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Living in the Philippines often feels like blunt force trauma so it makes perfect sense that our hero is a boxer. Considering that he carries the weight of the expectations of 90 million Filipinos along with the added weight needed to move up a division, it’s a wonder Manny Pacquiao can stand up at all. Little guy beating up the bigger guys—resonate much? But he destroyed David Diaz in impressive fashion, demonstrating that a boxer in late mid-career can learn new things—something Pinoy politicians can’t seem to grasp.

Kevin Mitchell in The Guardian: “…that is why Pacquaio is making such a buzz: he delivers. The fight game is slowly relearning some of its old habits - like the best fighting the best. This is not out of any concern for the fans or the legacy of the sport, but an admission by TV moguls and promoters that professional boxing is losing its lustre. For years, TV, with the limp co-operation of the sanctioning bodies, has pandered to the tactics of rival matchmakers, whose overriding concern has been to keep their star money-earners apart until they could no longer credibly do so…Since the most recent, and hopefully final, retirement of Mayweather, Pacquaio has inherited the mantle of the best fighter in the world, pound for pound.”

The proceedings of the 2008 Young Entrepreneur Award regional finals at the HSBC headquarters in Hong Kong.

Pitches included a spray-on acoustic application (Philippines), worms for waste management (Malaysia), weeds as fertilizer (Bangladesh), and waterproof make-up you apply like a temporary tattoo (Thailand). The winner was the make-up.

Ten years ago this September, Gail, Aye, and I went to Singapore to watch the Heineken Open. That year the Open drew some big names: Marcelo Rios, Michael Chang, and Goran Ivanisevic. Gail was already ill, but she spent as much time as she could trawling tennis forums on the web to defend Marcelo Rios. Aye, we decided, was destined for Michael Chang. I was a Goran fan who believed despite everything that the Crazy Croat would win a major (I always root for the monstrously talented but unstable underachievers). Not content with getting tickets to the matches, we decided to bring gifts for our favorite players. Gail and I bought these anting-anting pendants, and when we got to Singapore we dropped them off at the concierge of the hotel where the players were billeted.

We never found out if Rios and Goran had gotten the stuff, although Gail thought she saw Rios wearing the anting-anting during the Masters championships later that year. If you watch tennis, you will notice that the players wear some interesting stuff around their necks. I’ve seen a few pukka shell necklaces. Marat used to wear The One Ring on a chain, which is another reason we love him, even if it probably didn’t help his game (It’s Evil).

I remembered this at dinner because my friend mentioned that she wrote a fan letter to Shintaro, The Samurai, and he (or his people) sent her an autographed picture. Then another friend recalled how he wrote a letter to Stan Lee and Stan Lee personally wrote him back (The letter is gone). I never heard from Goran Ivanisevic or his management, but three years later he finally won Wimbledon.

Marat def Djokovic Wimbledon 2008, originally uploaded by Koosama.

Holy Eastern European swearwords, Marat Safin just mowed down number three seed Novak Djokovic in the second round at Wimbledon, 6-4, 7-6(3), 6-2! HAHAHAHAHAHA! alternating with tears. Yes Marat is mental and we love him. His pre-Wimbledon tune-up was mountain-climbing in the Himalayas. Yes he may lose in the next rounds to some guy ranked 400. No, we’re never going to change my cat Saffy Safin’s name no matter how bonkers her papy gets!

The old guy (28) and former number one looks across the net at the young guy (21) who’s gunning for number one and thinks, “So this is the hot guy on the tour.” And the young guy freezes. What Marat can do when his head is screwed on right, but never mind that.

Saw the live scores on the Wimbledon site. Starsports was airing women’s singles, so Safin vs Djokovic was not aired live, and not in its entirety.

