Bacardi's 151 Rum may be the most evil substance on the planet.

It's been well over 12 hours since I stopped drinking and every time I burp, I can still taste it. Even after a shower this morning, I can still feel the alcohol seeping though my pores. I could probably put a match to my skin and start a pretty impressive fire. No hangover present, though. That's a good sign. I spent a good portion of last night drinking bottled water and peeing it all out, which might explain my noticeable fatigue. But given my previous experiences with 151, it's safe to say that I'm pretty lucky.

Passed out. In the car. Pink, chunky throw up on the driver's side door. And the smell. That damned smell. Sound familiar? Well, that's 151 for you. For some it's tequila. For others, it's whiskey. But we all have had that one experience with that one form of alcohol. You're sitting next to the toilet, dry heaving to the point that you think an organ is going to pop out any second now. Then you utter those words. Those words that eventually become a bullshit lie. But at that very moment in time, you mean every letter uttered:

I will never drink again.

151 is that drink. It is evil. And for about 10 minutes in the middle of last night, I thought I was headed down that path all over again. But luckily enough, during my frequently interrupted hours of sleep, the ship was righted. The seas calmed. The sun came out and all was good. Thank you, God.

I will never drink 151 again.

I need some damn water.

Golden Shower or Lack of Powder?

These images have made their way around the Internet. Apparently, Fergie of the Black Eyed Peas sweats a bunch "down there", or she just got a little too excited on stage. Judge for yourself.

I'm not even sure why I blog anymore.

It's not like I'll quit.

Or make an announcement that it's all over.

I don't dig that.

I don't feel like I owe anything to the people who happen to read all of this.

Hell, I'm not even sure if people check in regularly to see that I haven't updated in a while.

It's like guys who say, "Bros. over ho's".

I always hear or read about some dude complaining about how his boy dropped everything for a women.

They call him "pussy whipped".

He's no longer a "good friend".

Duh, muthafucka.

Our main objective in life as men is to fuck.

Constantly.

Do not assume otherwise.

Eating and sleeping?

Shit.

If you promised me pussy, I'd skip a couple meals or a night of sleep.

So if a man finds a woman who is attractive and willing have sex with him, he will do anything it takes to keep her around.

But some guys don't get that.

They feel betrayed as if the woman took his friend away.

But what's supposed to be great about great friends is the fact that they will always be there when you really need them.

If my boy found a good girl, good for him.

I'm happy for him.

Sure, he doesn't kick it as much.

He's always doing something with his woman.

But I don't mind.

That's his life.

And if I need anything, he'll be there for me.

And vice versa.

Oddly enough, that's how I perceive my relationship with my blog.

My blog is there when I need it.

It doesn't nag me to post when I don't feel like writing.

It doesn't talk shit behind my back.

It's just there.

Where?

Right here.

I used to tell myself that I wrote in my blog to communicate with the people who read it.

When I went through a tough part of my life, my blog was there for me to express myself without worrying about the response and about the backlash.

I look back on what I've written in the past 2 years and I don't regret a single thing I've written.

It feels good.

Refreshing.

Cathartic.

Not only when the words are written, but when they are read over and over again.

There's something about having a journal or a documentation of your life.

It's almost like an autobiography, not written for others, but for yourself.

It's something you can't measure in inches or in pounds.

Not even in years or in wrinkles on the face.

These blogs are a documentation of personal growth.

But people perceive honesty as vunerability.

Not many people are willing to let the guards down to notice.

It is the beauty of written word.

Reading back on your old blogs, you can still feel the emotion and understand the state of mind.

It's all worth it, no matter how little you put into it.

Tic-toc.... Tic-toc..... Tic-toc....

I was watching "So You Think You Can Dance" (aka American Dance Idol) on Fox the other night. My wife watched it last week and she's a huge fan, right? I'm not a huge fan of AI, especially after the crap (read: hilarious) is weeded out. But she loves this crap, so you know we have to watch it this week.

So we're watching, and there is definitely a lot of entertaining "crap" among the skilled and the corny stories. Out of nowhere, a familiar face with a familiar name appears in the form as a SYTYCD (slowly...now connect the dots). I couldn't believe it. And she did so well. I don't want to jinx her, but she looks like one of the more solid and well-rounded dancers on the show. It was just crazy seeing her on tv.

I can't front like she's a great friend or what not. At one point way back when, she was my younger sister's best friend and her older sister was in my class during elementary school. Oddly enough, their older sister was in the same class as my older sister and at one point THEY were best friends as well. Needless to say, we were over at their place often for parties or just after school to hang out, etc. But now our interaction is strictly online.

But none the less, congrats, Melody. It's been a while since I've spoken to you (sober), but if I don't get to speak to you soon, good luck.

I'm a sports guy.

I can admit it.

I enjoy all sports.

Even NASCAR?

Sure, even NASCAR.

Most people wouldn't consider NASCAR a sport.

I do.

That shit is hard.

Others call NASCAR and racecar driving a skill, not an athletic ability.

I disagree.

By the way, "racecar" backwards is "racecar".

And Jason Williams of the Memphis Grizzlies has "WHIT" tattooed on the knuckles of his right hand.

The left hand?

"EBOY"

That's right.

Put his hands together and that shit says "WHITEBOY".

But I'm digressing.

Golf?

Yeah.

Sport.

No doubt in my mind.

I know.

It really isn't "athletic" per se.

Does it take strength?

Yes.

Does it take endurance?

Yes.

Does it take the use of gross and fine motor skills?

Definitely.

So yeah, sport.

And Tiger Woods did it again yesterday.

Hey steady kicked all kinds of ass at the British Open.

And as a sports fan, it was sure something to witness.

I'm not the hugest golf fan.

But I pay attention.

I pay enough attention to know what kind of golf player Tiger is.

And what he accomplished on Sunday was nothing short of amazing.

As kids, we'd hear stories about athletes that have come and gone.

Not just the good ones.

The GREAT ones.

Tiger is definitely of those athletes.

As fans, we get so used to the greats and only truly appreciate them when they're gone.

Michael Jordan's era has come and gone.

We saw it.

With our own eyes.

But we really weren't aware of what we were witnessing until he was gone.

Ken Griffey and Barry Bonds in their prime?

Forget about it.

Those days are gone.

The only "sure thing" out there now is Tiger.

Critics were claiming that he was in a slump.

They said he was distracted by marriage.

They said that he would never achieve the success he had earlier in his career.

Fuck that.

He's on top.

And he'll be on top for a while.

So make sure you stop to smell the roses.

Absorb it.

Take it in.

And just enjoy it before he's gone.

People like to throw out titles like "The next Michael Jordan", or "The Next Griffey Jr."

Well, there will never be repeat performances.

There will never be another Tiger Woods.

Ever.

There was this kid back when I was in high school that I've known since elementary school. He was always "weird", and "different". In a school that was almost 40% Filipino, he was the Filipino kid that stood out for all the wrong reasons. He didn't hang out with any of the many Filipino cliques that had formed by then. He didn't dress like any of us either. He didn't act the way most of us did.

We were quick to throw labels at him, because that's what high schoolers are really good at. We called him "weird", "white-washed", and "outcast". At the time, our world revolved around stereotypes. Black people are like this and white people are like that. Filipinos had to fit the "Filipino-mold" or else you didn't fit in, weren't accepted, weren't "normal". He was a square peg in a world full of round holes.

Hew went to my church. I got to know him a little. He was genuinely a good guy, and he really didn't let the ridicule get to him, even though I could tell that deep down, he was just like any of us at that age, just searching for acceptance and normalcy in those rough years as a teen. We were never really friends, just friendly. It's kind of weird how things change outside the circus that is high school.

A few years back I heard that he was found dead behind the barracks at the military base where he was stationed. It's always rough to hear that someone you knew had died, no matter how little you knew the person. But this was a little different. I felt bad, not only because of the loss of his life, but because I never had the chance to let him know how much I respected him and what he did while were were in high school

Already over 4 years removed from high school at the time of his death, I had already come to the conclusion that high school was bullshit. I totally respected this man for going completely against was what considered "normal" at the time. Instead of being what everybody expected him to be, he was just himself. It was the exact opposite of what I was at the time.

I was a big man on campus. I prided myself on being popular, being one half of a high profile couple, and being the "loud, funny guy of the class". I dressed the part. I talked the part. I live my life hoping to please those around me. And for what? Acceptance? To be considered cool and hip? We all know know that high school superlatives don't mean shit in the real world (Well, most of us, at least). I was such a damn coward. It's embarassing just thinking about it.

I just can fathom how much balls it took to just be yourself in high school. And for that, I respect that guy. I respect that guy for being able to see through the bullshit. He knew back then what took me years to find out. He "got it". It wasnt' "non-conformity for the sake of non-conformity". He was just being himself. I'm just sorry I wasn't able to tell him how much I respected him for what he was able to do, regardless of the harassment and the ridicule.

Much respect, man. RIP.

Written on 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 finish typing your report for you when you fell 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.

This National Spelling Bee participant is a savage.

Dammit.

If Gwen Stefani's "Hollaback Girl" was any more annoying, I would have put my fist through the tv by now.

I don't know who the creative genius was behind the concept of "Hollaback Girl" and Gwen's image makeover, but I'm assuming it went something like this:

Genius - "We need a hit. A bonafied hit. Gwen, you remember 'Don't Speak'?

Gwen - "Sure do. Holla!"

Genius - "Well, fuck that song. It's way too personal. It's too sad. It's too meaningful. Kids don't buy meaningful."

Gwen - "But I put my heart and soul into that s-"

Genius - "FUCK YOUR HEART AND SOUL! You want to sell records right?"

Gwen - "Well.."

Genius - "RIGHT!?!"

Gwen (defeatedly) - "Right."

Genius - "I've come up with an idea. The world has been looking for the next Toni Basil. You remember Toni Basil, right?"

Gwen - "The 'Hey Mickey' Toni Basil?"

Genius - "Egg-zact-lee. 'The Hey Micky Toni Basil'. We're going to repackage you, Gwen. Forget punk. Forget ska. We're going capitalize on your success with Eve and turn you into an amalgamate of everything that is pop. Your career will reach levels it has never seen before."

Gwen - "But that's not me. I was in a legitimate band that made legitimately good music."

Genius - "FUCK LEGITIMACY! You need catchy hooks that the dumb pop crowd feeds of off. Most of America couldn't hear good music if it fucked them up their asses. You NEED to be Tony Basil. You want to sell records, RIGHT?"

Gwen - "Right."

Genius - "Okay, good. Now wear this skull cap. You're going to need to get used to it."

I had a conversation with my mom a couple months ago over lunch at a local buffet.

There were actually several of us sitting at the table including my dad, my wife, and my son. The topic of conversation was casual at first, nothing really too deep. You see, my mom and I (or anybody else in my immediate family) were never close. I could never talk to her about anything. We never shared stories nor did I ever confide in her. It just wasn't how our relationship worked. But the topic quickly shifted to how I look at life now since I have my own family and son.

I admitted to her that my outlook on life has completely changed. As a teenager, I was just a selfish person. I didn't think of what was good for anybody but myself. I lived for the now and didn't save one dime, didn't do anything for the longterm, and didn't think about how my actions at the present time would have lasting effects on my future. But as my son has grown up, I've changed.

Instead of thinking only for myself and my needs and my wants and my desires, I have someone else who I am responsible for. It is now my responsibility to give him a chance to be the best person he can be. And as simple as that sounds, it is such a hard thing to do when you lived your entire life for yourself. I can honestly say that I am driven to make my son's life better.

In the middle of this conversation, I even admitted how appreciative I am for what my parents have done. They didn't spoil me. They didn't buy me the best car. They didn't put me in the best schools. But they gave me a chance. They worked hard as hell to give me the opportunity to succeed. They didn't set goals for my success. They gave me an idea of what success is like and gave me every opportunity to be successful.

That's all I could ask of them. You can only do so much as a parent. "You can lead them to water", you know? My parents gave it their all to give me and my sisters the opportunity to blossom into respectable adults. And I'd like to believe that they succeeded. And I think the biggest testament to their success as parents is manifested in my desire to do the same for my own son.

It sounds corny, but it's so true. Monetarily, we didn't have a lot, but we had enough. But they equipped me with all the tools. I used that conversation to thank them for what they did. I saw it in my mom's eyes. She even asked, "Do you really think like that?" I nodded in affirmation because I knew for sure that I wasn't lying. I truly believe that my only goal in life is to make sure I leave nothing left on the table. My son will get everything I can give him in order for him to be successful.

