For Love of the Game — Part II

(For Part I, click here)

Step into my parlour now so I could regale you with the tale of my foray into Muay Thai.

It all started when I woke up one morning and finally resolved that I should do something about my sagging and fat-padded form before I reach thirty (which, for everobody’s information, will still be a slightly long time in coming).

That day, in the factory, I was on one of my bathroom breaks, and standing next to me by the sink was one of my fellow elves, Oliveski. Now, I’ve known that Oliveski was into Muay Thai for several months already — and her dedication paid off in dividends of toned arms and firmer abs, plus going dress sizes smaller. I remembered my early-morning resolution and so, I unabashedly riddled Oliveski with questions about the martial arts.

Oliveski was kind enough to supply me with answers,

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For Love of the Game — Part I

For two consecutive years now, Tata has taken to collecting Champion’s trophies from the Annual Sandurot Downhill Mountainbike Competition that is one of the events in Dumaguete’s Calendar of Activities before the city’s charter day celebration, which is on November 25.

How a  person could think of riding on a two-wheeled contraption equivalent to the weight of the government’s NFA rice ration in our barangay for each poor family (read: 3 kilos) down a mountain terrain replete with exposed tree roots, boulders, and muddy foot paths used by small-scale farmers; with berms that, at the end of the line, are blocked by oblivious bovines chewing on their cuds, tall and mighty trees indifferent to the puny humans who crash against their ancient trunks, dogs in heat, and schoolchildren playing marbles; and under the worst weather conditions, e.g., near-zero visibility because of rain, is beyond my comprehension.

Presenting…

Dear Friends,

I have grave news…

Excuse the days when I served silence. All has turned out well, if not for some.

I have become a pseudoscholar, and today, I mourn the loss of some of my colleagues, research assistants who were bubbly freshmen eager to go data gathering in order for civilization to know the results of a study made with the aim of alleviating poverty, of increasing the collective awareness of the world about life, and of dispensing nonsensical data so as to allow you, dear patron of the sciences, to spend idle time in front of your computer when you could have done something better, i.e., get a pedicure or a massage.

My colleagues are lost, forever mourned, in the uncharted swamps of Donegal. And search parties have quit their designated responsibilities, have given up my research assistants as gone, gone, gone…

One Speaks Against the Dead

Hello…

Feyoh has gone out for a while and this here is Diva Sista Shaneekwa speaking to y’all.

That girl Feyoh’s right addled in the head. Yesterday she trudged through that maze of a cemetery, lighting candles for her family who already croaked and are now wearing white clothes, with wings growing out of their backs and constantly spend their time plucking harps and singing in heavenly voices… what-ever that means.

I so don’t like cemeteries, you know… being them house of those dead bodies and bones. You could get something there if you aren’t careful with where you step on. Who knows if that tomb you’re about to pass through is already ready to crumble, hurling you down to hug an open casket where a grinning skeleton waits? I shudder at the thought. The world has not yet produced the best disinfectant for cases like those. So… um, unhygienic.

There’s also the issue about heat. People like

The Grapes Have Gone Sour

Super JJ will tell me that I am sourgraping.

It all started when The Shoe Factory announced that there will be a contest for the best decorated work area on the factory floor. Some Unimaginative Shoemaker assigned a few elves (including myself) to be the ones who’d take care of preparations. However, at the last minute, other Unimaginative Shoemakers decided that I should not be included in the preparations because I was part of a group of elves who had the most workload for the month. Still, I had already given my word to those elves tapped for the Halloween decorations contest and I was with them when I was off duty.

The Halloween Committee established fort at Daphy’s house, a real strategic headquarters, because it is quite near The Shoe Factory and a gustatory haven to boot; there were snacks every two hours. Our calorie count rose as the day of the contest neared.

Our work in the understaffed “Halloween Committee” involved the following:

Bottled Feelings

Over a bottle of brandy shared by us both, you answered my question why you don’t hold my hand as often as I want you to.

And I quote you here…

“It’s sad that only things superficial are what you deem important. You whimper each time you fall on paved ground. I can’t be there all the time to catch you. But know this: I would not mind sweating blood just so I could get you across if your way is paved with thorns and fire. That’s how it is.”