the parallels of junebug

after a few months of waiting for the discounted hard copy. it's finally here! it's something to watch during some down moments. junebug made me do some research and more. never mind amy adams and her oscar nom. i was more interested with the leads. so embeth davidtz was in schindler's list? i was wondering who was the first choice for the role of madeleine. as the film's commentary implied ms. davidzt pitched in at the last minute. that role was very right up her alley. raised in south africa, the graceful actress hopefully is not a typical white south african. i get chills everytime i bumped into someone who flaunts an id similar to michael richards aka kramer's.

in the film, gallery owner madeleine who specializes in outsider art, and her new husband george (alessandro nivola - another turn as an eye candy, this time the favored son) travel from chicago to north carolina to meet his family which included his stern mother peg (celia weston), bland father eugene (scott wilson - catherine willow's dad in CSI), an angry younger

 brother johnny (benjamin mckenzie -- i wonder how he attacks his OC role) and johnny's wife, the heavily pregnant, naive, chatty ashley (amy adams' academy award nominations and other awards were the publicity crux of this indie).

the family except for ashley, weren't particularly taken with the tall, thin, different madeleine. to them, she's tall, thin and different. never mind if she had a good education and she's very nice. it's a archetypal drama of the unfriendly in-laws. it's the "just because you're different you don't belong and george should have married a local girl like johnny bits". it would have been less tense, the same southern drawl for all the johnstens including george's future kids.

like the new york times review, i was also wondering about george's professional life. was he a drug dealer? or an artist? a photographer? we'll never know. unless there's a sequel. madeleine's side of the family this time. it would have also been a lovely gesture if madeleine's got to drop by ashley's hospital during the trying times. though phil morrison and angus mclachlan(the director and writer) didn't think otherwise.

meeting the in-laws is always an awkward moment. the will they like me/hate me dilemma paves for sleepless nights. there's no recipe for success when it comes to in-laws. it's either they'll warm up to you or they won't. race, culture and upbringing aren't that essential for the broad-minded. if you behave abominably, no amount of future kindness would repair the damage. that goes for life in general (photos from junebug publicity stills).

gilmore girls lines

lane kim, an authentic audiophile, together with her mother Mrs. Kim are my favorite characters on gilmore girls. lane has better taste in men than both rory and lorelai combined. adam brody only appeared for one season then he was off to the OC. i've never seen the OC. i would never have the inkling to see the OC. but that rachel bilson has some nice dresses.

Dave: A few weeks ago you told me that Lane had a crush on me. Well, I have a crush on her, too. Now, I know you have very strict rules about dating and boys, but I just want you to know that I'm a good person. I don't smoke, I don't drink, I've never gotten a ticket, I'm healthy, I take care of myself, I floss. I never watch more than 30 minutes of television a night partly because I think it's a waste of time and partly because there's nothing on. I respect my parents, I do well in school, I never play video games in case they do someday prove that playing them can turn you into a serial killer. I don't drink coffee. I hate soda because the carbonation freaks me out. I'm happy to give up meat if you feel strongly about it. I don't mind wearing a tie. I enjoy playing those hymns on my guitar, and I really, really want to take your daughter to the prom.

—Season 3, Ep. 20: "Say Goodnight, Gracie"

dave rygalski portrayed by adam brody

lane's band ---- sebastian bach, formerly of skid row, replaced adam brody on guitar at the start of the fourth season.

blogs

blog hopping could be exhilarating. there are a million sites to choose from. gossipers, philosophers, naysayers, poseurs abound. quite a lot follows grey's anatomy like this one and a blog site that doesn't. there are tons that link to jessica zafra's site and i'm one of the very obscure ones amongst thousands. when i went home last month, i've unearthed my clippings of her womenagarie column from 1989 when she was into sting and daniel day-lewis. now she elucidates about her cats named after federer and safin. every major tennis event would be documented and federer is the star of the show.

my friend cj writes very well. now ensconced in kimmi meissner's hometown of baltimore, my gorgeous friend weaves not only enjoyable but profound and intricate pieces and like zafra, she has this magical grasp with the english language, her subjects saunter from pop culture to her favorite bands or her travels and adventures to her epiphany in the bath tub. she was the astute observer who pointed out to me in the pete sampras era that tennis and golf are clearly country club sports. her literary possibilities are boundless. i was dipping my hands on a bill bryson non-fiction years ago, it occurred to me that she could conjure better drivels. so keep the words flowing, joy.

