Monday, December 29, 2003

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I've finally admitted to myself that I am sick of the shift I am working. 5pm-5am is no fuckin' picnic, regardless of how little work I'm actually doing. I was in a little phase of denial for a while there, telling myself that it was better than nothing, which honestly it is. Having the money is sweet and all, but I know I'm capable of earning more. Shit is buggin' me. I have more schooling than most of the people I work with, but I still get paid far less than someone that has neither a degree nor any technical certifications. What bugs me even more is the fact that I want more money. Scratch that, I need more money. Not so I can live lavishly or anything. I just want to provide my family with the simple things my parents provided me with. Funny thing about that choice of words is the fact that I've learned that there is nothing easy about it. A mortage is fuckin' HARD to pay when you have tons of bills pulling your wallet this way and that way. I'm not even close to accomplishing anything close to that. A quick look at my FICO score last month brought any hopes of purchasing a house within the next year crashing down to reality. Finally get a job: Step Forward. Take a look at my credit report: 3 steps back.

Why am I doing it? I mean, why am I putting myself through this bullshit when I could be looking for something bigger and better. Why have I settled for this job? Well, I've always had this voice in my head telling me that I am worth much more than any employer coulnd see. I feel as if I'm meant to do something huge, maybe not necessarily for my current company, but maybe if they are lucky it will be. I get this feeling all the time. Every time I have a moment to stop and think about anything, there is that voice urging me on and keeping me content with this job. My foot is finally in the door and I have the directions to get to then next floor. What I'll find at the top of this ascension, who knows? All I know is that there is something in my head that tells me that all this bullshit I'm going through right now will lead to my rendezvous with this accomplishment and will serve as my defining moment.

Sunday, December 28, 2003

I will never be famous.

I will never be rich.

Fuck social status.

Fuck unattainable standards.

Ignore social norms.

Ignore the laziness that temps your ambition.

Turn off the tv.

Turn off your computer.

Open your eyes.

Open your mind.

Monday, December 22, 2003

The 49ers beat the Eagles yesterday in overtime giving Ryan's Los Ange-er, St. Louis Rams to opportunity to cease home field advantage through out the NFC side of the playoffs. I'm just baffled by the 49ers inability to win on the road, but what is even more mind blowing is their inconsistency. Wins against the Rams, Bucs and Eagles and loses to the Browns and the Cardinals. I don't get it. If we had a half decent kicking game through the 1st half of the season, you know who we'd be? The Rams.

I haven't spoken to Kool Keith in a while. Ryan, Keith and myself used to have AIM chats bullshiting about nothing, but those are only but memory. I think he's lost any motivation to even interact with me now that the realization that his Raiders suck way more than my Niners. 49ers = Dustbuster. Raiders = Kirby. Which sucks more?

If I could suggest anything to Leah, it would be to move out of Calgary for a summer. Leah, spend a couple months in Cali or New York. I think you owe it to yourself. And if you can't get to that, go skiing for fuck's sake. The snow is RIGHT THERE.

When I read Sahalie's blog, I imagine her being someone I can talk to all night. Maybe it's the UC Davis connection or maybe it's the way I interpret her words. Yeah, it's weird, I know. Forget I even said anything.

Bing seems like somebody that would hate me. I used to joke around with Kool Keith how Bing's Toronto bus pass reminded me of a girl I used to talk to in 9th grade, so I was dementedly obsessed with that picture. Don't hate me. Please?

Matt just finished his first semester of junior college and it has become apparent that he already knows what it's like to bomb on an exam. Keep your head up, kid. There's tons more where that came from.

Albert, the Russian equivalent of the lovechild of Boner Stabone and Ivan Drago, is going to be housing Ryan when he comes up here in March. Start stocking up on the Makers. Now.

Jose, one of my best friends in the world has a blog that is very politically motivated. From what started out as regurgitation from things he's read and been taught has evolved into a very strong and educated point of view. I can respect anybody who can take what he/she has learned and be able to create their own position and opinions. We don't get to talk much anymore now that I work, but I know he's there. Big ups, Joser.

Jacob's life is fuckin' crazy.

Friday, December 19, 2003

Thursday, December 18, 2003

The drive up to the Sierra at Tahoe ski resort went without a hiccup. The roads were just as clear as the blue skies and with the three of us crammed into my little mystic teal Corolla with our respective snowboards and gear, the day was shaping up to be a good one. We unloaded in the muddy parking lot and I walked ahead of the other two struggling to find a comfortable grip on my blue Santa Cruz snowboard. The snow was noticeably soft and brand spanking new from a heavy snow storm that generously dusted the mountains with over a foot of new snow the past Saturday night.

We purchased our lift tickets and headed towards the lift to Sierra's bunny slope. I couldn't help myself and noted to the other two that the lift that was labeled "The Easy Rider Express" shared it's name with a condom brand. After two runs on the bunny slope it became apparent that my skills did not carry over from the last time I hit the slopes, which was well over 10 months previous to this trip. I was very disappointed and I think I psyched myself out because the next two trips up the lift ended with me falling coming off the lift. I was convinced that I have reached a new level of suck-titude.

Brian and I decided to hit the top of the mountain and go for it. Since Cory was still a beginner, he decided to stay behind to master the bunny slope, allowing us to attack the mountain. The ride on the lift reminded me that I didn't have the proper amount of headwear. My ears were frozen and I couldn't feel my cheeks. I got of the lift rather easily and strapped in and went for it. Brian is a seasoned snowboarder, so it became pretty obvious that I was holding him back, but he was kind enough to slow me the most desirable path down the mountain.

We were pretty lucky because since it was a Monday the slopes were rather empty, and I was given a lot of space to maneuver. At my skill level, I still have to take pretty wide "carves" to remain in control of myself going down the mountain. This freedom resulted in the best boarding I've ever experienced. Don't get me wrong, I still have my fair share of falls, one of which had me checking on my body inventory and praying that I don't crap on myself. When we finally got to the bottom of the mountain, Brian mentioned to me how I'm "beginning to get it". Proud moment, yo.

I got two more full runs down the mountain before we called it a day. I was still itching for more, but since I was on such a performance high, I decided to not push for another run and the risk of ruining the day with a crappy run.

It was a great day. Great snow. Great friends. Can't really ask for anything else.

Sunday, December 14, 2003

For your viewing and listening pleasure:

N' Chink

R. Kerry

The first will get boring after a while. The second will keep you laughing. I tested them myself.

Friday, December 12, 2003

I haven't felt like blogging lately. If this seems forced, then understand that it was.

I went to the company Christmas party last night. None of my co-workers were going, but I felt that it would be in my best interest to at least try to meet other people in my company, even if I don't interface with them regularly. When my wife and I arrived to the Presidio Golf Clubhouse, we only saw one familiar face, which happened to be my boss'. But other than him, not one other face looked familiar. Observation #1: I don't know anybody. The 20 or so beat that arrived before us were chatting it up in the lodge-esque, all of them dressed in the "cocktail usual". Most of the guys work dark slacks and a dress shirt. Most of the women were wearing dark dresses and skirts and their best black high heels. As I went to the back of the clubhouse to take full advantage of the free booze, I noticed a lot of the eyes wondering who I was and why they've never seen me before.

As I ordered myself a Crown Royal on the rocks, I eerily felt left out and the feeling was very high schoolish. I quickly zoomed to the feeling I had during my first day of high school. You know, the day that you realized that the world is a lot bigger than you thought it was. You get that feeling your first few days of college and when you're at your at the gym and you're there for your first time. And alone.

I guess not working at the "main" company office had contributed to it, along with the fact that I've been with this company for a mere 2 months. As we stood there, my wife and I couldn't help but notice the free food that waiters were walking around it. Hors D' Oeuvres (I had to look that shit up to make sure I spelled it right) sushi, mushroom and goat cheese something somethings, crackers and cheese. Yo, it was free so we to take advantage. I will admit though that sushi isn't exactly the best finger food. I stopped to humorously mention to my wife that this was the first time I've eaten unagi with a napkin.

Observation #2 consisted of the fact that my company is about 50% sales people and that these sales people all fall under a pretty general category: 25-35 year old white male with trophy blonde wife/girlfriend. On this night, you can also add "drunk" to their attributes. Also included in Observation #2 was that when these sales people get drunk, they get loud and obnoxious. And this was BEFORE dinner was served. Observation #2 also coincided with Excuse #1 to leave the party early. Not because of the white and trophy blonde girlfriend/wife, but because of the whole "loud and obnoxious" thingy.

Dinner was buffet and couldn't have started soon enough. As the waiters walked around telling people that the buffet was open, I couldn't help but walk straight to the food. I mean, I have no shame and I was damn hungry. I noticed that a lot of the other people weren't about to be the first ones, so I gladly made the move. Mashed potatos, check. Green beans, check. Prime rib, check. Roasted turkey, check. I sat down and dug in. The prime rib was excellent, and I even forgot the horse radish. The turkey was dry.

While I finished up, my boy Eugene had a seat next to me. He mentioned to me that my boss feels very good about my hiring and that he's happy with my progress. Great news, eh? As friend of his has a seat in front of us and we get into the coversation I was waiting to get into all night: the conversation that would give me insight on this company I work for. It was a great conversation and I think I held my own. I was intelligent, articulate and like all new employees very eager to learn. I actually had a few good conversations that night and I think people were suprisingly impressed. It felt good. I carried myself well, I impressed those I conversed with and I had a beatiful woman on my arm. Another thing that made me feel good about my job was the fact that no one I talked to had anything bad to say about the company. typically you have the "Office Space" conversations at work functions. "This shit sucks" or "I wish so and so would listen to me". None of that talk was heard. I had the opportunity to speak with the CEO, who's son happens to work with me at my office. He mentioned that he's heard nothing but good things about me. Bullshit smalltalk or genuine words, I don't really care. Either way, it's good. He looks like a good guy

After dinner and a few conversations, my wife and I decided to leave. The akwardness never really left our stomachs and we really just wanted to hang out at the house and watch a DVD I just bought. Said my goodbyes and we walked to the car under the soft San Francisco drizzle feeling pretty good about my job and my company.

