| Mabuhay ka, Manny Pacquiao |
[Nov. 17th, 2009|10:19 pm] |
Something dawned on me a few hours ago while I was paging through one of eastsideboxing.com's endless forum discussions comparing Manny Pacquiao's worth alongside the 1980s' Fab Four: Sugar Ray Leonard, Roberto Duran, Marvin Hagler and Tommy Hearns. Some said he'd already passed Hagler and Hearns, some said he still had some work to do (like beat Floyd Mayweather, Jr. and Shane Mosley). But I suddenly realized that it almost doesn't matter where, exactly, he ends up on the mythical all-time pound-for-pound list of greatest fighters, because no boxer in history, not Mike Tyson, not Muhammad Ali, not Henry Armstrong and not even Sugar Ray Robinson, has ever been as CONSEQUENTIAL as Manny Pacquiao: five-foot six, and a giant in Philippine history.
Mabuhay ka, Manny Pacquiao.
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| Flashback to 2004: the "diminished" Aquinos |
[Nov. 5th, 2009|11:26 am] |
in 2004, the indomitable columnist, the late Teodoro Benigno, wrote the following piece on the Aquino clan, wondering at how and why they were no longer a significant presence in Philippine politics. I think it shows that in politics, surface impressions are rarely true.
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| A River Festival in Chiang Mai |
[Nov. 2nd, 2009|01:15 am] |
It's two in the morning, and I have eight hours left in Chiang Mai. Eight hours ago, I was standing on a dock by a river, watching a teenage Buddhist monk light the fires under hot-air balloons made of paper, holding them up as the air expanded, then setting them free to float off into the sky.
We had arrived at the dock a little before five in the afternoon. The air had started to cool, but it was buzzing with latent energy. It was the start of the Loy Krathong festival, in which, according to tradition, Thais give their thanks to the water goddess. On both sides of the dock entrance stood dozens of stalls selling little banana-leaf boats carrying offerings to be floated down the Ping river. Inside the dock next to a small Buddhist temple were a dozen or so stalls selling assorted barbeque sticks for visitors. At the back, I found a ticket booth offering a ferry trip up and downriver that evening at the height of the festivities.
While my girlfriend Ann practiced her bargaining skills on the ticket vendor, I went off in search of a currency exchange stall. When I came back, the sun was starting to set, and we set off for a quick dinner before the ferry trip and the light show.
By the time we returned, the light show had begun. At the foot of the temple, there was a young monk surrounded by people, some with hands clasped in prayer, some just chatting or taking photos or watching in glee, as he held up paper balloons and fed them one at a time to the night sky. Attached to the lantern below a balloon were hundreds of tiny firecrackers connected to one long fuse, which he would light an instant before he let the balloon loose. As they rose past the tops of trees and buildings, the balloons would drop the tiny firecrackers, which would then explode and leave a bright trail of fire and noise.
The sky was only then beginning to fill with the balloons, and we had no time to watch too many of them being lit. Ann bought a banana-leaf boat filled with orange and yellow flowers, a candle, and three sticks of incense. We then headed down to the platform and boarded the ferry, and it took off at exactly 7 in the evening. We glided down the river and took in the view.
By now, balloons were filling up the night sky, sent off by thousands of people scattered around Chiang Mai. They would first shoot straight up, then get caught by a high breeze and move southward. As they rose further, the paper cylinders would seem to disappear, and all we could see were floating yellow spheres pushed by an invisible hand. The night sky, with stars dimmed by the lights of the city, sparkled with new constellations formed by the slowly drifting lanterns. Many of the balloons, like those lit by the young monk, poured out firecrackers as they rose, appearing as glowing jellyfish among phosphorescent algae in a dark sea.
Soon, people began to give their offerings to the river. Ann and I watched as a young couple on our ferry lit the candles and incense on their banana-leaf boats with elegantly arranged violet flowers. We asked to borrow their lighter, and the young man gladly lit our candle as well, while the young woman used her candle to light the incense sticks on our boat. I held onto the side rail and bent over the side of the ferry to lay the boat on the surface of the water. The flame on the candle was weak and went out in seconds, but the incense stayed lit as the ferry moved past the floating offerings and the small boats disappeared from our sight.
