My Bad

A couple of days ago, as I was crossing the street (on the way to the grocer's) with my wife and child, some idiot in a Toyota Fortuner chose to speed up as he approached the cross walk. We stopped just in time and the bastard flew past us; stirring up dust in his wake. My immediate, automatic reaction was a loud one:

"I hope you fucking crash and everyone in that fucking car of yours dies, you stinking piece of shit!"

Joy ignored it, but my unabashedly angry candor had left me thinking--was I evil? Had I been reduced to an angry mass of volatility? I thought for a moment and concluded, based on experience, that under the same circumstance, most other people would hurl a number of profanities at the driver and probably call him something you can't say in church; but to want people to actually die? I must be evil, or at the very least, a very bad person.

The thought process:

I merely wished that bastard ill will, I did nothing tangible to facilitate something bad actually happening to him. Mine was nothing but a wish, and we all know that the all-time hitting percentage of wishes isn't something to be proud of. How many people who wished they won the lottery actually have? So, in addition to doing nothing physical to express my anger at the son of a bitch, the method I instead chose to employ was not a particularly effective one.

Now, Mr. Idiot sped up as he neared the cross walk, thereby putting my family in actual danger. Speeding up was a voluntary act on SuperMoron's part, an act that undoubtedly put peoples' lives in danger exponentially more than any wish of ill will ever could. John Wilkes Booth's thoughts of killing Abraham Lincoln did not kill the president, what killed Lincoln were bullets from Booth's gun--bullets launched by Booth's voluntary act of pulling the trigger.

Is wanting someone to die as bad as doing something about it? Screw Ethics for a second, think in real-world terms. If you were an assassin, what would your weapon of choice be: a massive vocabulary or a loaded gun?

The trouble with God is He's available to everyone.

Why does everyone claim to understand something they say is beyond understanding?

Sparing The Rod

I consider myself very fortunate that my wife has a work at home gig. I was out with some people and their children the other week, and I was surprised at how much they let their kids get away with. Call me old-fashioned, but I was brought up old school: my folks were very loving but strict, and there was a very high premium on respect and good manners. We were expected to sit and shut up with no more than a raise of the eyebrow or a subtle glare. Joy and I are dead set on bringing up our little girl the same way; and having Joy as a ready source of parenting 24/7 is definitely a very good thing.

RT 001

Dirty trick # 784 suggests stealthily making your way into some fancy restaurant, grabbing all their salt shakers, and replacing the contents with sugar. That ought to make things exciting come dinnertime. Sit back as Mr. Yes-I’d-like-that-kidney-transplant yacks in surprise when he discovers he has a sweet tooth. An alternative is to loosen their tops, if possible, and have a blast as Mr. Prim-and-proper-black-tie turns his onion soup into the Dead Sea.

Puddy Tat

3 months. I’ve got 3 months to save up enough money to get me a flash unit. I’ve had to rely on ambient/outdoor lighting for more than a year now and this has led to some missed shots, so even though the unit I want is just a bit too expensive, I’m keen on getting it come the second or third week of December-- call it a birthday present. I’ve done the research; called the suppliers and compared their prices; and am really decided on what I want. So, in the words of Sylvester, “All I need now is the can opener.”

2007 WPC

While I understand where its organizers are coming from, I’m still a bit disappointed at finding out that there were restrictions on taking photographs during the 2007 World Pool Championships. I had been planning this would-be shoot since late January this year, when I found out that the next four WPCs were to be held here in Manila. I’d been on the lookout for WPC-related announcements since, and was able to get confirmation of the venue and dates only recently. I’m a bit torn at the moment: I’m not sure about going after learning about the photo restrictions; but am reluctant to pass on the opportunity to see my favorite players in action. I may have to toss a coin if I don’t make up my mind soon.

Si Sandy Ko.

I'm Sorry

If even one of the two people who visit this blog was affected by the apparent negativity in the entry "Speak", I must apologize.

