Friday, December 31, 2004

As posted on Muscle68.Blogspot.com:

I watch porn.

Fuck it.

No shame in it.

I can talk about watching porn, too.

Ryan watches porn.

Savannah Samson, right Ryan? I'll send you those vids eventually.

I'm married.

Yes. We have sex.

Is it enough sex?

I don't think there is such thing as "enough" when it comes to sex.

I wake up wanting to have sex.

And when I don't get it, I jack off.

While watching porn.

It seems demented.

But is it?

I mean, I don't download all this porn just to watch it.

I spank my monkey while watching it.

I choke the chicken to it.

And now my wife watches it with me.

Which is good and bad at the same time.

Because now, I really notice it when the girl has had a really bad boob job.

Or how badly women of "Ethnicity" are stereotyped to the point where it's laughable because apparently someone thinks that all Asian pornstars should speak like the prostitutes in "Full Metal Jacket" and get off on it.

Or when a girl sucks a dick that was just inside her ass and the possible health issues that could ensue.

And I can no longer get off when the girl turns backwards towards the camera and says "Put it in my ass".

Why can I no longer enjoy this once simple porn pleasure?

Because of all the times my wife rolled her eyes and laughed at the corniness of the situation.

I've become a porn critic.

Is there such a thing?

I mean, damn. I used to be able to jack off to the fist 5 minutes of "Silk Stalkings".

And before that, I used to be able to jack off to the lingerie section in the latest Macy's Sunday ad.

But those times are gone.

It's literally right at our finger tips.

Anyone can download an infinite amount of porn.

I'm not complaining.

It seems all positive to me.

But I can see how porn has noticeably demented my perception of what sex "should" be.

Like how I wouldn't mind busting my load on her face or on her tits.

Or how foreplay only consists of transit train fast cunnilingus and/or fellatio, followed by some clit stroking and a jamming of one or two digits lubricated by spit.

Sexy.

But I'll keep watching.

Like I said, I have no shame.

There's no need to hide my desire to constantly release semen.

What started as our species inate desire to propagate our genes throughout the gene pool has led to hours upon hours of porn and masturbation.

Awesome.

With that said, Warriors > Grizz.

Wednesday, December 15, 2004

Well this kind of freaks me out....

Friday, December 10, 2004

Whoa.

Thursday, December 09, 2004

Holy shitballs, Batman.

It looks like the music industry has lost another member due to violence. This time, it's over in the world of rock. RIP to Dimebag Darrel, former guitarist of the awesome band, Pantera, and the others who were murdered.

On a lighter note, I never thought I'd find a use for the word "penoris", but the members over at the OnlineOnslaught message board did. Now, with as much porn as I've seen with my own eyes, I can honestly say that I've never seen anything like this(credit: www.duuh.com). That makes TWO times I've had to wash my eyes out with bleach and dry it with sandpaper (right Ryan?)

I recently had the chance to read Pilgrim at Tinker Creek by Annie Dillard for my Critical Perspectives class. Her ability to paint vivid pictures with her diction left me in awe. It gives me an appreciation for writers such as Sahalie, a writer who has been bombarding us with some of the most beautiful writing I've ever laid my eyes on, blog or not. Probably the most impressive characteristic is her ability to make it all seem so effortless and natural, true signs of writing genius.



Wednesday, December 08, 2004

You kids are still in denial.

It is the demand that dictates the price. Resellers are a product of the demand, not vice versa.

The whole "Damn these resellers.." mentality is tired. If you really want to find and attack the real culprits, look in the mirror and punch yourself in the face.

Trend following bitches....
I can't help but laugh sometimes because a lot of you cats are funny-style.

You walk around with that big talk and slick walk, but in actuality your shit is premeditated. There ain't a thing natural about your facade. OC said it best: "your persona's drama that you acquired in high school in acting class".

So what the fuck? Why are you critiqing my fit? What's really good with my shoes? Why are you evaluating my style? Why? Well, it's because you're bitch made. It's official. You spend all your time trying to impress other people with your MTV style. Sad thing is, most people don't care what you're wearing. Like me. You only get the milisecond of acknowledgement I give you as I walk by and laugh at you ice grillin' me like I kicked your mama in the face.

Pathetic. Get up and get out. I don't even know why I waste my energy. You'll learn, hopefully. The embarassment you feel when you finally do learn will be due punishment. Unfortunately, some people never wake up to this realization.

Thursday, November 18, 2004

The belief that there are "very few" absolutes in life almost has it right. Unforntunately, there are no absolutes in life. As humans, we are a species that love to be in control. We created housing to keep us from the elements. We created central air and heating to futher control the climate. We created radio and television to control what we hear, see, and ultimately say and think. We love control. We need control. But the fact is that we aren't in control. Not in the slightest.

We go to sleep knowing that the Sun will be up, and that The OC will be on at 8. Look at how we perceive change. Major changes in our lives are seen as "life altering events". But what exactly is being altered? The monotonous doldrums we remain stagnant in for certain periods of time? Shouldn't life be a series of continuous "life altering events"?

But we can't look at it that way or else we'd go crazy. Admitting to that would mean that we really aren't in control of anything. I don't think I'd be able to admit that, myself. Although I wish I could. I wish I could remain ever adaptable to the changes in my life. I wish I could just sit back and see what life has to offer and enjoy everything for what it is, instead of what it could or should be.

I don't know. Could you admit it? Could you admit that everything you see as absolute and true at ever turn really be just a fallacy perpetuated by your ego and your supressed insecurity.

Shit is crazy. My mind is fucked. My world is upside-down. I need an absolute in my life.

Saturday, November 13, 2004

Shimmy Shimmy Ya



Word around the way is that Ol' Dirty Bastard himself has passed away today. He was one of the most entertaining emcees of his generation, not to mention owned one of the most unique flows ever on the mic. I took a liking to him when Wu-Tang Clan's "36 Chambers" album dropped. He was so blatantly different than anything I had heard up until that time. Unfortunately, if these rumors are true, his lifestyle has finally caught up to him.

RIP

Thursday, November 04, 2004

My Voting Experience

I got up around 8:30. I had to get my voting done ASAP because I have tons of reading to do today. I didn't even brush my teeth. Just threw on some clothes and drove off groggy.



The polling place was actually at my old elementary school by my parent's house since I still use their addy as my "permanent" addy.



There were signs everywhere. Honestly, all you had to do was follow the stench of coffee and white old people. Eventually you'd find the polling room...



Voting is pretty much the exact same experience when you go in the room. You check out the list and make sure they didn't flip the script and move your polling location (like they did to me during the recall election here in California). I don't think I ever get in the right line. I'll stand in line for a few minutes, give them my name, and get told to go to the other line. It's been 3 elections in a row that I've gotten in the wrong line. I have a feeling that next time I should just get in the line I don't think is the right line, and by some sort of reverse karma I'll hop in the right line. Eh, whatever. Voting rocks.



It was a little different, though, in the sense that the voting wasn't done by punching holes through cards with something that you could kill someone with in jail. The form was more like a scantron test, and when you were done you had to insert your ballot into this machine.



The neat thing about the machine was that it told you how many people voted in that same polling place before you. I was number 100 so far.

But when I was finally done, I inserted my ballot and just stood there. The old fat lady stared at me for a minute too. She was like, "uhh, can I help you?"

"Can I get my sticker please?"



Word.

Wierd things happen while working at a sneaker store.

One guy wanted to fight me once because I wouldn't accept a money order he wanted to pay for his shoes with. I told him to meet me outside so I could take my stripes off.

When I got out there, he was gone.

I think working at a shoe store is a life of painful repetition. I mean, I couldn't tell you how many times a customer had asked me for a size and I'd reply "All we have are an 8 and a 12." Without hesitation or any doubt on my part, I could bet that the very next question would be like "How about a 10?"

Then there'd be that same person that would come in every Saturday and ask if you had a particular shoe. After you say "No", he'd reply "Damn, you guys never have anything", which leads me to wonder why the hell he comes every weekend.

One of my biggest peeves would be how people would see that a particular colorway of a shoe was cheaper than another, and demand that they pay the lower price for the more expensive colorway because "they're the same exact shoe". Obviously, they're not because you don't want to buy the cheaper pair.

I mean, I'm sure a lot of us that have worked in these stores that can sympathize with each other. Outsiders will never really know what goes on. You get those calls all the time. You know "those" calls. The ones requesting those "Air Forces", "Adidas with the 3 stripes" (all Adidas have 3 stripes), "White K-Swisses" (90% of K-Swiss brand shoes are white), "The New Jordans" ("Which ones?" ..."The New Ones" ), or "the ones in (insert rapper's name)'s video". If you live in a place with a high concentration of spanish speakers, I know you've gotten the requests for shoes in size "Eight Thirty" or "Twenty Six".

It was a cool job while I had it, I can't lie. I'd have 8 pairs of shoes on hold at all times, waiting for employee appreciation (50% off, yippee!) to roll around or for us to receive another $50 medallion. But there are dumb people out there who do constantly try to get over on you. I know you've been asked "Hey, can I just walk out with these?". Or, "let me get your discount", as if I know them. I remember a particular time where some dude asked me for a "Player Price" and I responded "Ey, dawg. I need to see a player first before I hand out player prices". The funny thing is that HE got mad, not me and told me that he'd never come back to my store again. Oh well, I guess the 45 bucks I made on those Cortez's (dude didn't even get fat laces...jerk) won't be around next month.