Crowds had gathered on the bridges crossing the river and the narrow streets on each side. Here people set off fireworks, both large ones that exploded in green and purple and blue and white, and small rockets lit by children. One rocket, launched from a bridge, shot one foot past the bow of our ferry, landing in the river with a splash and an underwater explosion. Other fireworks exploded directly above us, lighting up our faces with strange colors.
At 8:30 p.m., we got off the ferry, and it was only then I realized that I was hungry again. |
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| Day after day |
[Oct. 15th, 2009|09:22 pm] |
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In 2006 I was in Spain and Ireland, in Naga, Zamboanga, Butuan, Boracay, Aklan, Bacolod, Iloilo, Tagaytay, Cebu and Manila. I graduated from college, wrote freelance, got a job as a journalist, lost sleep, slept for days, caught a train, missed a train, found a way to be happy. In 2007 I was in Spain and Malaysia and Singapore, Sagada, Batad, La Union, Vigan, Baguio, Banaue and Manila. I left a job and started a job. I moved out of a clean house into a roach motel I called an apartment, but it was mine. I saw Blue and Green in Araneta and Blaugrana in Camp Nou. One sunny afternoon in May, I dipped my feet into the Mediterranean sea and wondered if any man in history had floated on a raft to the other side. Much of 2008 was spent in buses on crumbling roads in provinces far from the city. At least, this is my central memory of 2008: a rainstorm at night, roads turning into rivers, a frail jacket, a thick mist, a warm hand. I started 2009 in Zamboanga City on the main southern Philippine island of Mindanao, watching small fireworks, a family in prayer, my shadow on the floor. I woke up the next morning and Jesus hung on a cross on the wall above my bed. Catholics and death... I started graduate school. Mental exhaustion and floods and mud. Last Thursday I stole a moment from my life of books to watch a basketball game in the place where I first discovered Ateneo: Escaler Hall. Days later (today), an exam, lost sleep. Soon, I will sleep for days. |
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| Persian Ditty |
[Jun. 24th, 2009|10:16 pm] |
Can you tell me the meaning
Of the music in Tehran?
Will it become Manila,
Or will it be Yangon?
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| Different street corners |
[Jun. 22nd, 2009|06:14 pm] |
So they open the door, you take a peek outside, and look, there are streets, and a car with a half-tank of gas parked by the sidewalk, the keys still in the ignition. Thanks, Mom and Dad. But none of them streets goes to any particular place that you want to go, or at least, your eyesight is unclear and you haven't yet learned the ability to look around corners. So maybe you stand on the sidewalk and smoke a cigarette or remove your jacket and put your hands in your pockets and wait, but you can't wait forever.
So you get in the driver's seat and drive around for a bit, and listen to the radio to get inspiration. RJ Underground. Good tunes, old and new, and thankfully less of that crap you heard in the other station. Haha, you recognize that voice. That's the girl from your class, so that's what she's doing nowadays, DJ work always seemed like something she could get into.
In the bar on the second floor of that hip new place with all the restos, you buy a beer and settle down and listen to your old friends talk about their new jobs. Banks. Multinationals. Law school. I wonder where he went... let's check out Facebook... there you go. He's in Singapore now. He's taking up nursing. She's a programmer.
You never, ever doubted that you could do the same, if time were an infinite cycle of moments and today were as meaningful as yesterday, and not more or less so. You could have entered college on a different path, and maybe become another version of yourself. But you wonder, had you changed history and made this choice or that, what things you'd have missed. But perhaps you'd have taken this particular street corner on this day anyway.
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| Donald Duck's Nazi past |
[May. 24th, 2009|03:11 pm] |
So cartoons and comics are for kids. Right?
Imagine... this is the same company that created High School Musical.
Anyway, following that theme, check out this article from the Wall Street Journal on the unique popularity of Donald Duck in Germany. In case the article's removed, I've included it below. This stuff seriously blows my mind.
( Here's the article. )
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| Pacquiao vs. Hatton: My analysis and prediction |
[Apr. 29th, 2009|02:01 am] |
This fight cannot be hyped enough. Pacquiao-Marquez was an intriguing mix of styles between a slugger and a counterpuncher, a boxing aficionado's wet dream. But Pacquiao-Hatton is something a casual fan will love, nothing fancy, but total war.