Update. Marat defeated a scrappy Andreas Seppi, 7-6, 3-6, 7-6, 6-4 on Court 1 (Before he beat Djokovic, he was playing in Court 11) before a crowd that really, really wanted Marat to win. The match finished at 9.30pm London time; he complained that it was so dark, he couldn’t see the ball. On another court, another of the missing made his presence known: Mario Ancic is back, beating fifth seed David Ferrer. Of the seeds, Davydenko, Roddick, Sharapova, Ivanovic are out. Great matches so far at SW19, epic struggles of high quality.

Filipinos Test Catholic Clout: Family-Planning Policies Urged To Help Strengthen the Economy. By JAMES HOOKWAY, Wall Street Journal, June 20, 2008 (Thanks, pq.)

“For centuries, the Roman Catholic Church has exerted its influence on the Philippines like it has in few other countries. That includes lobbying against the kind of family-planning policies that have slowed population growth elsewhere in recent decades. But now, as rice and gasoline prices reach records and the world’s population is expected to strain resources further as it swells to seven billion by 2012, population-control advocates are coming out in greater numbers here against what they see as the Vatican’s efforts to hold back the country’s economic potential…

“The Church is having none of it. Monsignor Pedro Quitorio, the spirited spokesman for the Catholic Bishops Conference of the Philippines, argues that the reason the country is poor isn’t because it is overpopulated but because corruption and sloppy economic planning have made it poor. “And poorer countries produce more children,” he says, especially mostly agricultural economies, where having more children means more hands to till the soil and a better chance of family support in old age.

“Growing populations can help create markets, build industries and add to a country’s economic output, as long as the right policies are in place to allow that growth spurt to take place. Japan, for instance, supports about 130 million on a similar-sized land mass to the Philippines, which is home to 90 million people, most of whom are still supported by a fragile, agricultural economy.

“In many ways, rapid population growth is a sort of multiplier of bad economic policy…And in the Philippines, policy — especially its failure to root out corruption and create an efficient agricultural sector — has been bad…”

Hulk neat tale about how military-industrial complex always trying to invade academe and turn scientific research into weapons. Everybody need research grant but be careful who gives it to you. Hulk has clever cameo by Stan Lee, posthumous TV appearance by Bill Bixby, and guest bit by Lou Ferrigno who should be in Dancing With The Stars. Best superheroes are always nerds. Now that I think about it, Edward Norton perfect for Hulk. Norton’s breakthrough role as altar boy who turns into monster in Primal Fear. If Marvel making Avengers movie, is Thor next? Thor not nerd. Thor Norse god with hammer and probably gay stalker Loki.

George Carlin is dead at 71.

Here are the Seven Words You Can Never Say On Television.

Jerry Seinfeld paying tribute to Carlin: “You could certainly say that George downright invented modern American stand-up comedy in many ways. Every comedian does a little George. I couldn’t even count the number of times I’ve been standing around with some comedians and someone talks about some idea for a joke and another comedian would say, “Carlin does it.” I’ve heard it my whole career: “Carlin does it,” “Carlin already did it,” “Carlin did it eight years ago.”…I know George didn’t believe in heaven or hell. Like death, they were just more comedy premises. And it just makes me even sadder to think that when I reach my own end, whatever tumbling cataclysmic vortex of existence I’m spinning through, in that moment I will still have to think, “Carlin already did it.””

Rex Libris, originally uploaded by 160507.

“We have few badass librarian stories. Joss Whedon gave us Rupert Giles, who can swing a sword as well as shelve a tome. Kelly Link introduced us to Fox, the gorgeous and similarly sword-wielding librarian in the story “Magic for Beginners.” The husband of Audrey Niffenegger’s The Time-Traveller’s Wife takes care of Special Collections as his dayjob. The orangutan librarian of Terry Pratchett’s Discworld series is not to be messed with. Infinite librarians inhabit Jorge Luis Borges’s very small story, “The Library of Babel. “

“This is a fine company of heroes, but, given what we owe librarians, it is still an insufficient tribute. Librarians were among the first to stand up to the Patriot Act. They safeguard the sum of our knowledge and keep it findable. They let us read books for free. They spend their days battling forces of darkness and ignorance, and now they have Rex Libris to demonstrate this to the world.