There are also those same people who come in ALL THE TIME and never buy anything or just walk around unfolding clothes and walking out of the store. Or the people who doubt you when you say that you don't have a particular shoe, as if you're somehow lying and really don't want the money. I'm sorry, but we get paid peanuts and dust at Foot Locker. I NEED your money. I NEED to sell you something. Why the hell would I lie to you about whether or not we have a pair of shoes?

What made the job tolerable were the "usuals". The families that would always show up and spend a ton of money. The ones that you'd willingly give a code 01 to if they walked in on the right day. They were the most understanding customers on the planet with patience to allow me to help others in the store as well as them. They are the ones who I went the extra mile for because they had something that not many customers have these days: sympathy.

A lot of people hear about these complaints and tell us to man up and deal with it because it's "our job". Fuck you, homie. Shitty jobs are shitty jobs. No one is immune to the shittiness of a job and has every right to vent.

But I'm well past that phase. Honestly, it was fun while it lasted (even though it lasted a little too long), but I'll never work at a shoe store again unless it were one 4 hour shift every pay period just to keep the discount. But that would be for only 2 reasons: to keep the discount, and to dodge as many idiots as possible.

Tuesday, October 05, 2004

"...I'm so in love with you...whatever you want to do...is alright with me..."



Tally one up for Joseph and Daphne. Many more to come...


Friday, September 24, 2004

How am I feeling?

I'm okay. I mean, I don't walk around moping anymore. At least I don't think I do. Work was a burden earlier this week, but now it's serving as a good distraction from what's been happening. I can actually get a smile out now without noticably forcing one out.

I'm just exhausted. The stress I've gone through this past week coupled with the 2 hour nights of sleep have finally caught up to me. I'm burned out. Not from work or school, but from life. I just need a break. Before, I could momentarily get away by smoking a cigarette. It was a combination of feeling like I was rebelling from myself and the soothing feeling of nicotine in my blood. Then I moved on to alcohol. But it got to the point where I felt as if I was dependent on it. I was drinking every night, even on work nights. I gained a ridiculous amount of weight and began feeling unhealthy, gross, and yucky. And you know how that goes.

But it's not like I'm on the road to some black tar heroin or anything like that. I just need to find better ways to get away. I was thinking about going on vacation and doing something with the family. I also thought about taking vacation and just staying home and doing nothing. Sometimes all it takes is a few days of vegetation with a huge dose of absolutely nothing. Then again, it's cool to have those days once in a while. But an entire week? That's not productive.

But what I really want to do is come home from work everyday and do what I loved to do to get away from everything wrong in my life. I'd cuddle up to wife and hold on to her like I'd never have the opportunity to do so again. When I was in her arms, I could let everything go and know that no matter what, she could hold me in her arms and make everything feel better.

But now, I feel like I have no where to go to feel that way anymore. But I'm not mad. I'll be patient and gut it out. I know that once everything is okay, it'll be worth the wait.

At least I hope so.

Monday, September 20, 2004

Boo hoo. I've been over at Ultrablognetic if you guys even care. Sort through the authors and figure it out, Hardy Boys and Nancy Drews.

Wednesday, September 15, 2004

"...it saddens me to think that somewhere along the way

I'd change my course. You wouldn't be here today..."




Sunday, September 12, 2004

Celebration, bitches!


So yeah. It's my last night working the graveyard. No more 3rd shift for me. I'm free of it, for now at least. It's a great thing, trust me.


So the other night I got really bored. I started mentally counting the pairs of sneakers I owned. A rough estimate of 40 pairs. Now, that may seem like a lot. And quite honestly, I know it's a lot. But the scary thing is that I've really been moderating the amount of shoes I'm purchasing. And on top of that, in the past year I've sold probably 30 pairs on eBay to pay for other more important expenses. I honestly thought I was done with all this, but I guess not. Actually, it was more like HOPED it was gone.


The floodgates are back open. My once dormant addiction has resurrected like a phoenix out of the ashes. What provoked it's ressurection? I have no clue. But it's back.


Someone call my wife. The only thing better than shoes is sex.


My blog pattern is weird. I really don't have one, I guess. I really try to avoid using my blog as as diary. My life is boring relative to that of the normal 24 year old. But it's a definite contrast to the constant chaos that goes on in my head. Now, it's not like I'm living in my own personal hell or anything. It's just that my mind moves at 100 miles per hour and life only goes at the speed limit.


More to come...eventually.

Saturday, September 11, 2004

Alex: i mean we didn't get our first real computer until I was in high school
Alex: i can remember handing in papers using a *gasp* typewriter
d0 nn ie ve ga: man, i used a typewriter until 11th grade
d0 nn ie ve ga: seriously
Alex: and you know that's gonna be something that will forever date you. I know it makes me feel like an old man
Alex: i can hear it already
Alex: "What's a typewriter?"
d0 nn ie ve ga: man, i remember i'd run out of ribbon
d0 nn ie ve ga: it'd be 12am
d0 nn ie ve ga: and i'd be FUCKED
Alex: the worst is making a mistake
d0 nn ie ve ga: and sure, the eraser was white
Alex: especially back then i didn't even type with all 10 digits
d0 nn ie ve ga: but you saw EXACTLY what you first typed
Alex: yeah
Alex: EVERYONE knows
Alex: and if you don't have those little white strips, which run out fast
Alex: then you have to pull the whole page out
Alex: use white out
Alex: let it dry
Alex: then put it BACK in
d0 nn ie ve ga: HELL YEAH
Alex: and you KNOW you aren't getting it lined up right
d0 nn ie ve ga: or you'd be searching on the white piece of eraser for a space that would fit a lower case f
Alex: so then the whole rest of the PAGE is off from what you'd typed
Alex: yeah, it's like punching out cookie dough or something
Alex: "I hope I don't mess up on anything more than an I or I'm screwed."
Alex: Mistype a W? man, you better just start over.
Alex: and what if you forget to indent on a new paragraph
Alex: Screw it
Alex: Take the mark down
d0 nn ie ve ga: it's almost unbelievable
Alex: But at least we got to see MJ in his prime
Alex: and listen to hip hop when it was good
Alex: So i guess it's a fair tradeoff
d0 nn ie ve ga: i'm taking everything you wrote and putting it on my blog....i need to remember that later on in life
Alex: and develop imaginations
Alex: When you grandkids ask you what the heck a typewriter was?
d0 nn ie ve ga: lol
d0 nn ie ve ga: yeah
Alex: Yeah, dread that day my friend.

Sunday, September 05, 2004

You might remember them. McDonald's Happy Meals circa mid 80's. There were a series of 4 of them. Well, we had them. We had a bunch of them. It was a genius marketing campaign by the good ol' Mickey D's. Come and get a Happy Meal, get a mug. And this isn't your normal glass mug. Not that flimsy plastic shit. This is the real deal. Heavier than a Coke bottle and easier to hold in your hand than a glove. Classic beverage container.





I'd say we had about 6 of them, with doubles of a couple of them. They were cool. One was specifically mine. Another was my older sister's. The ugly one, my younger sister's. They were a part of my family's dining life. Breakfast with milk? Get Garfield on the kayak. Orange juice for lunch? Great! Garfield on the see-saw. Everyday. Every meal. Garfield, yo.

But after a while, the print started fading. I broke one when I accidentally dropped it into the sink. A year later, my younger sister accidentally throws one away. Next thing you know, we're down to one. The images are two-thirds faded. The fun disappeared. I loved those mugs. But I guess we all move on, right?

Then I look on eBay and find out that these things are being resold. I felt as if I met an old friend. Now that folks, is nostalgia. Not these trendy things like thse tin Knight Rider lunch boxes people are buying for 100 bucks. It's not a 200 dollar Skyfire Transformer that you probably won't even take out of it's box. This has *gasp* actual sentimental value.

And I'm going to buy them. When I see these on eBay, I won't even flinch to buy them. Fuck it. After I'm done typing, I'm going to search for them right away. And I'll buy them. And use them. And let my son use them. He may not appreciate these mugs the way I did when I was little, but that's not really the point. There's a sense of carefree innocence I feel when I see and think about these mugs. It's refreshing. Like the smell of freshly cut grass to an old baseball player or the feel of soft ballet shoes to a former ballerina.

Sometimes people say that it's nice to look back on the past, but to stay focused on the future. And truly, I believe that. But I think I'm going to let my guard down and let myself enjoy this one.

I think I deserve it.

Saturday, September 04, 2004

That "Next Blog" button at the top right corner of my blog is a blessing and a curse all at the same time.



The Blessing: Hey, I'm bored. I can take a look at a few blogs I've never seen before. Hell, maybe I'll get lucky and get one of those naked women blogs that always seem to keep me busy. Or I might even find a blog that's as entertaining to read as Ultrablognetic or Muscle68 Ahhh, but no one is that lucky.

The Bad: 2 out of every 5 blogs you encounter have less than 2 posts, meaning blogs are multiplying by the second.

