when an anti-establishment hippie is established...

yes, manny's shorts are sponsored by a coffee company, among many others.



photo taken from Manny's blog. (AP)

Posted by: Hoon at 07:25 | link | comments

A three-round knock out

 

As one of the 80 million Filipinos who staked out in front of a TV screen last Sunday, I was pummeled by a combination of hard-hitting revelations; the first turning up as I settled down with a plate of castañas to munch on. The bout between a Greek and a Colombian was about midway through, tiny prickles of anticipation were just beginning to form as the Pacquiao-Morales fight drew nearer. I was never a big fan of boxing. The idea of watching men beat each other until bits of teeth flew out was, to me, about as appealing as having to buy carbon paper. I never looked at fights as something to be celebrated, either. The country-wide Pacquiao fever is to be blamed, therefore, for planting my pacifist butt on that couch. A good thirty minutes before Manny Pacquiao even gets to shake Erik Morales’ mitts, my father begins waving his cell phone around, announcing that he already knew who won. I was aghast. Leave it to SMS to single-fingeredly ruin one of the year’s biggest matches. It was as bad as leaking out the ending to Armaggedon and worse, the Sixth Sense. What was the point of sitting through the whole plot then? Fortunately my father decides to uphold his honor and does not tell us. Ten minutes later, my own cell phone does. It was unbelievable. Somebody bring me back to the early 90’s. The clothes were horrible but at least everybody functioned in the same time frame. My sister and her boyfriend paid to see the fight via a live cable feed in one movie theater. My friend had asked his uncle in San Francisco to focus their webcam on the screen while he watched from his desktop. Both had access to the game sans the commercials and the million and one cuts to Pacquiao training, Pacquiao running up a hill, Pacquaio praying.  My sister arrives from the movie theater long before Manny even throws the first punch in our version of the fight.

            For the rest of the match, my attention turns to how weak Morales seemed. His punches looked half-hearted, even limp. He was knocked down in three short rounds.  The Mexican boxer, who had to shed weight to make the 130-pound super featherweight mark, had been fighting for 13 years. He was clearly exhausted, and had been for a while. After Pacquiao first beat Morales in January’s rematch, Morales was said to have claimed in the post-fight interview, “I've been tired of boxing for a while. I need a vacation.” This Sunday Morales would say, “It’s about time to forget it and go home.”

Against such tepidity, Pacquiao’s victory wasn’t so much a vindication as it was a clear-cut advantage. Manny was stronger, quicker and altogether keener in every way. Call me dramatic, but had Morales at least matched Pacquiao’s strength, the knock-out would have felt to me how it might have been for Manny: exhilaratingly sweet. The third time Morales stumbled, I did not even feel smug; I felt pity. Surely there must be some other way to build national pride than punching somebody’s wits out. But then again I’m just a weak-hearted pacifist so what do I know.

For the rest of the day it’s a Manny Pacquiao marathon. The Philippine’s newest hero shows up in every ad; there’s a Pacquiao special running on most channels. He urges me to buy medicine, ice cream, beer, fried chicken, vinegar and a magic videoke microphone. With this three-round knockout, you could expect his endorsements to likewise triple in number. I love Manny. I love how he’s placed the country in the map and how he’s earned his money through honesty and hard work—which is more than I could say about other public figures—but when he starts popping up in all other industries besides the sport he excels at, it begins to get on your nerves.

It may be cool to have Manny sing one uplifting song or two, but to have him record a whole album is no longer amusing. It may be good to capture his life story on film, as per Philippine custom, but as a serious athlete, he must know when to draw the line. If there’s one thing more frightening than losing focus because of all the exposure, it’s using this exposure to focus on an entirely different thing: athlete-turned-actor-turned-politician, anybody?

But seeing as how everyone else is ecstatic over the win, I may just be putting too much thought into this. It is, after all, just a bloody game.

Posted by: Hoon at 06:37 | link | comments (3)

http://nidja.multiply.com/

yeees

for glimpses of things you wouldn't otherwise care about................

Posted by: Hoon at 08:05 | link | comments

ellipse

 

so what happens, if now there is nothing but

pauses

of indicated losses

and dotted phrases indistinct

of waiting

for drama has punctuated our screens

and the screaming silence of desiring

summons only the saddest limbs

 

(and all the pauses pregnant now

fumbles footless into ‘how?’)

 

helpless mostly by the hanging…..

heaving wants of never having ….

 

just tripping thoughts inside the head

and waves of spaces   

and bleeding beds

a whole of holes

of words unsaid

and breathing…bated

caught instead

 

( soon the pauses sleepy now….

And the ending nearer even.)

Posted by: Hoon at 05:47 | link | comments

well no one was really sure what they were last Halloween.... but there was definitely a gothic witch, a pink mosquito, a Nanay Lucring,a blue-haired Roxette, either Obi Wan Kanobe or Padre Damaso, an unhappy SpongeBob, and me , in pajamas and fluffy slippers, coming as "The Girl who just Woke Up."---which is not really a costume. I go around wearing this for as long as I can get away with it.

Posted by: Hoon at 04:19 | link | comments