That is my one and only goal in life. Sure, I can get a little selfish and spend a little more money than I should. I can get a little lazy and let my son watch more tv instead of stimulating his mind in more constructive ways. But I'm trying. Hard.
It's definitely not easy, but I know people who have done more in worse conditions. I witness it with my own eyes.

It was my parents.

Thanks.

Fans are obnoxious. And annoying. But why are we surprised? "Fan" is just short for "fanatic". But definition, these people are intolerable by default.

fa·nat·ic (f-ntk)
n.

A person marked or motivated by an extreme, unreasoning enthusiasm, as for a cause.

For some people, "unreasoning enthusiasm" is just a euphemism for "asshole".

But I can't lie. I admit it. I'm a fan. Warriors basketball. Giants baseball. 49er football. WWE wrestling.

I think there are different stages in the life of a fan.

First, you start off as a casual fan. You give attention to your team when it is convenient. You occaisionally check scores online or in the paper. You have one or two items of fan apparel. All is good in the hood.

The second stage in a little more fanatical. You go to a couple games a year. You check every day for scores. Sometimes you listen to the radio or watch the games on tv. You know all the players by name, but not by face. You openly talk about your team with your friends, and sometimes even with strangers. But never to you openly argue or disagree with fans of other teams or players.

The third stage is the asshole stage. In your mind, your team is the greatest thing in the world. You know the players, their numbers, their faces, their marital status, and the birthdates of their children. What happens, though, is that at this stage, you become your team's worst critic. In front of opposing team's fans, your team can do no wrong. In front of your fellow lunatic fans, your team can do no right.

Armchair quarterbacks and the world's greatest second guessers stay at this stage, sometimes forever. These are the fans that are the hardest to please but consider themselves the most "hardcore". They feel that they are better than your average casual fan (see above) and scoff at anybody who they here whispering "who was that player?" They are the hardest fans to hold a conversation or discussion with because they are always right. Hell, they are smarter than the general managers, coaches, and team executives who get paid thousands, if not millions of dollars to make the decisions that they make day in and day out.

I have been in this stage before, and looking back it disgusts me. What was a recreational activity and hobby turned into an obsession. It was no longer enjoyable. You get to a point where you know too much about one person, one teams, one league that you think you know everything that will and should happen. So I've taken a step back. From everything.

I understand the roll sports play in my life. I can regress into that semi-fanatical, more casual fan. Regardless of what happens, I will still enjoy watching and supporting the teams I consider myself a fan of. It's the right thing to do, and frankly, the most enjoyable.

Sometimes people have a hard time putting things in perspective and became such hardcore fans that they lose sight of why they became fans in the first place.

Eastern Culture is a culture that really just wants to "be down".

The collective nature of Eastern culture is completely different than the independent style seen in the West. Asians prefer not to stand up and go against the grain. This cultural preference stems from the "family" structure seen in the East. In Western cultures, business is business. It is never personal. In the East, business is always personal. Business relationships are family relationships, and vice versa. Everything is done as a group, for the group, and by the group.

So how does this affect the way Asians manifest themsevles in the American society? Well, for one, they are readily accepted. I think this is due to a few things. One of which is due to the collective nature of Asian cultures. Asians are seen as docile and passive. They accept their position within social and racial classes and seem content with what they have. They don't post a threat to what most perceive as "everyday America". Do they speak their own language? Yes. But they do so mostly within their own communities (i.e. Chinatown, Japantown, etc.).

When outside of these communities, Asians find themselves almost too eager and too ready to amalgamate into American society. They quickly latch onto Pop culture. While they shed their accents, they also shed ways of life. They tolerate blatant acts of hate and prejudice within school systems, the job market, and in the media for the sake of "being down". While layers and years of rich culture and heritage are stripped from their minds, the collective nature of Asians keep them at bay.


But there is now a resurgence of awareness among the younger, more Americanized Asians. Never before have cultural clubs within high schools and colleges become so popular. And they do a very good job opening eyes and minds. They identify issues very pertinent within our society, such as our misrepresentation in the media, the accepted forms of descrimiation, unfair immigration policies, etc. I've seen it in action. The knowledge shared is so empowering among the people who previously had nothing to be proud of, nowhere tangible to be from or the product of. It wasn't just word of mouth from older family members. It's in books and documentaries. There is this fight for Asians to be respected within American society, and all previous ills will no longer be tolerated. How beautiful is that?