The Curse: Got damn some of these blogs are annoying as hell. And I'm not even talking about the writing. Granted, it can be argued by many that my writing is a waste of web space, but damn. Pages with pop-us, javascripts, scrolling text, blinking banners, crosshair cursors, etc. What the fuck? It's like they're attempting to make you forget that your reading someones shitty blog. It's nice knowing that 13 year old girls that look like boys in Singapore have a blog. But damn, I'm risking epileptic seizures just surfing through. To top that off, 2 out of every 5 blogs you encounter have less than 2 posts, meaning blogs are multiplying by the second. That means more are coming in the pipeline and on their way.

But the capper. The toppper. The thing that I really hate. Is....ShIt LyKe DyS. Yo. Kill that shit. Fast. Please. Now. If there is anything in the world that would keep me from reading anything, it is alternating capital and lower case letters. If I was the last man on Earth with a piece of paper saying who killed John F. Kennedy typed in alternating caps, I would die not knowning who killed JFK.


So surfer, beware. There's some crazy shit out there. It'll stun you. It'll surprise you. Some of it might disorient or nauseate you. Take heed. That button on the top right that says "Next Blog" isn't for everybody. Don't say I didn't warn you.

P.S. Yeah, I know. I just pulled some asshole shit right there. But I don't give a damn.
Nancy's awesome.


I know, it's kind of funny talking so highly about another woman that's not my wife or my mom, but our relationship is unique and well worth the mention.

We met in 1st grade. We were in the same class for 3 1/2 years in elementary school. We lived two blocks away, walking the same have home after school. Her and her friends on one side and myself and my sister on the other. We never really talked. I remember her as being the "really quiet girl" in class. I don't even remember her talking or laughing. She was just there. She recalls me as being loud and even louder. I think she's lying because I always thought that I was quiet when I was younger. But hell, given the present result, her story is more believable than mine.

In the middle of our 4th grade year, I ended up moving away to the suburbs. She stayed in the same place. To be quite honest, I never really missed any of my friends or old classmates after I left. I did keep in touch with a couple friends, first through letters, then by phone as I got to junior high and high school. But I never really thought about Nancy.

Well, one day during my senior year of high school while talking to one of the two friends I kept in touch with from my old school, Nancy's name came up. I really didn't much of it except for the fact that I recalled a specific incident where I witnessed her running in an unusual manner across the playground. She was running full speed forward, but her arms were glued to her sides like your typical nutcracker. The laugh I had after that recollection prompted my friend to suggest that I give her a call.

Well, long story not as long, I ended up calling her within the hour. And to my amazement, we had a really good conversation. It wasn't much different than your average "catch up" conversations you have with old friends you haven't seen in years. The thing that made it seem weird was the fact that we never were friends to begin with, but since we shared so many of the same experiences, we were able to carry on so smoothly. But the biggest impression I didn't realize until well after our initial conversation. The conversation was unlike any I've had with a girl at the time. There was no pressure from an attraction standpoint. It was purely platonic and 100% genuine.

I'm sure you can recall your high school phone conversations. Mindless bullshit banter about superficial issues like clothes and gossip. The conversation I had with Nancy wasn't even like that. It had *gasp* actual substance. We really hit it off and we spoke off and on for a while with me even going back down there to see her and hang out.


Later on, I ended up moving out of my parents' house and in turn lost touch with her. We hardly talked at all until literally last year where somehow we got back in touch with each other. I had the opportunity to meet up with her for dinner while waiting to pick up Ryan to land at Oakland Airport. We had a lot to catch up on being that we haven't spoken to each other in a good 5 years.

It was fun. It was refreshing. It felt so good telling her about how I have a son and a wife that I am in love with. It felt good hearing her tell me about her life and what she's been up to. It felt good telling her about the struggles I've been through and what I'm now doing to put my life in order. It felt good hearing about her struggles and her hardships and how she's overcome them one by one. But the best part of our meetings was the realization that we both genuinely cared for and respected one another , regardless of the lack of communication throughout the years. That's something that you don't get to witness with friends you see all the time on a regular basis. It's kind of like the whole "you don't appreciate what you have until it's gone" except different. You don't meet many genuine people throughout your lives. So it's cool to know that a person doesn't mind watching me eat raw oysters while I banter about how being married has changed my life for the best or how my son won't pee in the toilet.

So with that story told, if you ever get to read this, thanks Nancy. We may not speak to each other all the time. I know you're crazy busy. I know I'm crazy busy. But still, thank you for being one of the most genuine people I know. I have nothing but respect an appreciation for what you bring to the table not only to me but for everybody you encounter.

Friday, September 03, 2004

Inspired by Leah's little survey, I've decided to answer a few questions myself. Keep in mind, these aren't your typical 8th-grade-slambook caliber questions that are being answered. This is that good ship lollipop type shit. That relief after your morning pee type shit. That "Inside The Actor's Studio On Crack" shit. So sit back and read it. I guarantee you'll either love it, hate it, or think it's okay.

Name: Joe

Marital Status: Married

Sex: As Often As She'll Give It To me

Jack-off hand: Left

How Often Is It Used?: As Often As She Doesn't Give It To me

Funny Drug Story: I was completely drug free for a good portion of the last three years because I was keeping myself clean while I searched for a job. 2 years pass, I finally get a job, and they don't test me. Now I have extra brain cells I have no idea what to do with.

Not So Funny Drug Story: I have friends that have drug dependencies that probably don't even know it and it disappoints me and scares me all at the same time.

Favorite Alcoholic Drink: Captain Morgan and Coke

Favorite Person To Bother When Drunk: My Wife

Favorite Drunk Question To Ask: "Can You Suck My Dick?"

Least Favorite Drunk Answer To Hear: "No."

Sobering Fact: I have developed a dependency on alcohol to the point where I feel I can't have as much fun doing something if I'm sober as opposed to doing it when I'm drunk.

Random Educational High Note: I won my elementary school geography bee in 6th grade:

Random Educational Low Note: I lost and received 7th place in the spelling bee the same exact year after I misspelled "empty". (E......m.......t.....y.......empty)

Epiphany Of The Century: I am ultimately responsible for how I perceive and react to my environment.

Unnerving Realization Of The Month: A lot of parents aren't teaching their kids shit before they start school, resulting in an overall dumbing down of children because schools are being forced to cater to these dumb ass fucking kids.

Last Song I Slaughtered While Singing In My Car: Boyz II Men - "End Of The Road"

Blatantly Careless Statement of The Day: "Those dudes are assholes."

Greatest Thing On Earth: The fact that all these damn kids are finally back in school and not running aroud outside of my apartment shouting like Chicken Little in a hailstorm with vibrators in their asses 10 minutes past midnight.

Real Talk: Go find a real blog to read.

Thursday, September 02, 2004

Creativity spawns creativity.


There was a time when Hip Hop music inspired a group of inner-city kids to manifest the music through bodily movement. The creation of b-boying, also known as "break dancing", marked the invention of the first and only true form of Hip Hop dance. The interpretation of of the beats were so powerful and dynamic, yet graceful and expressive. The dance movements expressed the hate, anger, and frustration of the ghettos of the South Bronx. Inspired by the likes of James Brown and Sammy Davis Jr., these kids harnessed their innate creative intelligence to create something that has lasted until present time, well over 30 years since.


But when you look at it from the most basic level, it was the music that inspired this creativity. Funk, Jazz, and Soul beats from artists like the Incredible Bongo Band, the Blackbyrds, and James Coffey served as the foundation for what we know as Hip Hop music. Throughout the years, Hip Hop music has evolved. And in turn, b-boying followed. The funky sounds of the 70's gave way to the Electric Funk of the early and mid 80's, and you saw b-boys dancing to synth-filled songs like "Egypt, Egypt", "Planet Rock", and "Don't Stop The Rock". And as the music changed, the dancing changed as well. Moves became more dynamic and the transitions from move to move became seemless.


But that's nothing new, really. As the music evolved, so did the dance. It's always been like this. Well, always until just recently. There's been an issue with stagnancy recently with Hip Hop music. Hip Hop music, or "rap", is no longer a subgenre of music that is liked and respected among the minority. Rap has now become "pop". B-boying on the other hand, has remained very underground, and good portion of the b-boying crowd has shunned mainstream Rap as going against "what it was meant to be", which is a voice for those in the ghetto who otherwise wouldn't have a voice. The bling and the materialistic nature of Rap has orphaned the b-boy scene, and now b-boys and b-girls can no longer identify themselves within a lot of the Hip Hip music "out there".


So with this stagnancy, Hip Hop has frozen in its place. The popular and most influential faces of Hip Hop music are to scared to create and innovate for fear of not sticking to what "sells". There are too many people to please when you are making millions of dollars. The need to maximize creativity has been replaced with the need to maximize record sales. Now b-boy events don't even play current Hip Hop music. The music that the b-boys dance to are the same breaks and beats that b-boys 20-30 years ago danced to. Now, it's time to make a move.


This doesn't spell the end for Hip Hop as we know it. Not at all. We're far from that. But it's just a demonstration of how the many aspects of the Hip Hop culture depend on one another. b-boys live and die off of Hip Hop music. They are inspired regularly by the music and take it very seriously that they are the bodily manifestations of the music they dance to. It's really time to evaluate what we have and what we can do to preserve it to ensure that our children and our childrens' children can enjoy this culture in the same manner that we do. Creativity spawns creativity. That's real. Money is fleeting.


Vita Brevis. Ars Longa.

Wednesday, September 01, 2004

Ain't That Right Boo?