BTW, my wife LOVED Bad Boys 2, as well. Not a bad way to kick off my work week.

Sunday, December 07, 2003

The power of certain words sometimes moves me to make right what has been wrong for so long. These days, people use the words "race" and "ethnicity" interchangeably. In my educated opinion, I feel that "race" is a term that really holds no meaning. The only legitimate "race" is the human race. Any other use of the word irritates me to the point of actually writing about it. The following are a few posts I made on a message board when an issue between "race" and "ethnicity" came up.

In the context of American society, Race is based specifically on APPEARANCE rather than actual ethnicity. The white RACE. The black RACE. The Asian RACE. There is nothing ethnically descriptive with any of those racial terms other than appearance.

I mean, I can write an entire thesis based on years of research proving that race is a false concept that is perpetuated by the media to further divide people.

But yo, if it's a word that happens to be "in the dictionary", I HAVE to be wrong, right?

This post I wrote in response to the contention that the term "Race" is only slighty different than "Ethnicity".


Are you trying to tell me that calling someone "white" is somehow just like calling someone "German"?

Let's take this a little further:

Wouldn't people from both Russia and the UK be considered part of the "white" race? In terms of race, YES because of the color of their skin. In terms of ethnicity, HELL NO.

Are people who are Ethiopian considered "black" in the same sense that people from Haiti and Trinidad are "black". The fact is that "black" is not an adequate term because it only tells you what they look like, not the history of their genealogy.

Another great example is the varying colors of skin you will see in the country of Brazil. If you know anything about South American colonialism, you'll know that the population of Brazil is an amalgamation of British colonists, Portuguese colonists, African slaves and indigenous people. What this mixture of people is a people with a wide range of varying skin tones. Brazilian can be anything from a dark, African-like skin tone all the way to a blonde haired, light skinned European skin tone. But are you trying to tell me that even though they are "Brazilian" one is black and one is white in terms of race? They all have identical genealogies but through the years dominant and recessive traits took different turns with each individual, but it doesn't make them much different on the genetic level.

What YOU are saying is that ethnicity and race are basically the same. What I am saying is that they are completely different things. "Race" has been a term that is being misused everywhere in our society. It has become an acceptable form of virtual segregation. Unfortunately, the use of that term is inaccurate, dated, and completely wrong.

Friday, December 05, 2003

36. 40. The first number is the number of presents my wife and I have bought so far. The second number is the total amount of presents we have to buy for Christmas. Not bad, eh?

I'm heading to 24 Hour after my shift today. Being that it's my first time ever joining a gym,Ryan was kind enough to give me a few tips on a work out routine and gym etiquette. Not too shaby. Thanks man.

I finally got a haircut on Monday. It's pretty damn sharp if you ask me. Too bad I have this huge ass zit on my forehead.

Thursday, December 04, 2003

I don't regret the conversation we had yesterday. Sometimes you have to take a step back before you can take two steps forward. I've seen our future in a different light these past few months, and I think it was selfish for me to assume you had the same perspective. Come to think of it, I was probably blocking your view with the back of my head. I know it hurt to hear how disappointed I was. I still am. Admittedly, it also hurts to know that someone you love so much and see as your better half failed fulfill certain expectations. Looking back, I couldn't have possibly expected you to know and understand. We never really talked about it. I also didn't put your thoughts and feelings into account. I may be disappointed, but I don't love you any less. I don't see you as a lesser person. All I ask is for you to take my hand and walk with me. As we're walking, I can tell you what I see and you can do the same. I'll help you up every hill and pick you up when there's an unmanagable puddle. I promise that if we get lost I won't abandon you. We need to find a way to make "it" happen and I can't do it alone.

Please take my hand and walk with me. Please?

Wednesday, December 03, 2003

I enter this Christmas season with mixed feelings.

Christmas has become such a commercial event that it makes me sick. There are all these people scrambling around trying to buy just the right present. Television is on 24/7 Amber Alert reminding you that if you get someone a shitty present, they won't love you anymore. I mean, kids are making their parents bend over backwards just to get the present they so desperately need (read: want). It's bullshit. What did they do? Is it their birthday or something? Did they somehow lose any notion that Christmas celebrates the birth of God's only son? Kids don't even give back to their parents. While mom or dad are at Toy 'R Us trying to find that X-Box Junior told them to buy for him, Junior is online telling his Internet friends how much he hates his parents. Then, come Christmas day, Junior is playing his X-Box while mom and dad have to clean up after his messy ass and put away the card he bought them with his mom's money. I don't get that shit.

I know "It's the thought that counts", but I get this feeling that even the thought isn't being represented. I mean, what the fuck does Santa Claus stand for? Christmas has become as meaningless tournament games for 3rd place. Don't get me wrong, I love giving presents. I take this opportunity to thank people who I haven't thanked enough. And I'm sure that a lot of people feel the same way. But that fuckin' chatterbox that we call a television has got a lot of us brainwashed into consuming. Not because we want to or because we have to, but because society has told us that it is a normal event.

I know tons of parents that would rather have their kids other family members tell them that they are loved than receiving a present. The chatterbox has us believing that we can gain status and happiness through material goods when all we really need is love.

Fuck a present. Find some love and spread that around this Christmas season.

Thursday, November 27, 2003

Thank you to my dad, who has given his life to his family. I use to resent him because he's so much older than most of my friend's dads. He never played catch with me. He wasn't able to teach me how to play sports. We didn't relate much, and I couldnt' understand it until I started learning more about him through my auntie, his older sister.. My auntie told me that he got married so late in his life because he was so afraid that he wouldn't' be able to support the family he so desperately wanted. He's not very demonstrative of his love, but I feel it. I see it. His life is a testament to it. I don't think any words can describe him, but he is the hardest working man I will ever know. Not once have I seen him drunk. Not once have I seen him complain. Not once have I ever seen him quit anything he's started. He's the kind of father that would quit smoking the day his son was born. He's the kind of father that would finish typing your report for you when you feel asleep next to the typewriter. He's the kind of father that would come to your baseball games even after a long day of work and 3 hours in rush hour traffic. He's the perfect example of what hard work gets you. I now see him with my son and I see the traits of a great father. He's kind, loving, caring and compassionate. Most of all, he's patient. Love transcends generations. It's the basis of every family and we have a strong foundation. Thank you, dad. I can only wish to be half the man you are.

Thank you to my mom, who has made me everything I am. At times it is clear that we cannot stand each other, and I used to hate her for that. It is only now that I realize that we are two of the same. We clash because we are so alike. She criticizes not to put down but to teach. It's not her fault she knows so much. She's the oldest out of 5 children. The daughter of a musician and a teacher, she was forced to be a mom before she was a teenager. All her life she spent taking care of children and only now that her children are grown up is she able to enjoy life as an adult. So now she goes out with my dad to Reno one week, then Vegas another. It was just these last few years that these trips have been frequent, but it didn't' dawn on me that they were never able to do this as a couple. My mom had to balance motherhood and her career since her marriage started, and it's not an easy task. When we moved to Vallejo, my mom became less and less a part of my life because she gave up 3 hours a day to commute to work. With my younger sister hogging all the "mom" time, I was forced to look elsewhere for the attention I had as her "mama's boy". She never had to touch me, or talk to me. She just had to acknowledge me and I was happy. I wanted her attention so much I would exhaggerate sickness so she could stay home and take care of me. I know it killed her inside to know that it would never be the same as it was when I was young, before my sister moved to the States from the Philippines. It was just us. Me and my mom. I see her reliving those moments with my son and it's bitter sweet to know that that used to be me and I'll never get that undivided attention again. Thank you for being you and letting me be me. I know where I get my charm, charisma, and the ability to draw peoples' attention so easily. I may not tell you all the time, but I love you.

Saturday, November 22, 2003

**WARNING- This shit was written at 3:30 in the morning about 10 hours into my shift at work. Forgive the lack of fluidity and/or coherence**

Misunderstood has become a cliche. We are all misunderstood because we create our own realities in our minds. Points of view are so unique that it is impossible to see things through the same lens. Two people will tell the different stories about the same events, almost as if they were the witnesses of separate events, or maybe similar events that happened in different places. Even if you fail to live your own life because of twin-hood, your interpretation of the world around you will remain unique.

I'm sick of hearing shit like that: "No one understands me," or "I'm weird," or "I like anal sex with donkeys". Okay, well maybe not the last one, but you get the point. People who complain about being misunderstood typically cite narrow-mindedness or prejudice, as if they are a simple picture that you can see only if you really concentrate. You know, like those posters and books from the 90's where you'd have to stare at them to see the "hidden picture" (which I have to admit I've NEVER seen, but that's a whole other blog in itself). But it's bullshit. We are all intricate jigsaw puzzles with missing pieces, some more than others. Misunderstanding is a given. I mean, we barely understand ourselves, right?

So is the concept of being "misunderstood" completely bogus? My opinion? Yes.

No one will know you like you do. And you don't even know yourself! You might run into someone with similar interests and find a chemistry or a "compatibility" with them, but will they ever completely understand you? No. They can go on to learn everything about you and be able to validate and justify every action and every recurring behavior, but they will not know what exactly makes your wheels turn. The will never see that old programming flow chart that serves as your decision making process.

So we're fucked, right? We'll never really be completely compatible with anyone? Well, no again.

Yeah, I'm married. Does my wife know me more than anybody I know? Yes. Does she know what makes me tick? A little. Does she really know every thing there is to know about me? No. I've had events in my life that have affected me in ways I can't even understand myself. I can describe the events. I can explain what I've learned from the experience. But I cant' tell her without bias how I have grown or deteriorated in terms of my character, decision making, and personality. She can sympathize, but she can't empathize. And that's the difference. I've emptied my box of pieces and my wife has put them all in place. There are still holes in my puzzle, but that's okay. She can see a good part of the picture.