the poetic potentials of my friends merma and ryan leave me gasping for more of their rhyming. if only i could avail of rye's poems readily in the web. poetry.com takes hours to download. but the paragraphs still ignites with beauty in his friendster blog, bestowing insights into his zestful world.

i haven't found anyone who blogs about sports frequently. not only manny pacquaio as muse, or ponderings on manny pacquaio's politics. but sports. volleyball, gymnastics, downhill skiing? i know i know i should go to sports websites and read steve kerr.

taste is a choice. a person's choices whether good or bad is a reflection of his/her sensibilities. christian bale may be stoic to some but he's absolutely talented and chameleonic to me. my aesthetics sense sometimes subsist on the new yorker hand in hand with a copy of the national enquirer, the evening standard magazine on fridays and a glance at the lakers' results. i still long to watch more films and yes, more sports. or catch a favorite band in concert. but then i have a sweet hubby that reminds me in case i missed the headlines, "babe, robert altmann died the other day." definitely, someone after my heart.

gilmore girls log-in

it has been almost a month and i'm still downloading. i have to wait and wait until i'll be able to quench this gilmore girls fix. unlike any other CW shows, gilmore girls didn't reach dawson's creek popularity in the british isles. it's only a blip. a tiny minority knows of its existence. there are no dvd's available anywhere in the city.

the very reason i got stuck at the end of season 5 is because in june or was it july, the hallmark channel showed daily episodes of the revered mother-daughter show from seasons 1 to 5. i knew there would come a time, the card-channel would suddenly halt all proceedings and they certainly did, last month. i'm now pining for season 6. i'm still in this luke-lorelai mode and christopher is just christopher at the moment, rory's dad. not yet the new husband.

but as always i continue reading about the series so i'm more or less up to date. according to the new york times, the departure of the palladinos (the show's creators, due to contract disputes) changed the structure of the show. less pop culture references? that wouldn't be gilmore girls. that would be seventh heaven.

and everybody hates chris? christopher, despite the sherry sidesteps in seasons 2 and 3 is still dishy. why couldn't lorelai get together with the father of her child? even if that child kept pining for the wrong guy post-dean. the palladinos should have poured more meat into the dean character. but no, jared padalecki, who was equally at-home in the new york minute arms of mary-kate olsen, is now doing well in supernatural. while the writers fueled a james dean persona into jess. why would rory like someone who was disrespectful towards her mother? the seemingly goody-goody girls always fall for the bad boy. milo ventimiglia has moved on, first in american dreams and now heroes and has called it quits with miss bledel. logan, meanwhile may be rich and well-connected but he's too spoiled for comfort, it's almost unpleasant.

and as for lorelai, despite her unconventional relationship with her mother and that over-the-top brooding for luke, is the driving force of the series. how we wish we could all be that brainy or that gorgeous or that funny and be surrounded by witty people and be the bearer of quotes to live by from hereon.

applause for a champion

the sight of a filipino lifting the world pool championhsip trophy is something extraordinary. back from the dead after losing his two matches in the preliminaries, ronato alcano beat the big guns for the hundred thousand dollars cash prize -- the likes of efren reyes and the deadly taiwanese duo of wu chia ching, the defending champion and kuo po-cheng, last year's runner-up. the subdued pinoy from rizal's birthplace displayed superb abilities in cashing on banks, utilizing soft breaks and deadly combinations en route to victory and gave all his countrymen something to cheer about in this era of high prices and uncertainty.

although i've heard of marlon manalo and i've seen dennis orcollo and ramil gallego brandished their prowess when this matchroom sports-sponsored event was still played in cardiff. i've never had a glimpse of alcano. until this week. the philippines has ceased eons ago to not only be known as a bustamante-reyes country, it's an acclaimed fact, that it's an enclave of a fabulous accumulation of pool talents. albeit i'm not aware of a kanye west synergy transplanting into pool, (or is it lee van corteza?) the philippines produces gifted players through sheer grit and hustle. a keen eye and stroke of pool genius could propel a fortunate individual from the doldrums of poverty and into the pantheons nonpareil of greatness. unlike david beckham's football, there's no age limit. perhaps there is, let's say 60? or 55?

perhaps as pool sometimes require eerie stillness while the match is in progress, the PICC crowd should have refrained from constant movements, or worse cellphones blaring while the players were sashaying the table. subdued is not just our adjective. but it definitely was the word to describe one ronato alcano, world pool champion 2006 (photos taken from worldpoolchampionship.com).