And then just last night: the MTV Video Music Awards. First, what happened to Thursday night? It's ALWAYS on Thursday night, and I'd kind of assumed it was this NEXT Thursday. I guess this is what I get for not watching commercials anymore. And it turned out not to matter anyway: I accidentally happened across the VMAs and it took me all of 15 minutes to realize that this show was no longer meant for me, anyway. For the entire late 90s, I held on to the idea that the Cobain-theorized "10 Year Cycle of Rock" would be reprised, and Music Would Be Saved... but we're now a full 2 years past the projected Return of Rock, and MTV is still serving up nothing but a steady mix of cookie-cutter pop and not-much-more-creative rap/hip-hop. Want my Go Ahead I Dare You To Send Me Flame Mail Jackass Comment of the Day? How about "Usher is just like Randy Orton: pleasing to the eye for a certain percentage of the audience, but if not for a talented group of people around him to make him look good, he'd probably be in big trouble."


I hate you, MTV. I hate you so very, very much. And I hate you Kids for lapping it up with a spoon. And for swarming my bars and putting shitty music on the jukebox and making it impossible for those of us who'd been here All Summer Long to get a drink in under 10 minutes.


-Rick Scaia of OnlineOnslaught.com

Saturday, August 28, 2004

It's kind of fucked up when you think how 1% of our population owns 95% of our weatlth.


It's no wonder why so many of us try scrape and claw our way out of the gutter. Some of us do it successfully through education, dedication, and hardwork. Many of the "Chosen One" catch a break or two. We're always either at the right place at the right time, or just plain wrong. It's really pretty simple. We get into a survivor mode where we must provide for ourselves and our families. But sometimes the desire to "move on up" like George and Weezy is pushed by a particular value that has become more important in a lot of peoples' minds across the board, regardless of ethnicity, creed, or social class.


We know all about the greed, money, and power that is flexed among the rich. We've all seen "Wallstreet" and "Boiler Room". Rich people are some of the most cutthroat muthafuckas on the planet. The rich want to get richer. They want to fan their feathers out and display their dominance over their domain. Our society promotes that. Our society exudes that. Status is all powerful and omnipotent. Forget what you learned in church. These cats would sell their souls to the devil for higher status.


But it's not just the rich people our our society that are affected. Remember, that's only 1% of our population. This lust for status has trickled down through the middle class and has taken a hold of our poor and impoverished. It gets grimy at the bottom of the barrel. Even at the bottom of the socio-economic ladder, there are people who shit on the next man in order to establish some sort of status-based superiority.


Wanna know the reason why white people seem to laugh at blacks?
Cuz brothers in South Africa slaving to death in diamond mines
Meanwhile, we spendin every penny to overshine
Tell the next nigga he lesser
Cuz he can't afford to buy ice from his oppressor
So now he pullin out nines, tryin to homicide me for mine
Meanwhile, George W. Bush got a war on crime



Ras Kass - "Golden Chyld"


This is a big issue with poor minorities. We shit on each other to feel better about our status. "At least I'm not as poor as him" has been a train of thought that has plagued our poor neighborhoods for years, but has been amplified even more in recent years. It's sad. It's disappointing.


And I'm not immune to it. I've caught myself looking down at the unfortunate. I've looked at my own poor Filipino immigrant and called them "fobs". I've played up the stereotypes of my own people as if I am better than them because of their less American lifestyle. It's all about maintaining your spot and kicking people down so, relatively speaking, you are "better".


That shit really has to stop. We really need to take responsibility for our actions as minorities living in a white society. We shouldn't be hating towards the next man or woman. We need to focus not on our personal status, but on the institutions that are currently in place that predispose us to failure. There is a reason why we make up for so little of that 5% left over from the pie. We need to make changes, not only in our actions, but in our minds.


Status is not the be all end all of life. What the next person thinks about you and your accomplishments are meaningless in the overall scope of your life.

The more you watch it, the funnier it gets..

Wednesday, August 25, 2004

Footlocker 30% Friends & Family Sale(Starts Tomorrow!!!)

Yeah, it sucks being Canadian, eh Leah?

Monday, August 23, 2004

Grace Under Fire

TaG: first day of work, rocket attack
D0NNIEVEGA: foreal?
D0NNIEVEGA: damn, dude
D0NNIEVEGA: where?
TaG: they were from baghdad
TaG: we were about to leave the barracks for work
TaG: and we heard the bangs
TaG: the guys that have been here said it was regular explosions that EOD do
TaG: but then we heard and felt a loud ass one
TaG: they were like "that's not normal"
TaG: then they all ran back into the building
TaG:found out it was rockets
TaG: and one struck about 100 yards from the hangar i am working at
TaG: my friend got pics of it, so once he puts them on the shared drive, i will send them over
TaG: today there was a controlled explosion that we did on base
TaG: i got a picture of the cloud it produced
D0NNIEVEGA: got damn
TaG: doesn't really bother me at all
TaG: i actually thought it was kinda cool
TaG: maybe cuz it hasn't hit me yet
TaG: not the rocket
TaG: just the feeling




LOL.....hurry home, Chris.

Saturday, August 21, 2004

Take it, grab it by the neck, and shake. Step back, take a few breaths, and repeat. Sometimes, it's all gravy. Most times, it's all gravity. And what goes up definitely must come down. Just make sure you aren't under it when it lands.

This isn't Eden. This isn't utopia. And this sure as hell isn't perfect. This is life. Self-preservation is a basic instinct, but what is typical isn't always right. Remember when Sharon Stone uncrossed her legs and your eyes fixated on her crotch? Well, we all did the wrong thing. We should have been looking into Sharon's eyes. You know, the eyes so intense they could melt rocks. But yeah, it doesn't make sense, does it?

It's non-sensical. Without sense. Without logic. The closer I get to examine it, the faster it runs away. After I finally get close enough to take a look, I forget what I was looking at in the first place. Shapeshifting isn't a skill that can be taught. Chameleon's are everywhere. Sometimes you can even find them in the mirror.

Crazy, right?

Saturday, August 14, 2004

This stuff is the truth.

Friday, August 13, 2004

It's easy to see how we as minorities are so disadvantaged in this white American society. We are literally the minority, and just like the natural occurrence in nature, there is power in numbers. We are told we are equal. But are we really?


I was watching "Tough Crowd" the other night, and was nearly infuriated with what I saw. Two of the panel members who were black were describing the little hints of racism they experience in their everyday lives. As they were explaining it, Colin Quinn was so quick to dismiss their claims, even pulling out your stereotypical "black" impersonation of a black man making claims of racism. His impersonation even elicited cheers and laughter from an obviously a white crowd. Now, I understand that it is a show on Comedy Central and was done for the hope of being humorous, but if you looked into the eyes of the two black panelists, you can tell that there was something else going on.


I was seriously upset at what was happening. Even considering the context of the situation, there was still this underlying message that I've been told before but never really acknowledged. White people really don't want to believe that there is still racism and will dismiss even the smallest complaint. Black people and minorities in general experience racism, no matter how small in amplitude, on a regular basis. It is only now that we are able to bring it up and complain. Now don't get me wrong. I'm not saying anything like "white people are all innately racist" or anything like that. It's just that there is this misconception that racism is a thing of the past. Even in the most liberal areas of the country, racism still runs rampant. From the streets all the way up the corporate ladder. It is so real in my life right now I couldn't' even begin to explain.


Now, people associate "complaining" over racial issues as unneeded. But that's not the case. Through complaining, we are raising awareness. We will not truly eliminate racism until everybody, white people included, acknowledge the fact that there is an issue. With all these people saying ,"oh, shut up about racism already. It's 2004 for crying out loud", it looks like we're still far from equality. I doubt I'll ever see racial equality in this white society with my own eyes. I doubt my kids or my grandkids will even see it. There's this train of thought that we're "almost there", but the blatant truth is that we're not. We're far from "there".


Ya heard?


BTW, right now, I have RJD2's "1976" on repeat.

Saturday, August 07, 2004

We love control.


We love to drive. We love to hold the remote. We set personal boundaries all the time. We limit the amount we eat. We limit the amount we drink. We even limit the amount we sleep. It makes sense, though. Doesn't it? A lot of these limits are triggered by a sense of self-preservation. They protect us. They keep us content. They keep our environments normal and "safe". But I've started to notice tendencies in others that shows that maybe we limit ourselves in ways that are not always for the good.


I know I do it sometimes. We're scared of the unknown sometimes. The unknown and uncertain makes us feel unconfortable because we again lose control. We as humans don't like to know that what happens to us is really a roll of the dice. You want to know who's really full of shit? Meteorologists. They think they can predict weather. And anyone that follows the weather knows that these people are right maybe 2 out of 7 days of the week. Shit, I could do that well playing "Precipitation Twister". But I digress.


So what do we do? We control our environments. We stay in the same areas. We keep the same kind of friends. We happily make new friends similar to our current friends and avoid the types of people we've avoided for years. We eat at the same restaurants. We go to the same clubs. We approach and flirt the same women and men. We watch the same movies and tv shows. We surf the same websites. We become ritualistic in the truest sense and what's scary is that most of us don't even give it a second thought.


And it all boils down to having that control. Whether we like it or not, I think it's safe to say that most, if not all, people can relate in one way or another.

