the tune of Frank Sinatra sa Que Rico. Yeahboi, here's to you, here's to art, to Dreamcatcher #42, to killing Venus, to paper-taping, to painting by numbers, to the artist's manual, to bling-bling, to earth tones, '"to days of inspiration, playing hooky, making something out of nothing, the need to express, to communicate, to going against the grain, going insane, going maaad!" Ahem. (Sorry, Rent soundtrack on loop.) Anyhoo, La Vie Boheme and all that jazz. Good job, bub. Beep, beep. :')

2 - Here's to Robert Downey Jr. and his tight butt. Wee, what a doozy. Yep, finally got to watch Iron Man, and that Tony Stark over there made away with my panties when they fell to the floor two minutes into the movie -- an inevitable reaction to Bobby Downey, who completely changed the course of my life when I was ten or so, when he sang Sting's "Every Breath You Take" sa Ally McBeal, as in, gahdamnit, rarrr.) So, while I fan myself: here's to older men, buwahahaha.

3 - It's nice to be back in the city. I am deliriously happy.

4 - "When young we think there will come one person who will savor and sustain us always; when we are older we know this is the dream of a child, that all hearts finally are bruised and scarred, scored and torn, repaired by time and will, patched by force of character, yet fragile and rickety forevermore, no matter how ferocious the defense and how many bricks you bring to the wall. You can brick up your heart as stout and tight and hard and cold and impregnable as you possible can and down it comes in an instant, felled by a woman's second glance, a child's apple breath, the shatter of glass in the road, the words, 'I have something to tell you,' a cat with a broken spine dragging itself into the forest to die, the brush of your mother's papery ancient hand in the thicket of your hair, the memory of your father's voice early in the morning echoing from the kitchen where he is making pancakes for his children."
- from Joyas Voladoras by Brian Doyle.

Enjoy the rest of your summer, kids. :')