How can you regret something that made sense? How can you regret something that’s keeping you sane, even if you feel otherwise? How can your salvation lie in both the safe and the self-destructive?
Maybe that shouldn’t be the question. Maybe it oughta be, if either way your salvation can only end as a mistake, which mistake can you not live with?
Oops, I forgot. That can’t be it. Not anymore, anyway. The fcuk with questions on salvation. The 50 Million-Dollar Question should now be: When are you gonna stop?
***
Thing is, maybe I don’t want to. It’s crazy, but I’m scared that someday I’ll forget. I’ll forget how I used to feel about things. I’m afraid of the day when my memories of all things "malabo" will lose all depth and color. It’s scary that such memories can recede into nothingness. And all I’ll have are nebulous scribblings to serve as a reminder of the times.. and then, nada.
Guess I should be happy at the prospect of impermanence; it's the only thing one can ever count on. But.. I dunno. I just don’t wanna ever forget.
Saturday, September 24, 2005
Of Pastimes and Fast Times
Man, I am positively itching right now. Yes, itching, I tell you, to hold a guitar. The first bars of the song “Suntok sa Buwan” by Session Road are torturing me. (To refresh thy memory, check out my muzak at the sidebar southaway.) The song isn’t in vogue at the mo, and the lyrics don’t exactly bring to mind a vivid remembrance of all things bright and beautiful (or even otherwise). So I’m quite clueless as to how the song managed to hijack my inner gramophone and put itself on insta-replay. I've already downloaded the tabs and chords to the song a week ago. Need to brush up on my tablature reading and plucking first, though. Been out of practice for so long, I imagine brassy creaking to be the accompaniment my digits will be producing the moment I get hold of a guitar. I'll need to hang out at Lejan's place, of course, to slake this sudden urge of mine. Good thing she still has that guitar that her most infamous suitor gave her for her birthday back in freshman year. All we'll be needing then is booze (not that Lejan drinks; I don't, either) and some smokes (not that Lejan still lights up; I don't, never have). And how can I forget the other singular most important add-on to the setup: Gil. (Not that he sings or plays the guitar.. the last time I checked, anyway.)
Gil, Gil, Gil. What can I say about my best guy friend in the world? Well, for starters, we don't hear from each other anymore. Not like we used to before, anyway. The last time we spoke was in post-Abs July when we burned the telephone lines, talking about what went on in our lives during the yawning gap in communication prior to then. Sadly, our correspondence is now limited to sporadic forwarded messages and missed-calls. I miss the guy terribly. We lost track of each other for a coupla years and reconnected just a coupla months ago. It's sad that we lost touch, and even more so because I probably won't be seeing him for a long time. He's so far away now, studying and making a heck of a living in his hometown in Sorsogon. Among all the people I know in our batch, he's the busiest person I know who's handling the highest level of responsibility. For a 23-year-old, he’s pretty much up there already.
Of course, to be perfectly honest, some things you never see coming. Back in college, Gil was the most party-hardy person I knew. He was the ultimate BI ("bad influence" for the less informed), and Lejan and I used to relish stories of his and his posse's bad-ass ways. (Yep, we were such dorks then.) Gil was everyone's favorite blockmate, and you could always count on him for a good laugh. But what makes him a supah dupah friend is that he sticks it out with you through thick and thin, literally.
Gil was the wakeup call I needed to get me through some of my more icky moments. He was never tactless, and he dished out the painful truth without making you feel like you were the biggest retard on the face of the planet for not having realized it in the first place.
He's wise, too, in the ways of the wily. The breadth of his knowledge and his open-mindedness still take a lot of getting used to, but it all was a refreshing departure from the linearity in thinking of some of my closest friends. And I benefited from that, internally at the very least.. Indeed I like to think that some of it has rubbed off on me.