Thursday, August 05, 2004

Comprehension is key, but I choose to read between the lines and continue to confuse the fuck out of myself.


We are told to speak our mind, but letting out all that dialogue is pointless when nobody seems to be listening. Do you listen? I'm not just talking about everyday interactive dialogue. I'm talking about discussions where opposing points are made and contentions are rationalized and justified. Do you really listen? Or are you just sitting their thinking in your head what you're going to say next? It's fucked up, because for most it's the former rather than the latter.


When people say they "agree to disagree", what's really going on? Is there really and understanding reached with the other persons' stance and/or opinion? Or have the two sides just reached a stalemate that has resulted in both sides shrugging their shoulders and throwing their hands up, agreeing on a peace treaty that will last until the next time the topic of discussion is brought up again, most likely under the supervision of beer or whiskey?


Communication is good. Sure. But comprehension is definitely key. Without comprehension, no compromise or improvement can be made. Discussions are pointless without this whole listening thing.

Thursday, July 22, 2004

Sometimes I wish I could take some Tabasco and spice up the diction it create. Being literal isn't exactly what you'd call fun. More like fundamental, ya know? We are fascinated and impressed by those than can express things differently and creatively. A unique method of expression is interesting, entertaining, and enjoyable. On the other hand, the plain and bland is looked upon as inferior and boring.


Who wants to be that guy?


The guy that tells it exactly how it is? The guy that doesn't sugar-coat his verbal razors with euphemisms? Nope. No one. No one wants to be that guy.


Everybody wants to be colorful. It you don't stand out, you're not interesting, right? People gravitate to those that stick out from the rest. Maybe a blog writer that has a different way with words. Maybe the popular kid at school that dressed with the newest and most expensive clothes? There are so many external things that make people attractive. Unique. Desirable. Accepted.


I used to always want to stick out. I wanted to have all eyes on me. I wanted to be the guy that everybody knew for being different, unique, and funny. I wanted to talk in a colorful manner. I wanted to be accepted. I look back on who I was and what I wanted and my life and it was all about judging myself based on others' opinions of me. I identified myself through their eyes, and when I fell short of expectations, I hated myself for it. I was disgusted by myself. I had nothing if I had their acceptance. I felt into the crowd of the "normal". The mediocre. The *gasp* "regular". It was a rough part of my life because I didn't really stick out in the way I wanted to.


Well. Fuck all that. That shit is the past. It's easy to see how kids can be so superficial in high school. But I still see people my age and those well beyond my age that still seek the unique exterior without examining depth. Failing to see distinguishable detail among those that "blend in with the crowd" shows a level of superficiality that I can do without. But isn't everybody like that? Don't we all skim through books with covers that don't catch your eye, or not talk to people in the club that aren't exactly physically appealing.


Exterior is just that. Exterior. On the outside. SHALLOW. How many times have you brushed someone off or dismissed someone simply because they didn't "go against the grain" or the "blended in with the background"? It's fucked up now that I think about it. I've done many times in the past. And at the same time, being a person that's not so easy on the eyes, I've had it happen to me twice as many times. It's a part of life, ya know? But it's a part of life that I have learned to work on.


I'm trying. Slowly but surely. I'm trying.

Thursday, July 15, 2004

If you don't know, now you know...







Friday, July 09, 2004

In the corporate world, loyalty is nothing and share value maximization is everything. I don't know why we always bitch and complain about our jobs when it's obvious that a content and happy employee environment is secondary tertiary to things such as maximizing the value of stocks for investors. Forget about the 4 years of dedication and selflessness of a loyal employee that hasn't experienced a raise since the day they were hired. The jobs working for minimum wage? Yeah, I could see why there is little to no loyalty in those jobs.


Working for minimum wages sends a pretty clear message to the employee.


"We would pay you less, but it's illegal." (Thanks Chris Rock)


I was under the impression that as soon as I got a job that would catapult me above the poverty line, I would find the employer loyalty that we all look for. Sure, we have co-workers that we enjoy working with. And there are those bosses that show a very high level of understanding and compassion for your needs as an employee. But the very bottom line is that unless you own the company you work for, the people who benefit the most from your work don't give a fuck about you unless the company meets and surpasses annual revenue forecasts.


I'm learning slowly, but surely. This isn't what I want to be a part of 5 years from now. You stay long enough in this environment and you lose a sense of selfworth, pride, and satiety. My drive to move ahead in life is not for my personal benefit but for the benefit of my family. Money is cool. We all want more money. But without my son an wife to share it with, it's all for naught.


So with that in mind, I press on. I can bitch, whine, and moan, all day. But just as long as I can come home to my family, I'll do whatever it takes. Even if it means subjecting myself to superficial pursuit of share value maximization.

Monday, July 05, 2004

I remember one of my instructors asking me why I wanted to marry my then girlfriend. Without missing a beat I said, "She's the only woman I've ever met that can take care of me like my mom did." My female instructor looked at me almost surprised at what I said. At the time, I really couldn't articulate why I really felt the way I did about my now wife.


Sometimes I get irritated with my wife when she does certain things that seem really selfish. I get irked when she comes out of the closet wearing clothes she just bought, even though we've had conversations about actually saving some money. I get even more irritated when she makes petty comments that a 17-year-old would say. Sometimes I get mad just because. But I've realized that for the most part she's just shut up and put up with all of my bullshit.


And believe me. There is a ton of my "bullshit" everywhere. My whining and complaining. My stanky underwear. My constant nagging and my father-like lectures about how she needs to do some things differently. She's taken care of me. She nurses me when I'm sick. She gives me a shoulder to cry on. She takes care of my son when I'm out getting drunk and acting a fool. Sometimes I forget about all the things she's sacrificed to make our family work, especially in those early days when we didn't think we could make it. We were young and grew up fast. If you know anything about my wife, she didn't have much of a childhood to begin with.


I'm a firm believer that opposites attract. I'm the ultimate selfish person and she is, in my eyes, one of the most selfless people I know other than my mother. And when I came to that realization, it all came together. She IS just like my mom. She IS just like my dad. She IS just like my grandma. These are people who have selflessly sacrificed to make my life easier. And just like my mom, dad, and grandma before her, I don't thank her enough for all that she's done for me. For us.


You're probably reading this thinking, "Man, he's just doing this so she can read it and he can get his dick sucked." And you know what? You're probably right. But long, sweat-inducing, butt-clenching, spine-tingling, dick-sucking aside, I'd say it anyway.


I promise.

Friday, July 02, 2004

Thursday, July 01, 2004

"Most times, genius is misunderstood, but understand
You stand under unstable tables of foundation
My true occupation, dissemination of information
Usin' both sides of the brain, and I ain't complacent
Complain when I speak, fuck Priority Records
Like Prince, I'm writin' "slave" on my cheek, cause my kids gotta eat
Meanwhile A&R's sniffin' coke, gettin' kickbacks, fuck that
My written's like Christ wit a cross on his back
I'll breathe a total Black experience on a track
What use to be hot was what a emcee said
Now Hip-Hop don't respect you unless you platinum or dead"


- Ras Kass "Van Gogh"

Tuesday, June 29, 2004

The most satisfying thing about hearing on almost every news station that "Fahrenheit 9/11" was the #1 movie this weekend in the box office is watching these same dignified news anchors saying "White Chicks" is the 2nd movie on the list without even cracking a smile.

Beautiful.

Sunday, June 27, 2004

  • I am totally digging the amount of discussion that Michael Moore's movie "Fahrenheit 9/11". I don't care if people agree. I don't care if people vehemently disagree. I just love the fact that it has sparked so much discussion, especially among the 24 and younger crowd. For Bush, against Bush, shaved, shit I don't care. Just as long as people start understanding the importance of this November, and every November for the rest of their lives.


  • I went to a wedding two weeks ago and I'm going to be part of a wedding next month. In August, I'll be attending another wedding. I like weddings. They always bring me back to when I got married. When you get married, you really take inventory in your relationship with your significant other. You question yourself no matter how sure you are, "Is this the right person?" I married my wife for all the right reasons and I can sincerely say that without a flinch. I can see the doubt and concern in the eyes of the bride and groom before the wedding, but it quickly changes to assurance and relief. You know it. They'll be okay. We'll be okay. It's love, ya know?


  • I walk around life sometimes marveling at all the knowledge I've attained in my 24 years of life. I stand proud and confident in my ways. But knowledge isn't what I'm ultimately after. Wisdom is what I pursue. And wisdom isn't acknowledging what you know, it's acknowledging what I don't know and taking every step needed to acquire that knowledge.


  • My son is so brutally honest sometimes. I love it. And he means no mal-intention what so ever. I think the term "brutally honest" makes it seem like everything should be sugar coated. Our dialogue with each other is filled with euphemisms, as if the truth will "hurt". Hell, there's even a saying that truth "hurts". But does it? Or are we too proud to acknowledge imperfection?