We're all misunderstood. Men don't understand women. Women don't understand men. Old people don't understand kids. Kids don't understand old people. I mean, our own parents fail to find any level of understanding with us. Does that mean that our relationships suffer because of this lack of empathy? I don't think so. I think the beauty of interpersonal relationships that develop and grow is the fact that we strive to know each other on that level. It's like trying to live a life with Jesus and God. We're never going to live a life without sin, but the journey of our lives in an attempt to do so.

There's nothing I love better than getting to know somebody. It's exciting. It's fun. Trying to get to know what makes a person tick to me is much better than drinking up with somebody partying. I love dialogue. I love putting the pieces of the jigsaw puzzle together. Sure, with everybody there will be missing pieces. Some people will chose to only give you a glance at their puzzle. Hey, that's all I ask for.

Here's another piece of my puzzle, guys. Holla back.

Friday, November 21, 2003

I'm everwhere with this blog entry. Nothing to flip out about.

I think I've found another blog to stalk. Sepi,an aspiring writer has caught my eye and I think she's cooler than the other side of the pillow.

I've been looking to sign up at 24 Hour Fitness. I'm getting fuckin' unbelievably fat. Shit is horrible.

Can you believe all this Michael Jackson shit?

This shit is great.

I still need a damn haircut. It's horrible. It's the longest it's been in a good 10 years. That doesn't really say much, since I've been bald for a good part of the past 10 years, but still. Shit is long, yo.

Ultimate Cheeseburgers are still $1.99 at Jack In The Crack. It feels so bad but it taste so good.

Have a good Friday. I'll be working all night. Again. All by myself.

Thursday, November 20, 2003

Oh shit. Happy Birthday Karen. Your present is a "slash" present. Expect it around December 25th.
I treat my mom like shit. Now, I don't hit her. I don't yell at her. I don't curse at her. I just don't listen to her. I don't take her criticism well. I don't tell her I love her. I don't show her I love her. I love her.

Sometimes I treat my wife like shit. Nww, I don't hit her. Sometimes I yell at her. Sometimes I curse at her. I always listen to her. I take her criticism well, I tell her I love her. I try to show her I love her. I love her.

I treat women I don't know well. I never hit them. I never yell at them. I never curse at them. I listen carefully. I take criticsm well. I don't love these women.

Holy Kris Kross! I got my shit backwards, yo.

I have these women in my life that have given everything they have and I take them for granted. I have these other women who have given me nothing, but they get charming, kind, and classy Joe.

I'm trying. Trust me, I'm trying.

Tuesday, November 18, 2003

Believe it or not, I used to be a speech major in college. I took classes in debate, public speaking and interpersonal communication. Speaking was always something I've always felt confident doing ever since high school. I was the emcee of all our rallies during my senior year. My cousin asked me to fly out to Calgary to emcee a reception in her family. Hell, my high school job required me to speak in front of thousands of people a day. I've had people at job interviews compliment me on my confidence during the interview. My spoken words have a dexterity about them, as if they could

I speak well. I speak uniquely. I used to hear it all the time. I was once told that I was an instruemnt of God and that my ability to communicate would get the word of God to more people than I could ever imagine. Talk about fuckin' pressure. I even had a girl compliment me back in 11th grade, telling me that I had a "unique eloquence". The ironic thing was that I had no idea what "eloquent" meant at the time.

But I do like being articulate. Learning a new word to use to me is like a carpenter buying a new tool or an artist discovering a new stroke. I love talking. To anybody. I think speaking to people makes me feel comfortable, almost like a security blanket. I get a lot of affirmation from others through communicating orally. When people don't talk to me, it almost feels insulting, as if they are shuting me out by ignoring my words. But even deeper than that, they are ignoring my feelings and ideas.

My wife is a good listener. I think that's why we work. My feelings flow out of me constantly, and it takes a good ear to hear what I'm feeling. My son on the other had has corks in his ear. Okay, he's three. But damn, he doesn't listen to shit and I can't stand it.

I just typed those few paragraphs out and I realized that none of it makes sense , is not coherent, nor does it bear anything that may interest you or anybody for that matter. Forgive me readers-er "reader", for I don't know what I do, but I do know that my blog sucks. This writing shit sucks. I wish I could have a face to face chat with all of you to get a true taste of my personality. This Internet shit doesn't pick up voice inflections, tones or cadence. I have a lot of important shit to say and writing isn't exactly the best way to get it out me. Ahh fuck, go read Ryan. That mutherfucker said some crazy shit on Saturday.

Sunday, November 16, 2003

I take detours in this muthafucka. I used to hate myself for straying from that path I set years ago. I look at my life, and although it may not fit some expectations like a glove, I'm like Coke Escovedo and "I Wouldn't Change A Thing". Life's a bitch, but I took that bitch, bent her over and fucked her. She can't be a backseat driver forever. Always telling me I'm driving too fast or that I'm going the wrong way and shit. I took the steering wheel and went off-roading. I'm blazing more trails than Rasheed, yo.

People look at my life and consider me a failure, as if I somehow fell short of something. Fuck failure. The only goals I feel like achieving are the ones that I set for myself. On a journey up some of these hills, I'd run into something new to shoot for. Serendipity is my friend and Lady Luck has me on her shit list. I spend too much time thinking about what could have been and not enough time cherishing what I have. These past months have been good. I look back on my shortcomings and I've learned from them. Remember when Iron Mike was poppin' off at the mouth talking about Lennox Lewis' kids and wanting to destroy him? Well, I'm that confident. You can call me The Grouch because success is destiny.

So what you can't write a book about my life? Who gives a fuck if this shit isn't movie worthy? Man, this shit isn't even blog worthy, ya know? But fuck what you heard, I'm happy man. Life is good and it can only get better.

Now get the fuck outta my Kool-Aid.

Saturday, November 15, 2003

Staring at this made me realize that dumb people use the Internet far more than smart people.

Driving home at 5 in the morning everyday from work is somewhat interesting. While I'm driving home to get into bed, most people are either getting up or are already on the road to get to work. There are times like last night when I have to stop and get gas on my way home, and I see these people. Just a hint of oncoming dawn in the sky mixed with a few California clouds is what they wake up to. They get to the gas station, maybe get a coffee and some smokes. And a lot of them DO NOT look happy. I mean, it's fuckin' 5 in the morning. I pull into the gas station with my car stereo bumpin'. I don't have any subwoofers or anything in my car, but it's still pretty loud. You know, typical young asshole type shit. I mean, for me it's only about 8 or 9pm on my body clock, so i can tolerate it. I stand there leaning against my car as the gas pumps and nodding my head to the beat. Maybe it's to some James Brown or Talib Kweli. Either way it's loud, so the reluctant early birds scowl or just look at me confused as they walk by as if asking "How the fuck can you listen to his radio so loud this early in the morning?" with their eyebrows alone.

Ah well, that's what I do now. My days of living a normal life with a schedule that is in tune with most are pretty much over. It's part of the journey, yo. The sacrafices I make right now can shape the rest of my life. I wish somebody told me this 10 years ago.

Oh wait, my mom and dad told me that 10 years ago. I just chose not to listen. Fuck, chalk another one up for the parents.

Friday, November 14, 2003

Poor Rusty

Wednesday, November 12, 2003

INSANEEQUINE: let me get this straight
muscle6868: ?
INSANEEQUINE: am i the "rail thin Olive Oyl looking chick"?
muscle6868: umm
muscle6868: no
muscle6868: that would be winnie cooper
muscle6868: form the wonder yeard
INSANEEQUINE: ps we aren't a "less popular blog" <3
muscle6868: no?
muscle6868: oh
muscle6868: you sure?
muscle6868: hmm
INSANEEQUINE: less popular then say, moxie or instapundit
muscle6868: you dont post often
INSANEEQUINE: more popular than say, you and raymi
INSANEEQUINE: i don't have to!
muscle6868: oh
muscle6868: why wouldnt you
INSANEEQUINE: we get over 1500 visits a day usually
INSANEEQUINE: i'm a busy kid :\ i wish i could
muscle6868: i see
muscle6868: well, im not going for popularity
muscle6868: so thats not a big deal
muscle6868: raymi can be whatever
INSANEEQUINE: well you bought it up ;-) just wanted to let you know you
weren't doing me any favors.