Gil's my best guy pal, but most of the time we spent together was when it was the three of us with Lejan hanging out. My absolute favorite memory of him was when, together with Lej, we were lounging around the Quezon Hall steps, shooting the crap as per usual. Spurred on by someone's stroke of genius, we decided to have our own little ice cream party that same night. So we dropped by Mercury Drugstore at Philcoa to buy a tub of ice cream and some Ferrero Rochers (his treat, of course; he's always nice like that). Then we headed for the Sunken Garden where, under a hazy canopy of stars (yes, Stef, I'm plagiarizing myself), we ruminated on a great many things about the past, the present, and the future that lay ahead in the vast milkiness of the night sky.
Looking back, I guess it was with a sense of foreboding that each of us realized that things as beautiful as the seemingly eternal present have a way of disappointing you. You get lulled into a sense of complacency in which you think that although changes happen, you can still count on certain things being fundamentally the same. And to a certain extent, this was what happened. But sometimes, the trade-off doesn't seem so fair. In our case, growing up had to necessitate the outgrowing of such spur-of-the-moment indulgences. But we could never outgrow each other, despite evidence to the contrary. I like to think that there's a time and place for everything and that someday an encore of the times we spent together is possible.
Lejan once asked me if it was possible that I would fall for Gil. While I love him to pieces and everything, I replied in no uncertain terms to the negative. See here, some things cannot hope to evolve. And sometimes they shouldn't…
I miss Gil like a bad love song from the mid-90s. You know the type that comes on the radio after long periods of hibernation? Then you find that you just can’t get the tune out of yout head coz of the warm, fuzzy feeling that comes flooding within.. I've been wheedling him forever to take a trip to Manila for business or whatever, but his uber busy sked is just too airtight. Hopefully by next year, Lejan and I can find time to swing by Sorsogon together and trespass upon his hospitality. Then maybe we can finally have our jamming session under the stars. In the meantime, I think I'll get cracking and brush up on my latent inner rockista.
Gil, Gil, Gil. What can I say about my best guy friend in the world? Well, for starters, we don't hear from each other anymore. Not like we used to before, anyway. The last time we spoke was in post-Abs July when we burned the telephone lines, talking about what went on in our lives during the yawning gap in communication prior to then. Sadly, our correspondence is now limited to sporadic forwarded messages and missed-calls. I miss the guy terribly. We lost track of each other for a coupla years and reconnected just a coupla months ago. It's sad that we lost touch, and even more so because I probably won't be seeing him for a long time. He's so far away now, studying and making a heck of a living in his hometown in Sorsogon. Among all the people I know in our batch, he's the busiest person I know who's handling the highest level of responsibility. For a 23-year-old, he’s pretty much up there already.
Of course, to be perfectly honest, some things you never see coming. Back in college, Gil was the most party-hardy person I knew. He was the ultimate BI ("bad influence" for the less informed), and Lejan and I used to relish stories of his and his posse's bad-ass ways. (Yep, we were such dorks then.) Gil was everyone's favorite blockmate, and you could always count on him for a good laugh. But what makes him a supah dupah friend is that he sticks it out with you through thick and thin, literally.
Gil was the wakeup call I needed to get me through some of my more icky moments. He was never tactless, and he dished out the painful truth without making you feel like you were the biggest retard on the face of the planet for not having realized it in the first place.
He's wise, too, in the ways of the wily. The breadth of his knowledge and his open-mindedness still take a lot of getting used to, but it all was a refreshing departure from the linearity in thinking of some of my closest friends. And I benefited from that, internally at the very least.. Indeed I like to think that some of it has rubbed off on me.
Gil's my best guy pal, but most of the time we spent together was when it was the three of us with Lejan hanging out. My absolute favorite memory of him was when, together with Lej, we were lounging around the Quezon Hall steps, shooting the crap as per usual. Spurred on by someone's stroke of genius, we decided to have our own little ice cream party that same night. So we dropped by Mercury Drugstore at Philcoa to buy a tub of ice cream and some Ferrero Rochers (his treat, of course; he's always nice like that). Then we headed for the Sunken Garden where, under a hazy canopy of stars (yes, Stef, I'm plagiarizing myself), we ruminated on a great many things about the past, the present, and the future that lay ahead in the vast milkiness of the night sky.
