The big girls' game wasn't until much later, leaving me plenty of time for the PAWA/Arkipelago Reading at the Bayanihan Community Center. The afternoon's stellar lineup included poets Oliver de la Paz, Mari L'Esperance, and Joseph O. Legaspi, and musician Theresa Calpotura. You can see video and pictures here at the PAWA blog. I've been waving to Oliver from cyberspace for years now, so it was especially nice to meet The Actual Him. And the same goes for Joseph, who is blindingly charming, and who read a poem about watermelon that made me happy. As usual, I was deprived of the chance to mingle, as I had to skedaddle back home to catch the second soccer game. But I was able to purchase copies of Oliver's Furious Lullaby, and Joseph's Imago, and so should you.
So, this was really weird: Risa and Vida's team went up 4 to 0 before the half, at which point their coach would no longer let anybody cross midfield. The girls would run, run, run, and then stop at the line as if there were some sort of invisible fence (just like in LOST!). We soon realized it was because he didn't want to run up the score and thus dishearten the opposing players. It was the right thing to do, but I don't think the other side was particularly happy when it became clear that R & V's team had basically stopped playing. Of course, this couldn't last for long, and both Risa and Vida and another girl ended up scoring, after which they were called to the sidelines and gently admonished by their coach. The other team never did score and, yes, some of their players were in tears at the end, but I don't know. The whole thing was a little icky.
The NOT icky thing was that my adored little cousin and her hubbbband came to cheer the girls on, and then we went to eat at Rave Burger. Yes to sweeeeeeet potato fries! Yes to garlic fries! Yes to my "Chicken on Grass" sandwich, which was just a chicken breast topped with sauteed spinach and garlic! Yes! Yes!
And then we all went home and watched the Mayweather/Marquez bout, and I STILL do not care for Mr. Floyd. Mr. Floyd is distinctly unpleasant, entitled, and rude. When he fights Manny Pacquiao, I will be curled up in a ball peeking at the screen through my fingers, and I will be screaming and carrying on and making all sorts of bargains with the powers-that-be ("I promise if Manny Pacquiao wins, I will never think badly of anyone's shoes ever again. I promise if Manny Pacquiao wins, I will never secretly smirk at women who have landscapes painted on their nails. I promise, I promise."). Mark me well, for I do not lie.
After Mayweather's win, we turned our attention to what is surely one of the worst Jason Statham movies ever, and CERTAINLY the worst Joan Allen film ever: Death Race. Just when I thought it couldn't get any more unintentionally hilarious, Jason would...I don't know...do a bunch of shirtless pull-ups FOR NO REASON AT ALL. Or Joan would call Jason a "cocksucker," and I would think, "My God, Joan Allen, you once acted alongside Daniel Day Lewis, and now you're standing in front of Jason Statham and calling him a cocksucker."
And then I went to sleep.
MISCELLANEOUS 1: You want to know what I loved about Trader Joe's today? They played the Hawaii 5-0 theme song, and for some reason it filled me with a sense of purpose, and I sped all over the store, menu-planning as I went, and now I do not have to go to the store for the rest of the week. Maybe. And also, there was a lovely senior citizen lady working there, and really she was such a senior citizen that she moved very, very, very slowly while straightening out the bags of tortilla chips, but it was obviously her birthday because she was wearing a birthday crown (like with candles sticking up and everything), and it made me want to cry. And also, because of Joseph O. Legaspi, I bought a watermelon.
MISCELLANEOUS 2: Don't hate my new shoes because they're beautiful: