| iPhone 3G, $199 (8gig) |
[ | | 06.10.08 at 11:35am] |
In case you don't know yet:
http://www.engadget.com/2008/06/09/iphone-3g-is-finally-official/
Once again, the "DONT BUY FIRST EDITIONS OF APPLE PRODUCTS" rule has come into effect. It's faster, better, more stylish, and cheaper. Crazy.
Here's the text:
It's been a long, leak-filled wait, but Apple finally took the wraps off its 3G iPhone. Thinner edges, full plastic back, flush headphone jack, and the iPhone 2.0 firmware -- Apple's taking a lot of the criticisms to heart from the first time around. Obviously 3G is at the forefront, but they're also making sure it's available all over internationally, works with enterprises, runs 3rd party apps... and does it all for cheaper. Apple claims its 3G speeds trounce the competition, with pageloads 36% faster than the N95 and Treo 750 -- and of course it completely trounces the old EDGE data speeds.
Battery life isn't getting put out to pasture though, with 300 hours of standby, 8-10 hours of 2G talk, 5 hours of 3G talk, 7 hours of video and 24 hours of audio. GPS is also a go. Apple is using A-GPS, which supplements regular satellite GPS data with info from cellular towers for faster location. (WiFi data is also worked into the mix, which should give users a pretty solid lock on where the heck they are on this planet.) Unfortunately, as expected there's no front-facing cam, and while its edges are thinner than before it's still about a millimeter thicker at the center (12.3mm over 11.6mm before). Apple hopes to launch in 70 countries this year, with the black 8GB going for $199 and 16GB for $299 in black or white. (Both price points require a contract, of course.) Apple will be hitting the 22 biggest markets, including the US, on July 11th. More info after the break.
***Philippines is on the list for release "later this year."
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|
| The Laurel and Hardy Love Affair |
[ | | 05.25.08 at 1:46pm] |
|
He called her Stanley, she called him Ollie.
She was 25, he was 32 when they met at one of those cocktail parties where everyone wonders what they are doing there. But no one goes home, so everyone drinks too much and lies about how grand it all was.
They were, in fact, ricocheting through a forest of people, but finding no shade trees. Their paths locked in the exact center of the fruitless mob. They dodged left and right a few times, then laughed and he, on impulse, seized his tie and twiddled it at her. Instantly, smiling, she lifted her hand to pull the top of her hair into a frowsy tassel, blinking and looking as if she had been struck on the head.
"Stan!" he cried, in recognition.
"Ollie!" she exclaimed. "Where have you been?"
"Why don't you do something to help me?" he exclaimed, making wide, fat gestures.
They grabbed each other's arms, laughing.
"I..." she said, and her face brightened even more. "I know the exact place not two miles from here, where Laurel and Hardy, in 1932, carried that piano crate up and down 131 steps."
"Well," he cried, "let's get out of here!"
His car door slammed, his car engine roared. Los Angeles raced by in late-afternoon sunlight.
He braked where she told him to park. "I can't believe it," he murmured. "Are those the steps?"
"All 131 of them." She climbed out of the car. "Come on, Ollie."
"Very well, Stan," he said.
They gazed up along the steep incline of concrete steps. Her voice was wonderfully quiet. "Go on up," she said. "Go on. Go."
He started up the steps, counting, and with each half-whispered count, his voice took on an extra decibel of joy. By the time he reached 57 he was lost in time.
"Hold it!" he heard her call, far away, "right there!"
He held still and turned. She had a camera in her hands. When he saw it, his right hand flew instinctively to his tie to flutter it on the evening air.
"Now, me!" she shouted, and raced up to hand him the camera. And he marched down and looked up and there she was, doing the thin shrug and the puzzled and hopeless face of Stan. He clicked the shutter, wanting to stay there forever.
She came slowly down the steps and peered into his face.
"Why," she said, "you're crying."
He looked at her eyes which were almost as wet as his. "Another fine mess you'ye got us in," he said.
"Oh, Ollie," she said.
"Oh, Stan," he said.
He kissed her, gently.
And then he said: "Are we going to know each other forever?"
"Forever," she said. From that twilight hour on the piano stairs their days were long, and full of that amazing laughter that paces the beginning and run-along rush of any great love affair. They only stopped laughing long enough to kiss and only stopped kissing long enough to laugh.
They went to see new films and old films, but mainly Stan and Ollie. They memorized all the best scenes and shouted them back and forth as they drove around midnight Los Angeles. She let her soul flow over into him like a tipped fountain, and he received it and gave it back and was glad.
And during that year they went up and down those long piano steps at least once a month and had champagne picnics halfway up, and discovered an incredible thing.
"I think it's our mouths," he said. "Until I met you, I never knew I had a mouth. Yours is the most amazing in the world, and it makes me feel as if mine were amazing, too. Were you ever really kissed before I kissed you?"
"Never!"
"Nor was I. To have lived this long and not known mouths."
"Dear mouth," she said, "shut up and kiss."
But then at the end of the first year they discovered an even more incredible thing. He worked at an advertising agency and was nailed in one place. She was employed at a travel agency and would soon be working abroad. Both were astonished they had never considered this before. They sat and looked at each other one night and she said, faintly, "Good-by."
"What?" he asked.
"I can see Good-by coming."
He looked at her face and it was not sad like Stan in the films, but just sad like herself.
"Stan," he said, "you'll never leave me."
But it was a question, not a declaration, and suddenly she moved, and he blinked at her and said, "What are you doing there?"
"Nut," she said, "I'm kneeling and asking you for your hand. Marry me, Ollie. Come away with me to France. I'll support you while you write the great American novel."
"But..." he said.
"You've got your portable typewriter, a ream of paper, and me. Say it, Ollie, will you come?"
"And watch us go to hell in a year and bury us forever?"
"Are you that afraid, Ollie? Don't you believe in me or you or anything? God, why are men such cowards?
"Listen. This is my one and only offer, Ollie. I've never proposed before, I won't ever propose again, it's hard on my knees. Well?"
"Have we had this conversation before?" he said.
"A dozen times in the last year, but you never listened, you were hopeless."
"No, in love and helpless."
"You've got one minute to make up your mind. Sixty seconds." She was staring at her wristwatch.
"Get up off the floor," he said, embarrassed.
"If I do, it's out the door and gone," she said.
"Stan," he groaned.
"Thirty," she read her watch.
"Twenty. I've got one knee off the floor. Ten. I'm beginning to get the other knee up. Five. One."
And she was on her feet.
"Now," she said, "I'm heading for the door. We are very special, wondrous people, Ollie, and I don't think our like will ever come again in the world. But I must go. And now," she reached out. "My hand is on the door and..."
"And," he said, quietly.
"I'm crying," she said.
He started to get up but she shook her head.
"No, don't. If you touch me I'll cave in. I'm going. But once a year I'll show up at our flight of steps, no piano, same hour, same time as that night when we first went there, and if you're there to meet me I'll kidnap you, or you me."
"Stan," he said.
"My God," she mourned.
"What?"
"This door is heavy. I can't move it." She wept. "There. It's moving. There." She wept more. "I'm gone."
The door shut. He went back to the steps on October 4th every year for three years, but she wasn't there. And then he forgot for two years, but in the sixth year he remembered and went back in the late sunlight and walked up the stairs because he saw something halfway up, and it was a bottle of good champagne with a ribbon and a note on it, delivered by someone, and the note read: "Ollie, dear Ollie. Date remembered. But in Paris. Mouth's not the same, but happily married. Love. Stan."
And after that, he simply did not go to visit the stairs. Traveling through France 15 years later, he was walking on the Champs Elysées at twilight one afternoon with his wife and two daughters, when he saw this handsome woman coming the other way, escorted by a very sober-looking older man and a very handsome, dark-haired boy of 12.
As they passed, the same smile lit both their faces in the same instant.
He twiddled his necktie at her.
She tousled her hair at him.
They did not stop. But he heard her call back, "Another fine mess you've got us in!" And then she added the old, the familiar name by which he had gone in the years of their love.
His daughters and wife looked at him and one daughter said, "Did that lady call you Ollie?"
"What lady?" he said.
"Dad," said the other daughter, leaning in to peer at his face. "You're crying."
"No."
"Yes, you are. Isn't he, Mom?"
"Your papa," said his wife, "as you well know, cries over telephone books."
"No," he said. "just 131 steps and a piano. Remind me to show you girls, someday."
They walked on and he turned and looked back. The woman turned at that very moment. Maybe he saw her mouth pantomime the words, So long, Ollie. Maybe he didn't. He felt his own mouth move, in silence: So long, Stan.
