I got a message from Ilia that Norah Jones is having a concert at the Araneta in March. She is such a big fan of Ms Jones that I think she doesn't recognize any other singer-songwriter.

Speaking of singer-songwriters who play the piano, I saw a performance of Sarah McLachlan on Leno. Thank goodness she ditched the I-am-the-organizer-of-Lilith-Fair-therefore-I-should-look-like-a-wispy-goddess look. I failed to get the title of the song she played, but it was rather warm and fuzzy - a woman grateful to the man in her life for putting up with her idiosyncracies, knowing he's the one sure thing in her life.

Like I always do in my classes, I could annotate what is to appear in this post: this is the portion of the blog post wherein I contribute my own two cents' worth on this subject matter, digging from my life experience. But I won't do that. For the moment.

What I will say is that this topic popped in last night during a 'session' with a friend and three of her students. At first, I was a bit hesitant to stay longer than usual with them, but as the hours progressed I was proved wrong. Truth be told, I found their company rather refreshing. They were likewise a reminder of the one thing people their age could be relied upon - the defiance to hold on to their certainties and hope as if their lives depended on it.

Some things I DO remember from last night: amusing questions about my sexual preferences, one person wrecking the hoop off the bastketball board (is that what you call them things?), a rumor about my friend that was quickly dispelled, overly-scrutinized goto, and actually hugging all four of them. I'd like to think they were hugs of love and goodwill, teehee.

I'd like to think they were my Christmas bunch, 2004 edition. I recall the '97 edition in which Teny and I crashed a Christmas party at Freedom Bar, danced to Pu3ska, then dragged our asses to 70s Bistro where we jumped to Grupong Pendong's version of Twist and Shout.

Mmmmm.