Drifting Thoughts 01

Notice how owners of computer shops around the corner would randomly insert or substitute the characters "@" or "." to some techno-sounding word or phrase to create a name for their shop? Thus we have "Netopi@" or "All@ns.c@fe". Furthermore, notice how they prepend a hapless word with "e-" or append it with ".com" or ".net" or ".org"? This would yield "G@meShop.net" or "e-Ch@t". Others would pay tribute to their feature game like "City Strike". Lastly, some may even force the letter "x" to appear out of nowhere like in "NetAttaxx" (one "x" short of pornographic!).

If I would have to name my computer shop, maybe it would be "e-@$#!" (pronounced as "e-toooot", yes, like the audio beep censor) with the tagline "Kung gusto mo ng mura..." or something like that. Catchy. Perhaps this might sell.

-oOo-

Hard Drive. Now that sounds like the perfect title for a testosterone-overloaded TV series. Cyber-sleuthing and techno-babble over some sci-fi hocus-pocus go side-by-side with daredevil driving of cars, trucks, trains, boats, ships, planes, robots and spaceships. Perhaps there's the occasional suicidal martial arts duel or a dirty game of basketball. And don't forget a liberal sprinkling of rough, steamy sex once in a while. Ohhh yeahhh... gotta do the Hard Drive.

-oOo-

My boss has for a birth date June 6, 1966, which has the numerical form 06/06/66. He will be having his 40th birthday tomorrow, 06/06/06. With the number four meaning completeness and 666 being the number of the Beast in the Book of the Apocalypse, does this mean a "completeness" of evil? Nah, not my boss, he's the nicest in a company of nice bosses, and his looks make him the crush of women even half his age (meaning, women my age). On second thought, like the character Damian of the movie The Omen that will show the premiere of its remake on the ominous date of June 6, 2006, evil may start out as something nice, cute and loveable. Whatever it is, it looks like we in the team will be the boss’ minions one way or another.

-oOo-

My seatmate in one of my nightly jeepney commute happened to be this pretty lady. Her hair was fragrant, her eyes bright, body voluptuous. Her voice was sing-song lovely. However when I glanced at her hands, they were rough like an older woman's hands. My malicious mind pictured these hands caressing old gnarly skin of ancient men's faces. The hands grew older faster out of sympathy to those men who were appreciative of these gentle hands and their seemingly caring owner. But that was just me, my dirty mind, and my desire to write down some dramatic prose. Perhaps she was just doing work that took its toll on her hands.