Looking back, I guess it was with a sense of foreboding that each of us realized that things as beautiful as the seemingly eternal present have a way of disappointing you. You get lulled into a sense of complacency in which you think that although changes happen, you can still count on certain things being fundamentally the same. And to a certain extent, this was what happened. But sometimes, the trade-off doesn't seem so fair. In our case, growing up had to necessitate the outgrowing of such spur-of-the-moment indulgences. But we could never outgrow each other, despite evidence to the contrary. I like to think that there's a time and place for everything and that someday an encore of the times we spent together is possible.
Lejan once asked me if it was possible that I would fall for Gil. While I love him to pieces and everything, I replied in no uncertain terms to the negative. See here, some things cannot hope to evolve. And sometimes they shouldn't…
I miss Gil like a bad love song from the mid-90s. You know the type that comes on the radio after long periods of hibernation? Then you find that you just can’t get the tune out of yout head coz of the warm, fuzzy feeling that comes flooding within.. I've been wheedling him forever to take a trip to Manila for business or whatever, but his uber busy sked is just too airtight. Hopefully by next year, Lejan and I can find time to swing by Sorsogon together and trespass upon his hospitality. Then maybe we can finally have our jamming session under the stars. In the meantime, I think I'll get cracking and brush up on my latent inner rockista.
Friday, September 16, 2005
Friday Madness
It's Friday once again. Yay. So what's on the agenda for the weekend? Nada. Well, maybe the usual play-all-you-can badminton gig on Sunday. But Saturday was supposed to be reserved for watching the UAAP Cheerdance Competition. It's high time the UP Pep Squad licked the UST Salinggawi Dance Troupe and regained their former glory as the cream of the crop in collegiate cheering.
Alas, we ran out of tickets. So friggin' labo. Well, whatev. Haven't been to any of the UAAP cheering tourneys at all during my time in college, and so I guess it's safe to say I won't know what I'll be missing. So that's that. Guess I'll have to wing it then tomorrow, see whatever catches my fancy. Stef invited me to see The Motorcycle Diaries (starring the wickedly beautiful Gael García Bernal of Y Tu Mamá También fame) with her at Instituto Cervantes. I'd like to go, but Valero beckons, and with more pressing--and hence, less enticing--matters that need to be addressed. But since I operate on a mood basis, who knows? Especially if the damn rain continues to literally put a damper on things.
***
Blech. I can't stomach this stuff. Fibermate, it's called. I was browsing through one of the magazines my housemate regularly brings home and saw this ad for a new health product. Fibermate is a food supplement that contains psyllium, which is "universally recognized as a premier source of dietary fiber." The quite informative ad looked good and so last night, I dropped by Mercury Drugstore at Glorietta with Nor, my old Persian 10 collaborator, and bought a small packet, just for a preliminary taste test. Good thing I didn't buy another packet; it doesn't go down the pipes easily, I tell you. The thing costs 16.50 bucks, too! Quite overpriced for something that makes me wanna hurl.. It's not usually my style, but I'm gonna pull an Asiong Aksaya and drain my cup in the pantry sink right about now.
***
We still don't have TV at home. A little over a week ago, cable companies put their collective foot down and went on a metro-wide crackdown on illegal cable connections (dunno if those in the provinces were also affected, as I haven't been watching the news lately). As a result, not only were we unable to watch the US Open finals in which Kim Clijsters bested Mary Pierce in the singles championship match, but my housemates also missed their weekly dose of showbiz cheezmax, courtesy of Krissy and Boy. I can just imagine Jub gnashing his teeth and stamping his foot in incredulity when, instead of regular airplay, the now-all-too-familiar gray screen greeted him upon coming home. Now that would have been a true Kodak moment. If the name of the game was Facial Contortionism, he could well give Serena Williams (who, according to him, is "mukhang kalabaw") a run for her money. Of course, Jub himself could never hope to look like a kalabaw, not when he's the unofficial "wallpaper boy" (as opposed to being a calendar boy) of our colleagues over at the China office. But I digress.