  • I hate tabloid tv shows like "Celebrity Justice" and "Entertainment Tonight" because it shows something pretty disturbing about our society. Not only do we put celebrities on pedestals to the point where we need their daily lives spoonfed to us on a daily basis, but we love seeing them crash, burn, and make mistakes. We build them up, then we tear them down. That shit sounds pretty damn demented, so I'm refusing to take part of it. Fuck a celebrity. I'd tell their mama they ain't shit.
  • Sunday, June 20, 2004

    I like good music. From Pantera's "Walk", to E-40's "Mustard and Mayonaise" to Nina Simone's "Funkier Than A Mosquito's Tweeter". I like raw breakbeats that hit so hard you can bare fight off the urge to brooklyn rock to it like Jimmy Castor's "It's Just Begun". I want shit that I can just bang my head to with guitar riffs so sharp that they can cut through glass, like Metallica's "One". I listen to songs that can tickle your heart by the time you hear the very first note like Troop's "All I Do Is Think Of You".
    We take music for granted these days. It is, after all, the soundtrack to our lives. I can go to music to fill my heart and soul with emotion, or to find something that can articulate my feelings. From politics to partying, there is music for every moment of our lives. We associate good and bad memories with music. It's not coincidence. Music is a gift from God.


    I can't stand it when people say that "It's just music." It's not. For the people who devote their lives to their music, it is literally "life". Fuck what your heard. There is a little bit of genius in every musical artist out there who put their heart and sole into their music.


    Recognize. Learn. Respect.

    Saturday, June 19, 2004

    No frills. No bullshit.


    A conversation with Kool Keith on AIM today convinced me to just say "fuck you" to my hit counter, my comments, and my links. Well, okay. Maybe it wasn't just the conversation with Kool Keith. It was a combination of several things. Kristen over at Madpony decided to hang up the blogging boots for good, even leaving a "goodbye" post to all her "fans". Boo fuckin' hoo. Hell, I didn't even know until KK told me during our AIM conversation. I went over there to see the damage.


    Reading through the comments, I was torn. I couldn't decide who I felt worse for. Was it the sorry ass readers who longed for the insight of a girl who's biggest problems consisted of the lack of Lime Diet Coke at her regular soda machine or her lack of money to go to a prom with another blogger across the country? Or, did I feel more sympathetic for Kristen, someone who was so gassed that in an AIM conversation with Muscle68, turned a snobby nose upward and asserted that the popularity of her blog was more than his and Raymi's. She obviously wrote with the sense that she was fulfilling an obligation to her readers. They wanted her to post. They needed her to post. They wanted to live vicariously through the lives of two girls who's dad had the fuckin' ovaries to be referred to as "Dadpony".


    But damn, isn't that a shitty ass reason to write? I mean, that's not even about you anymore. This realization made me realize that I put to much stock in the feedback I received from the site. Feedback in the form of hits and comments and links became valuable to me for some reason. As if they validated the existence of my blog. But that's not what this is all about. This is about me. This is about me writing to me. This is about me writing about what's important to me. This is about me getting what I want out of writing. This is catharsis. This is healing. This is therapy. This is me.


    So don't take it personally. The links, the comments, the hit counter? That was all cosmetic. Unnecessary. Unneeded. I can't lie an say that my blog was some underappreciated piece of genius like Ridley Scott's "Bladerunner". This blog was never popular. It was never genius. It never has nor will be. But it will still be here even after everybody stops reading it. If you come and read, cool. If you don't come. Cool.


    No frills. No bullshit.

    Friday, June 18, 2004

    I had dinner last week with three old friends from high school. We all met at Applebee's, which was unusually crowded for a Tuesday night because of the second game of the NBA Finals. As groups of people huddled around the 3 or 4 televisions tuned in to the game, the three of us had your typical "catch-up" conversations that included topics such as our current occupations, recent gossip of people we knew in high school, and just over all bitching, pissing, and moaning about how we wished our lives were better in one way or another.


    One conversation tangent led me to blurt out, "I fuckin'hated high school." This statement taken without the context of where my mind was at the time could be taken as a blatant lie. Because honestly, I loved high school. I was popular. I had the cute girlfriend. I was the funniest guy in class. I was on the baseball team. I was the student body activies commissioner. I was voted "most spirited" and was even listed as so in my senior year yearbook standing next to a cheerleader. But I look back on those years with a feeling that borders on disgust?


    Why?


    Well, it's really weird. There was this time in junior high where a lot of my friends turned their back on me, leaving me somewhat outcasted from my regular group of friends. By the time I got to high school, my fragile adolescent ego wouldn't let me come even close to feeling that way again. I literally worked on being popular and well liked. I went out of my way to be funny, clever, witty, and smart. I went out of my way to hang out with people that weren't "my friends", but people I thought could give others the impression that I was universally liked. I chased and achieved status in my high school. But as we all know, high school superlatives mean absolutely nothing.


    I wrote once somewhere that high school is a cartoon version of real life. We spend a lot of that time thinking that we know it all, not realizing that we were living in a parody of reality. In high school, I thought I knew everything. I had everything under control. No one could tell me shit. I look back now, about 8 years after the fact, and I think about not only how much I've grown, but also how much I have yet to learn. I look back on high school and I'm almost disgusted by what I held as valuable and all the things I failed to recognize as valuable. I spent over 5 years of my life with my priorities all out of order and I hated my old self for it. Everything I thought was right was completely wrong.


    But after I expressed my hatred for my high school years, I had to take a step back and thing about why I said what I said. This past year of college, I've done a lot of reflecting on my life and how much I've learned. I really can't dwell on what has happened in the past, because the past is obviously irreversible. I can only chalk it up as a loss and learn from my mistakes. It was then that I realized that maybe I didn't hate high school so much. And even if I do hate it now, it is only a reflection of my growth in the past years.


    We are constantly growing, both intellectually and emotionally. Our priorities should always change, and if you don't look back a few years at the certain things you did wrong, you probably haven't growth enough to realize the errors you've made along the way. I look back on my high school years and I realize that my life was backwards. What was important to me back then really isn't important to me now, and vice versa.


    That's okay. Sometimes you have to do some things wrong in order to do some things right.


    We ended our dinner with hugs and promised to have a repeat engagement sometime in the near future. I drove home thinking about some of the good times I shared with those friends, and how we've all grown for the good.


    Good times, I tell ya. With hopefully more to come.

    Thursday, June 10, 2004

    Five minutes until midnight and I still can't figure out why I'm here.


    It's been a long time since I've felt like this. A day in the sun is a day in the sun, but not many people choose to acknowledge the beauty. The horizon may seem cloudy, but we can't stress out about what might come. That's just a waste of time, and thoughts, and emotions.


    Stop. Right there. At the period. Take a deep breath. All of us walk around with uneven suntans, but we don't always have to point out our dark sides. Be one one those people. You know, the kind that can enjoy what's on the table. The kind that doesn't cast shadows like a storm cloud. The kind that can illuminate a room with their presence and a heart with a simple smile. It doesn't take a lot, to be quite honest.


    Do we take things for granted? Well, a lot of us do. But not many of even know what we have until they stop and acknowledge that things could be a lot worse. These people who walk around with their teeth clenched tight and their emotions clenched even tighter? Yeah, it could be worse for them, too. But they'd never know it. Because they're really not aware of what they really have. You want to know who knows what he really has?


    Vanilla Ice.


    I don't think he takes ANYTHING for granted these days.

    Sunday, June 06, 2004

    We like to look reflect on our days as cowboys, carelessly roaming our Ponderosa without a worry in sight. We had people eating out of the palm of our hands as they hung on every over-annunciated word we spoke. Good looks are a dime a dozen but charm and charisma are things most people wish came in air-tight jelly jars. Our smile? Golden. Hollywood status. Camera's loved us and people loved us even more. Who needs a camera when our gait alone was cinematic? Life was easy.


    And those were the days. No scrutiny. No second guessing. No trying to read between the lines or uncover secret motives. Life was simple and all we had to do was wave, smile, and live another day. It's kind of crazy how things can change. It's rough going from beloved to beloathed. But that's the nature of the beast. That's what we sign up for. There is no grey area in what we do. Either you do it or you don't.


    So we've come to the end of the road. The part where we always thought we'd ride off into the sunset, just like one of those old cowboy films. We crack a smile at the camera, hop on our horse, say one last cliche line, and fade to black. But we see that that is not the case. It's hard to end this in the storybook manner. But it's over. Just like that. And it's kind of hard to rest in peace when peace was the last thing on our minds.

    Thursday, June 03, 2004

    Michael Moore's new movie "Fahrenheit 9/11" comes out on June 25. It was the winner of the Palme D'or at this years Cannes Film Festival. Although many people may remember him from his outburst at the Oscars speaking out against the Bush administration, many people have not watched any of his previous films including "Roger & Me" and "Bowling For Columbine".


    A lot of people have discredited Moore with the obvious fabrications, bending of the truth, and sometimes the blatant lying that he has done. But there is no denying that he provides a different perpective than the spin-doctored bias in the US media. This alone is what draws me into his work. I watched "Roger & Me" in high school, but I think it's safe to say that I really didn't understand the weight of what I was watching. I watched "Bowling For Columbine" two years ago, and I was absolutely blown away. A different and new perspective on a world I thought I had figured out got my interests stirring.


    For a good portion of my life, I've watched TV with little to no skepticalism. Especially the news. The news was news and that's all I really had to think about. It took it at face value never really looking deeper into why things are portrayed the way that they are in the media. I never took into account the many people who would gain (or lose) from how something was presented. I never understood how news coverage can influence the train of though of an entire society. With "Bowling For Columbine", I witnessed the part of the news that's not covered. It was all the stuff I wanted to wonder about but didn't have the mind to.


