201,000 Reasons

There are 201,000 reasons I should be scared shitless.

A couple of weeks ago, after arriving home from another domestic trip, I swapped credit cards that I kept in my wallet. I usually carry only two cards, depending on the types of purchase that I would anticipate. I use one card with a higher credit limit and more bonus perks for travel, and another for gas purchases because of the higher rebates it offers. I also always carry around yet another one for emergencies only.

So as I was replacing the cards, I noticed that one of them had a tear right along the magnetic strip. I haven't really noticed it until then, I haven't had to use it for months anyway. But just the same, I wondered if I could have it replaced.

I promptly called up the card company, and they said they'd be sending me my replacement in a week. Great, I thought. There wasn't any hurry, but I looked forward to it just the same.

So it came today, along with a notice that they have decided to up my credit limit. Crap!

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Just yesterday, I learned that one of my loans had already been paid off. A week ago, I had the balance of one of my cards transferred to another for a magnificent rate of 0.50% per month interest. A month ago, I've successfully been able to get a stay on my annual dues for yet another card. For the past 4 months, I've been able to keep true to my promise of not using any other card except for the one I use for gas purchases. 6 months ago, I paid off the total balance of still another card and promptly cut it into itty-bitty little pieces. (They still claim I've some dues to pay, though. Good thing I've got emailed evidence to the contrary)

So you can see, I've been such a financially responsible kid for half a year. The trouble is, they're on to me.

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Besides today, last week a telemarketer told me I was one of the lucky cardholders that could avail of an outright loan from them at only 1% interest per month. Last month, I got a letter that I only needed to use my credit card 5 times in a month to avail of a free watch. 4 months ago, I got a pre-approved credit card in the mail with a free dinner on my first use.

So far, I've been holding out fairly well. But there's only so much a man like me could take.

Just yesterday, I stopped by an appliance and electronics store while waiting for a meeting. There it was, a shiny new LCD television set with a free home entertainment system at a rock-bottom price. And if I use my credit card, I could have it paid in 12 installments at 0% interest. But wait, there's more... for an additional amount, I could get an mp3 player thrown into the mix as well. Last month or so, as my phone was getting noticeably wonky, I passed by another electronics store and saw a nifty mobile phone also available in 0% installments. And did you know that a leather seatcover set for my car could also be paid for by plastic?

Really now, why is the world conspiring against my financial health?

*****

I put the notice and the card back in its envelope, and hid it underneath my underwear drawer. I also tucked just the one credit card for gas in my wallet. I've come so far down this road that I can't afford the risk of being sidelined and back in the hole, so to speak.

"Just when I thought I was out... they pull me back in!" - Michael Corleone, The Godfather III

Yard Time

Hi, welcome to "the yard" at the office. This is where I usually go for my cigarette break or if I need to do some heavy thinking. I call it the yard because it somewhat resembles the prison yards that I see in the movies, where inmates go to get some sun, smoke, socialize with the other convicts, as well as occasionally stick an improvised ice-pick into another con's kidney. I suspect that the resemblance is deliberate, a sublime reminder that the ultimate goal is really to get out of this place as quick as you can... alive.

The yard is on the top floor of our 3-storey building, same floor as my office making it really convenient for me to take five when I need to. It's an open deck where we prisoners... I mean, employees... can converge for office evening parties, do tai-chi, pray to Mecca (if you were Muslim, that is), or just hang out should our office be submerged by 2 meter floodwaters again.

If you'll take a closer look, you can see the South Luzon Expressway, right along the tree line. Then there's the roof of the huge warehouse on the left, where the big trucks go to unload and store empty Coke bottles before they are sent to be cleaned and sterilized.

There's also that giant billboard which usually cuts the dark, starlit evenings nicely, making the yard an ideal place for a making-out. Unfortunately, my persistent advances on our cute former-receptionist never led me here to try it out for myself. (I did get a floral-scented restraining order once from her, though.) The billboard, on one occasion, featured a hot sexy starlet modeling lingerie for a month, which coincided with the same month I was smoking three packs of cigarettes a day.

And speaking of smoking, I believe this is also the official smoking area of our building, because why else would they put all those orange, terra-cotta ashtrays with the green leafy things on top of them? Awfully considerate of them, huh?

If you go near the edge, you'll see the field right behind our building:

This used to be a rice paddy, until the whole area was re-zoned to be industrial lands and it became boxed up this way. Even if you wanted to plant rice there again, you'd be spending a fortune pumping up water from deep underneath it doing so as the irrigation canals have been cut off by the roads and buldings that currently surround it.