a wimp in style

when one gets afflicted with excruciating pain, the person not only endures daily physical sufferings but the image of frailty and weakness. i admit my arthritis is a hindrance to a lot of things, like working in a day job that brings nothing but annoyances from mean bitches (goodness, how many more weeks have i got left in the walls of abu ghraib?). others with the same turmoil comprehends my ordeal but a version of cruella de ville, who castigates like a lilian bettencourt with all that billions or angela merkel with all that power, views my restrictions and even my demeanor with utter derision. i know it's only three rooms. but there are bigger oceans.

as i try to scale some heights or at least do some writing, this job is just the only way not to float and sink in poverty, the constant anguish is harder than one can imagine. is it bad to be coy and diffident? i need to ask more questions. i'm in definite awareness of all my drawbacks.

is it better to be contemptuous and condescending? this is a word of mouth, world. i may not have friends from the high places but i have friends. i don't mind losing one more acquaintance. there are tons of likeable people. the dark side never wins over the jedi knights.

so what if i can't function without pain? i've managed the last five years, or is it six? i can no longer recall. i have to remind myself always to give the zafra stare to the mean girls and ask them to get laid with their very own christian bales (photos from wikipedia.org).

smokin ladies

stumbling upon two movies the past month on dvd starring two chain-smoking leading ladies, film-viewing wavered me a bit from the very exciting world of housework which is never-ending unlike the reese witherspoon-ryan phillippe coupling.

one is sharon cuneta's p.s. i love you from 1981, a teenybopper with gabby concepcion. a former smoker who only stopped recently or so i've read from her website, sharon cuneta.com -- sharon's second foray into the movies, p.s. i love you has the basic plot of all her earlier features, rich girl meets rich boy, conflict with parents/friends, but a happy ending as always. i've never seen dear heart or my only love. i've had glimpses of cross my heart, forgive and forget, friends in love and to love again. yes, i'm well-versed on the megastar's filmography but i'm not a sharonian. sharon cuneta is just an embodiment of a fantasy. who doesn't want to be a rich girl? but she took her privileged upbringing one step higher, as an affluent charmer adored by the masses, whom without her parents money became a rich girl by her own right.

back to p.s. i love you. christine (sharon) met mike (gabby) at a polo match. christine didn't like mike at first. but who wouldn't adore the old gabby concepcion of yore with his cute smile and dreamy eyes? the young lady of 16, eventually succumbed to the lure of mr. close up. alas, christine's mom isabel (boots anson roa), a widow, disapproved of mike. mike was the only son of her former boyfriend, emilio, (eddie garcia -- who also directed the movie), whom she dumped for christine's father. at the start of the film, christine's family hacienda was the collateral for a p100 million loan from emilio's bank. the hacienda was subject for foreclosure, but isabel was rescued by her richer friends, dave and amanda played by tony carrion and barbara perez. in the end, isabel relented to her daughter's pleas hence that picturesque ending with the horse and helicopter.

the houses used as mike's and christine's digs were stunningly huge and we wonder why there are so many poor people in the philippines. how come some pinoys accumulate so much wealth? sharon's film might have been a vacuous offering on young love but it makes us (or it's just me), examine social issues besetting dear mother land more than any other films set in the slums.

another film which i picked up from the check-out was that of another smoker, jen aniston's rumor has it. i'm not sure if the former rachel has quit puffing her merits but reading from my collection of mag covers, quite unlikely. and rumor has it as a movie? a simple waste of time. the backdrop was flimsy. set in 1997, when clinton was still president, the main character believed that her family was the foundation for the graduate. shirley maclaine, the grandma, was anne bancroft's mrs. robinson and kevin costner's beau burroughs was the basis for benjamin braddock, dustin hoffman's role. how can someone as beautifully packaged as sarah huttinger (aniston) be conflicted? working in the obituary section of the new york times is not exactly cleaning toilets. how can poor sarah fell for the charms of the costner character? i know mark ruffalo as a boyfriend may be a bland lawyer who cannot enunciate properly but not everybody looks like brad pitt and mr. angelina jolie has the perfect drawl. go check out snatch with his special brand of irish accent or seven years in tibet where you're wondering whether he's speaking german or english.

probably, no amount of writing or directing or casting (supporting roles for mena suvari --sister, richard jenkjns -- father and kathy bates --family friend in the trailer) could have saved this film. but actors commit bad choices in their lifetime. even meryl streep sometimes hits a snag. rumor has it though had netted more in US box office than in her shoes, an earlier release where shirley maclaine first portrayed the role of grandma to two sisters. anyhow in her shoes had a more favorable review from the new york times (photos from the films' publicity reels).