And they walked in opposite directions along the Champs Elysées in the late light of an October sun.
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| Haruki Murakami: On seeing the 100% perfect girl one beautiful April morning |
[ | | 05.25.08 at 9:28am] |
|
| One beautiful April morning, on a narrow side street in Tokyo's fashionable Harujuku neighborhood, I walked past the 100% perfect girl. Tell you the truth, she's not that good-looking. She doesn't stand out in any way. Her clothes are nothing special. The back of her hair is still bent out of shape from sleep. She isn't young, either - must be near thirty, not even close to a "girl," properly speaking. But still, I know from fifty yards away: She's the 100% perfect girl for me. The moment I see her, there's a rumbling in my chest, and my mouth is as dry as a desert. Maybe you have your own particular favorite type of girl - one with slim ankles, say, or big eyes, or graceful fingers, or you're drawn for no good reason to girls who take their time with every meal. I have my own preferences, of course. Sometimes in a restaurant I'll catch myself staring at the girl at the next table to mine because I like the shape of her nose. But no one can insist that his 100% perfect girl correspond to some preconceived type. Much as I like noses, I can't recall the shape of hers - or even if she had one. All I can remember for sure is that she was no great beauty. It's weird. "Yesterday on the street I passed the 100% girl," I tell someone. "Yeah?" he says. "Good-looking?" "Not really." "Your favorite type, then?" "I don't know. I can't seem to remember anything about her - the shape of her eyes or the size of her breasts." "Strange." "Yeah. Strange." "So anyhow," he says, already bored, "what did you do? Talk to her? Follow her?" "Nah. Just passed her on the street." She's walking east to west, and I west to east. It's a really nice April morning. Wish I could talk to her. Half an hour would be plenty: just ask her about herself, tell her about myself, and - what I'd really like to do - explain to her the complexities of fate that have led to our passing each other on a side street in Harajuku on a beautiful April morning in 1981. This was something sure to be crammed full of warm secrets, like an antique clock build when peace filled the world. After talking, we'd have lunch somewhere, maybe see a Woody Allen movie, stop by a hotel bar for cocktails. With any kind of luck, we might end up in bed. Potentiality knocks on the door of my heart. Now the distance between us has narrowed to fifteen yards. How can I approach her? What should I say? "Good morning, miss. Do you think you could spare half an hour for a little conversation?" Ridiculous. I'd sound like an insurance salesman. "Pardon me, but would you happen to know if there is an all-night cleaners in the neighborhood?" No, this is just as ridiculous. I'm not carrying any laundry, for one thing. Who's going to buy a line like that? Maybe the simple truth would do. "Good morning. You are the 100% perfect girl for me." No, she wouldn't believe it. Or even if she did, she might not want to talk to me. Sorry, she could say, I might be the 100% perfect girl for you, but you're not the 100% boy for me. It could happen. And if I found myself in that situation, I'd probably go to pieces. I'd never recover from the shock. I'm thirty-two, and that's what growing older is all about. We pass in front of a flower shop. A small, warm air mass touches my skin. The asphalt is damp, and I catch the scent of roses. I can't bring myself to speak to her. She wears a white sweater, and in her right hand she holds a crisp white envelope lacking only a stamp. So: She's written somebody a letter, maybe spent the whole night writing, to judge from the sleepy look in her eyes. The envelope could contain every secret she's ever had. I take a few more strides and turn: She's lost in the crowd.
Now, of course, I know exactly what I should have said to her. It would have been a long speech, though, far too long for me to have delivered it properly. The ideas I come up with are never very practical. Oh, well. It would have started "Once upon a time" and ended "A sad story, don't you think?"