That's not to say that both fighters are one-dimensional. Both have pronounced talents, and both have been dominant in most of their recent fights, and against excellent competition (Pacquiao's resume includes future hall-of-famers Marco Antonio Barrera, Erik Morales, Juan Manuel Marquez and Oscar De La Hoya, while Hatton's includes top fighters Kostya Tszyu and Jose Luis Castillo).
There's an added dimension to this fight that intrigues me: if Manny wins, this will be his 5th division championship (the IBO 140lb belt, to add to alphabet titles at 112lbs, 122lbs, 130lbs and 135lbs) and his FOURTH lineal title (by lineal i mean he'll be the guy who beat the guy who beat the guy, adding to his lineal titles at 112lbs, 126lbs and 130lbs). It's just phenomenal, historic if he pulls it off. He's already a shoo-in for the international Boxing Hall of Fame, but if he's a 4-division lineal champ, then he'll be an all-time great.
Ricky Hatton won't make it easy.
Their strengths:
Ricky Hatton:
Power.
Wicked body punching.
Strong chin.
Excellent inside fighting.
And most of all: RELENTLESSNESS. The man would run his face through a cheese grater to get to his man.
Manny Pacquiao:
Awesome stamina.
Terrific movement.
Awkward lefty stance.
Experience vs. world-class competition.
And most of all: SPEED. His combinations are like machine guns.
Only two ways this fight can go: Manny will move, move, move. He'll slip and slide and generally outsmart Ricky, land piercing shots from a distance, and the accumulation of punches will lead to a late KO, just like Pacquiao-Diaz. Just like Pacquiao-Morales III.
But if he doesn't, if Hatton manages to corner Pacquiao, get in his chest, dig in body punches, he will knock out Manny and make it look easy.
I honestly don't know which of these two scenarios will happen. I've watched Manny's and Ricky's most recent fights several times, but I still don't have a clue. But I can't see this fight lasting 12 rounds. In the end, I'm going to favor Manny just because I love the guy, and I'm rooting for history. Manny will win by an 8th round KO.
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| Wrestlemania XXV Main Event: Pacman vs. the Hitman |
[Feb. 20th, 2009|04:27 am] |
There is an alternate universe in which Manny "Pacman" Pacquiao and Ricky "the Hitman" Hatton are not famous boxers, but pro wrestlers in the WWE. They are tag team partners who met under the usual circumstances: two face characters forced to fight by unscrupulous managers, they instead joined forces to battle the Establishment under "Golden Boy" Oscar de la Hoya.
The two are a natural pair. Hometown heroes with a weakness for booze and babes, they enter the ring waving Philippine and British flags to the tune of "Hatton Wonderland". Both fighters are mischievous, rebellious, and sing atrociously. They are not the tag-team champions, though the Hitman holds an Intercontinental championship belt and Pacman, the USA championship.
Hatton and Pacquiao like to play tricks on Oscar. One screening of Monday Night Raw shows the HItman gleefully displaying alleged secret photos of the big boss dressed in fishnet stockings to a capacity crowd in Madison Square Garden. Oscar makes a big show of looking furious, and sends his henchmen, the "Three Amigos" to ambush Hatton during his next match. The Brit is subsequently attacked by Juan Manuel Marquez, Erik Morales and Marco Antonio Barrera simultaneously, before the Pacman runs out of the dressing room, dives in the ring and saves the day. The Golden Boy then declares a "Full House" match between Hatton/Pacquiao and the "Three Amigos". Pacquiao and Hatton win with aplomb, and are crowned the "Pair of Kings".
Meanwhile, de la Hoya's prime stooges Bernard "the Executioner" Hopkins and "Sugar" Shane Mosley brutally wrest the tag team championship from Filipino brothers Nonito and Glenn Donaire. Then in a personal insult to Hatton, the two viciously ambush British wrestler Joe Calzaghe. The Kings challenge the new tag-team champs for their title, and in the main event of "No Way Out", the Kings beat the Executioner and Sugar via submission.