    But it's different now. There are people like Moore who are taking risks to portray our country in a way that was not and isn't deemed as acceptable. People see him as a threat to everything this country is about and is taking advantage of unfortunate situations such as the war and the Columbine incident for his own personal gain.


    But wait. Isn't that what ALL forms of the media do? Why is Michael Moore being criticized and chastised for what he does? How is what he does different than what CNN, MSNBC and all these other news entities?


    Well, unfortunately, it's not. It's not different. Everybody has something to gain from something and we can not trust any one news source. We cannot judge our countries standing in the world because we are biased by our own opportunites to gain and lose.


    You know the deal. I'm not into politics. But whatever. I don't like anything political nor do I like discussing it a lot. I don't make friends based on political lines. I don't shit on people who hold different political values. I just vote and have my say and pray everything turns out okay.


    Bottom line, I just want the truth. I use this figure all the time:


    [Michael Moore]------------[The Truth]--------------[US Media]


    It's out there. Somewhere. Give me a heads up if you find it.

    Wednesday, June 02, 2004

    It takes a different kind of asshole to post a blog while sitting on the toilet. But at this moment, I'm doing just that. This whole wireless Internet looked like something I can get very used to. With the purchase of a new notebook computer on Memorial Day (thanks to a relatively low price and two very generous rebates offered by CompUSA and HP), my suspicions were confirmed.


    I had a pretty excellent weekend for once in a long time. After finishing my workweek at 5am on Sunday morning, I went home and slept for a good hour and a half until my wife woke me up so we could get ready for the Giant's game at SBC Park in San Francisco. Sunday's game had a special "On-Field Photo" day, where about 3000 fans who had tickets for the day's game were able to go on the field prior to the game and take pictures with their favorite Giants.


    It was a really good time. It was my 2nd On Field Photo Day in two years, so I wasn't as shy asking the players to stop and take a few pictures. It was my wife's first time and I think the sight of seeing men in uniforms made her wet. She was so excited to stop the players for a picture, then after taking the picture she'd proceed to ask me who she just took a picture with. It was great. Interestingly enough, about every picture she took with a player looked like a boyfriend/girlfriend shot. Funny stuff.


    That night, we came home and I bitched about how little sleep I got and my wife bitched about how she thought she was sunburned. We did find out that night that we were able to watch the fireworks displays that Six Flags Marine World (the theme park where I met and worked with my wife 6 years ago) puts on from time to time over Lake Chabot. It was a pretty decent sight just below the horizon where you could see the remnants of what was a beautiful sunset. The scene was so great I had to take a picture of it and it was also a great way to end the day. That night's sleep was much needed after what seemed like three days wrapped into one.


    Memorial Day itself was rather uneventful. Other than my impuslive purchase of a laptop, we decided to have a family night and enjoyed it at home. Best day of the weekend, easily.

    Sunday, May 30, 2004

    I don't play that shit.


    I don't give a fuck if your life sucks.
    I don't give a fuck if you think my life sucks.
    I don't give a fuck if you take pictures of yourself with a cock in your ass.
    I don't give a fuck about how many hits your blog gets.
    I don't give a fuck about who you met.
    I don't give a fuck about where you live.
    I don't give a fuck if your dumbass worries about being recognized from your blog.
    I don't give a fuck about the weather in your area.
    I don't give a fuck about what your kid said.
    I don't give a fuck about what you bought.
    I don't give a fuck about what you wore.
    I don't give a fuck about who you fucked.
    I don't give a fuck what you did yesterday.
    I don't give a fuck about your vacation.
    I don't give a fuck about how high you got or how much alcohol your drank.
    I dont' give a fuck if Tony Pierce linked you.
    I don't give a fuck if you got molested.
    I don't give a fuck if he hit you again.
    I don't give a fuck when you live.
    I don't give a fuck when you die.
    I dont' give a fuck about you.


    I don't give a fuck whether or not you give a fuck. You know why? I don't need to you validate my existence. I can only hope that the feeling is mutual. But honestly, I don't give a fuck. Fuck a blog. Fuck you.


    Take that shit personally.

    Saturday, May 29, 2004

    I woke up this afternoon and flipped on the television to the Cosby Show. Dreary-eyed, I half-watched the episode where Dr. Cliff Huxtable took Rudy, "Buuuuud", and a bunch of other kids to a gourmet restaurant to have some gourmet burgers. "Mmmmmm, burrrgeers." Inspired, I decided to take a trip to one of the better burger joints in town before I went to work.


    I as I pulled up to Bud's Burgers, I could already smell the aroma left by a day's worth of cooking burgers and frying french fries. I parked in the empty parking lot, jumped out of my car and headed to the restaurant. Well, maybe "restaurant" isn't descriptive enough. You see, Bud's is really located in a glorified shack. The place is about the same size as a quaint one bedroom apartment and the dining area is no larger than your average living room. I walked in and noticed that the brown wooden tables are still set up exactly as I remembered. I looked up to the high vaulted wooden ceiling that probably measures about 20 feet at it's highest point. The Bust-A-Move arcade is still located adjacent to the walk where the entrance was. Directly behind it is an old Flintstones egg dispensing machine, exactly like the ones they had in Toy R' Us's across the nation circa 1985. Next to that was your typical "love meter" that measures your libido for 25 cents. Bottom line, the place was pretty shitty compared to the Pot Belly Burgers and Nation's of this world. But you should know the rule by now: The shittier the place, the better the food. Warning: This rule strictly applies to authentic Mexican food and burger joints.


    As I ordered, I couldn't help but notice all the little things about the restaurant that I became very comfortable with back in high school. Bud's was the typical hangout spot for the me and the rest of the varsity baseball players at my high school. Regardless of whether we won the game or not, we were all able to go to buds and just talk. Sometimes it was just two of us, and sometimes there were 9 or 10 of us. It was a place to unwind and forget about any type of resposibility. We talked openly without having to worry about reprecussions. Sometimes I would look more forward to the aftergame meeting at Bud's instead of the game itself.


    Being in there gave me an eerie feeling at first, but the place offered a sense of nostalgia that was both refreshing and relaxing all at the same time. When I got my order, I asked for a ketchup bottle, just like I did back then. As the young lady handed me the bottle, I felt the same greasiness on the bottle that I felt back then. I sat down and squeezed about a cup of ketchup on the wax paper covering my plastic orange tray just like I did back then. And for the first time in a while, I just sat there alone with just my thoughts and my memories and enjoyed my food.


    When I finished up, I threw away my trash, put my tray in the same old place right next to the spot where I left the ketchup (in it's proper place as well). I said thank you to the young lady who served me my food as I walked passed her while she mopped the floor. She smiled back and I almost uncontrollably cracked a smile as I approached my car. It was nice to spend some time in a place that I associate with such good times. Good memories stay with you forever, you know?


    It was a beautiful day, that's for sure.

    Wednesday, May 26, 2004

    Okay, this is the last straw. Parents are fuckin' up. It's officially official (with a stress on the redundancy). I've been saying for years that even though our children are obviously over-sexualized by the media, parents need to take responsibility for their children and raise them correctly. This is not a product of the media. This is not a product of anything other than parents (or parent) not teaching a child the difference between wrong and right. As basic as the concept may seem to us adults, it still isn't happening in today's homes. I mean, WHAT THE FUCK?


    I'm almost not even shocked. I was chatting with Leah the other night and she was telling me how her friend or cousin or somebody was a kindergarten teacher, and how she was appalled to hear about kids making out in class. I can't believe that this isn't national news.


    Oh fuck it. I lied. I'm shocked. This shit is crazy. I'm going to go reread Revalations to see if this 5 year old dick sucking is in there. Are you ready to die?


    (Props to my boy Anthony for the link.)

    Sunday, May 23, 2004

    this is an audio post - click to play
    Damn, this one sucked....click only if you're REALLY bored. And if you can't sleep, you might want to click this too....
    this is an audio post - click to play

    Saturday, May 22, 2004

    I've been getting the feeling that I've been getting hits from people who've accidently wandered onto my site in search of something completely different. Instead of finding what they were looking for on the World Wide Web, they unfortunately stumbled onto this piece of shit. I decided to take a look at my referrals in my lame hit counter to see who was coming from where and why. To my amazement, I found this:




    And as my wife knows, I hate leaving people disappointed. So I've decided to help people out. I will give the people what they want. You're searching for it? I can help you. Come one, come all!



    Let's start off with #1. We have someone that has searched for "fat kirsty alley picture". We all know Kirsty from the "Look Who's Talking" movie series, "Cheers", and more recently on "Veronica's Closet". I did a search on google and I came up empty. So, I have to disappoint the fans of the new and improved fat Kirsty Alley. No dice. But I promise that this will be the last time I disappoint those in search of Utopia on the Internet.


    #2 in our diagram shows that someone is looking for the first name of rap star, Chingy. Well, I won't leave you Chingy fans hangin'. Chingy's real name just happens to be Howard Bailey Jr. That's some shit right thurr. But since you're here checking out my site for Chingy shit, let me put you up on some knowledge: Chingy is wack. Go listen to some real music instead of puttin' money in the pockets of a weak ass rapper. I know I'm here to help the needy, but you need to open people's eyes sometimes. People get caught up in that TRL/106 and Park hype and start wildin' out. But I digress.