Once upon a time, there lived a boy and a girl. The boy was eighteen and the girl sixteen. He was not unusually handsome, and she was not especially beautiful. They were just an ordinary lonely boy and an ordinary lonely girl, like all the others. But they believed with their whole hearts that somewhere in the world there lived the 100% perfect boy and the 100% perfect girl for them. Yes, they believed in a miracle. And that miracle actually happened. One day the two came upon each other on the corner of a street. "This is amazing," he said. "I've been looking for you all my life. You may not believe this, but you're the 100% perfect girl for me." "And you," she said to him, "are the 100% perfect boy for me, exactly as I'd pictured you in every detail. It's like a dream." They sat on a park bench, held hands, and told each other their stories hour after hour. They were not lonely anymore. They had found and been found by their 100% perfect other. What a wonderful thing it is to find and be found by your 100% perfect other. It's a miracle, a cosmic miracle. As they sat and talked, however, a tiny, tiny sliver of doubt took root in their hearts: Was it really all right for one's dreams to come true so easily? And so, when there came a momentary lull in their conversation, the boy said to the girl, "Let's test ourselves - just once. If we really are each other's 100% perfect lovers, then sometime, somewhere, we will meet again without fail. And when that happens, and we know that we are the 100% perfect ones, we'll marry then and there. What do you think?" "Yes," she said, "that is exactly what we should do." And so they parted, she to the east, and he to the west. The test they had agreed upon, however, was utterly unnecessary. They should never have undertaken it, because they really and truly were each other's 100% perfect lovers, and it was a miracle that they had ever met. But it was impossible for them to know this, young as they were. The cold, indifferent waves of fate proceeded to toss them unmercifully. One winter, both the boy and the girl came down with the season's terrible inluenza, and after drifting for weeks between life and death they lost all memory of their earlier years. When they awoke, their heads were as empty as the young D. H. Lawrence's piggy bank. They were two bright, determined young people, however, and through their unremitting efforts they were able to acquire once again the knowledge and feeling that qualified them to return as full-fledged members of society. Heaven be praised, they became truly upstanding citizens who knew how to transfer from one subway line to another, who were fully capable of sending a special-delivery letter at the post office. Indeed, they even experienced love again, sometimes as much as 75% or even 85% love. Time passed with shocking swiftness, and soon the boy was thirty-two, the girl thirty. One beautiful April morning, in search of a cup of coffee to start the day, the boy was walking from west to east, while the girl, intending to send a special-delivery letter, was walking from east to west, but along the same narrow street in the Harajuku neighborhood of Tokyo. They passed each other in the very center of the street. The faintest gleam of their lost memories glimmered for the briefest moment in their hearts. Each felt a rumbling in their chest. And they knew: She is the 100% perfect girl for me. He is the 100% perfect boy for me. But the glow of their memories was far too weak, and their thoughts no longer had the clarity of fouteen years earlier. Without a word, they passed each other, disappearing into the crowd. Forever. A sad story, don't you think?
Yes, that's it, that is what I should have said to her. |
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| MAPSA |
[ | | 04.24.08 at 9:07am] |
MAPSA pulls me over, seems like I've entered a one-way road somewhere in Makati.
MAPSA: Sir, one-way ho ito, may malaking sign doon o.
Lars: Sorry sir di ko nakita.
M: Lisensiya po.
Lars: Eto.
M: So sir.. paano to.. alam niyo ba magkano penalty?
Lars: Hinde eh, magkano ba?
M: 2,000 pesos sir.
Lars: Ah ganun ba.. mahal pala..
M: Oo sir, may porsiyento kami dyan eh.. 10% sa amin napupunta..
Lars: So 200 sa inyo?
M: Ay.. teka.. 15 pala.. este 25%. Tama. 25%. 500 pesos.
Lars: Sige ticketan mo na ako.
M: Sure kayo sir? Teka tawagin ko kasama ko.
MAPSA goes behind the vehicle, talks to his comrade who comes over.
M: Sir, paano na gagawin natin dito?
Lars: Ganito na lang. Ticketan mo ako. Tapos kunin ko pangalan niyong dalawa.
M: ...sir? Baket po? May problema po ba? Bakit niyo kukunin pangalan namin?
Lars: Wala lang. Para patas tayo. Kunin niyo license ko, kunin ko pangalan niyo.
M: Teka lang sir ah, kausapin ko lang kasama ko...
After 2 mins.
M: Sir, sorry sir.. next time po tingin po kayo sa mga karatula ah.. warning na lang po..
