Who I want to look like when I grow old (1): Vladimir Nabokov

VLADIMIR NABOKOV referred to himself as "an obscure, doubly obscure, novelist with an unpronounceable name." He was mistaken, of course. When he had published Lolita, he was thrust into the limelight because the novel was disturbing, which was his intended reaction.

The narrator was a man named Humphrey Bogart Humbert Humbert. He had a sexual obsession with pubescent girls he called his "nymphets." In his eyes Lolita was superior to them all. The novel's first few lines illustrate his worship of her:

"Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta."

I became Nabokov's fan after I had read Lolita. An academic like himself channeling the thoughts of a disturbing character like Bogart would bring attention to his state of mind. Publishing that book took courage—and a lot of good faith from his wife.

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Brads

I'M BLESSED to have two brothers. I can't imagine growing up without them. Sure, we had our share of quarrels—about toys, TV programs, which spoon belonged to whom, who should wash the dishes—but that was to be expected. Familiarity breeds contempt; we had to hurt each other somehow. Only when we had lived separately did we realize we sort of missed one another.

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Scheming politicians, Russian spies, and a doctor who eats human organs

WHICH TV SERIES to watch during a three-week rationed break is a major decision medical students need to make.

TV series are good sources of entertainment sans the irritating commercial ads. They are more fast-paced and require less concentration power compared to reading a book. But they consume time, both in the watching and the downloading. On the average, one season has about 10 episodes, each episode lasting for 30 minutes to an hour. Depending on the internet speed and the number of "seeds," a 300 MB file can be downloaded from 30 minutes to 3 hours.

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Beating the summer heat

I SPEND most of my afternoons at the mall. The heat is too hard to beat, and I could use the free air conditioning. I can always stay at home, turn the AC on full blast for the entire day, but my roommates will blame me for the spike in the electric bill.

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On the run: thoughts on Geoffrey Household's Rogue Male

A RICH, aristocratic Englishman attempts to shoot a dictator from a Central European country. He misses. He is hunted and caught but manages to escape after fooling his captors that he is dead. On the run, he disguises himself but finds it difficult to conceal his bad eye. He is able to go back home--that is, England--only to realize even his own people are looking for him. He cannot go to the police; he'll be jailed and branded a traitor. He cannot live his previous life; the dictator's men are after him still. So he goes to the far countryside, digs himself a home, and lives there in obscurity. He meets Asmodeus, a cat, his constant companion in solitude. Can he live like that forever?

The thrill is so understated it's too palpable to be ignored.

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When you should take pictures

BEFORE THE ADVENT of digital cameras we had to exercise restraint in capturing moments lest we waste the Kodak film that cost about P100 or more, depending on how many shots were available. We had to make sure the film wasn't exposed. Cursed was the man who left the double-A-battery-operated camera under the sun.

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Behind every man

I WANTED to write about something profound today, but I'm afraid I have nothing else to say except this: I had my haircut today. "It's still too short," friends told me when I mentioned my plans for the afternoon. I couldn't disagree with them more. My hair, already about 2 cm in length, felt unbearable.

I don't randomly barge into any barbershop in Manila; I go to an unassuming place along Maria Orosa Street, in front of the Court of Appeals. I don't even know its name, but I can point you to where it is. I am a Filipino, after all; I give directions by pouting my lips.

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