    For numbers 3, 4, and 5, we have a group of people searching for "guys jacking off pictures". Well, I've been there. It's late. You haven't had any lovin' in a long time. You're home with nothing to do but surf the web for pictures of guys jacking off. It doesn't hit any more rock bottom than that. But I'm here to help you all out. Here is what you've come for. When I say I'll deliver the goods, I'll deliver. So for all of you guys and gals looking to getting into some great pictures of guys jacking off, here you go. It's on the house...





    Was it as good for you as it was for me?

    I remember an old Saturday Night Live commerical skit that featured Kevin Nealon and Victoria Jackson sharing the most intimate of moments sitting on a dual toilet seat. It was so memorable because I felt that it literally is a very personal and intimate moment that most don't share with anybody else. I don't think there is any other time where a human is so vunerable as when they are sitting on the toilet releasing a bowel.


    There is nothing more personal than the time spent sitting on the toilet and taking a dump. It's probably the only thing I can be doing except jacking off where I would be really embarassed if my wife walked in on me. I mean, this is the same women who picks my whiteheads and has seen my penis up close and personal. But I am still embarassed when she comes into the bathroom while I'm dropping the kids off at the pool.




    Isn't it kind of odd? I mean, we all do it about once a day. It's part of our everyday lives and our fuctions as a living organism? So why does it seem so private and taboo? Why is it so disgusting to talk about? Why are we so sensitive to something that all animals do?


    The answer?


    We are in love with taking a dump. Dropping a load is associated with such relief and pleasure that it, like sex, is something that we choose to keep private and to ourselves. Think about it. Our pants our down around our ankles. We're sitting down, concentrating hard on the task at hand. Hell, some people read or smoke to keep their minds elsewhere. Afterwards you have to clean up, but some people refuse to wash their hands.


    DOES THIS NOT SOUND LIKE SEX FOR SOME PEOPLE?


    So that brings me back to that old SNL skit. A couple. Sitting together at the toilet. Sharing a "moment". It's really not that far off from reality. Sharing the a moment where you two drop a bomb together really is the next level in an exclusive relationship. Can't you see that?



    Okay, maybe it's just me. I don't know. Forget it. Forget I said anything.

    Friday, May 21, 2004

    Tales Of A 9th Grade Nothing


    I was pleasantly surpised last week when I received a phone call on my cell phone from an old friend. It's been almost two years since I've seen her, and just as long since I have spoken to her. It was admittedly refreshing having such a long "catch up" conversation with her because we were such good friends in the past. This led me to think about how our relationship came to be the way it was and why she was and is so special to me, even if we haven't been speaking as regularly as I'd like to. So here's that story. It's not funny nor ironic. It's just something I like reminiscing about. Great friends are made of this.


    We both attended the same elementary school, but it wasn't until junior high when I met her. I was in 8th grade and she was in 7th. Her older brother was in the same class year as my older sister and they were friends. So I knew about her before I really met her face to face. What started out as an odd and awkward (I remember showing up at her house once unexpectedly with my sister and she ran to her room and refused to come out)friendship developed into your stereotypically junior high friendship where most of our interaction happened on the phone. I'd talk to her about the girls I liked. She'd tell me about the guys she liked. We just talked, ya know?


    9th grade rolled around something weird happened where I became very attracted to her. Not the petty "God damn she's gorgeous" attraction typically defines girlfriend/boyfriend relantionships at that age. It was different. I was so attracted to her mental and I didn't know how to deal with it.


    My first reaction was to automatically tell her how I felt, not even thinking about the possible disruption it would cause to our existing friendship. So during one of our late night, post homework phone conversations I just blurted it out. She was literally shocked. She was admittedly a "late-bloomer", and I could tell that what I told her made her completely uncomfortable. It was obvious that she wasn't ready to be with me or anybody else for that matter. So I took a step back. She ended up explicitly stating that she wasn't ready for anything at the time, and I understood. Interestingly enough, we maintained the same "friendship" we had before I dropped the bomb on her.


    A few months rolled around and we're still friends. One day during one of our daily 3 hour long phone conversations, she blurted out words I remember 'til this very day: "I'm Ready". Mind you, at the time Tevin Campbell had an album out called with the same exact name, an album that either she bought me or I bought her, hell I can't remember. Well, it was super cliche and I swear to God I'm not making this up. So, that nightwe were officially boyfriend-girlfriend in every sense of the word in junior high.


    Now, like I said before she was a late bloomer. By the time we got "together", she was my 4th girlfiend and although I wasn't having sex, I was a little more advanced on the physical aspects of boyfriend-girlfriend interaction. My idea of what a boyfriend-girlfriend relationship entailed was slightly different than hers. I can remember how awkward it was that first day back at school after we were official. We just stood there. I was holding my backpack. She was holding her's. And we just stood there. With zero to talk about.The bell rang and we had to get back to class. And I extended my arms to at least get a hug. She kind of half reached out and we gave each other the worst hugs in the history of hugs in the galaxy. I mean, I've seen armless people give better hugs.


    But I didn't really think much of it later that day. After school, she came up to me and gave me a letter and slide it into my pocket and told me to read it later. I got home that night feeling pretty good. I had a girlfriend and I loved talking on the phone with her. Unusually, she didn't call me when she normally did, so I gave her a call. When she answered, she seemed hesistant.


    "Umm, is everything okay?" I asked.


    "Uhhh, yeah. Did you read the letter I gave you?"


    "Aww, no. I totally forgot about it."


    "Well, take a look at it. Look, I gotta go now. I'll talk to you later."


    "Umm, okay."


    "Bye."


    "Bye".


    So, I ran upstairs, picked up my jeans and grabbed the letter out of my pocket and read it. As I read it, my heart immediately sunk. It was a break up letter. A fuckin' breakup letter. I couldn't believe it. It basically said something along the lines of "I guess I'm not ready" type stuff, and the most awkward hug ever pretty much sealed the deal. Pathetic, I know.


    Well, even after all that we still remained friends through high school, where it culminated in me pretty much organizing her 18th birthday celebration ceremony on the fly a day before it happened and having it executed flawlessly. She was beautiful that night and I'll never forget it. That night, I couldn't help but think about her being the first girl who I knew I liked (dare I say "loved") for everything she was as a person, not strictly on what she looked like. I remember just standing there watching the event unfold and practically kicking myself that I let her get away. She was obviously a catch but was taken by another guy at the time. That, along with all the obvious personality differences among other things made me realize that she was never meant for to keep, but was meant to meet. She was the girl that taught me to look further than the exterior and find someone that can stimulate you not only physically, but mentally as well.


    She's a special woman, and with this phone call last week told me that she was getting married. I could be nothing but happy for her because I know she is capable of finding a great guy, and I also know that she's going to make this guy very, very, happy.


    We meet people for a reason, ya know? And if you notice that your paths keep crossing in a positive manner, God has blessed you with their presence for a reason. So, this is my official "thank you". Thank you God for allowing me to meet such a special person. Thank you to Che Che for being that special person.


    I hope you read this. Congrats on the engagement and I wouldn't miss your wedding for the world.

    Sunday, May 16, 2004

    It's been 9 days since my last blog, and quite honestly I haven't felt like writing. In addition, there have been numerous newsworthy occurrences throughout the past week that one thousand and one other blogs have already covered. So I never really felt the need to say anything. And most importantly, life has been relatively uneventful and I'm very happy, so there really isn't anything to bitch about. But there are a few things I'd like to talk about.


    We have the beheading of a contractor by supposed Al-Quaeda militants. Then shortly there after, the CIA conspiracy theories regarding the beheading. Either way, it fucking sucks. Let the man rest in peace for cryin' out loud. I don't have the nerve to even watch the video myself. I just don't see any reason to, ya know?


    What else? Ahh,yes. Latoya was given the boot on American Idol. People are screaming racism. People are screaming controversy. I don't give a fuck. It's whatever. People really need to take American Idol for what it is. It is NOT a talent show. It is NOT reality television. It is something that someone thought would bring in ratings. And you know what? They've succeeded. The biggest slap in the face to any aspiring musical artist that is known as American Idol has crumpled more panties in a bunch than your grandma. I don't even watch it and I'm writing about it. Genius marketing strategy.


    On a similar note, I've seen commercials on WB regarding a spoof on American Idol where they purposely select the unskilled and untalented, which obviously equal ratings. As if we weren't sick enough of UC Berkeley's William Hung, WB has decided to bring forward hundreds of wannabe singers that "haven't had any professional training". They even have a fugazi ass Simon to berate the "contestants".


    MTV, the real leader of the Free World, won't be left behind. They are also promoting an upcoming series with the same "fake reality" concept. Since it's obvious America is no where near sick of Punk'd,Fakin The Video picks up the ball and hobbles with it. Will I watch it? Probably not. Anyone who knows anything knows that Sci-fi Channel's Scare Tactics is better than everything else in the prank/hidden camera genre. Just the fact that MTV is behind such a show is enough to convince me it will suck.


    So here I am once again, sitting on the fence in regards to reality television. I don't watch a lot of it, but I can't stop talking or complaining about it. Maybe our society is hooked on watching "reality" because we're all filled with shit in our own lives. I mean, we might as well live vicariously through the "real" lives of reality show cast members, right?.


    Well, if that's the case, I got first dibs on Puck.