muscle6868: im lost
muscle6868: doing you favors in what regard?
INSANEEQUINE: "It's what we do. We go to the less popular pages and make
them feel special."
muscle6868: you dont feel special?
muscle6868: feeling special is not from hits
INSANEEQUINE: but i'm not sure if you're talking to say anything or
just to talk?
muscle6868: I commented on your blog
muscle6868: that doesn't make you feel special?
INSANEEQUINE: 26 times on the last post?
INSANEEQUINE: not really
muscle6868: why not?
INSANEEQUINE: picking on nate is not nice
muscle6868: Nate donated 100 dollars
INSANEEQUINE: he's a very rich real life friend with deep pockets
muscle6868: if he was that rich
muscle6868: he'd fund the whole thing
INSANEEQUINE: i told him not to
muscle6868: well then
muscle6868: theres no reason to take anyone elses money
INSANEEQUINE: i'm not letting my friend pay for the whole thing. i'm not
even planning on letting you guys pay for the whole thing. we're just
taking what you feel like giving <3
muscle6868: hmm
muscle6868: but Nate feels like paying for the whole thing
INSANEEQUINE: and i didn't let him.
muscle6868: but he feels like it
muscle6868: and you said you'd take what we feel like giving
muscle6868: so why no?
INSANEEQUINE: i don't feel like letting him pay for the whole thing
INSANEEQUINE: i don't feel like letting anyone pay for the whole thing.
muscle6868: so is this virginia boy gonna get a kiss?
muscle6868: i mean, at least that
muscle6868: its prom
INSANEEQUINE: he has a girlfriend
INSANEEQUINE: who he is taking
muscle6868: wow
INSANEEQUINE: i don't even know who is taking me
muscle6868: poor guy
muscle6868: so Im still curious as to why I ont make you fel special
muscle6868: dont*
INSANEEQUINE: i think it's quality not quantity that makes a girl feel
INSANEEQUINE: that and flowers.
muscle6868: theres quality comments on there?
INSANEEQUINE: are there?
muscle6868: im asking you
muscle6868: its your blog
INSANEEQUINE: i think some of them must be
muscle6868: so you decide what quality is
INSANEEQUINE: with 144 to choose from
muscle6868: but not mine
INSANEEQUINE: i'm just saying, whatever comment you have on the post can
said in less than 26 comments?
muscle6868: can it though?
muscle6868: it wont ahve the same feeling
INSANEEQUINE: i think it would have a better feeling :D
muscle6868: hmm
INSANEEQUINE: just a thought.
INSANEEQUINE: kickwhy.dem
INSANEEQUINE: you said you like brutal honesty :D
muscle6868: i think they al have a little something to them
muscle6868: and by clumping them up
muscle6868: their integrity would be compromised
INSANEEQUINE: i will review them later and give you second opinion.
muscle6868: hey, no worries
muscle6868: i dont want you wasting any time on them
INSANEEQUINE: they're my comments, they're like children.
INSANEEQUINE: i am going to post tonight anyway.
muscle6868: you should ask all 1500 to comment
INSANEEQUINE: i know that would be super.
muscle6868: yes it would
muscle6868: so mine would just get lost in the shuffle
INSANEEQUINE: 1500 comments would be better than christmas.
muscle6868: it would?
INSANEEQUINE: well sort of.
muscle6868: i sure hope not
muscle6868: giving gifts and making people smile
muscle6868: or horny guys who love you saying how cute you are 1000 times
INSANEEQUINE: well you know
INSANEEQUINE: our readership is a little more diverse than that
muscle6868: 66%
INSANEEQUINE: probably someplace around there
muscle6868: so, thats 1000 out of 1500
muscle6868: like i said
INSANEEQUINE: actually, i'd say more like 55%
INSANEEQUINE: it could be up since all of the gorillamask plugs
muscle6868: it may
muscle6868: so what does hits get you?
muscle6868: im new to this whole blog thing
INSANEEQUINE: 1500 visits, not hits
muscle6868: whats the diff?
INSANEEQUINE: hits is every time someone visits some aspect of your page..
so someone visits the front page and it loads up 10 pictures and it
registers 11 hits.
INSANEEQUINE: visits is the number of people who came to the front page.
INSANEEQUINE: unique people
muscle6868: i see
muscle6868: gotcha
muscle6868: and what does that get
muscle6868: money?
INSANEEQUINE: it doesn't get me anything at all, since i wrote for half a
year with bascially no visits. wait, it's fun.
INSANEEQUINE: but i started it for me and lauren.
muscle6868: i see
muscle6868: better than christmas
INSANEEQUINE: maybe a really lame christmas.
muscle6868: hmm
muscle6868: if you say so
muscle6868: well, im sorry i upset your comments box
INSANEEQUINE: quite alright
INSANEEQUINE: you just loved them a little too much
INSANEEQUINE: ok, time for me to be productive <3 i don't mean to sound
like a major bitch, i am glad that you read and comment but don't pick on
little friend nate he's so very nice.
muscle6868: hes a nerd
muscle6868: but its ok

Saturday, November 08, 2003

I ran into an old friend I used to be very close to at a club recently. We chit chatted above the loud music and exchanged frequent smiles. She was asking me about my life and how everything was going. I couldn't, though, help but feel as if it were a diplomatic action rather than actual interest. Her questions were valid, but the actual interest in her eyes wasn't there. She was fuckin' fakin' it like Meg Ryan. She didnt' give a fuck. She's had my number for years, and my email account has been the same for 5 years. But there was no effort there to check on me. I called her from time to time and she'd call me back just so she wasn't the asshole. But she and I both know that if she were ever really interested in my life, she could contact me.

But no. Nothing. She chose not to and now she felt compelled to seem interested and concerned, which was complete bullshit.

I'd rather had no smiles than fake smiles. People mistake fakeness for kindness. I'd rather have someone that dislikes me act like it instead of playing a role. Fuck being fake. I have old "friends" that come at me with that "so how are you doing?" line, when it's way too obvious that they really don't give a fuck. I typically say "Same ol' shit", put it in their pipe for them and let them smoke it. I don't play that shit. Never have, never will. I wanted to say "FUCK YOU" so bad, but I was drunk and I would rather have a cigarette then have people mad at me, the ultimate buzzkill.

I'm not perfect either. I have this habit of talking shit about everybody. Even my friends. And it's true. I talk shit all the time IF talking shit constitutes talking about a person in a critical manner behind their back. Theyr'e my friends, man. Regardless of how they act or what they say, they will always be my friends. I will stand by them in a time of war and I will comfort them in a time of sorrow. Sometimes it's easy talking about a person when they're not around and say nothing when they are there. But that's where I'm different. I'll tell you you did something fucked up behind your back AND to your face. I call a duck a duck. My closest friends are like my brothers. I hold them in such high reguard and I hold them to sometimes unreachable standards. Sometimes I have to call them on it,but I love them regardless. I wouldn't expect any less from them. I kind of wish they would make me more aware of my own faults. Call me on the fucked up shit I do, because I know there is plenty to point out.

Thursday, November 06, 2003

My electric toothbrush fuckin' rules. I have no idea how I got away without it for so long. Every time I brush my teeth, I feel refreshed, similar to how you feel after a dentist cleaning. I normally don't shill for products, but this thing has changed the way I look at brushing my teeth. It's actually really fun. What's weird is that I find myself brushing my teeth longer than I did when I had a conventional toothbrush. I want to make sure that every milimeter of my tooth enamel is cleaned properly. I will admit that it's a bit of an adjustment to get used to that bitch. It's a little overwhelming, specially to your gums. It got to the point to where it would tickle. But now, it's all gravity. I love that thing.

Wednesday, November 05, 2003

"...This morning I woke up

Feelin brand new and I, I jumped up

Feelin my highs and my lows

In my soul, and my goals

Just to stop smoking and stop drinkin

But I been thinkin I got my reasons

Just to get by...

"Get By" - Talib Kweli

I sing this song every day I go to work. That shit is powerful. I don't think people understand the weight that that song carries. I've been meaning to blog about this for a while now. Hip Hop music in the main stream has been pretty negative. But looking back on what has passed in '03, you see songs like The Black Eyed Peas "Where Is The Love?" and Nas' "I Can" along with Talib's "Get By" on mainstream media such as radio and MTV/BET. That's a huge step towards the national and mainstream recognition of Hip Hop as a positive entity.

I was watching the MTV Music awards a few months ago, and I'm typically against watching that shit. I saw Black Eyed Peas perform during the "Pre Show". I was initially indifferent, but then I started to wonder how important this performance could be. The MTV Music awards are played in a ton of countries. Can you imagine how a song like "Where Is The Love" can change the perception of what Hip Hop music is like? Although it was a small performance that took place outside of the theatre, it was still somehow associated with the awards. That along with Nas' nomination for "I Can" were pretty interesting events that night.

It's still kind of weird associating myself with the false pretenses about Hip Hop and "Rap". My friends Group Therapy are a group of aspiring emcees who I am very proud of. When talk about them to people outside of the Hip Hop scene, I feel myself immediately describing them as being "positive" and very different than "what you see on TV". There is this stigma associated with the culture that I identify with and that I love: negativity, misogyny, violence, etc. I'm just glad there are people out there that are looking to change this misconception.

Me and You. Your mama and your cousin too....

I'm the kind of person that gets into the music. Whenever I'm driving somewhere, I play my cd's and I'm shoutin' the lyrics at the top of my lungs. I get down to it, yo. And sometimes I catch people taking a glance and giggling at me. I don't care. Fuck them. This is how I get down. Remember that guy at the club that knows the lyrics to every song and is mouthing them as he dances, making it less and less like he's actually dancing with a woman and more and more like he's performing a dance solo? That's me.

B-Boy Remind said in the latest installment of of the b-boy video magazine Breakvision Vol. 2, that he just wants to see everybody get "free". Get free to the music with no inhibitions and be the ultimate bodily manifistation of music. Can you imagine that? Everybody being able to just vibe to music and enjoy themselves. We're not talkin' about that booty-bling-bling shit. I'm talkin' about the shit that lifts your mind to another level. The music that is put on this earth to uplift and enlighten. We clown people who don't dance the way we think is cool or dress a certain way or talk a certain way. But fuck that. We have too much going on in our own lives to worry about the next man. Express yourself. Honestly and constantly. Don't hold back. Don't worry about what the next man says. Fuck them. Do it for YOU. It doesn't just pertain to the Hip Hop crowd. This is for everybody. I want to get the fuck down and get FREE!!! Like Andre3000 said in "Elevators":

"We live beat to beat like you live check to check.."

I can honestly say that music is the soundtrack of my life. I'll be 80 years old and when a beat comes on that I just feel I'll still be nodding my head. From James Brown to Sum41. From Snoop Dogg to Cibo Mato. If that shit is hot, I'm lovin' it.

Monday, November 03, 2003

I was thisclose to quitting school today. Well, not really today. I was thinking today about quitting school tomorrow. It's been bugging me that a lot of the people I work with don't even have their bachelor's degrees. They do, though, have certifications up their assholes. CCNA, CCDA, MCSE, Oracle, etc. All these acronyms equal a higher pay. What do I have? I have 4 MCP's, which is short for "Microsoft Certified Professional". What does that mean in normal english? That I don't get paid as much. Damn, this is bullshit.
"Kill Bill" Confessionals
Let's play "Which character are they talking about?" Winner gets kudos. Not a Kudos bar, but just kudos.


SPECIFIK: there's the danger element
SPECIFIK: she might bite my dick off but i'd risk it


D0NNIEVEGA: damn....i have visions of [someone] from Kill Bill in my head
D0NNIEVEGA it's perverted
D0NNIEVEGA: because last time i saw her, she was one armed and rolling down a hill of snow
KoolKeith: amputees need love too
KoolKeith: plus she's hot


SPECIFIC: even though i hate [someone]... her choppin off that dude's head was gangsta


SPECIFIK: [someone] is like the perfect tool of tarintino

Sunday, November 02, 2003

Right now, the "Nick at Nite" programming list goes as follows: "The Cosby Show", "Cheers", "Three's Company", "Full House" and "Wings". WINGS!?! Well, 4 out of 5 ain't bad.