Oscar de la Hoya, livid, demands that the Kings "pay sanctioning fees for their multiple title belts". Hatton and Pacquiao refuse, so the Golden Boy declares the win a no contest and forces the Kings to reliquish all of their titles.
Unexpectedly, reigning WWE champion Floyd "Money" Mayweather Jr. retires from wrestling, leaving the WWE championship vacant. Oscar immediately calls for a Royal Rumble tournament to determine the new champion. In an unexpected plot twist, he enters the tournament as a fighter as well.
Pacquiao starts first, and Hatton second. Rather than fight each other, the Kings agree to work together to take out everyone else, and face each other last. New fighters enter the ring: Oscar Larios, Jorge Solis, David Diaz, Kostya Tszyu, Juan Lazcano, Paulie Malignaggi... one by one, the Kings take them out, until the last fighter enters, and it's the Golden Boy himself.
The three wrestle desperately. Hatton launches his special move, the "Blue Moon", to no avail. Pacquiao manages to launch his "Destroyer" left hook, but in the last instant, de la Hoya ducks... and Pacquiao knocks out Hatton by accident! The Pacman and de la Hoya wrestle, until Pacquiao again throws his "Destroyer", and knocks de la Hoya out of the ring. Manny "Pacman" Pacquiao is now WWE champion.
When the Hitman wakes up, he finds the Pacman with the championship belt around his waist, and assumes the worst. He shouts at Pacquiao, who pleads innocent, and the Hitman does a "Blue Moon" on his old buddy, sending him flying out of the ring. Hatton immediately renounces his tag team belt and joins Oscar's stable, turning "heel".
Oscar, seeing potential in a new rivalry, arranges the Pacman's first title defense in Wrestlemania XXV against his former tag team partner, Ricky "the Hitman" Hatton. |
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| Michael/Sam Perez |
[Feb. 18th, 2009|01:42 am] |
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Michael went home one evening and found that his house was no longer there. Just a place, with bedrooms and bathrooms and a kitchen, that was no longer his.
He fumbled in his pocket for his house keys and they were still there. He tried them out on the front door and saw that they worked, but when he entered the living room and glanced around, there was nothing there that was familiar, in the sense that your two hands are familiar, or your own reflection.
The house smelled empty. He climbed the stairs to the second floor and found three rooms, somewhat tidy, with only a few scattered clothes and unmade beds and closed windows. The lights were off. The bathroom faucet was slightly leaking. There was a half-used bar of soap in the shower.
And then he looked in the bathroom mirror, and he saw Sam Perez, a man he once met in a graveyard during his parents' funeral. That man was not the man Michael thought he would become one day, but there was his reflection, and Michael was now undeniably Sam Perez.
Michael went to the nearest bedroom and sat on the floor, and cried. |
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| Irving Ackerman, 87 |
[Jan. 21st, 2009|03:04 am] |
Two years ago, when I was still a reporter for BusinessWorld newspaper, I did a feature article on the life of Irving Ackerman, one of the Philippine Stock Exchange's oldest and most respected stockbrokers. He was one of my regular contacts for comments on the stock market's activities. I found it amazing that a man who helped give birth to the stock exchange should still pay attention to its minute daily movements. I got the sense that trading stocks was his last attachment to the old life, when Makati was just a boom town built in a swamp, and the name Ortigas belonged to a man and not a city.
Mr. Ackerman was a WWII veteran and a businessman, at once a relic of Makati's rustic past and a reminder of its relative youth. He died last Saturday of lung cancer.
( Here's my article as it appeared in BusinessWorld in 2007. )
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| A life worth reading |
[Dec. 22nd, 2008|04:05 pm] |
I don't read many books these days. My stint in journalism gave me the terrible habit of reading four or five newspapers every day, a habit which makes you something of an expert in current events but teaches you nothing about how to read things from a distance. And then the next day comes and all that you learned the previous day is washed away, and suddenly you're useless again.
I did just finish reading "A Farewell to Arms" by Ernest Hemingway, who was once a cub reporter for a small publication himself. His writing style is sharp and devoid of sympathy, his sentences are brutally concise, and he uses almost no adjectives. Like the newspapers, the content is thick, tragic and full of meaning, but he offers little or no interpretation. You're alone in this, he tells you. You're alone in your own mind.
