Liv in a Life Well-Lived

Presenting the return of the Geek. It's been a while. I wish I could've made a comeback sounding like a changed person; I was imagining critiquing a movie so awe-inspiring I just had to write a review about it. Ironically, it's the other way around. Somebody needs to warn the masses about this film. Do not waste 200 bucks on it. In the end, the only person who gets Sucker Punched is you. I admit, I excite easily. Books, food... and movies. Watching trailers is like foreplay to me. When I saw the trailer for Sucker Punch, it was so mind-blowingly anime-zing that I even alloted a brain cell to remember its showdate. I wasn't expecting an intellectual film, of course. It was obvious to me even then that the movie is akin to an adolescent phantasmagoria. But I wasn't expecting a plotless, spineless film that pretends at empowering girls while encapsulating them further into the stereotype. If I take my lenses off --- all of the lenses at that --- I did feel a certain t

The writing prompt was: to take elements from the story of sleeping beauty and to write it under half an hour. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- The first time Liz heard David snore, she laughed. She worked late that night and he offered to drive her home after dinner. By the time they got to her place, it was already past midnight and David looked like he was about to drop. Liz felt guilty, and asked if he would like to take a nap first before heading back to the city. David was too exhausted to refuse. In a matter of minutes, he was dead to the world on Liz’s bed. Then he snored. Loudly. Liz found it adorable at first. But just then, a bitter, ugly voice spoke inside her head asking, “For how long?” How long until what she finds adorable now becomes irritating later? The thought was punctuated by another deafening snore. Without meaning to, she winced. She sat on the chair beside the bed and watched him sleep. “How un-perfect,” she thought. “Here I am, with a guy on my bed, fast as

Lately, I have been hinting heavily at my boyfriend that I would “appreciate” receiving a love letter. He’s been spot-on so far --- big boxes of chocolates, scouring shops and shelling out the bucks for my “craving of the month” munchies, flowers in vases and fluffy stuff to clutter my bed with. Everything except the Letter. See, some girls dream of breathtakingly expensive proposals, some of big fabulous weddings, and some fantasize of babies in a twin carriage. But ever since I was young, I only had one romantic notion and that is to receive one heck of a searingly honest, non-sappy, ultra-passionate love letter. The kind of letter that bares the soul and seals in ink the reasons and unreasons of Love --- so real it makes all other literature pale in comparison. I guess on the off-hand, it sounds like a tall order. I can imagine litgeeks balking at this request. And my guy, who like my sister believes that reading and writing are things you suffer through only for a perfectly iron-cl