Since I work the graveyard shift I get the opportunity to see a lot of these shows, and dammit, TV used to be good. As I watch old episodes of Three's Company, I've realized 2 things: John Ritter was great and Precilla Barnes was HOT. As I watch old episodes of The Cosby Show, I've realized 2 things: Bill Cosby is genius and Lisa Bonet was HOT. As I watch Full House, I've realized 2 things: Dave Coulier was never funny and Lori Loughlin was HOT. As I watch Cheers I've realized 2 things: Cliff had a Bostonian accent that mysteriously disappeared and Kirsty Alley was not HOT.

So what have we learned today? Well, nothing. I just wanted an excuse to post a picture of the Olsen twins.

Friday, October 31, 2003

With the last ours of October winding down, I felt that maybe I should blog. It's been a pretty eventful month. It was my first month as a husband. I visited Las Vegas for the first time. I got my first "real" job. Life is pretty good right now. I'm not exactly rich. I don't have all the bells and whistles that a lot of people have. But I'm happy. I'm very happy and I have a lot to be thankful for. So that is why I felt I needed to blog.

Thanksgiving is in November and I will dedicate this month to being thankful for everything I am blessed with. I will kiss my son on the head and thank God for his health and his love. I will spoon my wife at night and thank her for loving me as much as she does. I will work in the yard with my father like we did when I was a little boy and be thankful for such a har- working, no-nonsense father that has taught me that everything good comes from hard work. I will look at my mother, not as the anti-thesis of everything I am about, but as the woman from whom I am a product and a person to whom I owe my life to.

It sucks that we only give thanks one day a year collectively as a country. I will admit that I do not thank the people I love enough. But I cannot change my ways overnight. I will start with this month. Then I will take the next step and go two months. I know it will be hard but this is something I want to put all my effort into. People have given and given and I've done nothing but take and take. It's time to give back and be thankful. Don't take anything for granted.

Name Dropping.

It has become apparent that my blog isn't worth reading to a lot of people. I know, and I understand. I don't have the beatifully descriptive eloquence of Sahalie. I don't have the great storytelling skills that (nor the eventful life of) Muscle68. I mean, who wants to read about a 24-year-old guy that's married with children? Miss Jennyeah had great stories that kept me coming back. She later developed into a mysterious and cryptic writer that kept me (and apparently others) coming back for more. I have none of these traits.

Basically, I'm just saying thank you to the people I know read this because it's really not much. Kool Keith and Leah were the first. Then jennyeah came around cursing me out. Sahalie popped up every now and then and Muscle68 was brought into this blog-world via my word of mouth. So he's REQUIRED to read. But in all seriousness, thank you.

"That's a huge bitch!!!"

I went to the local Enterprise with my son and my dad to rent a car while my car is in the shop today. The guy that helped us looked dead-on Dale Earnhardt Jr. He stood up and was a legitimate 7 footer. I have never stood next to a guy that large and compared to my dad, he would have been physically intimidating if it weren't for his softspoken-ness and the fact that he was probably 180 pounds soaking wet holding a brick.


My wife reads my blog regularly. I love her.

Wednesday, October 29, 2003


That's what it comes out to. I spoke with the claims adjuster this morning to see what he thought about my car. First call, busy signal. 10 seconds later with the second call, voice mailbox. Dammit, I missed the alternate phone number. 3rd call, ring twice... "Hello? This is Norm..."

He went on to explain the situation. "Well, we can go about this two ways: You can blah blah blah blah, which will mean that blah blah depreciation blah blah...". I deferred to my dad, since he knows all that insurance jargon and I know, well, diddly squat. I sat there listening to the one-sided conversation. "25% something something. Uhuh. Uhuh. $500 deductible something something. Uhuh. So, $1100?"

Hangs up. "So Joseph, you have to pay $1100." That's cool. I have about half of that in the bank, plus I get my frist paycheck this Friday. That's fine.

15 minutes later, call from Toyota. It's Robert, the service guy. He sounds happy, and I know exactly why. He's getting paid. "Well, I know you heard from the claims adjuster. I just wanted to make sure what we were doing. Oh, and by the way, I wanted to mention some other things our service staff noticed about your car. " He goes on to mention that I need a new air filter and spark plugs and brakes and a v-belt and an idler. I don't know what half that shit is, but knowing how much I've neglected the maintainance of my car I give it the "okay".


Oh shit. Now I'm not starving, nor do I have many bills to pay, but that pretty much kicks my entire first check in the ass. All because of that one careless right hand turn. With all this work I'm putting into this shit, I might as well have bought a new car. I mean, damn. Oh well. I need my car back. I can't wait to explain this shit to my wife.

Tuesday, October 28, 2003

We were driving to the mall yesterday and we saw about 3 fire engines driving in a line in Fairfield. First thing to pop in my head was that they were engines returning from Southern California after helping fighting those unfortunate blazes that have taken homes and more importantly, lives. In a weird "makeshift patriot" moment, I almost felt tempted to honk my horn and give a thumbs up in support of our men in uniform. I mean, damn. I'm not out there fighting. Not many other people would go and fight a fire, even in their own backyards. Right before I shifted my hand to honk the horn, a veil of Californian uncertainty and skepticalism fell over me. What if they aren't coming back from SoCal? Or even worse, what if they laugh at me or flip me off? So with that cloud of doubt hanging over my head, I decided to just keep driving and ignore the big red fire trucks.

Ah well, maybe next time.

Sunday, October 26, 2003

One day, I'm going to have to learn how to delete a post so I can delete an unexplainable blank post.
"Kill Bill" is fuckin' sick.

Thanks to the great time change this morning where everybody and their mama got an extra hour to sleep, I was affected in a manner that not many people think about unless it happens to them: I was forced to work and extra hour in my 12 hour shift. Around 10pm last night, Daphne IM's me and asks me if the time would be changing back an hour later on that night. I dismiss it thinking that a)I haven't heard anybody talking about it, and b) doesn't that shit happen in November? After a few minutes of asking around on the 'Net it dawns on me that it was the night. I was unphased at first, but then it hit me. I'm gonna have to work an extra fuckin' hour.

It was the longest shift possible. To top it off, tons of our clients were having scheduled downtimes to take advantage of the extra overnight hour and our web monitors were going off like a fireworks show. What fucked me up the most was that as I was driving home from work at about 5:30, THE SUN WAS COMING UP. You ever see those commercials or movies where people go into a bar or a club when it is daylight, party all through the night and leave just as the sun was coming up? Well, it felt eerily like that except for the fact that I wasn't partying all night. So I guess that means that it wasn't like that at all. Uhh..yeah.

I'm paid salary, so my company pretty much has me by the balls when it comes to overtime. I started to thinking and realized that hey, I get to work an 11 hour shift in six months. MUHAHAHAHAHAH, I got them.

Friday, October 24, 2003

Kool Keith is going to love this. The following post is something I wrote in response to somebody saying that the Rap Artist E-40 wasn't "real" Hip Hop.

The West Coast Hip Hop has a different "foundation" as opposed to other parts of the country. What you percieve to be "true Hip Hop music" will obviously be different that what someone like myself would appeciate, so I respect and understand your opinion, Xcel. But let's be serious. Other than "Automatic", what other 40 joints do they play there in your neck of the woods? E-40, though he may not fit what most backpackers/Hip Hop purists believe as being "real", is a man has paid dues for years before blowing up on the level he has. Believe me, I was were in Vallejo when he was slangin' tapes out of his trunk at Babe Ruth baseball games at Wilson Park. And I'm talkin like '88, '89.

But even other than that, he is the consummate Hip Hop artist. He struggled to blow up doing what he wanted to do the way he wanted to do it. He didn't resort to selling out the West Coast style for one that is more popular at the time. He was ahead of his time with the slang, the word play, and most defnitely the cadence. On the way he's gradually added more conscious lyrics to his work making him a viable voice in Bay Area and West Coast Hip Hop.

And as an open-minded Hip Hop head, you can't go drawing lines around what is Hip Hop and what is not. Whether you want to believe it or not, Ice Cube is just as much Hip Hop as Aceyalone. You can't go excluding parts of Hip Hop when they are all the by-products of the same things.

Don't get this twisted. I'm not one of those "Yo, Tupac is the GOAT and Cash Money was the hardest label" fool. I've been in this Hip Hop shit for 10 years. I went from a commercial head, to lovin' the West Coast gangsta style, to getting on the East's nuts, to straight backpacker style. But now that I'm old, I like what I think is good music. Fuck labels. Fuck trying to create boundries within the music and within the culture. Just accept it as a whole and appreciate what YOU like. But I dont' think there are many people alive that can dictate what is and what is not "real" Hip Hop. This shit is only 30 years old. We start drawing lines now and we jeopardize the longevity of this culture that we love so much. I love this shit. I live this shit. When I can can't support physically, I support with my wallet and with my energy. So yo, there isn't time to knock people off a mountain we're all trying to get to the top of. Yo, this cat may not be Talib or Del, but there's no denying that E-40 is a Hip Hop artist

Thursday, October 23, 2003

I get caught saying fucked up things sometimes. It started young too. Like about 9 years old. One time, I remember saying really loud "We can't share our house with people like that," as a few of my mom's guests walked into the doorway. The bad thing is that they heard me. I had this phase in 8th grade when I'd call everybody a bastard. It was towards my nephew, you just happened to be, well, a bastard. And right as his mom was walking past the door. I remember watching a b-boy video with my friend and their cousins visiting from the Philippines and saying "Yo, look at these guys. They're all fobs." During my 12th grade government class, I screamed "Damn, Mike! You're GAY!" in front of my openly homosexual teacher, Mr. Ratcliff. Ever use "retarded" on the basketball court while one of your teammates "special" brother was trying to shoot freethrows the court over? Well, I have.

