R.I.P., M. Crichton

Oh Michael Crichton.

Not many people took you seriously, but you were a huge part of my childhood.

I read Jurassic Park when I was neck-deep in my dinosaur obsession. In 5th Grade, I wrote a mind-numbingly boring essay entitled My Favorite Book: Michael Crichton’s Jurassic Park, which detailed the intricacies of the dinosaur cloning process (and it probably went a little something like this: My favorite book is Jurassic Park, which is about a park inhabited by dinosaurs! How were there dinosaurs on this park?, you may ask. Well to make a long story short millions of years ago some mosquitoes bit some dinosaurs and then when they (the mosquitoes) died some of them got stuck in amber where they were preserved for a long time, then scientists (to be specific, genetic engineers) used the blood and filled the gaps in the genetic code with the DNA of living reptiles on earth. DNA stands for Deoxyribonucleic acid, by the way, and when you have DNA, you can clone any living thing on the planet, even animals that have been extinct for a long long time–like dinosaurs! ).

My life revolved around E.R. at one point (specifically that horrible time in 96 during my brief stint at a certain all girl’s school on EDSA), so thank you for creating Dr. Greene and Dr. Lewis. And oh my god, Nurse Hathaway and Dr. Ross).

In high school Congo was instrumental in sustaining my relationship with my brother. We still call each other ugly monkey. Isn’t that sweet.

And in college, when I proclaimed to the world on my Friendster profile that I read Nabokov and Joyce, Timeline was secretly one of my favorite books.

Okay, you weren’t perfect–so you had 5 wives.  So you were freakishly tall. So you didn’t really believe global warming was a serious threat. So your female characters were all basically the same person–tomboyish blondes with unmusical names (Ellie Satler? Beth Halpern? Jo Harding?). So you were kind of pikon.

But inspite of everything, Michael, you inspired a generation. If anyone doubts that, just look at this Craigslist post*–now if that isn’t inspiration, I don’t know what is.

*I have to post this here and immortalize it forever, in case the poster decides to pull the ad down:

best of craigslist > vancouver, BC > Seeking a sexual tyrannosaur for a romp in the park – w4m Originally Posted: Sun, 12 Oct 15:14 PDT

Seeking a sexual tyrannosaur for a romp in the park – w4m

---

Date: 2008-10-12, 3:14PM PDT

I am a very career-focused, attractive, 5′9, 120lb woman who is seeking a man who is willing to fulfill my ultimate sexual fantasy. I am an executive with a very successful corporation that keeps me very busy and I sometimes have difficulty finding men who share similar interests to my own in the bedroom.

Nothing turns me on more then Jurassic Park themed role play. You must be the animatronic dinosaur, and I must be the helpless child (Tim or Lex) stuck in the park at your mercy.

You will growl mechanically into my ear and stare threateningly. I will feign panic and search for the flash light in the back seat of the visitor jeep. You will sniff at the window slowly and then release a robotic roar into the night air. I scream for Alan Grant, but your over sized robot jaws come crashing down through the overhead window, pinning me to the floor.

I cannot stress this enough however, you must play as a ROBOTIC dinosaur. This is very specific, my interest lie entirely in animatronic dinosaurs, not real ones. I thought I should mention this as there have been unfortunate miscommunications in the past, leading to performances that have left me without an orgasm.

Other situations could include you being the dilophasaurus and spitting in my face and then going for my jugular. Or you could be the ill and moaning triceratops, and I would be Ellie Sadler, digging through your stool to find the source of the ailment. More or less any scene from the film involving a mechanical dinosaur interacting with a human will do fine.

I don’t like wasting my time, so make sure you do your homework and watch the film and make sure you can fully embrace the mindset of an animatronic dinosaur. I am an incredibly sexual person and I would make it a blockbuster night that you would never forget.

• it’s NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

PostingID: 876586707

2 posts in one day

Because four years ago, on this very day I once wrote–

Today, on Halloween, I must make a confession: I am scared. There is a thought that encompasses all my irrational childish fears; a thought more frightening than Bluebeard with his ax, or the evil clown in the closet, or of flying cockroaches or of the evil rats that will bite off my toes when I’m asleep. I am afraid of the dark shadow that hangs over America. I am horrified that the person responsible for the paranoia and unfounded jingoism that festers in the hearts of some Americans, the person who has been the cause of so many senseless deaths, the person who has constantly (and unblinkingly!) justified a fabricated war is going to be reelected as the next President of the United States of America. Please. Say it ain’t so.

I don’t want to jinx this, but I feel hope( and yes, that Obamafied buzzword–change!) in the air today, on this Hallow’s eve.

I’m reminded every single day that I am not a perfect man. I will not be a perfect president.

But I can promise you this. I will always tell you what I think, and where I stand. I will always be honest with you about the challenges we face.

I will listen to you when we disagree. And most importantly, I will open the doors of government and ask you to be involved in your own democracy again.

From the Wall St. Journal–

Obama and the Runaway Train

The race, the case, a hope for grace.

by Peggy Noonan

The case for Barack Obama, in broad strokes:

He has within him the possibility to change the direction and tone of American foreign policy, which need changing; his rise will serve as a practical rebuke to the past five years, which need rebuking; his victory would provide a fresh start in a nation in which a fresh start would come as a national relief. He climbed steep stairs, born off the continent with no father to guide, a dreamy, abandoning mother, mixed race, no connections. He rose with guts and gifts. He is steady, calm, and, in terms of the execution of his political ascent, still the primary and almost only area in which his executive abilities can be discerned, he shows good judgment in terms of whom to hire and consult, what steps to take and moves to make. We witnessed from him this year something unique in American politics: He took down a political machine without raising his voice.