As for me, I don't feel as strongly about our disenfranchisement. When I moved to our place, our cable TV had already been illegally connected, and so I was spared from having to consider the ethics of the whole thing. (Not that I would have been expected to, either.) Granted, it was nice to be watching my favorite shows and forever not having to worry about monthly payments, so it is a little bit sad, in a way. But on the whole, I could do a lot worse. If it weren't for Sex and the City reruns every Sunday night on Wowow and the occasional blockbuster premiere on HBO, I really couldn't have cared less.
I got used to not watching TV for extended periods of time in college since I lived in a dorm all throughout my stay in UP. There were TVs, of course, and sometimes I would sit with my dormmates and watch TV Patrol or some primetime show on Studio 23. But it wasn't a weird thing for me to not watch TV at all for a whole semester, or a significant portion of it, straight. But don't get me wrong, I haven't been channeling all the time that could have been used for boob tube viewing towards more intellectually enriching pursuits; there were a lot of other things that I found myself preoccupied with after school, like malling until SM North EDSA closed up for the day, going to org meetings and gimiks, making chika with my roommates and other dormmates till the wee hours, having movie marathons and late-night therapy sessions in Ayesa's room, stuff like that. Except for Meteor Garden in my final year in school (yes, yes, I admit to being a sorta quasi-fan of the hit show from Taiwan, so sue me.. I mean, come on, practically EVERYONE was into it then), there wasn't anything I found really worthwhile to follow.
This incidental deprivation, however, would only be relieved whenever I went home down south for my much-needed vacay. (That would be about three times a year then.) Of course, at home the idiot box would be on the whole day. My brothers managed to refine the art of hogging the TV all day long while attempting to blast away at alien creatures on the PC. In my parents' bedroom, the TV would be tuned in to the noontime shows and telenovelas. (And from time to time, tennis and boxing matches, but only when Mom would let Dad have his way.) On weeknights, I would find myself by my lonesome in the living room, watching MTV/Studio 23/the Lifestyle Network or some movie rerun on cable while the rest of the fam congregated upstairs for their daily fix of Korean rom-coms and--lemme not forget--those lovestruck Kristine Hermosa starrers. Seriously, I never understood their fascination for any of it. The endless whinings of Kristine-and-posse about not being able to be with the guys they know they're destined to be when clearly, if they weren't dead set on making their own lives miserable, they would have bagged the guys already and moved on to their happy-ever-afters. And vice-versa for the guys. Sheesh, I think I'm getting a headache here, just thinking about the roundaboutness of it all. And don't get me started on them Bea Alonzo-John Lloyd Cruz primetime tickets, puh-leez! I don't want my weekend to kick off with an untimely reminiscence of all things cringe-worthy about boob tubeage.
So much for all this. Well, gotta run.. Before I get thoroughly worked up here and pop a vein in the process. Happy weekend, everyone!
UP Fight!
Alas, we ran out of tickets. So friggin' labo. Well, whatev. Haven't been to any of the UAAP cheering tourneys at all during my time in college, and so I guess it's safe to say I won't know what I'll be missing. So that's that. Guess I'll have to wing it then tomorrow, see whatever catches my fancy. Stef invited me to see The Motorcycle Diaries (starring the wickedly beautiful Gael García Bernal of Y Tu Mamá También fame) with her at Instituto Cervantes. I'd like to go, but Valero beckons, and with more pressing--and hence, less enticing--matters that need to be addressed. But since I operate on a mood basis, who knows? Especially if the damn rain continues to literally put a damper on things.
