Star Wars

What with school starting and all I haven't been able to post.

Now that I find myself with SOME free time, and now that I'm not feeling so lazy, I think it's time to post a little about something I really do feel strongly about:

Star Wars.

Cool Poster

Last week saw the release of one of the most highly anticipated movies of the year. Episode III, the conclusion of George Lucas' brilliant saga, opened to throngs of crowds and left box office records shattered in its wake. It drew heaps of praise from star wars fans and non fans alike, many of them recanting their derisive statements about the prequel trilogy.

So overall, it would be an understatement to call it a success.

But is it, as some critics have claimed, an epic to rival The Lord of the Rings?

I'd say...

Yes and no.

Obviously, Episode III has its share of problems, ("Anakin! You're breaking my heart!" and "NOOOooooooOOOOOOooooOOOO!!!!" spring to mind), but so do a lot of movies. Yes, Lord of the Rings had them too. Maybe not as obvious, but honestly, who else was disappointed by the end of the battle at pellinor fields? All that build up of the army of the dead, all that expectation of seeing the already epic battle become even more epic, and we get... that. Apparently, the army of the dead is an army of ants.

But I digress.

So, yes, Episode III, and the entire prequel trilogy, as movies, had many problems. As movies, I will categorically, flat out, say that LOTR is a better trilogy than Eps I to III. Although Episode III had the better effects and music, LOTR had the bette directing, dialogue, casting, and pacing were all better in LOTR.

Now, as to the story, it is unfair to compare the two series without including episodes 4 to 6 in the mix as well. The Star Wars saga is not composed of two seperate trilogies. Not anymore. Star wars is a saga from episode 1 to 6, and should be judged as such.

In that sense, and I think I might get flamed for this, Star Wars is the superior story.

Leaving behind the senseless fan boy arguments of "Oh, my stormtrooper has a bigger gun than your Orc", the Star Wars saga boasts one of the richest stories ever conceived of, brilliantly utilizing the theories set down in Joseph Campbell's "Hero of a Thousand Faces."

More on this later...

I can't write when I'm hungry.

How Do You Solve a Problem Like the Yankees?

The New York Yankees organization is an empire, without a doubt.

a-rod

It is the glittering pinnacle of baseball success that other teams aspire to. The team lays claim to being home to some of the best players to ever wield a hickory bat. Names such as Babe Ruth, Yogi Berra, Mickey Mantle, and now Derek Jeter and Alex Rodriguez will forever ring in the hearts of fans. With more world series rings in their possession than any other team in baseball, there is no doubt that the New York Yankees are one of the greatest teams in all of sports.

Or are they?

This current configuration of the Yankees is on a hot streak. They have won 10 out of their last 11 games, smashing homers, stealing bases, and shutting out their opponents in grand style. There are many success stories to be found in that massively talented line-up, from Robinson Cano's rookie debut to Tino Martinez's home run rush.

But these successes make it very easy to overlook a key error in the Yankee ownership.

These titans are just too old.

George Steinbrenner, the Yankees' ruthless multi-million dollar owner, is a man who demands a world series title every year. As such, he spends countless money to acquire who he believes to be the key man who can win him the championship. As such, he has splurged millions of dollars on young, hot talent like Alex Rodriguez, Hideki Matsui, and Carl Pavano.

But for every one of these bright prospects, the boss also lets go of solid players like Andy Pettitte, Jon Lieber, Javy Vasquez, Miguel Cairo, Nick Johnson, etc... for players like 35 year old Gary Sheffield and 42 year old Randy Johnson. Meanwhile, he lets young stars like Carlos Beltran slip away in favor of keeping rickety Bernie Williams in center, creating a hole the size of the grand canyon in his defense.

Not good.

It is impossible to deny the talents of Johnson and Sheffield. These two CAN win you a title. But what then? What about next year? And... no offense to old people... how long can they last?

Jeter, Rodriguez, Cano, Matsui, Pavano, Jaret Wright, and Jorge Posada are all young and fit enough to lead the Yankees into the future. But they are just 7 people in a squad of 25. the rest; Mussina, Johnson, Rivera... they are certainly still dominant but getting up there. And don't get me started on the aging Bullpen of Tom Gordon and Mike Stanton.

Even worse, in order to acquire said talents, the boss had to cut lose a number of hot prospects from the minors, prospects who are developing on other teams' staffs.

Yessir, the yankees can be built and chopped each year to win championships. But as each year of this policy goes by, the Yankees become less of a team and more a bunch of old guys who play together. How long can this team remain a success with that policy?

Just ask Real Madrid.

Wise up, George.

"Whee! I'm also a moron!"

Manchester United aka "Team America"

And so it ends.

For over half a year now, the Theatre of Dreams that is Old Trafford Stadium has been haunted by a number of ghosts. Such spectres range from hideous goal-keeping errors, unusual reluctance to score by one of the most vaunted strikeforces in all of football, and an odd contract dispute between Manchester United and winger Ryan Giggs, one of their most trusted servants.

But there was another ghost lurking in the shadows; a potentially far more debilitating one that threatens to choke the life out of this most succesful of clubs. As of a couple of days ago, after months of haranguing and jabbing, this spectre finally succeeded in slicing through the red devil's hide; piercing his heart, extricating it, and smashing it upon the cobblestones of the English Premier league.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen...

