Say it loud.

Go Spurs! Go!

Woohoo.

This is what I like about the Spurs. They're so dependable, so "boring", you don't even need to cheer for them anymore. You know what they should do, they know what they should do, and they just do it. No fuss, no flash. They had a chance to close Utah out at home, and they did. Simple as that.

Their starting five didn't even have to play in the fourth quarter.

That's how dependable they are. That "boring".

*****

This is what I don't like about the Spurs. They're so dependable, so "boring", nobody wants to bet against me anymore.

My poor friends who were loyal to the Suns in the 2nd round bet against me. Because of their (misplaced) loyalty, I was able to collect--actually some of you guys still owe me. Don't think I've forgotten!--enough money to have my nails done and got two whiskeys out of the deal as well. Now that no one wants to bet against me and my dependable, "boring" Spurs, I have to pay for my own mani-pedi. Dammit.

But. We are going to the NBA Finals. Sue-weet.

*****

Speaking of friends, I just remebered this from the comments to my post a few weeks back:

mikael said...
the spurs over the suns? mas mabilis ba ang slo-mo kaysa fast-forward? kumain ka na ba? naka-drugs ka ba?

eight beers on this one. or eighty. putcha, dalawang daliri. matalo magpapakalbo. spurs over suns? kurt "secret weeeeeeeeeh-pon" thomas will make duncan a non-factor. marion on ginobili. and, uh, rex chapman on parker. have you seen chapman lately? he can go 5 miles per hour and can lift, like, forty-seven pounds.

this'll be over faster than you can say "poetry reading sa mag:net sa lunes." itaga mo sa bato.

Ahem. Kael, kelan ka magpapakalbo? Since I've yet to collect my eight (or eighty) beers, puwede ba buhok mo na lang? Let's just say that could be my version of the finals trophy. Hahahahahaha.

I'm only half-kidding.

*****

God, am I mean? No, don't answer that. I prefer cocky. Arrogant. Hell, even "heartless bitch" works for me. Sometimes.

*****

Here's a poem I wrote a few years back and saw again recently. I didn't know I used to sound like this. Or could write like this. Now I feel my poetry is just too short, too angry, too held-in. I don't know. Here it is:


Anticipation

I sidestep sleep with the help
of coffee and cigarettes.

The latter rationed to last
until exhaustion overtakes caffeine--
or snow falls
come the wee hours of the morning.

The sky is an uninterrupted grey
of dense clouds--a convex, bulging
surface of unimaginable weight
which I pray it will release soon.

The night is silent--
Pregnant.
Expecting.

And I, ever impatient, look
to the window periodically, continually--
wiping mist-turned-droplets
off the glass pane,

hoping to see
a sprinkle of white flakes--
not quite solid, not quite liquid--
or a mountain-head mantled in white.

Though all I see is darkness and stillness,
a quiet like a cat crouching--
muscles tensed and hackles raised;

though the smattering of fluorescent
lights through my window
mock me with snowflake patterns
as streetlights expand in the mist,

I pray that it comes.
In stingy spurts that won’t settle
or a heavy blanket that will stifle
everything except the morning sun.

*****

This was written in Japan, anticipating my first snow-fall. Which with my luck, was falsely reported by the weather bureau and didn't come until, like, 2 weeks later.