“James Turner’s square-headed, noir-ish, immortal survivor of Alexandria’s famed library is a marvelous creation. He wears a dark suit and speaks with the accent of a hard-boiled tough guy. He fights demons and villains and alien warlords. He carries weapons and equipment in his notebook by “fictionalizing” them first. He’s read everything ever written, and he knows where to find it all. . .” From a review by William Alexander in Rain Taxi.

Sold!

I’ve spent a lot of time in libraries, but I’ve never met an inspiring librarian, much less one who could tell me how to slay demons. All they ever said to me was “Sssh.” They shushed Me, the nerd who sniffed books! Well there was the nice nun at St Theresa’s, but I don’t remember her name.

Beastly beastly beastly beastly beastlybeastly weather. And I usually like pouring rain, lashing wind and gloom, but not when it comes with a power outage. I am working on generator power which, given the rocketing cost of diesel and the state of the enviroment, is not good.

Otsu and I saw Get Smart yesterday and laughed and laughed. It’s hilarious in a nerdy-deadpan way, viz the exchange between Maxwell Smart (Steve Carell) and Siegfried (Terence Stamp): “If I were Control, you’d already be dead.” “If you were Control, you’d already be dead.” “The fact that neither of us is dead means I am not Control.” Otsu’s complaint: Ken Davitian who played Azamat in Borat is sorely underused as Kaos’s number two. My question: Why is Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson not a bigger star? He’s good-looking, funny, self-mocking and a gifted actor, as anyone who’s seen him play Kirsten Dunst’s cheerleader in Bring It On knows. Dwayne stars in Southland Tales, one of most reviled And praised movies of 2007; he’s excellent.

I’ve never seen Grey’s Anatomy, but I can see what the fuss over Patrick Dempsey is about, so I went to see Made Of Honour. Big mistake. Dempsey plays a guy who’s just ten years out of college, so he has to look and act younger than his real age. There’s a reason why he’s a star now, in his 40s, and wasn’t in his 20s: he projects better as the older guy. He’s more attractive when slightly mournful. Then Kevin McKidd, who was Vorenus in Rome, turns up as his Scottish opponent. Patrick is very pretty, as the late Sydney Pollack points out several times in the movie, but I’d pick the guy who can throw a tree while wearing a skirt.

I don’t watch TV at home—I don’t need the 24-hour news networks to remind me that the world’s going to hell in a handbasket. There’s nothing like being extremely up to date on current events to make one feel powerless. If the news is really vital, someone will text it to me. Like, “The good news is, the ransom for Ces Drilon has been paid and she will be freed. The bad news is, the 10M will be passed on to Meralco consumers as a systems loss charge.” I’m happy Ces is free; I’m not happy that politicians are using her release for their tawdry propaganda.

When I’m not at home I watch the BBC. Taliban prison break, massive flooding in Iowa, the energy crisis, the food crisis, Mozambicans setting themselves on fire in South Africa—talk about feeling powerless. Yeah, I know reducing my carbon footprint will help in the long run, but that makes me feel virtuous, not powerful. I can’t even yell, “Hey Luca, the goal is over there!”

The Hong Kong news post-flood is about the fear of a bird flu outbreak. HK magazine ran a hilarious piece called 28 Chickens Later. “Day 17: Faced with a dearth of safe eateries, people flock to fast food outlets in the conviction that whatever they’re serving, it can’t be chicken.”

One rainy afternoon I thought I’d go to the Peninsula for tea. On the sidewalk outside the hotel, I saw a dead bird, its wings outstretched. Maybe it wasn’t dead, just tired out after a long squawk or pining for the fjords. Maybe it crashed into a building. Maybe a cat jumped it. But the first thought that popped into my head was “Bird flu!” and I walked away very fast.