Please know that I meant no harm. I love everyone. I love you all. I respect all your opinions—not one of them can possibly be wrong. If they were, it is most likely the fault of your parents for not giving you enough hugs and other forms of positive reinforcement. I love you all. I wish you all a highly positive outlook and a broad, safe brand of spirituality.

I am sorry. I love you all.

Speak

You’ve seen them, you’ve probably (literally) bumped into one. They’re everywhere: running blindly into almost everything, always going in a direction opposite to yours, PDA and coat in one hand, their mouths moving in between sips of latte. Yes, the children of the Bluetooth headset generation, a member of the church of the multi-tasking Christ, son of the Digital God.

I must admit, at times I envy the security a world in mono gives them. It’s like being 4 years old again: if you don’t see someone, they probably don’t see you; and who does not want to be 4 again. It must be such an oddly liberating experience, their total self-absorption, I mean. Not caring about most things, bar perhaps the latest in careers and diets. But, hey, fair play to them so long as they’re genuinely happy. I love everyone nowadays.

I must ask, though: Why can’t the hand being utilized to hold the coffee instead serve as a tool for operating the wireless communication device?

Rub-a-dub-dub

I don’t know why I’m not too keen on the idea of hot tubs. I understand it’s relaxing and all, but I’d take a massage over a long soak. Maybe it’s the inactivity. Maybe it’s because I have a small bladder. Maybe it’s the less than relaxing sound of water sloshing on the bathroom floor; I know there’ll be a mess to clean up. Still, if someone told me they’d install one in my house for free, I wouldn’t mind. All I’d need to do next then is find a way to keep my play station dry.

Prop Eks

What if people who could read minds actually did read minds? I mean, literally read other people’s thoughts and not listen to them, like what mind readers in movies do. After all, the ability is called mind reading and not thought listening, right? The next time some mind reader pops up in a movie, they had better show him or her reading people’s minds via some esoteric closed captioning system. When that day comes, I can rest easy.

Ta-da!

and 100!

This, post number 100. In the span of roughly 19 months, despite having so much to say (not that most of it is worth hearing or reading, anyway), I have come up with only one hundred entries-most of them paid. I am happy to report that not much has changed in the way I am and how I see the world in the past year and a half. My wife and daughter out of the picture, I am still an angry old fart trying to find peace with himself; trying to accumulate an inordinate number of things to find happiness; trying to stay healthy and steal back the decade or so lost to a less than proper lifestyle; trying to accept who I am; and trying hard to fight the anger, the disappointment, and the frustration of constantly finding out I am not even a fraction of what I think myself to be. I am weak. I am lazy. I know nothing.

99

Wait for it...

Sure Shot 3

continued from Sure Shot 2

He checked the time. It was 10 minutes to 5pm. "They really built these things to last," he muttered, speaking of the agency-issued Vacheron Constantin Malte Chronograph.

"The Swiss make fantastic watches."

At 10 to 5, he had at least an hour to rest up and think of a plan. He was certain that the attack would come at the first sign of darkness. There was a small window at the wall facing east, and a door to his south was boarded up, but its transom had been left open. Two possible exit points were worth a million in times like this, he thought.

After allowing himself to rest for 5 minutes, he checked his ammo again. "Eight, nine, ten," He also had an additional full clip, a couple of fragmentation grenades,and his trusty Bowie. He vowed to make sure not a single thing was wasted. He moved to a vantage point near the west wall, still behind the tables. "Come on, then," he said as he crouched into position, "Let's dance."

To be continued...

Sure Shot 2

continued from Sure Shot

He found an abandoned building and went inside. Stopping just behind the front double doors, he removed his mask and took a quick look outside. There was a quick burst of gunfire; he instinctively hunkered down and gathered himself for another peek. His assailants were just 30 feet from where he was, taking cover behind a run-down Cadillac.

“This is going to be a long afternoon.”

He made a dash for what looked like an office. Inside, he turned a couple of conference tables on their sides and stepped out of what was left of his costume. After a quick ammo check, he scouted the room for exits-should his fort of laminated wood fail to protect him against the onslaught that was sure to come.