A great moment: When the press was hitting hard on the pregnancy of Sarah Palin’s 17-year-old daughter, he did not respond with a politically shrewd “I have no comment,” or “We shouldn’t judge.” Instead he said, “My mother had me when she was 18,” which shamed the press and others into silence. He showed grace when he didn’t have to.

There is something else. On Feb. 5, Super Tuesday, Mr. Obama won the Alabama primary with 56% to Hillary Clinton’s 42%. That evening, a friend watched the victory speech on TV in his suburban den. His 10-year-old daughter walked in, saw on the screen “Obama Wins” and “Alabama.” She said, “Daddy, we saw a documentary on Martin Luther King Day in school.” She said, “That’s where they used the hoses.” Suddenly my friend saw it new. Birmingham, 1963, and the water hoses used against the civil rights demonstrators. And now look, the black man thanking Alabama for his victory.

This means nothing? This means a great deal.

Read the rest of the article here.

a strange occurrence

I ran into three cats today; curiously, all of them seemed drawn to me.
And I, to them.

Equally odd:

I saw a dog
that I didn’t like at all

(the feeling was mutual).

so alone, all bound together.

I can’t stop listening to Sun Kil Moon’s Pancho Villa, which is a plaintive reminder of how all too often, great boxers end in tragedy. Please listen to it, even if you have no interest in boxing. Or in bands with odd names.

__

Salvador Sanchez arrived and vanished
Only twenty-three with so much speed
Owning the highway

Salvador Sanchez was a 23-year old Mexican featherweight who died one day in 1982, when his Porsche crashed on the highway. In this video, you’ll witness just how talented he was: by the end of the seventh round Gomez has slits for eyes while Sanchez is sitting calmly in the corner of the ring, unscathed. You’ll also see just how much he was loved. There are whistles and deafening shouts of Salvador! as he is carried on the shoulders of several men. He only had one loss during the span of his ephemeral career.

___

Pancho Villa would never rest
‘Til 1925 he closed his eyes
‘Til Manila stars would rise

First of all, his name was Francisco Guilledo. All I really know is that he grew up herding goats and beating up the boys in his neighborhood in Negros Occidental, and that he almost retired at the age of 20 after being rejected by a girl. And whereas Cassius Clay renamed himself to emancipate himself, Guilledo had his name taken away from him and was re-christened Pancho Villa by American handlers (who were probably at a loss with how to package this tenacious Filipino fighter—so, um… why not name him after the infamous Mexican revolutionary? Labo.).

The song says he “would never rest”, which is true, considering he was in 105 fights and was never knocked out. 105! (To give you an idea of just how insane this is, Manny P. has been in 52 fights and he’s 29 years old. )You can see some of his fights online: here, he’s fighting the then-flyweight champion Johnny Buff (incidentally, the grandfather of Michael-let’s-get-ready-to-ruuuuuumble Buffer). See him knock Buff down after a barrage of relentless punches and then just walk away. Perhaps this is the most well-known of his fights though,where he defeats Welshman Jimmy Wilde. It’s kind of amusing, how the announcers start with an obvious air of condescension (“the colorful Philippine challenger” daw) and end with utter astonishment–”Jimmy Wilde falls flat on his face, and the crowd is stunned!” For the impatient ones, you can just skip to the 7th minute.

Like Sanchez, Pancho Villa died when he was 23, and his death was equally as sudden and as tragic. Ten days after having an infected tooth extracted, he died of blood poisoning.

___

Benny “kid” Paret came a good way
Climbed to the grey sky to raise his hands
Stopped by the better man

And there’s Benny Paret, who went into a coma and eventually died after this fight (This is one of the most heartbreaking things I’ve ever seen in my life.):

Hay.

There are no words, actually. I have to stop myself from objecting to the line “stopped by the better man”. Was Griffith really the better man? His fists were unmerciful, his blows unabating. What do I know, though. Griffith probably still thinks of Paret every single day of his life.* Norman Mailer happened to be there that day, 10 feet away from the two men.

How have they gone? Why have they gone? , Mark Kozelek sings in his sad monotone. Our nation has never lacked valiant fighters in this sport and some go on to have illustrious careers. But for every Elorde, for every Pacquiao, there is a Luisito Espinoza (who, the last time I heard, was separated from his wife, working at Costco and has yet to be paid $130,349 from his previous winnings), an Onyok Velasco. An untimely death is not the only kind of tragedy.

___

Anyway. So I’m just here, listening to this song for the 9,273,585,765th time, thinking of them and all the other boxers who will share the same fate, and of Lola with her tiny hands balled up in fists watching the Solar Sports channel, and of playing pusoy dos with Uncle Nonong and Chris while watching Boom Boom Bautista, and of my friend JB, who I still owe a case of beer after a failed boxing bet (but he doesn’t talk to me anymore. I don’t really know why.), and of Francisco Guilledo’s grave in the Manila North Cemetery. I’m thinking of going there on July 14, if I’m in Manila by then. If you listened to the song and clicked all the links, you’re welcome to join me.

*UPDATE: apparently Griffith recently came out of the closet.