Monday, June 06, 2005

This post is dedicated to my dad. Happy Birthday, Papa.

It's my dad's birthday today. I sent him an e-card. It's probably the first card I've ever sent him. Me and my dad... we are not so good. There are very many things that we don't talk about. I mean, for my birthday, he sent me an email that goes like this:


Happy Birthday. How much money do you need? When do you need it?


So yeah, it's not exactly the best relationship one can have with his/her father. But since I'm 9000 miles away from home, our relationship actually got a little better, what with the "distance makes the hearts grow fonder" shit. At least now there's birthday emails. Back then, it was only a birthday handskahe, if he remembered. At least he's providing me with everything I need, so I can't really complain, because I'm not an American, nor have I been here long enough. Otherwise I might've cry and yell and basically behave like a mother fucking spoilt brat accusing him of not loving me enough and shit. No, we don't do that. I call him only when I need something, and he calls me only when he needs to yell at me. We keep things on the superficial level. We don't go dwelling.

One time, I lost my wallet. A Dior wallet. Fucking ay. My heart still hurt whenever I think about it. It has all my bank cards and unfortunately, my dad's credit card in it. I emailed him telling him this, and that night, at 2 in the morning (note the different time zone) while I was in Wonderland playing golf with Alice and the Queen, the phone rang. I picked it up, and yelling promptly ensued.

"You're so stupid! You're so careless! You're so useless! Can't even take care of a stupid little card! I'm not going to give you another card anymore! You're on your own!"

That was pretty much the gist of it. Speaking of this incident, someone actually found my wallet, and took one of my debit cards and bought $43 worth of gas at Chevron. This was back in the days when gas was still $1.03 a gallon. What does he drive, a 152-wheeler? This remains a mystery to this day.

I could go on talking about my dad, maybe I should start a series of short stories about him. To say he is an interesting man is a complete uderstatement. If anybody wants to write a memoir of him, it will be 1500 pages long, and will definitely be on the best seller list.

So, how was Cinderella Man? Let's take a look at the numbers:

Length of time into the movie when I shed my first tear: 24 minutes
Number of total tears shed: 152
Number of happy tears shed: 79
Number of flinches when someone got punch: 648
Number of times someone got punch: 648
Number of patrons in the theatre: 18
Number of snoring patron: 1
Volume of said patron's snores: 180 decibels
Number of times another patron woke him up: 2
Number of times he started snoring again: 2
Number of laughter induced not by the movie, but by said patron's snores: Countless
Number of patron still in the theatre after the movie is over: 1
Reason he is still there: You guessed it right, he was snoring. Again.

They should have this warning at the beginning of every movie: Please turn off your cell phone, and please don't snore. Otherwise you'll be escorted to the bathroom where toothpaste, rubbing alcohol and nail polish will be applied to your balls in copious amount until they shrink to the size of a booger, or expand to the size of a honeydew, whichever comes first. Thank you, and enjoy the presentation.

To sum it up, Cinderella Man is outstanding. The last 20 minutes alone is worth the movie ticket. It does for boxing what Saving Private Ryan did for WW II. It's so real it makes you flinch.

All right, time to hit the pool. I'll post again if I see something funny worth sharing there.