***
Blech. I can't stomach this stuff. Fibermate, it's called. I was browsing through one of the magazines my housemate regularly brings home and saw this ad for a new health product. Fibermate is a food supplement that contains psyllium, which is "universally recognized as a premier source of dietary fiber." The quite informative ad looked good and so last night, I dropped by Mercury Drugstore at Glorietta with Nor, my old Persian 10 collaborator, and bought a small packet, just for a preliminary taste test. Good thing I didn't buy another packet; it doesn't go down the pipes easily, I tell you. The thing costs 16.50 bucks, too! Quite overpriced for something that makes me wanna hurl.. It's not usually my style, but I'm gonna pull an Asiong Aksaya and drain my cup in the pantry sink right about now.
***
We still don't have TV at home. A little over a week ago, cable companies put their collective foot down and went on a metro-wide crackdown on illegal cable connections (dunno if those in the provinces were also affected, as I haven't been watching the news lately). As a result, not only were we unable to watch the US Open finals in which Kim Clijsters bested Mary Pierce in the singles championship match, but my housemates also missed their weekly dose of showbiz cheezmax, courtesy of Krissy and Boy. I can just imagine Jub gnashing his teeth and stamping his foot in incredulity when, instead of regular airplay, the now-all-too-familiar gray screen greeted him upon coming home. Now that would have been a true Kodak moment. If the name of the game was Facial Contortionism, he could well give Serena Williams (who, according to him, is "mukhang kalabaw") a run for her money. Of course, Jub himself could never hope to look like a kalabaw, not when he's the unofficial "wallpaper boy" (as opposed to being a calendar boy) of our colleagues over at the China office. But I digress.
As for me, I don't feel as strongly about our disenfranchisement. When I moved to our place, our cable TV had already been illegally connected, and so I was spared from having to consider the ethics of the whole thing. (Not that I would have been expected to, either.) Granted, it was nice to be watching my favorite shows and forever not having to worry about monthly payments, so it is a little bit sad, in a way. But on the whole, I could do a lot worse. If it weren't for Sex and the City reruns every Sunday night on Wowow and the occasional blockbuster premiere on HBO, I really couldn't have cared less.
I got used to not watching TV for extended periods of time in college since I lived in a dorm all throughout my stay in UP. There were TVs, of course, and sometimes I would sit with my dormmates and watch TV Patrol or some primetime show on Studio 23. But it wasn't a weird thing for me to not watch TV at all for a whole semester, or a significant portion of it, straight. But don't get me wrong, I haven't been channeling all the time that could have been used for boob tube viewing towards more intellectually enriching pursuits; there were a lot of other things that I found myself preoccupied with after school, like malling until SM North EDSA closed up for the day, going to org meetings and gimiks, making chika with my roommates and other dormmates till the wee hours, having movie marathons and late-night therapy sessions in Ayesa's room, stuff like that. Except for Meteor Garden in my final year in school (yes, yes, I admit to being a sorta quasi-fan of the hit show from Taiwan, so sue me.. I mean, come on, practically EVERYONE was into it then), there wasn't anything I found really worthwhile to follow.
This incidental deprivation, however, would only be relieved whenever I went home down south for my much-needed vacay. (That would be about three times a year then.) Of course, at home the idiot box would be on the whole day. My brothers managed to refine the art of hogging the TV all day long while attempting to blast away at alien creatures on the PC. In my parents' bedroom, the TV would be tuned in to the noontime shows and telenovelas. (And from time to time, tennis and boxing matches, but only when Mom would let Dad have his way.) On weeknights, I would find myself by my lonesome in the living room, watching MTV/Studio 23/the Lifestyle Network or some movie rerun on cable while the rest of the fam congregated upstairs for their daily fix of Korean rom-coms and--lemme not forget--those lovestruck Kristine Hermosa starrers. Seriously, I never understood their fascination for any of it. The endless whinings of Kristine-and-posse about not being able to be with the guys they know they're destined to be when clearly, if they weren't dead set on making their own lives miserable, they would have bagged the guys already and moved on to their happy-ever-afters. And vice-versa for the guys. Sheesh, I think I'm getting a headache here, just thinking about the roundaboutness of it all. And don't get me started on them Bea Alonzo-John Lloyd Cruz primetime tickets, puh-leez! I don't want my weekend to kick off with an untimely reminiscence of all things cringe-worthy about boob tubeage.
