I was about to make my calling cards (sheesh) when, in my infinite egomania, I decided to Google my name. There’s the usual problem of spelling my thinly disguised pseudonym: Patricio Mangubat often spells out the cute and saccharine “Marochim,” which reminds me of this character:
Yes, Murumo! Cute, and saccharine! Marshmallows! ANTENNA BEAM!
I’m rather surprised that quite a number of people (not just Jen) have mistakenly referred the name of this blog – The Marocharim Experiment – as The Marocharim Experience.
Don’t get me wrong: I’m not offended. For one, I only have myself to blame for giving myself a thinly disguised pseudonym and naming my blog a’la a certain Jamie Kennedy show. People still can’t figure out how to pronounce my pseudonym, and to be honest I have no problems being called “Maro-KA-rim” (as MLQ3 pronounces it) or “Maro-TSA-rim” (as The Jester-in-Exile pronounces it) , though some people have just taken it upon themselves to call me by the hip-hoppish moniker “Ma-Ro.” Holla at me playaz, Ma-Ro’s in the hood. Don’t be takin’ no Hate-A-Rade, holmes.
As far as “Experience” goes, I’m torn between two interpretations of the idea. For one, there’s Jimi Hendrix:
I know that my blog can sometimes read like you’re high on LSD, and it seems that my “adik” lapses can get that purple haze up in my brain, stone free to ride the breeze, and yes, manic depression is touching my soul.
It could stop there, but there’s always the other implication: Prince.
I think I’ll stop here. Betcha by golly… whoa.
Although The Marocharim Experiencement doesn’t sound bad.