Sometimes a man searches for meaning in the things he does, and fails to find it. Hemingway's protagonists are often caught between the banal (hiking through fields, getting drunk with strangers, smoking and drinking in bars) and the weighty (sneaking through war zones, sabotaging bridges, lusting after beautiful women). A reader might read his books and become a nihilist; a reader might also decide that life is bleak, but worth living.
Am I being vague? Am I using allegory to establish meaning? Let me be clearer. I think I might read a thousand newspapers, or a thousand novels, and find nothing in them that enriches me, until I find something in my own life worthy of putting in a book. |
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| Manila |
[Oct. 28th, 2008|10:02 pm] |
Manila waltzed into my house one evening smelling of sweat and cigarette smoke, singing Sinatra's "My Way" as if mocking the man and the era. He smiled and said to my father, "I'm coming back into your life," then turned to me and said, "you may not know me, but I've been peeking over your shoulder since you were a baby." Then he sat down on the couch in the living room and told us that he would be staying with us for a while. He hasn't left my house since.
On sunny weekends and February afternoons, he regales us with stories of better times when the Spaniards and Americans ruled, sometimes lamenting their untimely exodus and sometimes ruing the fact that they ever came. "Corruption!" he yells. "POVERTY!" he screams into my face, the stench of Pale Pilsen and cigarette-stained teeth making me cough. And then, self-conscious, he steps back, smoothens his shirt with his fingers, looks at the floor. "I apologize," he says. Slipping his hands into his pockets, he turns around and climbs up the stairs into our guest room, forgetting to shut the door behind him. My family chooses to pay him no heed; we have our own lives to get back to.
Some evenings, he invites us to dinner in town. Dressed ostentatiously in a barong and shiny leather boots, he whisks us away to expensive restaurants in Makati and Serendra. He opens the door to the car and helps my mother to her seat. He compliments my sisters on their skirts and their hair. And he offers to foot the bill for our meal, but Dad always declines and pulls out his credit card. Dramatically courteous, exuberant and flushed, he tells us of a woman he once met in a bookstore on his birthday, and how they stayed in a coffee shop the whole day chatting about Alexandre Dumas and Nick Joaquin, and then spent the evening dancing in silence against the lights of Fort Santiago, a few steps from the old cell of a poet and patriot. |
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| Ateneo and UP Rise in World University Rankings |
[Oct. 14th, 2008|10:31 pm] |
Ateneo, UP rise in 2008 world university rankings
By KRIS DANIELLE SUAREZ, abs-cbnNEWS.com | 10/13/2008 11:32 PM Two local universities, the Ateneo de Manila University (ADMU) and the University of the Philippines (UP), saw their rankings rise in The Times Higher Education - QS (THE-QS) World University Rankings 2008, a leading global ranking of higher education institutions.
In the overall rankings released Monday, Ateneo rose from number 451 in 2007 to number 254 this year, while UP rose from 398 last year to 276.
( Here's the rest of the article... )
And here's the link to the article.
Finally, here's the link to the THE-QS Rankings.
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| Pacquiao-Diaz Pre-fight Analysis |
[Jun. 29th, 2008|02:32 am] |
I suppose it's too late for anybody to actually read this entry about the Pacquiao-Diaz fight right before the event on Sunday morning, but I'll post it anyway.
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| Barack Obama is the new Chuck Norris |
[Jun. 19th, 2008|02:53 pm] |
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Got this from an article in Slate.com.