So much for all this. Well, gotta run.. Before I get thoroughly worked up here and pop a vein in the process. Happy weekend, everyone!
UP Fight!
Tuesday, September 06, 2005
In The Mood For...
Gaaad. It's gonna rain every day till Thursday in Makati. According to the four-day weather forecast courtesy of inq7.net, I won't be able to play Ultimate at San Lo yet again this week. Games are automatically cancelled in the event of rain coz although horsing around in the muck sounds very Dawson's Creek-y and evocative of the unbridled spirit of youth (which is very tempting, as lately I'm feeling very bridled and reined in--like a nag), it's also the time for catching all sorts of viruses and nasty what-have-yous. (In fact, I have a budding case of the sniffles coming on, which I really hate coz I tend to sneeze all over the place--with or without a cover-up.) Add to that the fact that it's hard to score glamour puss or pogi points while throwing and catching discs in such a compromising state. But of course, this is not why people take to the game like New Age converts. Aside from the "spirit of the game," that code of conduct which places the responsibility for fair play on the players themselves, playing Ultimate does what one sets out to do when trying out a new sport: it gives you a fun workout.
***
Speaking of workouts, I am in desperate need of boot camp therapy. My gym membership expired just last month, and now I'm in fitness limbo, so to speak. (I'm no gym addict, and I certainly don't look like one.) The Valero people and I have been planning to enrol in the new gym being set up in our office building, but after a little while, the idea got a little boring. Indeed, I think I'd rather enrol in a muay thai class over at Red Corner than rack up hours working the machines. It's partly coz I'm not a social gym-goer, if there ever was a term. But more than this, I guess it's really a case of the gym where I was a member rather than my actual workout predisposition. I think having a membership at Fitness First would be really cool but, aside from other considerations, the location is a bit of a stinker for me. All things considered, I would love to have a membership at Gold's Gym. So very accessible. And the classes are pretty wide-ranging. And lemme not forget to mention the nice "view" (yes, scoping out the scenery while working the treadmill is a sport unto its own), which is more than I can say for my former gym.
I remember in my last sem in college, my roommate Andy and I would compare notes on the exercises that we were taught in gym class every Tuesday and Friday. She used to love doing tube rows, for which her gym teacher commended her publicly one time. ("She does it well," said Caces, the infamous terror gym prof.) As for me, my favorite exercise was the back extension because it felt so relaxing. I don't get to do this now, though. Instead, the thing that I look forward to doing the most are the ab exercises. I hope I don't come off sounding like a gym nerd but really, once you get past the initial pain and shock (for some) that come with the first few times of doing it (of course, using proper form and technique), you'll eventually learn to appreciate doing crunches (no sit-ups!), leg raises, the whole bit.
Of course, this doesn't make me a total masochist. (The most obvious evidence of which is my lack of discipline in the dietary department--when I feel like gorging, well, there go n hours of my life, hello calories.) There are things that I hate in a workout, aside from spotters who just stand around and act oblivious to your call for needed assistance. Foremost among these is the tricep kickback.
Dang. Man, this exercise just cramps my style. I lose form whenever I do this coz I can't seem to hack the technique. (I firmly believe form should never be sacrificed in strength training.) Usually I do it standing and bent over, like what Sir Isidro taught us in gym class, coz I prefer not to have my arse jutting out like so. Fortunately, there are lots of other flab-busters that are equally effective. Unfortunately, these are all in theory as of the mo, as I have yet to seriously get my act together.
