Pung-ol Sibugay. That range of mountains near Taptap, where the highway leads to scenic sights of Cantipla, Gaas, Magsaysay, Mt. Manunggal, and others. You don’t have to go far. Stand barefoot at that waiting shed in Cantipla 1 (the waiting shed courtesy of San Miguel Corporation, hence it also comes with a name: “San Miguel”). I suggest this place if you want to hide from civilization and yet want to connect to it through your cellular phone; the signal is good here. Look at the view in front of you; on days when the dark clouds rule the earth, you only catch a glimmer of a village with two names: Pung-ol Sibugay. Pung-ol is one sitio; the other is Sibugay. When these people decided to unite as one, they probably could not agree on a single name, hence the two names, in order to please everyone. The name is not even separated by a hyphen.
Fancy yourself going down those hills one day when the sun is up in the sky, not when the grounds are wet with rain. Enjoy what you’ll see: Gardens of flowers. Gardens of vegetables that could sustain a soul in seasons of want (which the Spaniards call “tiempo muerte,” literally, “season of death”). Six does and two bucks, of the mammalia called Anglo-Nubian. A few chickens. Small huts hugging the good earth.
The earth is not often good. Read more>>>
I’ve been hearing a lot about this “flow’r of life,” or some secret societies that had been afforded the right to know the secret of this “flow’r,” about tombs of Egyptian gods and goddesses whose origins have always been under a cloud of doubt. It is claimed that one has to do pilgrimage to some cultic tomb or go to some Egyptian desert to gain knowledge of this sort, which the large pitiful majority of all mankind has been deprived of. Or strive to be a cultist. That, to me is a lot of hogwash. Look, if that society is supposedly secret, hidden, that flow’r of life” would also be secret, hidden, mysterious. The fact that one person is now claiming to have cracked the meaning of that mystery, if I may say so, mystifies me more than mystery itself. And if one knows only about that secret now, it really does not mean it was a secret; it means some men did not know it before, or that man had not been afforded the opportunity to hear it then. We actually have a term for it; no not secret, but “apocryphal.” Please look it up; don’t tell me I am inventing it.
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Who wants to buy antlions? Let us rephrase the question: Who wants to put up a business buying and selling an animal that is neither ant nor lion? Crap idea? Ludicrous?
Never in his wildest dreams did Ian Skelley of Pensacola, Florida, ever imagine that he could make money out of a childhood hobby of collecting and playing with “doodle bugs” (that’s the other name for antlions). Although the business as of today is still on its hobby stage, but make money Ian does! AntLionden.com, the on-line shop he had put up four years ago, has no competitors.
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Many is the entrepreneur who’s been told his business idea is crap. Or words to that effect.
Rolland Champlin heard the same comments. He was unfazed. He knows his business idea is crap. Dog crap, to be specific.
In 2003, Champlin began a business called SnoutHouse (SnoutHouse.biz), based in Glastonbury, Conn. It’s a “dog-waste containment system designed for dog owners who want to keep their lawns green and their shoes clean.” In other words, a canine outhouse. Thus the name: SnoutHouse.
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