I've learned to become more aware of my surrounding, even to the point of being over-sensitive. I choose my words carefully and try to be mindful of the people around me. But there are still those times where I'll be at the verge or blurting out something that I could get slapped over, and thankfully restraint prevails. Forgive me. Please.

Monday, October 20, 2003


But anyway, I did something tonight that was completely embarassing. While making a quick righthand turn, I drove directly over a median completing my 2nd 50/50 grind in a car, the first of which happened in my old '89 Grand Voyager one time after work during the summer of 1997 when I spilled my soda making a right hand turn. This time around, I didn't have a good excuse. I didn't know the turn at all and made a careless wide turn.

What made it worse is that since I hit the median with such high force, my car skid all the way to the point where my tires were off of the ground stranding me on median, partially blocking traffing going in my intended direction. As I stood outside of my car door I attempted to assess the situation. I immediately got out of my car to make sure my car wasn't fucked up. I was especially concerned about my tires because I just bought a new set no more than one week ago. A truck with two men stopped, noticing my state of complete confusion and offered to help.

Eventually we got the car off the median, and I cannot think of a time where I was more embarassed, except the time I left the size sticker on a new pair of jeans, only realizing it when somebody at school notified me during one of my breaks in between classes. It was though, pretty damn funny, and as I'm sitting here at work typing this out, I'm still hoping there is nothing seriously wrong with my car. Oh well, it's past midnight and I still have about 5 hours of work before I can go home and sleep until Jayden wakes me up, which is about 3 hours. I had about 3 hours of sleep last night and my body still hasn't adjusted to sleeping during daylight and working through the night.

Sunday, October 19, 2003

It was a trip being at a club last night. I don't do clubs. But since Jan and Audrey had a show, I had to show my support. Needless to say, by midnight I was damn drunk. I mean, we started with Red Label and beer at the house. After about 3 Liquid Cocaines and about 4 more shots of Hennesey, my non-drinking ass was feelin' pretty good. Erwin was a good sport for tagging along. I could tell that he was tired and another night at a club wasn't #1 on his priority list.

There were a large amount of familiar faces which was interesting considering we were so far from Vallejo. Seeing the boys was a pleasant surpise. Alex was in typical form with his perpetual squinty smile. People from high school greeted me with a suprised "Baseball Joe", a nickname that has seemed to stick even though I haven't played ball since high school. I was surprised Marissa and Cheryl both said "hi" to me first. It was nice, though. I have to admit, it was kind of fun telling everybody I ran into that I was now married, too.

Francisco seemed a little extra surpised to see me. I haven't seen him in a good 7 years and his excitement in seeing me again was shown when he lifted my 240 pound body a good 2 feet off the ground. Seeing Rey for the first time in a while made me realize how much a lot of us have changed since our high school days. He's older and much more mature than back then. You can look into his eyes and just tell he was a different man.

Jan and Audrey's set was a lot shorter than I expected. Although I wish they went longer I was glad to show my support. Jan's beat production has stepped up, and even though the club sound guy didn't know what he was doing, thee music was still on point. I stood front and center with my arm waving to the beat. They do something that I find admirable, which is they do what they love to do. Seeing them on stage is like seeing a bird in midflight or watching Barry Bonds hit a baseball. It was something they were meant to do. God gave them gifts and they are utilizing those gifts. I admire that.

Friday, October 17, 2003

As we approached the club, you could hear the rhymic pounding of breakbeats echoing in the street. We stop directed in front of the club and I immediately recognized Reveal sitting on a bike rack having conversation with Free. On the street corner, there were numerous guys smoking cigarettes. I didn't recognize any of them off the bat. They didn't look like your tyipcal b-boy types. One was dressed wearing a stripped polo shirt with a matching Houston Oilers hat. Another had a black and white trucker cap, a tight fitting Metallica shirt. I turned to Graham as I pulled a menthol light out of my pocket and lit it.

"Yo wanna kick it, or do you want to go in?"

The line to get into the club wasn't long at all. Maybe only 2 or 3 people waiting. It was still early, about 10:30, and the night was young. A woman selling roses walked towards our side of the street from the seemingly gay club across the way. She was pale and almost Goth-like if it weren't for the infectious smile. As she passed in front of me I could smell the pleasant smell of the roses.

"Let's go in and see what's goin' on."

I nodded and we walked in line. The muffled unnoticable beats became clear and almost hypnotic as we entered the club. It was immediately dark as my eyes slowly adjusted to the lack of available light. I looked down and noticed that the black light accentuated the seemingly unlimited amount of dust that had accumulated on my shirt. As the Jackson Sister's "I Believe In Miracles" boomed through the first set of speakers I walked by, I finally saw a circle consisting of about 20 different dancers.......

Friday, October 10, 2003

James Brown is a fuckin' genius. He is. He really is. A lot of people won't understand this, but he has had a lot of influence on Hip Hop music and the Hip Hop culture as a whole. This shit is so real I really don't know how to emphasize it any stronger.

Now, don't get it twisted. This "bling-bling/I Got More Shit Than You/Bust A Cap In Yo Ass" shit that you see on MTV and hear on the radio? Not directly influenced by "The Godfather of Soul". But James influenced many of the dancers and DJ's in the late 60's and early 70's in a huge way. His lyrics were fierce (when intelligible). His beats were way ahead of his time. His dancing was at a level never seen before. James Brown was Hip Hop before Hip Hop was Hip Hop.

Songs like "Give It Up, Turn It Loose", "Superbad", and "Sex-Machine" were b-boy anthems in the 70's and remain so even today. His dancing style influenced many urban youth and was incorporated into the dancing of the 70's, which in turn was amalgamated into the footwork and top rock of b-boying (breakdancing).

Now, I know a lot of you are thinking about how b-boying is related to Hip Hop at all. Well, Hip Hop is known and defined by it's basic four elements: B-boying (breakdancing), Emceeing (Rap), Graffiti Art, and DJ (Turntablism). The Zulu Nation has recently identified 5 other elements of the culture which includes Beatboxing, Street Language(Slang), Street Fashion, Street Entrepeneurialism, and Street Knowledge. There is more to Hip Hop than the music. In the immortal words of KRS-1, "Rap is something you do, Hip Hop is something you live.". Feel that.

The roots of Hip Hop have been traced back around the early 70's in the South Bronx of NYC. Hip Hop was never really known nationally until the explosion of the popularity of b-boying, or what the national media labeled as "Breakdacing". Breakdancing became hugely popular with the release of the film "Flashdance" in 1983, which for the first time Hip Hop was shown to the world by members of the Rock Steady Crew, whom had parts in the movie. It was b-boying that brought Hip Hop to the forefront for the very first time. It was b-boying that exposed the rest of the world to what would eventually become a billion dollar industry.

So that's the lineage. James Brown had a huge influence on the dance and music of the 70's, which in turn directly influenced b-boying and eventually Hip Hop as a whole. But even aside from the music, James Brown had an aura. His attitude and the way he carried himself had a huge influence on the raw and uncut mentality of Hip Hop artists, both dancers and musicians alike.

Wednesday, October 08, 2003

Back to life. Back to reality. I can't lie right now and tell you that I don't miss being in Las Vegas. Late last night/early this morning, my new bride and I got hungry around 3:00 AM and couldn't find a 24 hr. Fat Burger anywhere. A little while ago, l was looking through my wallet and saw a 20 dollar bill that was begging to be put in a slot machine. It was a good week.

Let's sum up the damage from the days Oct. 2 - Oct. 7:

  • About $1200 spent
  • 12 total hours of sleep
  • Two buffets (Harrah's and MGM Grand)
  • 7 Casino/Resorts Visited (Bellagio, Venetian, MGM Grand, Excaliber, New York,New York, Aladdin, Harrah's)
  • 3 trips to the Men's Wherehouse
  • 1 rented Grand Caravan
  • 3 packs of Marlboro Menthol Lights
  • 1 topless show ("X" at Aladdin)
  • $200 worth of alcohol for our rooms from Albertson's (2 bottles of Rumple Mintze, 1 Goldschalger, 1 Bacardi 151, 1 Malibu, 1 Hennesey, 1 Jaegermiester)
  • Approximately 20 miles walked
  • 1 free limo to go to the Clark County courthouse to get our marriage license.

    By the way, I'm a married man now. I love it.

  • Wednesday, October 01, 2003

    Vegas? Joe. Yeah, I'll be there tomorrow. Are you ready? Word.

    Tuesday, September 30, 2003

    5 more days and counting, and I still can't stand those couples. The ones who can't keep their hands off each other in public. The ones who are so insecure with themselves and their relationships that they feel the need to show that they are affectionate with at least one person in the world to everybody. Everybody. And everywhere. It's annoying.

    I'm sitting at Supercuts waiting for Judy to finish up with the fat man and these love birds next to me feel like they need to fuckin' snuggle. IN SUPERCUTS. They're whispering to each other and she's giggling like a 12 year old girl that's found her clit. Give me a fuckin' break. As I sit there trying to read the same PC magazine that was there last month, I can hear little kisses being given back and forth. IN SUPERCUTS.

    I don't have a problem with public displays of affection. Not at all. Holding hands is cool. A friendly peck here and there is fine. But this quasi-post-coital spooning and pillowtalk has to be kept at home. I mean for fucks sakes, there are kids around.

    What bugs me the most is that as I'm getting my haircut, I can see them in the mirror behind me. And guess what. They stopped. I hate that shit. I've noticed this for years now. I can't even think about all the times I've taken a glance at a couple and the boyfriend noticed and holds his girl a little tighter/closer. Women do the same shit. They see a girl taking a look at their man and they grab his arm, as if marking their territory. I can't lie, I used to be the same 7th grade.

    When I notice guys checkin' out my girl, I'm personally flattered. If I found out anyone was wondering "what does she see in HIM?", FUCK, I'm ecstatic! I mean hell, it's like "LOOK WHAT I DID!! I either have a big dick or I'm rich, right? Because it obviously ain't the looks!" So it's a win/win situation for me. There is no need to be insecure, because if someone DID take my girl from me, then they did me a favor. "Shit, I almost married that bitch."