Anyway, I think I'll stick to team sports for now since these are more fun. Badminton is fun fun fun, and I really oughta make it a more regular thing in my weekly schedule. But more needs to be done. I'm trying to mobilize the Valero posse to come with me to San Lo for a game of disc with other people. So far, I was able to convince Zel to come WATCH. Okay, so maybe some things are best taken one step at a time. Vida was initially psyched coz of the cuties she hoped to find there. (Sorry to disappoint but cuteness is relative, so she really has to come see for herself.) Oh yeah, Omar might be interested in playing, too. So that's the lineup so far. Outside of Valero, there's Stef, Jonnalee, Lejan, and... well, lemme get back to you when the rains stop. Hopefully by then, everyone starts to come out of the woodwork and play.
***
Speaking of workouts, I am in desperate need of boot camp therapy. My gym membership expired just last month, and now I'm in fitness limbo, so to speak. (I'm no gym addict, and I certainly don't look like one.) The Valero people and I have been planning to enrol in the new gym being set up in our office building, but after a little while, the idea got a little boring. Indeed, I think I'd rather enrol in a muay thai class over at Red Corner than rack up hours working the machines. It's partly coz I'm not a social gym-goer, if there ever was a term. But more than this, I guess it's really a case of the gym where I was a member rather than my actual workout predisposition. I think having a membership at Fitness First would be really cool but, aside from other considerations, the location is a bit of a stinker for me. All things considered, I would love to have a membership at Gold's Gym. So very accessible. And the classes are pretty wide-ranging. And lemme not forget to mention the nice "view" (yes, scoping out the scenery while working the treadmill is a sport unto its own), which is more than I can say for my former gym.
I remember in my last sem in college, my roommate Andy and I would compare notes on the exercises that we were taught in gym class every Tuesday and Friday. She used to love doing tube rows, for which her gym teacher commended her publicly one time. ("She does it well," said Caces, the infamous terror gym prof.) As for me, my favorite exercise was the back extension because it felt so relaxing. I don't get to do this now, though. Instead, the thing that I look forward to doing the most are the ab exercises. I hope I don't come off sounding like a gym nerd but really, once you get past the initial pain and shock (for some) that come with the first few times of doing it (of course, using proper form and technique), you'll eventually learn to appreciate doing crunches (no sit-ups!), leg raises, the whole bit.
Of course, this doesn't make me a total masochist. (The most obvious evidence of which is my lack of discipline in the dietary department--when I feel like gorging, well, there go n hours of my life, hello calories.) There are things that I hate in a workout, aside from spotters who just stand around and act oblivious to your call for needed assistance. Foremost among these is the tricep kickback.
Dang. Man, this exercise just cramps my style. I lose form whenever I do this coz I can't seem to hack the technique. (I firmly believe form should never be sacrificed in strength training.) Usually I do it standing and bent over, like what Sir Isidro taught us in gym class, coz I prefer not to have my arse jutting out like so. Fortunately, there are lots of other flab-busters that are equally effective. Unfortunately, these are all in theory as of the mo, as I have yet to seriously get my act together.
Anyway, I think I'll stick to team sports for now since these are more fun. Badminton is fun fun fun, and I really oughta make it a more regular thing in my weekly schedule. But more needs to be done. I'm trying to mobilize the Valero posse to come with me to San Lo for a game of disc with other people. So far, I was able to convince Zel to come WATCH. Okay, so maybe some things are best taken one step at a time. Vida was initially psyched coz of the cuties she hoped to find there. (Sorry to disappoint but cuteness is relative, so she really has to come see for herself.) Oh yeah, Omar might be interested in playing, too. So that's the lineup so far. Outside of Valero, there's Stef, Jonnalee, Lejan, and... well, lemme get back to you when the rains stop. Hopefully by then, everyone starts to come out of the woodwork and play.