a nurturing spirit

One of the exquisite features of going home are the moments spent with my mom. We have these conversations that may be trivial to some but entirely useful and profound to us. Prior to her stroke nine years ago, an event that was not only physically debilitating, she was the epitome of energy. It’s different now. Long retired from the daily grind of her office job, she merely stays at home these days -- dedicated to following her early evening soaps. She still reads her books and magazines. As a child growing up, she filled our house with a variety of the printed journals. It may have only been Steel, Dailey and Sheldon but they were nonetheless crucial in molding my personality. In late teens and early twenties, the age when prodigies were already established in their literary aspirations, I began immersing myself with the classics. I still haven’t rode the sad train with Anna Karennina (as Rory Gilmore elucidated in her high school graduation speech) or flip through all the Shakespeare plays but I know I’ll get there.


Ah, her magazines from the 60’s were the kind of stuff that fueled my curiosity. There were the scrapbooks of Amalia Fuentes -- a chronicle of the Sampaguita star rise to stardom. I wasn’t yet in my teens when I was asking the question of her time, Amalia or Susan? Her Photoplay and Modern Screen collections, in-depth, exhaustive periodicals on Hollywood, were some of my staples to escape childhood ennui. That and all the JFK memorabilia. Our baby books and albums, meticulously labeled and organized -- now dusty and furrowed but still preserved and priceless are the stuff to show to potential life partners.

She has taught me the manners that the school system, with all my strict and rigid teachers weren’t able to emphasized enough to all of us students -- don’t be bitchy (my teachers were downright terrors). I didn’t become bitchy and temperamental. I wonder if that’s a good thing. Smiling was a must every time I dropped by at her office. Not uttering salutation to her colleagues would entice reprimand. “Saying good morning or good afternoon isn’t too much to ask, isn’t it?” she would admonish if I ever forgot good form. She wasn’t much of a domestic diva ( I’m not either but I stay home a lot and kind of trapped to be one). But she’s now dedicated to Martha Stewart on the Lifestyle Network. I miss gazing at our daily ritual before I sat forth for the western hemisphere -- the Korean drama, Days of Delight (133 episodes). We used to watch Gilmore Girls together and concluded that Lorelai should parlay her mother card more often.

A mother’s company is invariably different. Mother and daughter relationships are complicated. Ours was not. To think she was the people person. And I border on bleakness and solitude. But as a mother she was the icon to behold. All her four children turned out just fine (I have three younger brothers). She has given us her life blood and it was her distinct sense of nurturing that has impermeably shaped our lives.

the tag (seven songs)

the premise of this piece -- tagged by my friend joy, a huge music cognoscenti, i managed to delve into my music box, sort through my choices and narrow them to a few entries.

the tag line -- list seven songs you are into right now. no matter what the genre, whether they have words or even if they're not any good, but they must be songs you are enjoying now. then tag seven people to see what they are listening to. post these instructions to your live journal/blog along with your seven songs. then tag seven other people to see what they are listening to.

the list --- 1. butterflies and hurricanes - Muse (Absolution, 2003)
muse is my band of the moment. a song about change and being the best.
the usual. but the strings are captivating.
2. thoughts of a dying atheist - Muse (Absolution, 2003)
same album. got hooked on the title.
3. the small print - Muse (Absolution, 2003) haven't gotten round to the band's other albums yet. great arrangement on this song. poignant.
4. kids with guns -- Gorillaz (Demon Days, 2005) the title reminds me of the film city of god. virtual bands are kind of neat and damon albarn is kind of cute.
5. wishlist -- Pearl Jam (Yield, 1999) one of my all time favorites from pearl jam. kept on watching the performance promoting the album on letterman via the web.
6. world wide suicide -- Pearl Jam (Pearl Jam, 2006) the theme for this latest release reeks of sadness.
7. daysleeper -- REM (Up, 1998) i sleep a lot. sleep is the best laxury.

the seven bloggers for tagging (only if you're up to it) --- charmie, rian, cecile, rai-rai, sigrid, g-net and den.

mishmash in the heat

there's nothing like a brownout (apparently a filipino slang for power failure) to jolt us back to reality. that and mosquito bites, especially so unavoidable when you're in the moshpit that is the masskara festival. but it is way, way better than the binay territory that is the financial capital of the philippines. "the taxi cab left us in the middle of the road, why?" the other half voicing out his query. "he said our inn was not in his map." my unequivocal reply.