There are many things people do not know about BARACK OBAMA. It is every American's duty to read this message and pass it along to all of their friends and loved ones. Barack Obama wears a FLAG PIN at all times. Even in the shower. Barack Obama says the PLEDGE OF ALLEGIANCE every time he sees an American flag. He also ends every sentence by saying, "WITH LIBERTY AND JUSTICE FOR ALL." Click here for video of Obama quietly mouthing the PLEDGE OF ALLEGIANCE in his sleep. A tape exists of Michelle Obama saying the PLEDGE OF ALLEGIANCE at a conference on PATRIOTISM. Every weekend, Barack and Michelle take their daughters HUNTING. Barack Obama is a PATRIOTIC AMERICAN. He has one HAND over his HEART at all times. He occasionally switches when one arm gets tired, which is almost never because he is STRONG. Barack Obama has the DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE tattooed on his stomach. It's upside-down, so he can read it while doing sit-ups. There's only one artist on Barack Obama's iPod: FRANCIS SCOTT KEY. Barack Obama is a DEVOUT CHRISTIAN. His favorite book is the BIBLE, which he has memorized. His name means HE WHO LOVES JESUS in the ancient language of Aramaic. He is PROUD that Jesus was an American. Barack Obama goes to church every morning. He goes to church every afternoon. He goes to church every evening. He is IN CHURCH RIGHT NOW. Barack Obama's new airplane includes a conference room, a kitchen, and a MEGACHURCH. Barack Obama's skin is the color of AMERICAN SOIL. Barack Obama buys AMERICAN STUFF. He owns a FORD, a BASEBALL TEAM, and a COMPUTER HE BUILT HIMSELF FROM AMERICAN PARTS. He travels mostly by FORKLIFT. Barack Obama says that Americans cling to GUNS and RELIGION because they are AWESOME.
And I've got a few of my own!!!
Barack Obama's full name is Barack Hussein Washington Lincoln Kennedy Luther King Obama.
When he was a baby, Barack Obama's first words were "I have a dream."
Whenever Barack Obama says the Pledge of Allegiance, 100 Republicans nationwide are instantly converted to the Democratic Party.
Jesus watches Barack Obama YouTube videos and wears a flag pin just like Obama.
Barack Obama taught black people how to dance. |
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| On wisdom and the dream ticket |
[Jun. 17th, 2008|11:07 pm] |
Enough about Obama-Clinton or Clinton-Obama. It's obvious that neither individual would be happy being in the same state as the other, let alone the same White House. Instead let's explore that OTHER dream ticket: Obama-McCain or McCain-Obama!
And why not? Both candidates are widely admired men with fascinating backgrounds. Both claim the ability to stretch across party lines and attract moderates. Their constituencies also complement each other--idealistic younger voters for Obama, more cynical older voters for McCain. Together they could attract a much larger crew. A shared ticket would also promote racial unity, as the cool, intelligent black man and the quintessential down-to-earth Midwestern white man would reinforce America's image of tolerance.
But what about the feminists, how do you please them? That's easy. The campaign could highlight the fact that Obama has grown up under the influence and guidance of strong women, from his white Kansan mother to his WWII-riveting grandmother. He's also married to a particularly charismatic woman in Michelle. McCain, meanwhile, is himself a strong supporter of women; after all, he's been married to two.
Oh wait! I forgot. Elections are supposed to be decided on differences in policy and opinions, not on personality. It's easy to forget, considering that the issues were virtually abandoned in the past five months. Belatedly we realize that McCain and Obama are worlds apart on the two most important issues: the war in Iraq and the struggling economy. Only now do we recall... Clinton and Obama were almost identical after all.
After months of truly absurd media coverage of imaginary Bosnian snipers and dancing pastors and seductive lobbyists, we're FINALLY starting to get back to the real meat of this election. May the battle continue.
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Here's a tragic realization. The older I get, the dumber I become. Not in an absolute sense perhaps; rather, as the issues we face are more urgent than those we dealt with as children, and as excuses no longer work, the more impact mistakes seem to make as well. Sure, sometimes we learn from our mistakes, but we have time to make new ones as well.
I always thought ignorance and stupidity was a curable disease. Now, to be honest, I'm not so sure. |
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| Question #1 |
[May. 14th, 2008|02:23 am] |
Why should American presidential candidate Hillary Clinton--who with her husband Bill earned some $109 million in the past seven years from giving keynote speeches and the like (and will probably earn even more in years to come)--be handed $20 million by her own constituents to pay off debts for her poorly-run and ultimately unsuccessful campaign?
Let me put it this way: if I applied for a job in Quezon City and drove all the way there for the job interview, only to get rejected in the end... should the HR department refund me for my gas?
Here's another perspective: if I took a four year course in law but failed to pass the bar exam, should the law school give me back my money? |
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