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ROCK OF ASIAN: Gabe Bondoc

September 23rd, 2009 | 0 comments | Posted by Diana

Say what you will about singer/songwriters –they’ve got to be dreamy. If it’s not in their face, it’s gotta be in the words, the vocal chords, their very essence.

It’s kind of shameful to admit but, for many ladies, the allure of a singer/songwriter is the musical promise that someone out there can and will speak to our very soul, peer into our heart and love us like we’ve seen in films and read about in weepy novels. Someone can hold us gently with just the lyrics on their lips, and they won’t muck it up with a gassy burp, prolonged glance at a Tecate girl, or grouchy man moment.

But let’s face it. Some singer/songwriter douchbags neg on the promise, and you realize that when they were talking about your body being a wonderland, they weren’t really talking about you; they meant every groupie and her mom, plus every tabloid-friendly celebrity they could get their grubby little hands on. Ew.

Gabe Bondoc doesn’t seem like an empty promise guy, though. He actually appears to be a real sweetheart, and whispers those soft secrets with a most ticklish, velvety voice, all the while working those animated cheek dimples and angel-perfect mug. Beloved on YouTube for both silly cover songs (like “Part of Your World” from Disney’s The Little Mermaid or N*Sync’s “It’s Gonna Be Me”) and original compositions, Gabe is a lighthearted dreamboat.

And a gentleman:

…so much so that we wish we were in a movie right now, so we could melt in his dreamy arms.

[MySpace: Gabe Bondoc]
[Gabe Bondoc - Official Site]
[YouTube - Gabe Bondoc's Channel]

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Thanks, Jasmine!

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Softass American Parenting

June 2nd, 2008 | 0 comments | Posted by Diana

I have two older male cousins that grew up in the suburbs–okay, back woods–of Indiana during the early eighties. Their mom was like a military sergeant–she filled their days with a very specific and lengthy hygiene regimen, hours of rote memorization, and what felt like immersion music lessons. There were no birthday parties or after-school hangouts with friends (who needs friends?) or riding bikes on Tuesdays, Thursdays, or Saturdays. When eating, they couldn’t have a sip of Pepsi without finishing an entire 1-gallon bowl of soup, even if it took hours–but you better believe the sweltering drink was taunting them from about six inches away the entire time. Sound fun? You betcha.

The worst was when either of the boys did something bad, which was rare. They’d be punished with such severity that few of us rarely even confirmed the details. Groundings could last months (years?), and public shaming was common. When one of my cousins spent half of a day holding a heavy ceramic bowl over his head, while bent on his knees, on gravelly yard, we all wondered aloud if there wasn’t just a little guerrilla in every Vietnamese uncle.

I know what you’re thinking– Diana’s family sounds creepy and batshit crazy! ME TOO! I’ve believed for years that the punishers on my mom’s side of genealogy chart have some kind of chart-topping sadistic hormone levels that make no sense to normal humans. Still, they set the bar very high–there must be some reason why I laugh every time I see a kid in Brentwood get in trouble (“Caleb, if you don’t stop screaming bloody murder after three minutes, Mommy is not going to by you a Wii! Caleb, do you want to sit in the Benz alone, with the nanny, while Mommy and Daddy finish their wedge salads? Fine. Then take this cashmere blanket with you because it’s cold”), right?


All I know is that nobody with my blood would have dealt with two dozen teenage barbarians that trashed Robert Frost’s historic home (see some of the damage in the photo above) with a raging keg party over Christmas…by having them to take a class in his poetry.

Oh yeah, that’ll teach ‘em.

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