bacolod was an improvement in local transportation terms compared to sweltering makati. should be. as i professed to memorize every nook and cranny of my hometown. i'm provincial and proud of it. poverty was everywhere in broad daylight. homemade pool tables in two corners of our subdivision. manila will host the next three editions of the world pool championships. and i'll be able to follow the action on sky sports. i can't handle a cue stick if the life of my entire country depends on it. practice? that goes for my culinary skills. not eight-ball pool.

it was extremely humid at the NSO. the staff behind the counters weren't exactly profused in benevolence. an office so cramped yet replete with common folks requesting for their legal documents. i can't find rich people or they don't look like rich people. why sweat when you can pay an agent? it's an arduous task to memorize a mother's maiden name, her date of birth, the date of birth of her parents and their parents and so on. explain that to a person who has difficulty grasping his full name or his date of birth? "ano ang ngalan sang nanay mo? san-o siya natawo?" (what's your mother's name? what's her date of birth?), the counter lady interrogates via the microphone and in full hearing distance of the entire office space and the next building.

the prices of basic commodities are inflated. every brand of whitening creams proliferates the market. captain barbell rules the visual world. "ako si richard, ako si raymund. kami ay twins!" not a lot of changes. except richard guttierez is now the biggest star in the philippines (photo from bacolod city.be).

a spinster commits

it was a startling single-life, when my thoughts maneuvered around self and family, tiger woods, baseball, checking nba stats, reading, watching prosaic films. my idea of sports three years ago didn't include humongous horses standing guard in case the home and away fans would descend to extreme inebriated violence. now, the left side of the road would be my oyster and bidding farewell to the green stuff isn't actually pleasant.

never been much of a social person or a kitchen entity, my affections gravitate towards desolation. probably with a sprinkling of patience and practice i can whip up the finest dishes and who knows, throw a party to celebrate an event. that wouldn't include my betrothal as i did a sharon cuneta, not with gabby but with kiko. which one of of the megastar's marriages persevered?

henceforth, although i have to compromise with lights and space. i get to listen to muse, metallica, and tool. understand the intricacies of darts. learn more about stumps and wickets. move with the crowd at white hart lane and cheer for the spurs with the gangly bean poles. have someone tie my shoe laces. romance is not maudlin gibberish. it's actually sweet.

fast cars, ballgames, et al

the last time i was glued to the sports screen was during game one of mets-dodgers, in a tiny nook in makati, the dodgers lost that match. i think i was already in bacolod by the time los angeles dropped the entire series. then my other half, who likes the mets, posted this question, if greg maddux retires, which team would you support? the answer is. i don't know. i rooted for all things atlanta braves when mr. maddux was with chipper jones and company. there was the phase with the cubs when he was traded to chicago. after that, i tried my best to bend a little when the former bespectacled pitcher and avid golfer got to the mound in LA. as the right-hander hits 41 next season, are my days as a baseball fan on its final breaths? not really, with the illustrious maddux as good as he is, he will end up as pitching coach somehow in the major leagues. or better yet, manager? too farfetched?

alonzo won suzuka. meaning schumacher would only finish runner-up in what he is saying as his last season. the brazil grand prix would be the german's last race. it is highly unlikely that the spaniard would not secure a point as, schumi said "fernando is a very good driver." would i still be in my element for formula one after schumacher? tricky question. i would just ogle montoya at nascar. i'm not into the columbian. but raikkonen doesn't propel my usual shrieks.

i'll be getting hitched in the morning but there's time to catch a bit of pba somewhere in the evening. it's been ages since i've seen pinoy baskeball. the last time i saw james yap, he was with UE. but i'm into limpot sightings. 10 minutes playing time is fine.

now, got to get the rings ready for the formal union (photo from usatoday.com).

