Or: Things I Left Unsaid on Facebook
Of course I want to talk about The Great Ali. But there’s a bunch of things I need to get off my chest first.
Quoth street philosopher, Talib Kweli: “You told me what you don’t like, you made that clear, now what do you love?”
Or, quoth me, all the time, 24/7: “I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore.”
Cashing in on the Oscar Hype
Guess what, I think I just found my new favorite movie. No joke, I really do feel that Spotlight, Best Picture winner at last year’s Oscars, is powerful stuff. It introduces nothing revolutionary to the film business and the whole thing is done by the book – but it’s an important movie regardless, and I’m glad I finally got to see it. Has it given me the guts to pursue my lifelong pipe dream in journalism? I hope I don’t get to wait for long before I find out.
More of my in-depth analysis/reflection paper on this gem of a movie here.
Mayor He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named from Davao
I don’t like this guy, I really don’t. Don’t like the hate he inspires in people, don’t like the arrogant, ignorant behavior his cult-like following is so proud to show off. At this point, all I want to do is bury my head under the sand and hope the entire country hasn’t blown itself to bits by the time I resurface after six years.
In the meantime, I’ll be re-reading Orwell’s 1984 and Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451 in preparation for what’s to come. It never hurts to scan them for useful survival tips – you know, just in case.
It’s my newest obsession and I ain’t even mad. A little ashamed, yes, but I go to happy places whenever I dive into this shallow pop pool, that I forget about everything else whenever I play a song.
I didn’t get into it because I wanted to be ironic about it. I got into it, because I heard someone rapping on one of those Korean music shows on TV, and I thought it sounded pretty cool. So, here I am, complete fan and completely unrepentant about my conversion.
It’s still bizarre to me that these idols have to start randomly rapping out of nowhere on their songs, and that they have to grab their crotches whenever they start dancing. In fact, the whole spectacle is already bizarre on its own, where the fans can be rabid and vicious and mean, and the idols can be completely self-absorbed and still look cute while doing it.
Boy bands shove their sexiness in your faces, while the girl groups are overly-cute. It’s crazy, but it’s a lot of fun.
But wow, if only past me could see me now.
2016 NB-Lame Finals
I’m not excited for this. Nope. Why get yourself invested in a series you know Golden State will win anyway? They shoot all the threes, right? Which means they’ll eventually score more points than all the basketball leagues in the world if they never stop shooting the stupid ball. Right?
Nah. It’s just…
It’s just that, I liked Steph Curry way before liking Steph Curry was cool – way before anyone knew what a Golden State Warrior jersey actually looked like – so eat that, everyone.
And besides, I hate Lebron.
This year’s Finals sucks.
There’s a book I forgot I owned until today. Well, okay, so “forgot” is too strong a word – “left for dead on my to-read pile” sounds just about right. It’s by Norman Mailer and it’s called The Fight, which I picked up a few weeks ago on one of my Booksale sprees. Now that Ali’s passed, I figure it’s time I start reading it now, so I can get a proper education on the man.
Muhammad Ali – so cool, we even have a mall named after him. I remember my mother telling me all about it, and how electric everything was when Ali and Joe Frazier went to Manila for their legendary rumble. Lucky her, to have experienced that in her lifetime.
I’ve never seen a fight of his. I wasn’t even a fetus when he retired from the sport. But I still loved and respected the guy, out of admiration for his inhuman talent, his super-slick moves, and especially his rude mouth. He could make impromptu diss poems with the best of them, and make all kinds of insults off the top of his head, that it was hard to feel bad for anyone on the receiving end of those taunts.
But more importantly, the guy had beliefs, which he stuck to and fought for, even if he faced public humiliation. I think, out of everything else, that’s how I want to remember him. And there’s also this, but I guess everyone already knows about that.
And as for that other boxing great…
I don’t like him now, but I still hope to talk to future generations one day about getting to witness Manny Pacquiao’s history-making matches on live TV. If it weren’t for all of his boneheaded decisions outside the ring and his lack of solid beliefs that aren’t based on the Bible, then his image would’ve remained pure and untarnished in my version of the story.
“I was there when he ended Ricky Hatton’s career,” I’ll tell the kids. “He also fought Floyd Mayweather in the Sleeper Fight of the Century, but you don’t need to know that stuff.”
When they ask me about his stint as a basketball player and a politician, I hope you won’t blame me if I make them watch the 3D-TV instead.
Year of the Dead Monkey
On that note, somebody ought to send a memo to whoever’s in charge of 2016, and tell ’em to stop taking all of the good ones. I remember starting the year off hearing about Alan Rickman. I got stressed out about David Bowie and Glenn Frey – then getting even more stressed out that no one from my then-office knew who they were. That guy who voiced Disney’s Robin Hood (Brian Bedford). Then, Natalie Cole, Phife Dawg, and Prince, and now, Ali.
We’re already halfway through the year, and we’ve already lost a lot of people. It sucks, but at least the afterlife just got a lot cooler.
Song for the Weekend:
“If they don’t know your dreams, then they can’t shoot ’em down.”