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| The Day the Saucers Came |
[ | | 01.27.08 at 12:33am] |
by Neil Gaiman
That day, the saucers landed. Hundreds of them, golden,
Silent, coming down from the sky like great snowflakes,
And the people of Earth stood and stared as they descended,
Waiting, dry-mouthed to find what waited inside for us
And none of us knowing if we would be here tomorrow
But you didn't notice it because
That day, the day the saucers came, by some coincidence,
Was the day that the graves gave up their dead
And the zombies pushed up through soft earth
or erupted, shambling and dull-eyed, unstoppable,
Came towards us, the living, and we screamed and ran,
But you did not notice this because
On the saucer day, which was the zombie day, it was
Ragnarok also, and the television screens showed us
A ship built of dead-man's nails, a serpent, a wolf,
All bigger than the mind could hold, and the cameraman could
Not get far enough away, and then the Gods came out
But you did not see them coming because
On the saucer-zombie-battling gods day the floodgates broke
And each of us was engulfed by genies and sprites
Offering us wishes and wonders and eternities
And charm and cleverness and true brave hearts and pots of gold
While giants feefofummed across the land, and killer bees,
But you had no idea of any of this because
That day, the saucer day the zombie day
The Ragnarok and fairies day, the day the great winds came
And snows, and the cities turned to crystal, the day
All plants died, plastics dissolved, the day the
Computers turned, the screens telling us we would obey, the day
Angels, drunk and muddled, stumbled from the bars,
And all the bells of London were sounded, the day
Animals spoke to us in Assyrian, the Yeti day,
The fluttering capes and arrival of the Time Machine day,
You didn't notice any of this because
you were sitting in your room, not doing anything
not even reading, not really, just
looking at your telephone,
wondering if I was going to call.
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| Tired |
[ | | 10.30.07 at 3:29am] |
After spending most of friday, sunday, and monday doing this self-assessment thing, i'm finally done with it. Hopefully this gets me a promotion and a fatter paycheck so I can feed my hobbies.
***
Jen just arrived in China (she texted me a while back) and yep, terribly missing her already. Kinda bummed out that I wasn't able to join them on the trip. Hopefully, the HK trip pushes through. Bret, Raffy, anyone, lets go to HK? Please?
I had specific instructions for Jen to have a good stay in China.
1. When ladies put their arms up, pretend you don't see the armpit hair.
2. Pretend they dont stink.
3. Always use the tripod when using the 70-300 in low-light conditions.
4. Bring the tripod. Oh well, too late for that haha @_@
5. Bring me back some DVDs. Although I have not specified which titles to purchase.
***
I don't remember much of it, but yeah, we performed a couple of (6) songs during Meralco's Octoberfest celebration. We were bummed out at first because we were the LAST band to perform, but well, we went through with it anyway.
Sugar we're going down, Letters to you, Make damn sure, Lakambini bottom, Leaving on a jetplane, and 2 become one.
***
Just bought a Lowepro Nova 2 bag. Don't wanna say how much it is because I'm pretty sure someone will comment "OH YOU SHOULDVE BOUGHT IT HERE IT COSTS $$$$ CHEAPER!"
I think the dreaded consumer regret has already set in. Dammit. Why was JT Photoworld closed today.. WHY?! WHY?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!
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| Much ado about nothing |
[ | | 10.13.07 at 1:43am] |
So we bought another lens. This time, a zoom one, 70-300mm F4-5.6 III USM to be exact. The pics here are shrunken, go to my multiply site (omg i have one now i know gosh) here: larsychan.multiply.com to view bigger versions.
Damage done was 6.5k. Pretty solid considering this lens costs about 9.5k brand new (i bought the lens pre-owned for 2 months). Add the fact that the deal included a lens hood (1k) and a Hoya UV filter (around 1k) and you've got a pretty damn good bargain. Got it (pre-owned, lemme repeat) from a guy from pinoyphotography.org, a forum site for digital photographers. They have tons of other stuff for sale.
We met at starbucks metrowalk (thank goodness he works in ortigas as well), chatted a bit about photography, took a few test shots, and left home with 50 bucks left in my wallet. Oh, and the lens still had 10 months worth of canon phils warranty. That just adds to it.
Its pretty huge. And yes, phallic.
I think we've got all the ranges covered with our 3 lenses. We're not planning to buy any more. For the time being, at least.
*****
Finally getting the hang of using the fisheye (see: multiply for pics) camera. First crack at it a couple of months ago left us a bit disappointed and heartbroken. Out of the 24-exposure film, only 4 made it---barely. Now we know that using 100ISO film with no flash usually results in a pretty perfect all-black cloud of a picture.