    So feel me on this: Keep all that affectionate shit at home. Sure, public displays of affection are nice and all, but no one really gives a fuck, nor is anybody really paying attention.

    Monday, September 29, 2003

    I'm way too lazy right now to do one of those "100 Things About Me" lists. Leah did it. Someone else did it before her. And a bunch of other people did it before that person. But let's roleplay a little (because I know you love to roleplay), and let's pretend I wasn't a lazy asshole. Here are excerpts from the imaginary list of 100:

    #37 - I love the soothing feeling of getting my ears cleaned with a Q-tip

    #56 - Sometimes I'm so lazy I don't do my laundry until I'm down to my very last piece of underwear, which just happens to be the same underwear I wore in 8th grade. The well-too-known "Last Line Of Defense".

    #7 - The thought of having 3-way sex with two women arouses me, even if the two women are ugly.

    #96 - Sometimes I walk around purposely looking pissed off just to see if I can scare anybody.

    #44 - I have a problem with reading comprehension.

    #9 - My favorite number is 9.

    #15 - I think I am much smarter than I lead on to be.

    # 29 - I love oysters, even though they give me the runs for 2 days after eating them.

    Maybe one day I'll write the rest. Maybe not.

    Have a good Monday. Cheers.

    Saturday, September 27, 2003

    Having money is cool. Jojo and I spent about and hour in "The Store Formerly Known As Structure" yesterday, which is the longest we've spent in there since our high school days. I bought a pair of unusually narrow pants (for me at least) for a mere 10 duckets and a polo for 15, which by Struc-er, I mean, Express Men is a steal.

    While shopping, I couldn't help but notice how feminine men's casual wear has become. There were really nice shirts, but they were ruined by some dumbass neckline that threatened to show not only my man-cleavage, but my damn belly button. There were also those oh-so-fruity shirts that tie with a string in the front, as if we were some fuckin' musketeers or some shit. I don't know, man. Maybe it's the "Hip Hop" urban style that keeps me from seeing the fashion value, but that shit looks wack. I mean, I like to dress nice and all, but that trendy-ass Chris Judd look has to fuckin' go. The LAST thing I want to do is look like a dumped J-Lo backup dancer. want a little thunder?

    We met up with a couple friends last night at the Century Theatres in Daly City and caught the opening night of "The Rundown" that starred Stifler, Christopher Walken, Rosario Dawson, and The Rock. I loved the movie and damn, there were great moments throughout. Stifler carried most of the comedy, The Rock provided the action, Rosario Dawson was the eye candy (although I noticed that her nostrils are lopsided as fuck), and Walken was classic fuckin'Walken.

    On top of all that, Ernie Reyes Jr., in the first movie role I can recall in a long time, was part of probably one of the best and most creative fight scenes in the movie, hell in ANY movie. Ernie is fuckin' diesel (read: built). Playing a Brazillian rebel, he was pretty damn convincing considering that he's Filipino. I'm glad to see he's still working. He's talented as all hell but unfortunately his "look" forces him into movies like "Turtles In Time".

    Countdown to the wedding is 7 days. Vegas, we're comin'. And it's not gonna be nice.

    Have a good weekend.

    Thursday, September 25, 2003

    Just hang the fuck up. Notorious Pat just told me that he saw a news story on one of our local news stations about a woman getting hit by a MUNI bus down in the Embarcadero in the 'Sco today. Turns out she was walking while talking on her phone and walked into on-coming traffic and just got blasted by the bus.

    Now, I'm sorry. Call me insensitive. Call me an asshole. But dammit, I wish there were stories like this more often. I really dont' give a fuck. Why? Because I encounter maybe 4 near car accidents weekly due to this people who can't seem to pay attention to anything and talk on their cell phone at the same time. I mean, shit. Somebody HAS to tell them, "Hey, you drive like shit when you talk on your cell phone." The sad part REALLY is all the people who would probably do the same but are saying to themselves, "What a dumbass."

    And it's not just with drivers. There are always these people walking in the mall who can't seem to WALK right when they're on their phone. COME ON. These have to be the same assholes in their cars. They were the same kids that couldn't jump rope and sing the rhymes at the same time because they'd stop swinging the rope. These are the same people for which the "No blocking fire exits" laws are created for. I mean, fuck. If you can run, you are never blocking a fire exit (thanks Mitch).

    Monday, September 22, 2003

    Remember this when Leah posted it after I showed her the link?

    Well, you can thank me for that AND this

    Sunday, September 21, 2003

    "I got a darkside, like an uneven suntan."

    Tuesday, September 16, 2003

    The library can be kind of weird at 10:30 in the morning. So I'm at the library to do some reading and to look for a few books I want to borrow instead of having to buy them. It's pretty early in the day, and I can't help but notice the different type of people that are in a library at the given time. Here are a few of my observations:

    The Old Retired Couple- These people have absolutely nothing better to do than go to the library everyday to read. They're old and they're retired, so you know that they've been up for a good 5 hours and wanted to get some reading in before it was time to turn in for the rest of the night. I mean, it IS damn near Noon, you know.

    The Group of Mentally Ill Kids- These kids, though seemingly "hadicapped" to the average eye, are the happiest people in the library. Sure, they make make a random moan or scream every now and then breaking the concentration of some or making a few kids giggle, but they are living their lives to their fullest extent, which is more than what we can say about a lot of people. When I was younger, I used to gawk and stare and giggle myself. But these kids have some sort of genuine innocence that is a testiment to their strength as people living with their illness, not drowning in it like some may perceive.

    These Muther Fuckers On The Internet Playing Yahoo Spades - How demented are these assholes who come to the library with their library card and use them for free Internet access ALL DAY LONG? They swear that they're getting over by hiding the AIM Express window under their Yahoo Spades window even though there's a little note on the monitor that states "No Internet Chatting or Games". They do nothing productive in the library and they make me fuckin' sick.

    The Grandpa and The Rowdy Ass 3-year-old- Grandpa gets a great idea: "Let me take my rowdy ass grandson to the library while I read." What he doesn't realize is that he'll spend more time trying to calm his son down than he will holding a fuckin' book. And why can't the kid shut the fuck up? "Hey Grandpa! Hey Grandpa!" What the fuck, don't bring him into the adult section of the library when you know there's a little kid's section.

    Those Fucking Teenagers- Can these mutherfuckers shut the fuck up? Every little thing is funny and they are giggling their mutherfuckin' asses off. Those fuckin' teenagers can whisper louder than I can shout and while they do come to the library with the intention of studying, once more than 3 of them gather, you can throw all that shit out of the window. They sometimes even have long ass conversations on their cell phone. IN THE FUCKING LIBRARY. I swear to gawd, parents need to talk some fuckin' sense into these kids. Because dammit, I am becoming less and less patient and have absolutely no problem telling someone to shut the fuck up.

    The Random College Kid- (Read: Me.) They sit down and open their bags and unload about 50 books and look up every single time something disturbing happens. I see these kids as the "easily disturbed". I mean, if I spent all day working and/or going to school, the last place I'd want to study is at a fuckin library. But as a lot of us "easily distracted" kids know that there is the TV, the computer and the phone at home, and we can't get anything done with any of that stuff around. So instead, we head over to the library to be subjected to all of the above. What the hell is wrong with these people?

    Well, there are others, but you know the deal. Weirdo old-as-dirt librarian. Homeless guy. Magazine Whores. And the best of all, the DVD/Movie people. But you know the story.

    Monday, September 15, 2003

    I always get that feeling. You know, that feeling. The feeling you get when you're all ready to eat and you realize that there isn't rice in the rice cooker. The feeling when you sit down on the toilet, drop a load, and realize that there is not a square of toilet paper within 20 yards of you. It's also the feeling when you're doing the "duck-walk" to the closest bathroom hoping you don't mess yourself in a quest for toilet paper. Remember the last time you forgot you had no cash and went to a shop that doesn't accept check or credit card? That's the feeling. Or how about the time when you were talking shit about someone and that someone just happened to walk into the room? It's that feeling.

    Now, let's face it. We all get these feelings. The feeling of looking through the Sunday newspaper adverts and finding something on sale you just bought two weeks ago $40 more than it's current price. Ever wake up in the middle of the night and bump your head on the wall or your nightstand? It's that feeling. That same feeling when you get crapped on by a seagull, or when you accidentally let out a Hershey squirt instead of the fart you thought was coming out. It just like that feeling you get when you walk into the bathroom to brush your teeth and you step in a wet spot, ruining a fresh clean pair of socks. How about that feeling when you put in a load of clothes into the washing machine and you forget to put in soap, but you don't realize it until AFTER you dry the clothes and still smell the funk? Can you relate to that?

    Okay, maybe some of these are off the wall. But these things happen to me all the time. And I can't help but laugh at myself. It's funny. I'm funny. Life is funny. And if you can't laugh at yourself sometimes, maybe you're just an asshole.

    Thursday, September 11, 2003

    Okay, so who are these mutherfuckers that still haven't seen "Scare Tactics" on the Sci Fi Channel?

    It's okay, you can come out of the closet and admit it. Yeah. Admit it. Admit that you were too busy watching Ashton Kutcher and his "Punk'd". Fuck Punk'd. I'd punch Ashton in the grill just for fuckin' Demi Moore. That's Bruce's pussy, Ashton, whether you want to believe it or not. You're in for your own "Punk'd". You just wait. Just wait 'till when you think you're gettin' some from Demi one night, and then Bruce jumps out of the closet, sticks his dick in your ass and yells "You've just been Punk'd". But wait, I'm digressing.

    Anyways, "Scare Tactics". Hosted by your favorite 9021-ho, Shannen Doherty, who hasn't looked this attractive since Dylan was ready to break Brenda's hymen after their prom. I have to admit, they do go a little over the top withsome of the acting, but the actual pranks are far more elaborate and believable than your Punk'd or even "Girl's Behaving Badly" if you like your Razmatazz with a Femme boost. Good stuff, I suggest checking it out.

