So the Porsche driving Bureau of Customs clerk finally resigned. Good riddance. Had it not been for that road rage shooting incident, Paulino Elevado would have gotten away with it too! Only in the Philippines would a 9,000 Php a month clerk afford a Porsche. Then again, our own Chief Justice got all those condo units with his government salary. So yeah, had his case been elevated to the Supreme Court, this guy surely would be found innocent.
Why do I get the feeling that Mr. Elevado has just opened a USD bank account?
And to think that just a few months ago, I was ready to give up on the NBA. The league of millionaire players squabbling with billionaire team owners over the last scrap of dollar. "This is not what inspires people!", if can paraphrase Jerry Maquire.
This was the league as one Jeremy Lin struggled to find his place under the NBA sun. He didn't quite fit the profile. Harvard degree in economics, undrafted even by colleges, and of course, Lin is Asian. Born in the USA to Taiwanese immigrant parents.
But the kid loves to play. All he wants to do is play. Even after he was cut by Golden State Warriors, waived by the Houston Rockets, then found himself the third-string point guard of the hapless New York Knicks. He was willing to ride the bench out and play garbage time, if only so he can hold on to that quickly dimming chance that he may be allowed to really play in the NBA -- one day. And that day finally came when both starting and relief point guards suffered an injury.
This is how you play the game. The seven straight wins, as of this writing, is not even it. There is genuine joy for every great play made. You see it in his stride. You can see it in his smile. Yes, people, the kid smiles in the heat of battle.
That Jeremy is Asian is incidental. That he is an inspiration is why I have succumbed to LINsanity!
First editing job for a US client. Well, not exactly. I've done projects before for international clients. What I meant by that is, first editing job with me here while the client is halfway across the globe. Talk about telecommuting! The world has become just that smaller. Imagine, while I have my day job here (not editing), I get to moonlight in the US (or elsewhere for that matter).
Saw the Nonito Donaire fight this morning. Ho-hum, boring. And it is by no means "The Filipino Flash's" fault. It's really hard to make a fight of it when your opponent is intent on just surviving the twelve rounds with you. Nonito even had to monkey around a bit, trying to goad Vasquez to mix it up, but to no avail. What is this guy's ring name by the way? "El Pagong"? Not that he is slow. There is just no getting this guy out of his defensive shell.
I hate it when fighters do not live up to their ring names. When I read in the fight card "Matador" is fighting, I expect to see bodies being carried out of the arena. You see, there was a time folks, when fighters actually lived up to their billing. Gone are the day of Roberto "Manos de Piedra (Hands of Stone)" Duran, "Marvelous" Marvin Hagler, and Tommy "The Hitman" Hearns. Sugar Ray Leonard didn't even need a monicker. His name sans embellishment was enough to sell tickets.
Today's fighters should really consider changing their ring names. "El Dinamita" (Marquez) to "Angalero". "Money" (Mayweather) to "The Mouth". "Boom-Boom" (Bautista) to "Boom-Boom-Bust". "Pacman" can keep his. Also Erik "El Terrible" Morales. He's really terrible.
As for me, I want a ring name of my own. I am torn between two. Not too fancy. Definitely not an exaggeration. It's either "Suntokero" or "Ilagero". Either one would be just perfect.
For the few of you who know me in real life, my dear kamag-anak inc., and friends from my Facebook account, please know that while I blog mostly about my life and my posts are made in the first person point of view, I do, from time to time, exercise literary license. Yes, I lie! Lol. No. Some of the stories depicted here are fiction. That I do not tell which is which, makes it a little more fun, doesn't it?
No animals were harmed in the production of this blog. Parental guidance is advised. And no approved therapeutic claims. Hindi ito gamot.
Mungo Conspiracy would like to thank:
Kuya Bing for all the support without which I would not have been able to start this blog. My baby sister Charo, who has always been my number one fan. Gie for twisting Kuya Bing's arms to lend me support. Rocky for being the first follower. Chris for the free ad space on MTC.
I would also like to mention Kuya Jong and Kuya Rolly, Rex, Kim, and all of my pumpkins, Dustin, Innah, Jonas, Danwell, Glea, Jiro, Ram, Yzab, Hannah, and Annika, who are my inspirations for many of my stories here.
And thanks to the Iligan Chapter of the conspirators who were the first to fill-up my followers' box! :)
Yeba! You read that right. That is how I want to begin. You know right away this is not going to be Shakespeare. Not that there is anything wrong with William. I am just not nearly as talented enough.
I cannot, for one, hold my line of thought long enough that I can compile one genuine effort into one seamless novel. A long short story, maybe. But that, aside from being an oxymoron, would be a stretch.
These are my random thoughts, nothing more. A little foolish, maybe, but always, I hope, in line with the same spirit of honesty and wit as you would find in the works of the Bard of Avon. Oh yes, William Shakespeare was funny, you semi-literate nincompoop!