To be continued…

Magic

I ran into one of my brother’s friends yesterday. I remember him as a tall, lanky kid who was, according to him, “the biggest Orlando Magic fan this side of the Pacific”. Man, was he ever. He had the jersey’s of the entire starting line-up: Shaq, Penny, Nick Anderson, Dennis Scott, and Scott Skiles (now the coach of the Bulls). We talked a bit and he told me that things couldn’t have turned out better for him. He’s now based in Florida, where he works for a domestic travel agency that offers Orlando vacations, of all things. Now is that a stroke of luck or is that a stroke of luck?

Hold the Tiger

Back in my freshman year in high school, we were required to join school clubs that offered extra (academic) curricular activities. I joined the Golf Club (no pun intended), as just a few days earlier I had seen my father putting his golf equipment in the back storage room of our house.

The club’s first meeting came around and there I was, brandishing a 5-iron around school, feeling mighty proud of myself. We were taught the fundamentals and allowed a few practice shots. My turn soon came up. I took my stance, steadied my grip, and did a couple of practice swings. Things looked good. I moved up to address the ball. A deep breath, then I swung away. Solid hit. I felt the contact through my arms. I heard someone shout, “Great shot!” But it was quickly followed by a louder, “Crap, it’s hooking left!” And hook it did, following a path that went to the club advisor’s head. Good thing we were hitting practice balls, which were made of plastic; but I soon became a member of the 4-H Club nonetheless.

RAM and Coke

Sent good ole’ buddy Bert on an errand. To Singapore, heheh. Kidding. I finally got hold of him the other night when he decided to return one of my three-dozen calls. About that errand; my cousin Emily’s notebook has been having performance issues and the guy at the shop told her it would be a good idea to expand her machine’s RAM. I checked around and found that in this country, IBM memory ain’t cheap or easily available. So I’m hoping Bert has luck finding me the stuff I need (cheap) in Singapura. Or did I just not know where to look?

Tag 2

I'd like to get a tag sequence going: list down what to you are currently the top ten most overrated things (people, events, etc.) and tag 6 other bloggers.

My Top Ten Overrated Things

10. Style
9. Gourmet Coffee
8. Creative Departments
7. the Music Video
6. opinions
5. Photography
4. The Ateneo - La Salle Rivalry
3. Vegetarians
2. Political Correctness
1. Self-help

I am tagging Joy, Rey, Olive, Bel, Don, and Candy

Sandy

Of Percival and Pennies

Percival well and truly was a businessman from the moment he was born. When he was six years old, he’d sing and dance for his uncles and aunts—and then charge admission. Instead of doing the paper route when he was 12, he established a paper delivery service. He had a considerable amount of savings, you see, and he used this to buy 3 bicycles. These bicycles where then rented out to the other boys who wanted to run the paper route but had no bikes of their own. He convinced his older girl cousins to help him sell golf wear (don’t ask me how he got hold of these) to the neighborhood dads; figuring women would catch the attention of men easier hence paving more ways for possible sales. The venture lasted more than a year, but he had to break up the golf apparel ladies when the girls had to go to college. He earned close to three thousand dollars that year. Not bad for a 15-year old kid from nowhere land, Pennsylvania. He’s as liquid as water, and owns a chain of malls, a national radio station, a bus company and an airline company; and all because he believed that pennies work for Percival and not the other way around.

Vincent Vegas

Everything was a blur when he awoke. The last thing he remembered was Fred handing him a paper cup of “the biggest buzz in history”. His head ached. The sound of his breathing was loud enough to trigger pulses of pain, as strong as mule kicks, that reverberated inside what he now swore was his swollen head. He was moving. In a bus. The backrow. Out of the left window he made out what first appeared to be a blob of lights as a huge neon sign. “Flamingo Las Vegas”, it read. “Crap, here we go again.” He went through his pockets and found a pack of smokes, some gum, around a hundred and fifty dollars and around seventy-six cents. He sat up and tried to clear his head.