Monday, September 05, 2005
Badminton Ain't For The Faint-Hearted
I heart Taufik Hidayat. Okay, okay, so considering that a coupla weeks ago, I had nary an idea of who he was, I can safely say that at the very least I really, really like him. Of course, not in the way that I really, really like David Beckham. And of course, a comparison to what I have for Marat Safin is out of the question. But Hidayat’s fancy wristwork and lightning agility, which have recently earned him the distinction of being the first shuttler to hold the Olympic and World Championship titles at the same time, have inspired in me delusions of athletic grandeur. Man, I wish I had an ounce of that guy’s talent. Following the plausible premise that we want that which we cannot have, which has that which we do not have (feeling lost? this would help explain why some of us tend to keep dreaming the Eternal Dream even when there's someone perfectly okay--then again, okay is perfectly relative--waiting for us when we wake up to sordid reality), I hereby conclude that I heart Taufik Hidayat.
Seriously now. I would love to improve my game and bring it to a level wherein the plays are characterized by dazzling legwork, sharp returns, and smashes that whizz past at breakneck speeds. I don't even care if I'd be the bumbling underdog; I just wanna play a mean game like that. (The term playing would presuppose being able to return the service and keep the ball in play long enough to not make you seem a total ditz opposite your opponent.)
I shared this with Jubert (my ESPN/Star Sports/Sports Plus buddy) and Zel (the closest thing I have to a badminton mentor). The last time we talked, I picked up a few pointers from Zel and came away wanting to immerse myself in formal lessons and grueling practice. On the court, everyone tries to steer clear of Zel coz when you're not careful enough, she can hurt you real bad. (I'm not just talking about bruised egos here.) Zel says she she's crap when she’s playing with her badminton club friends. I hate the implications of this. If she's crap, then that would make me pond scum. I can’t stand the thought of being pond scum.
Jubert, on the other hand, rarely subjects you to pain during play, although he's caught me by surprise once (I mean, the palpitation-inducing kind of surprise that could traumatize). When we're partners, we like to think we can get away with many things. But when the laissez-faire syndrome starts creeping in and we've messed up one shot too many, that's when the real fun begins, when the competition is neck-on-neck.
All this reliving of nifty play moments has got me all giddy for this Friday's game. Which reminds me. Gotta ring up Lejan to invite her. I sure miss that girl. Well, not Lejan the person per se (we see each other from time to time, after all), but Lejan the memory. Lejan the college partner-in-crime, from them Stat days of old. But that's another story to be told another time. Right now, I'm in the mood for a roar: Vamos!
Seriously now. I would love to improve my game and bring it to a level wherein the plays are characterized by dazzling legwork, sharp returns, and smashes that whizz past at breakneck speeds. I don't even care if I'd be the bumbling underdog; I just wanna play a mean game like that. (The term playing would presuppose being able to return the service and keep the ball in play long enough to not make you seem a total ditz opposite your opponent.)
I shared this with Jubert (my ESPN/Star Sports/Sports Plus buddy) and Zel (the closest thing I have to a badminton mentor). The last time we talked, I picked up a few pointers from Zel and came away wanting to immerse myself in formal lessons and grueling practice. On the court, everyone tries to steer clear of Zel coz when you're not careful enough, she can hurt you real bad. (I'm not just talking about bruised egos here.) Zel says she she's crap when she’s playing with her badminton club friends. I hate the implications of this. If she's crap, then that would make me pond scum. I can’t stand the thought of being pond scum.
Jubert, on the other hand, rarely subjects you to pain during play, although he's caught me by surprise once (I mean, the palpitation-inducing kind of surprise that could traumatize). When we're partners, we like to think we can get away with many things. But when the laissez-faire syndrome starts creeping in and we've messed up one shot too many, that's when the real fun begins, when the competition is neck-on-neck.
All this reliving of nifty play moments has got me all giddy for this Friday's game. Which reminds me. Gotta ring up Lejan to invite her. I sure miss that girl. Well, not Lejan the person per se (we see each other from time to time, after all), but Lejan the memory. Lejan the college partner-in-crime, from them Stat days of old. But that's another story to be told another time. Right now, I'm in the mood for a roar: Vamos!
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