Cross processing. New term for me (thanks Raffy for explaining what that is). Checked out some slide film for sale. 360+ pesos for 36 shots. Pretty outrageous. But yeah, expired is the way to go I guess. We're off to Hidalgo in a few hours (its sat already zzz) to hunt for expired E6 film for crossprocessing. If we fail, we'll hunt for them in multiply stores found all around by the so-called lomopushers or lomosellers or whatever they call it these days (heard it was uso in admu). Hopefully we get some in time for Jen's China trip.
****
Auditions for Meralco Octoberfest 2007 went pretty well. So well in fact, that the lead guitarist has decided to post the video on youTube when he gets back from Thailand (ingats).
We performed: Sugar were goin down, Letters to you, and (believe it or not) 2 become 1. Yes the spice girls song, mixed with some black sabbath and led zep solos and riffs (thank you paul gilbert).
***
Watched Stardust with Jen today. Or yesterday, actually. It was quite a film. Some parts were draggy though, and could have been cut. Otherwise, the film was/is/whatever an excellent rendition of Neil Gaiman's novel/illustrated novel/whatever. Even though every woman I know practically hates Claire Dane's guts, I still think she did justice to the role. Good job De Niro for a bright performance. Kudos to Pfeiffer for a splendid portrayal.
Gonna get this on Pirated® DVD (buy pirated shit, just not the ones done by local artists!). Along with Balls of Fury.
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|
[ | | 10.08.07 at 11:40pm] |
Haiku's can be fun
But sometimes it has no sense
Refrigerator
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| stuff |
[ | | 09.16.07 at 12:11am] |
bought this:
recently. its perfect for indoor portraits. background blurs like crazy, so the subject really pops out. plus, i can turn the fuzzy lights in the background into hearts. havent tried that yet, but will do, in the near future.
***
recently saw The Excorcist with jen. what a fucked up film. Not scary, but hella fucked up.
***
oh, and if you havent read this via mail, lemme post it here.
from an email:
This year's theme is Magia, which in Italian means "magic". Our time's youth has been graced with the power to make their fantasies come alive. We have witnessed the magical unfolding of such powerful stories as Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter, and Star Wars, on the silver screen, and A Midsummer Night's Dream, among many others. Indeed, with our imagination we are taken to worlds we never thought we could go to, we encounter creatures more enchanting than we could have thought. (From the Aegis 2006 Seniors Manual)
Oh please.
The lack of creativity is forgivable, but incompetence is not. Each person paid PHP2,140 for the yearbook. Multiply that by 1,700 students and you have around PHP3.4 million that might go to waste.
We don't expect the yearbook to be finished anytime soon. After all, it's a big project. It's okay to wait as long as we know that people are working on it.
However, the whole thing was abandoned by the people who are supposed to be accountable for it. Last time I heard, the requirement envelopes are just gathering dust at Xavier Hall.
These are the people who had the nerve to charge PHP200 each day for the late submission of requirements "for operations to run smoothly and to minimize the possibility of making mistakes in [sic] our yearbook, or worse, not being able to get them out in time". The logical thing to do to prevent production delays was to not accept late submissions at all.
These are the people who chose an off-campus site for the pictorials. No available venues inside the campus? Nah, you just didn't reserve early.
These are the people who should be giving us proper and timely updates on the progress – or in this case, non-progress – of the yearbook production. They should be held accountable for this.
However, I doubt that they will finish the yearbook anymore. Some groups are interested in taking over the project, but a proper turnover must be done first. That won't be possible until we know what's really going on with the project right now.
Here's the hit list:
Team Aegis 2006
Editor-in-Chief: Shai Lagarde
Yearbook Director: Inca Diaz
Administrative Director: Rachel Logarta
Creative Director: Mikkel Bolante
Strategic Director: Ann Enriquez
Strategic Associate: Alexia Yatco
Finance Director: Jacky Chua
Finance Associate: Jan Bunag
Human Resources Director: Drei Omega
Human Resources Associate: Germain Alilio
Operations Director: Richard Ong
Operations Associate: Carlo Cayabyab
Grad Write-ups Editor: Belay Corpus
Grad Write-ups Associate: Ailen Claudio
Photos Editor: Peter Gomez
Photos Associate: Greta Razon
Groups Editor: Tieza Santos
(From the Aegis 2006 Seniors Manual)
Speak up, people.
*
So if you see these people around, bop them on the head for me. please.
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[ | | 09.07.07 at 4:00am] |
Katipunan looks good at night.
Taken on the third floor of Bo's coffee, 15 second shutter speed or whatever.
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