There is still an awful lot of wildlife that inhabit it, though. Every once in a while, snakes and large lizards are known to slither and crawl through the thick brush. Personally, I haven't seen one in the wild yet, but I know they're there because the field's caretaker has been roasting giant lizards and snakes in his backyard every once in a while. There are also lots of birds who swoop down there during clear days, catching field mice and other game. I've seen ravens, the occasional field owl, and some migratory birds here, all of them lucky enough that I still don't own a BB gun nor a Perigrine Falcon.

I find it quite odd, though, that the caretaker goes through the trouble of gunning his weed-whacker and having at the brush. He's got an army of goats and a herd of cows grazing on a similarly vacant field not too far away. He should simply let them loose here and watch them chew and chew and chew all year round until the urge to have steak and kebab becomes overwhelming. Here you see the exact line when he lost all interest mowing down the grass or ran out of gas in his weed-whacker. I'm pretty sure he's gonna be back with a blow torch one of these days to finish the job.

Of particular interest to me, however, are these termite mounds:

There are several myths which I want to try out.

1. Termite mounds have excellent thermal qualities, maintaining a constant inside temperature of 32 degrees Celsius whatever the conditions outside, even if you set the exterior ablaze.
2. Each mound contains exactly one queen and one queen only.
3. Termites are excellent producers of Hydrogen gas... so each mound is actually a nice little Hydrogen bomb waiting to happen.
4. Termites are tasty critters.
5. Termite mounds harbor earth spirits, real live dwarves and gnomes. I've been wanting to get a garden gnome for ages.
6. Peeing or trampling upon termite mounds upset these earth spirits. You get sick real fast and die.
7. If you ask permission before peeing on said termite mounds, though, nothing bad will happen to you.
8. Termite queens are horny as hell.

I'll admit, its gonna be hard separating myth from facts (especially if you decide to try out #6 first and die). Equally hard will be keeping a brave front when faced with a real live lizard or snake which are very probably in this rainy season.

Besides, it's gonna be hard plotting my escape from this prison in the first place.

Unless you're being chased by a bunch of evil mutant penguins out for your blood, why bother?

I was taking a dump last night, flipping through the pages of one of my weekly subscriptions (Yes, I subscribe to magazines instead of reading them online, how jurassic is that?) when I chanced upon this article about an unhealthy obsession with marathons.

By the way, for those of you who still make the mistake of calling your 5 kilometer photo-op a 'marathon', you actually need to run 42 kilometers before boasting about your 'first marathon' on facebook. For good measure, read it again, I said RUN, not jog, capisce?

The article was written by a Linda Flanagan, who claims to have missed out on qualifying for the Olympics by 4 minutes and 18 seconds, but seemingly enjoys torturing her mind and body almost 2 decades after her peak form by still running every day and trying to go faster, longer.

Okay okay, no point in getting bitter about it, I say to myself. She's a world-class athlete, and you're... well, not? Has never been, will never ever be, even in your wildest dreams, never? Just dunk the mag in the trash bin and pull your shorts up and get over it already, will you? But just as I was about to roll said magazine to kill a pesky cockroach crawling on the shower curtain, eerie images popped out from its glossy pages and caught my fancy: extreme marathons?

First, there's 'The Ice Marathon', set on Antarctica, same continent where Agent Fox Mulder found the space ship. Then there's the 'North Pole Marathon', undoubtedly where Santa ran to his massive coronary demise, probably the reason why I didn't get that Aquaman action figure I wrote him about. Up next, the '24-Hour Ultra Marathon' in Namibia, in the desert, which must be a good reason to keep on running for 24 hours. I doubt anyone would want to be left behind by the rest of the imbeciles joining this oddysey. Lastly, the 'Marathon of the Sands' in the Moroccan Sahara. They've pictures of people running behind camels and Bedouins, not far behind, just out of the picture must be the vultures, ready to lap up the unfortunate ones who didn't think they needed THAT much training.

Why in hell would anyone want to go through those extremes just to prove a point to themselves? Fine, you're an amazing athlete, Forrest Gump has nothing on you, you're oozing with all that I-only-feel-alive-when-I'm-dying attitude that you obviously subscribe to, and you're better than all the rest of us slackers, given. But why bother?

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Sorry about that rant just now. I don't usually mind other people's business, nor should I. They do things that they enjoy the way I should be doing things that I enjoy. Probably just a bit of bitterness on my part over seeing people having fun when I'm stuck at home bouncing my foamy little stress-ball off the walls. (No it's not fun, just something to do) So why did I bother posting it if I'll only write up an apology in post-script? I have no idea. Must be craving for some attention or something, and bored. Definitely bored.