Exploits of a City Dweller

At a minute and forty-seven seconds left, my index finger hovers over the little green “off” button on the remote. Then I did something completely unprecedented. I didn’t finish watching the game. My nerves couldn’t take anymore and neither could my lungs. Already I’ve gone half way through a pack of Marlboros I bought  just this afternoon. I had a splitting headache from having to watch turn over after turn over. Output was dismal. Defense was horrendous. Rabah turns butterfingered. And after getting a ticker tape parade for hitting 6 from beyond the arch in the UST game, little man Monfort was just not there. Nobody was there.

A rather egregious oversight, you would think. An entire team decides to go on a coma on this lazy Sunday afternoon. How about going for a stroll, boys? And in the meantime, we can all follow your asses around with lace parasols while you figure out how to get back on track from this embarrassment.

I can already see the cloying David and Goliath references sprawled across the sports news tomorrow. Winless UP tap dances all over the high and mighty defending champions with a ten-point lead.

It’s the story that’s been trod out and played like a broken record. When complacency peeks its ugly head from out of the Blue, Ateneo takes a spill with a loud thud. Think NU in 2007. There are no words.

After this loss, all I can say is: Hindi ako yung may balat sa puwet. Wala ako sa Ultra nung nangyari ang kahindik-hindik.

So that’s that. On to the next.

Movies that leave me clapping at the credits like an idiot while sitting alone in the living room are few and far in between. As a member of your run-of-the mill jaded movie audience, I find that my tolerance for mediocrity gets lower every year. To keep from wasting money on 90 odd minutes of visual/aural torture, I follow a formula when deciding on a particular film. It goes as follows (and in random order):

1. If the trailer fails to sweep away my indifference towards what I’m seeing, you can forget about my contribution to the box office earnings. A surfeit of special effects will not always do the job.. uhmm.. makers of Transformers 2. Plus the idea of robot heaven? No thanks!

2. It has to come out on a weekend when I have money to spare (very important). Here’s a tip: payday comes every mid and end of the month. That’s when I feel more generous than usual.

3. The basic premise of the film is something I’ve looked forward to seeing on the big screen, i.e. movies based on the life of a person of interest and/or historical event. Of course,  the slightest hint of an anachronism and the odds will sway against it.

4. Is not downloadable online. I know. To some it’s an evil practice but what comes for free, comes for free if you get my drift. Also, I’m not squeamish when it comes to screen size. My 14-inch laptop LCD will do just as well as the IMAX. And for godssakes, don’t read too much into the last two sentences.

5. Does not involve people getting sliced and diced every 5 seconds. No, I have not seen Saw, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre or The Hills Have Eyes. For good reason: my constitution is not as tough on the teeth as my opinions are.

6. On occasion I will pay to see rom-coms. But only if  A. The cast is composed of tried and tested comedians and B. There’s nothing else on the “Now Showing” roster that shows the  slightest  hint of potential and I’ve already bought popcorn.

7. I have enough energy to drag my lazy carcass out of the house to even see a movie.

Fairly simple movie-going bylaws. Not always impervious but just the same, at least I have them.

I could think of a million ways I was better off as a 12-year-old. For starters, at that age, I knew exactly what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. I had a goal, clear as day, free of any disillusions. I wanted to be a writer. I was good at it too, or at least that’s what my teachers told me. They always made me “Author of the Week” which would come with a corresponding cut-out of an apple or a pencil with my name written across. I remember owning a large collection of these citations proudly displayed as my bedroom wall regalia.

To merit the title, a student has to write the best 10-minute essay on a given topic such as “Which do you think make better pets – cats or dogs?” It was the highlight of my week. I didn’t care much for math or geometry. I always looked forward to Tuesdays when we have our English classes and I’m allowed back into my comfort zone. By the time I was in the sixth grade, I was the associate editor of the school newspaper. They even printed my picture next to my column.

Then I graduated and went on to high school. Needless to say, it was a middling experience and a far cry from the red carpet treatment I got in grade school. When before I brought my A game, here I was nothing. A clean slate. A freshman of no academic importance. Whatever skills I had nurtured were gradually wrung dry by rejection after rejection from the school newspaper.

In my junior year, I reluctantly decided to try again. On the board was written the topic on which we hopefuls were to expound. The instructions were to write an editorial on the following: “What do you think of the Tamagotchi?”

For the benefit of those unfamiliar with 90s haute couture, a Tamagotchi was a digital pet housed in a small, egg-shaped computer with buttons that allowed the owner to care for the confounded pixelized animal.  The teachers who came up with the topic were apparently on the look out for staff writers who will defend this collossal waste of money. Or at least point out its pros and cons.

I, on the other hand, after satisfactorily cracking my knuckles, wrote a highly acidic critique of the Japanese contraption. It was a fad, bordering on kitsch. It had no economic benefit and if you as a parent would so much as rely on it to teach your child the value of responsibility, you need to rethink a few things.

In the end, I didn’t land the coveted role of a bottom-feeding staff writer. Just as well since I failed to read the memo on how to curry favor with the judges. Later I heard that they couldn’t take me in because I was too opinionated. That was the beginning of the end for me.

So before I conclude my diatribe, I leave you with a few things in need of clarification. For one, I need to be clued in on the true definition of an editorial. Considering my career letdown, I might have missed the point. Is it not an article written specifically to voice the opinions of the editor? Then how in God’s green earth could a piece get too opinionated? Two, if there are any advantages to owning a Tamagotchi,  I would like to know. After a decade, they continue to elude me.

On the off chance I be posited the topic again, I’d probably write the same thing. You would think, especially now that I’ve grown more unapologetic and have armed myself with a wider range of adjectives. I couldn’t care less if that was what switched the light off on my potential. In my mind I will wear my opinions where I want them and the Tamagotchi can kiss my A#$@!