    Check your local listings or the Scare Tactics link above.

    I need money. With the wedding coming up in about 3 weeks that so happens to coincide with my very first trip to Las Vegas, I have come to the conclusion that I'm going to have to raise some funds of my own to allow both Daphne and I to enjoy this trip the way we want to. I've already auctioned off a bunch of my jerseys and unneeded clothing to just help myself stay afloat as I put in work at this non-paying internship I've been at for the past 2 months. Now it's time for me to get serious. I need a lot of money and soon. So now what?

    I'm going for the shoes.

    For a long time, I couldn't even think about selling my shoes. I used to buy shoes all the time. When I worked at Foot Locker, I always had about 4 pairs of shoes on hold and I always bought at least one pair every pay period. The discount was like crack. If it was cheap, I'd buy it. Even if it wasn't cheap, I'd buy it. The worst thing is that I would hardly wear them. Whenever you have more than 10 pairs of shoes, you will only wear half of them in a month.

    What makes it worse is the space they take up.I have them everywhere. Under my bed. In my closet. In Daphne's closet. In the living room closet. All over the floor. All over the hallway outside of my room. Just everywhere. And it carried over to both Daphne and Jayden. Now they have tons of shoes too. So our house is just a big ass shoe wherehouse.

    Now I'm going to do everybody a favor and get rid of them.

    Wednesday, September 10, 2003

    I don't masturbate as much as I used to. One thing that bothers me about masturbation is how much guilt is associated with it. Way back when I first started beating my meat, I used to feel dirty and guilty after the act. This feeling of dirtiness would force me to take a shower, not only to literally clean myself up, but to "wash" myself of the guilt. As I moved on into the later stages of being a teen, I began to think about the concept of Karma. I'm a firm believer in Karma, and that a good deed will result in good fortune and a bad deed will result in ill fortune.

    Since choking your chicken is generally looked upon as a negative thing, I began seeing negative events that have possibly resulted by me stroking my salami. I'd have a date with Palmala and her five sisters, then later in the day, I would get a speeding ticket. I'd strain my main vein, then I'd forget to do my homework that night. It was odd correlations such as those that would force me to not jerk off at crucial times in my life such as the night before a big test, or before going to a job interview. Weird shit.

    Now don't get me wrong. I still think that spanking your monkey is normal and healthly. Hell, they should teach that shit at school. Think of how many teens would be more relaxed at schools, or how less high school girls would get pregnant. Think how many guys wouldn't be so sexually agressive if they would just shake their snake before a first or second date. But no, there's still that taboo factor. Everybody does it but nobody talks about it. There are tons of benefits to it and nobody wants to acknowledge them.

    But now I can just imagine all the people reading this and saying, "But Joe. Aren't you engaged? Don't you have a steady sex partner?" And yeah, you guys are right. I do. But as many of you will learn, the combination of school, job and kids will basically murder your sex lives. As much as you want to do the horizontal Mambo with your significant other, sometimes it's just not fesable. Schedules confict. Somebody is too tired. One person is horny but the other isn't. I mean, believe me. When we fuck, we fuck. But trying to time your horniness to coincide with your wifey is damn near impossible. Especially when the sliding windows of opportunity are far and few between. So you take your schlong to the massage parlor.

    So with that in mind, think about all those times as a child sitting at home, all by yourself with your sister and/or brother. Remember when your parents would come home unusually late? You'd be thinking they went to the grocery store or maybe Price Club or the mall, but for some reason they wouldn't come home with anything. Well, I hate to break it to you, but they were fucking. Somewhere, somehow. You were born and had subsequently fucked up their sex life, so they were forced to take it elsewhere. Maybe it was the Alpha Beta parking lot behind the dumpster. Maybe it was at a cheap hourly motel. Or hell, maybe your mom gave your dad head in the garage! Either way, they were fuckin', and you didnt' even know.

    Sunday, September 07, 2003

    Sex is weird. Women focus on getting off as fast as possible. Men focus on mental images of basketball and naked pictures of Bea Arthur to avoid getting off too quickly. Now, don't get me wrong. I've had the same sexual partner for a good 5 years, so maybe the little things about sex don't bother me as much as those who are involved with one night stands and/or shorter-term/non-committed relationships. I know there is a huge amount of anxiety from concerns outside of performance such as whether or not your dick will explode once you stick it in or if it will feel like you're pissing battery acid the next day. But regardless of my situation, I'm the kind of person that wants to perform well.

    I hear some nightmare stories from some of my women friends about how they've experienced the "One Minute Man" affliction. And you know what? I believe them. Hell, there have been times when I could've been called "30 second man" if I wanted to. But I stick to concentrating on odd, off the wall things like something on the wall or a weird mental image of a baseball card. There are other weird techniques that I'll refrain from sharing. If you have any odd techniques, feel free to leave them in the comments. Share because you care. But yeah, I dont' see how dudes can just hop in, bust, and leave knowing a girl didn't get hers. There are so many underlying consequences such as the chance of a repeat performance being reduced to slim and none, and more importantly the chance that she'd tell other women reducing the chance of a repeat performance with any women within 2 degrees of separation.

    I dont' know. Maybe I'm overthinking this because I've never been sexually premiscuous nor have I had a one night stand, but I can't even begin to think what would happen if before I got mine a girl just stopped and walked away. I guess it's what it's like to be a Raiders fan. Get all the way to the end but no payoff and a huge letdown.

    Friday, September 05, 2003

    Muther Fucker!

    ...which were exactly my sentiments as I attempted to post and publish a novel-like blog about my weekend in Seattle last night but then inadvertantly ERASING it. Strike one.

    Saturday morning I woke up earlier than Jake so I attempted to make breakfast. After a few hours of bullshitting, Jake and I went to the Greyhound bus station in downtown Seattle to wait for Graham. Apparently his bus got held up at the US/Canadian border and would be coming in at 3:00 instead of 1:30. Finding that out, Jake and I walked a few blocks to the mall, grabbed some lunch and came back. No luck. We waited 30 more minutes. No luck. After an hour of waiting, I finally get a call on my phone. It's Graham and that punk ass is waiting at the hotel. Damn Canadians.

    Saturday night I went to a wedding my old friend Sophie invited me to. Hung out for a bit. Got free food. And yes, for a second it was akward as hell. I know now what it's like to crash a wedding reception. I'm pathetic.

    After the wedding, Graham and I hit up the Freestyle Session pre-party at the Noise Lab just above downtown Seattle on Capitol Hill. It was good stuff. We were in the cypher vibin' to raw Hip Hop beats for a good 3 hours. There was a good 30 minute span in the 4 hours we spent at the Noise Lab where the vibe was just intense. Pure, raw Hip Hop beats and old school Funk and Soul breaks were banging as the b-boys and b-girls rocked it on the floor. Everybody was hyped and jumpin' and it gave me that "I Love Hip Hop" Feeling, a Living Legends so eloquently said in their song "Gift Wrap". Fuck all that bullshit you see on tv and the radio. For a good 30-45 minutes of pure vibin' and rockin' those beats, we were all part of Hip Hop in it's purest form. There was no hate. There was no need for competition. Just about an hour of feeling the music and manifesting those emotions through rythmic movement. THAT is Hip hop.

    As Graham and I made our way back to the hotel, we couldn't help but notice how unbelievably quiet it was in downtown Seattle. There weren't even homeless bums roaming the city. It was so quiet, and I for once in my life felt like the most dangerous man on the streets. Seattle is NOTHING like the Bay Area. Fuck what you heard. I can't even walk in my suburban neighborhood here in Vallejo and feel safe.

    Sunday and Monday I spent at the Bumbershoot Festival to enjoy the largest US b-boy competition of the year in Freestyle Session Special Edition. Bumbershoot is basically a huge arts festival filled with great food, good music, and tons of white people with dreads. Sprinkle in a few artsy fartsy snooty people and you pretty much have the majority of the Bumbershoot attendees. This year artists like Common, De La Soul, Macy Gray and The Black Eyed Peas made that demo a litte younger, and much more "urban". It easy to say that the majority of the Bumbershoot attendees were far from your mainstream/pop/MTV types who don't like anything even remotely alternative or "underground". But I was amazed at how many non-bboy were interested in b-boying. There were moms, pops and families getting in line to even get a peek at what was going on in the pavillion. It was fun to see them react to the agressiveness of the dancers. It was a weird atmosphere. Oh well.

    Monday night, Sophie was kind enough to pick me up from my hotel room and bring me over to her house where where mom barbequed dinner. I have to admit, it was GREAT to have rice for the first time in 3 days. We caught up with each other and talked about each other's lives. It was nice to connect with someone I haven't talked to in such a long time. Around 3AM, we shot over to a 24 hour Starbucks (in SEATTLE no less!!) and ended up getting free drinks because their computers were down. Whoo hoo, free shit.

    Tuesday morning Graham and check out of our hotel and foot it around downtown Seattle one last time. We went to Pike Place Market and watched them throw fish around. We also at a great Vietnamese spot with cheap Vietnamese sandwiches. I'm going back there. I STILL can't shake the craving for another one.

    While walking around, I decided to call a classmate to tell him that I might not make it to my 6PM class since my flight wouldn't land until 7:30. It was the very first day of class. He told me that if I miss the class, I would risk the chance of being dropped from it. This news pretty much ruined the rest of my day for me. I scrambled to get all my instructor's contact information and used every method possible to contact him. No luck. I rushed to Barne's and Noble and pick up "The Epic of Gilgamesh" and "The Dialogues of Plato" to catch up on reading for a class I'm not sure I'm even going to make it to. With so much to read and so little time, that plane ride went FAST.

    When I finally stepped to the baggage claim, I waited around for my stuff. I kept an eye on the door to see if Daphne was there. I have to admit, I have never seen her look so beautiful. I was so happy to see her and all I wanted to do was stay in her arms. She was so comfortable and I was happy to just be around her. I can't wait to marry that woman.

    Anywho, I got to class at about 8:30 and the instructor acted as if nothing was wrong. All that stress for nothing.