confounding behavior

still reeling from the untimely passing of my friend, i was ruminating on the variety of people who are giving me a hard time. top on my list are definitely those who were educated at the school of that small town in tinimbang ka ngunit kulang or in the red state of american politics. but what is bewildering is i couldn't connect jenny shimuzu with the puritans? or why brooke meyers is so boring compared to lisa rowe? and who would have thought that kate hudson and chris robinson union would not last a decade?
next on the loop are the frozen shoulders contingent. because i'm so wishy-washy, i get affected by frowns, extreme silence and contemptuous comments emanating from the better than most and holier than thou personalities. shouldn't we just deal with people who will give us the good vibes and not the negative energy? anyhow, we need to endure hardships in order to live and continue breathing. i shouldn't be such a wimp. (photo from almalatina.net)

tears for a lady

like all the girls from dragon mansion, she, too, had her foibles. but i can never forget the generosity. the Gap jeans. the night she accompanied me to a christmas party in 1999 along lacson street in bacolod and letting me stay the night in their alijis house. she could dance with the best of them. she could not just sing but sing well.
but most of all, motherhood was her calling. i was looking forward to have a glimpse of her basking in the delight of that calling. i still couldn't believe that she's gone. that hers is a life curtailed. my heart is truly breaking.

numb

i'm so sad, i can't feel. i can't even comprehend my thoughts. i feel just like staring into a wall. numbness overwhelms my minute frame. grief cuts us into pieces, bit by bit. life suddenly doesn't have any meaning. retrieving answers to what could have beens, what might have beens sucks. really sucks.

crash and pain

our pc crashed last week. as i was in the midst of constructing something academic. i was almost reduced to tears. well, almost, as the tears fell last night when the pain in my hands were so severe that i couldn't open our front door for two hours and i was left outside our flat lumbering at three in the morning. the other half was at work, dealing with blood and more blood, in a scathingly distressing liver unit.

i could have asked the neighbors upstairs for help but it was three in the morning on a monday night. there seems to be some mysterious underpinnings on the type of work those girls do. i don't ask questions. i don't even know their names. very miranda hobbes. but it was cold. i don't thrive in the cold. my hands gets castigated in temperatures below 10 degrees.

it took more than two hours but my knight as always, came to my rescue. he left his unit amid call bells buzzing and cvp lines pulling and let me in. we don't live just next door from work, it's actually a thousand miles. it was sweet from my babe.

my hands are still sore. ugly and sore. i'm late on that academic paper. my life isn't even organized for flying home next week. i also have to go through portsmouth at white hart lane on sunday. for the non-fan, that's tottenham hotpurs' next match. it would be nice to see sol campbell up close. after that, the paved road to formality for a ring on the finger. but right now, i need to get this so-called academic thing out of the way.

adieu to my last german

one of the reasons michael schumacher is retiring from formula one is the lack of space. he gets a humongous trophy every fortnight. except last year 2005, when a force named fernando alonzo came into the picture and was the one collecting the trophies. but more than a decade prior to that and again this year, it was schumacher. and where in the world does he store those heavy products of hard work ? there could a be an enclave somewhere in europe. and it's size, is not a room of its own but a mansion in beverly hills.

as the ultimate glory-hunter, the german is my escape from the dreary, poverty-driven life that i lead. his earnings of $2 million per race isn't bad. he's worth what, £300 million? a wife, two kids. an equally rich brother that says, "we're not close growing up." though ralf could always tap big bro as mechanic, like he did when he was cutting his teeth in kart racing. there's their dad, their only surviving parent that had bumped into some bad investments with michael's money. schumi's retirement was always on the offing but now that it's here, it feels so unreal.

schumacher is the all-controversial formula one driver, seven-times world champion. i couldn't even recall all his scrapes, the latest being in monaco this season, when he devised a spin to block the track and hinder rival alonso's odds for taking the pole position. there was the 1994 damon hill incident which forever sullied his name and a repeat in 1997 when he was trying to slam into david coulthard's car in a bid to win the title didn't make him appear that lovable either.

but despite all the lingering questions from detractors such as damon hill (obviously) and keke rosberg, formula one will surely pine for schumacher's competitive presence. being german, his driven, single-minded, win-at-all cost attitude didn't attract fans from the holier-than -thou assembly. "he's such a blatant cheat like that "hand of god," icon, diego maradona." relying on their brilliance alone, schumacher and maradona are already very good. but somehow, their dark sides appear and glide through their psyche. and the morality police are not happy, to say the least.

it has been so much fun watching schumacher the last ten years. he's my roger federer. which proves that all good things come to an end. there are still a few races left this season. it would be a delight to see ferrari's number one navigate one last overtaking strategy. then to set sail to other oportunities, like pulling a magic johnson in business. and not a yevgeny kafelnikov in the poker circuit. although unlikely, it would be something if he could play poker on tv, just for a glimpse of a driving legend that is michael schumacher.
(photo from askmen.com)

September 17, 2006