Bonus question: Some historians believe that Alexander the Great was stricken with West Nile virus or malaria, poisoned by enemies, or unwittingly made to OD by his own physicians. But the histories say that just before Alexander became fatally ill, he saw birds falling out of the sky in great numbers. Any chance it was bird flu that got him?

I don’t check my bag at airports, but insist on lugging it with me on the plane. I travel light anyway—one benefit of a) not following fashion, and b) being regarded as a kind of weirdo/eccentric—and upon landing I get out of the airport faster. Sounds very practical, no? but this is just a side-effect of paranoia. I have this fear that my luggage will be lost forever, and I’ll be wandering a foreign country without a change of clothes and my stuffed leopard Guga.

This fear is not unfounded. I once took a connecting flight from Paris to Rome. In Rome I stood at the carousel and waited for my suitcase. I watched the bags go round and round on the conveyor, to be seized and taken away by the other passengers. I saw a lot of bags, I waited, I counted the good-looking guys getting their luggage (the percentage is higher in Italy) and waited. Finally I looked up and I was the only person in the arrivals hall, there was one sad suitcase left turning, and it wasn’t mine.

The airline rep was very reassuring—apparently my suitcase had been spotted sipping a kir in a cafe on Saint Germain—but you know how it is when people are lying to you, and you know they’re lying to you but you want to believe them, and they know you know they’re lying to you, but they don’t know what else to do and they actually start believing in what they’re saying? Yes, like a relationship. It took me several hundred calls to Alitalia to retrieve my suitcase, but four days later it followed me to a town near the Austrian border. This is a happy ending as lost luggage stories go—you should hear Ige’s lost luggage epic/operas—but now I can’t let my suitcase out of my sight.

I remember seeing a CNN feature about a warehouse in Arizona (or another US city) where lost luggage ends up.  There’s a plot for a novel: Imagine what they’ve got in there. Apparently the stuff is sold off, so if you’ve ever lost a suitcase in transit, rest assured that total strangers have pawed over your underwear.

So I have this paranoia. But I also have these episodes of what-the-hellness in which I  figure, What’s the worst that could happen? If it happens, then you have nothing left to be afraid of. Embrace randomness. I took the shuttle to Kowloon station, where they check your baggage even before you get to the airport, and I thought, What the hell?

At NAIA I watched the carousel with mounting dread, certain that my suitcase had vanished without a trace. Or worse, that it was visiting St. Petersburg or Budapest without me.  Then my bag materialized on the conveyor belt and everything was fine. (Of course for the true pessimist, this is an omen that a whammy is about to hit.) Does this mean I’m going to check my bags from now on? No.

Speaking of Italy, the Italian football team narrowly avoided elimination at Euro 2008, scraping past France 2-0.  Luca Toni must’ve had a dozen attempts, but no score. On one hand it’s terrible that the reigning world champions were so close to an exit; on the other hand, we get drama.

“Copy editors are the last set of eyes before yours. They are more powerful than proofreaders. They untangle twisted prose. They are surgeons, removing growths of error and irrelevance; they are minimalist chefs, straining fat. Their goal is to make sure that the day’s work of a newspaper staff becomes an object of lasting beauty and excellence once it hits the presses. . .The copy editor’s job, to the extent possible under deadline, is to slow down, think things through, do the math and ask the irritating question. His or her main creative outlet, writing clever headlines, is problematic online, because allusive wordplay doesn’t necessarily generate Google hits.” In a Changing World of News, An Elegy for Copy Editors by Lawrence Downes, NYT.  

Thanks to the fabulous Stella for the link. We’re the two newspaper cynics (Howard Hawks’ His Girl Friday is my model; if only I could find a hat to fit my giant head)  you see sitting in cafes having large, stiff drinks, bemoaning how everything’s gotten dumber. The world needs more ruthless, hardcore, steel trap-brain editors, it just doesn’t know it yet.