Malcolm Glazer has bought Manchester United.

This, my friends, is a catastrophe of New York Mets size proportions... one that promises to put even United's third place finish to shame.

I won't go intop the details, for it is a simple matter of looking it up on google. But I just want to add my voice to the millions of United fans all over the world who are protesting this unnecessary invasion. This man is not Roman Abramovich injecting (dirty) millions into a struggling club. This man is a greedy shyster taking the most successful club in sporting history and saddling it with a debt the size of Anna Nicole Smith's boobs.

This man... is the doom of Manchester United Football Club.

Or should I say... Manchester United "Soccer" club.

Boo.

"Wheeeee! I'm a moron!

Home

This is my first post in a looong while for a number of reasons:

First of all, upon leaving my cousin's house and her wonderful comcast internet setup, my family and I trudged down to balmy Houston,Texas. This land of longhorns and black gold supplied us with one of the best hotels I have ever stayed in, the Jesse Jones Rotary House, complete with video and book library, indoor heated swimming pool, and free internet stations. The first thing I did was email Kathy, of course. After said duty was completed, I decided to blog a little about how great the hotel was. Much to my consternation, the security settings in the computer refused connection to Blogger for some reason. Much as I tried, there was no logging on.

Bet'cha thought I got lazy again, eh? :)

Anyway, the second reason is the real topic of this post.

The second reason I stopped blogging is because, on May 6 2005, we came home to the Philippines.

Two weeks without Kathy is hell for me, anyone who knows me can tell you that. Every second of every day spent in the states was filled with a sort of schizophrenic duality warring in my soul. On the one hand, America is a truly great place for a guy like me. It's not perfect... nowhere near perfect actually... and I have a lot of problems with the place. But for me, I was revelling in the fact that I was in a place where garlic practically crushes and peels itself, where the traffic lights are laws rather than suggestions, and where most of the people didn't shrik away and look at you accusingly when you tried to strike up a conversation in the elevator. I found lots of time for myself and my thoughts, and, if you look at my notebooks you'll agree, my creativity flowed more than it ever has before. Not even the Yankees and their overwhelming underwhelming-ness could detract from my happiness. I was in heaven, or as close to Adelaide as I could find.

On the other hand...

Countering every swell of joy was a sharp pang of pain. It lay there, deep in the pit of my stomach, stabbing me day in and day out, constantly reminding me of one inescapable fact. Everytime I saw something that put a smile on my face... everytime I experienced the kind of joy made only in America... everytime I reached out my hand to caress her soft, delicate fingers and bring them up to my lips... Kathy wasn't there. Every joke, every observation, every smile, every kiss, every hug, every whisper... she wasn't there. There was so much to share and no one to share it with. My only consolation lay in the fact that one day... someday... I would be able to share everything with her; be it in America, in London, in Canada, or in Australia... one day...

And thus I entered Northwest flight 71 bound for Manila via Nagoya an extremely conflicted man. On the one hand, I was returning to Kathy. On the other hand, I was leaving my haven... my oasis in the desert of Philippine life.

This may not be a popular view here, but it's how I feel. I dreaded coming back. I know one of my best friends, Nik, shares an opposing view. He'd rather live here in the Philippines than in NJ. And I understand that, it's in his nature. But it isn't in mine, and every fiber of my being railed against stepping onto that plane. And yet, another part of me... almost a whole nother Gino existed side by side with me. This Gino was radiant and eager... excited and longing for the trip to be completed in a matter of seconds rather than hours. This gino, separate yet one, was coming home... not the home that exists in the middle of Makati... the home that exists in the space between two people; the home that exists in the heart of a young lady; the home that exists in Kathy.

And so, I arrived on May 7th just as conflicted as I was back in the States. One part happy, the other part terrified and filled with longing. It was this conflict that prevented me from actually writing ANYTHING.

And that's what annoys me the most.

This piece is being written nearly a week after touchdown, and I haven't written a single word. All of my ideas that I accrued in the States lie dormant in my notebooks. My blog lay accusingly devoid of any follow up posts. My stories... lay stillborn the minute I tried to write them.

And all of this happened because I was unhappy.

I guess it was inevitable. I descended from a land of order into a world of chaos. A world where traffic lanes no longer exist; where traffic lights are once more suggestions rather than laws; where trash litters the streets and nobody cares; where public transportation flows to its own ebb; and where people just don't give a damn anymore.

Home.

The bitternes assailed me, and I have been woefully unhappy for the past week. It really is no surprise that I haven't been able to write, and that is one of the most saddening things of all.

And yet...

Kathy. I am home. In the midst of all this madness and this chaos, she has been a beacon to me. My depression had taken hold of me and refused to let me go. But she hasd been helping me fight it all the way. Not just by coaxing me back to myself; not just by speaking comforting words and giving me loving looks; she has saved me simply by existing.

It is because of her that my shoulders have lightened and the cloud fogging my mind has lifted. I still feel terribly sad to be back, but now I have hope. It took a week to find it, but it is back.

Perhaps I am overly dramatic, but that is my nature. I am here. Deal with it, you fucking spaz. Every city, every country has problems, some more than most. But every city, every country has goodness too. You just have to find it. After all, how could any country, and life be so bad if it has someone like Katherine in it?

It is to Kathy that I dedicate this post. It is to her that I dedicate my life.

I love you.

Fourth Anniversary