But within all this celebration of our cultures and heritage, there is the dark underbelly that rarely is discussed. There is a self-loathing that not many people want to admit. We shout our cultural pride from the top of the mountains, yet we still make fun of people who have accents. We call them "FOBS", as if we are better than them. We make fun of their living conditions and their inability to mix into American culture. We make fun of how dark they are, how course their hair is, how chicky their eyes are. Even after we want to believe we have come full circle within white American society, we are still trying to rid ourselves of the thousands of years our cultures have been contaminated by Western belief structures.

Look. I'm not saying there is a right or wrong way to live your life. Western, Eastern, etc. One is not better than the other. But there are some realities in our world that have affected the way things are. I don't have any answers, because I think these issues are larger than any one person.

Whatever. At least I got it off my chest.

Do me a favor.

Click this (Real Player needed) and scroll to about 48:50. Talk about not fully understanding all possible reprecussions. I almost felt sorry for the guy. I mean, think about what he's going through as that professor annouced the laundry list of things that were on that computer. First, his heart starts to race. Then he breaks out in a cold, nervous sweat. Too bad he didn't have a piece of coal handy. He probably could have put it up his ass and squeezed it so hard that a diamond would pop out.

Okay, I take back the comment about almost feeling sorry for the guy. Fuck him.

Speaking about feeling sorry for someone, we have the King of Crunk himself, Lil John. Look at this dude.



Now, I don't really feel sorry for him. Shit, the guy is a fuckin' millionaire. He's one of the most popular people in Rap. But you know what? Unless he's already married, that dude knows that the women he fucks aren't there because they're attracted to him. But I can dig some of his music, so he gets a free pass from me. Nah, fuck it. He looks like a fuckin' guppie. Next.

There are people out there that live in New York City. They eat, breathe, sleep NYC and they will defend it until they die. They boast about how it's the "greatest city in the world". They rave about it's diversity, it's forward trendiness, and the fact that everything that is important in NYC is important throughout the world. They here of people in California and it's like, "Oh yeah, California? There's nothing but Asians, skaters, hippies. There's no way I'd enjoy myself there. New York is the place to be."

To us outside of New York, we just see it as stereotypical big city arrogance. We know how "they" can be like, so we don't think much of it. It's all they know. But in their little jabs at a place outside of NYC, you can see the little hints of fear. Fear of the unknown. Not the exactly your every day brand of fear. It's the fear of having to admit that there is a world outside your one's personal view. Fear of knowing that one's way of life, as great as it may seem, is not the ultimate way of life. Happiness and contentment is not uniform, and knowing that your lifestyle is the best is a hard pill to swallow. And it is from this fear that develops hate.

Now I know that this is as silly, almost meaningless example, but it really doesn't stop there. Think about how ignorance manifests itself among the way people perceive other countries, languages, and ethnic groups. It's hard accepting that how you life your life, while working perfectly fine for yourself, maybe isn't the perfect way for another person to live their life.

As basic as this sounds, it really is difficult. Think about individual relationships that you have with friends and family. Ever get frustrated how your friend or your spouse can't seem to approach certain things in life the same way you do? Ever have your parents tell you that your passions and your desires are meaningless compared to the goals they have personally set for you?

Now multiply that by millions and think how Western thinking countries have done the same to other countries and cultures around the world. Think about how the "Western" stardand of beauty has invaded even the most remote regions, forcing women to straighten their hair, lighten their skin, and shrink their waists. Think about how foreign accents are laughed at and looked down upon within our supposed "Melting Pot" US society. We celebrate it in front of everybody yet laugh at it when no one is looking.

We as a society are fearful through ignorance. We are scared that maybe our way of life isn't the "perfect" way for everybody around the world. So naturally, we shut it out. We get our little kicks by going to ethnic restaraunts and watching ethnic parades. We brag about our Vietnamese friends who brought Pho to the office. We keep it within viewing distance, but not too close to our lives because we are so set in our American ways. We hide our hate behind our patriotism and our pride as a advanced society. We remain ignorant to what is really going on in the world around us outside of our gated communities.

You know, I forgot where I was going with this, but I refuse to delete it. Oh well. Who's the Prime Minister of Canada? I don't know. But I had Canadian bacon on my pizza the other day. I'm CULTURED!

We all go on a hike every now and then. Sometimes it's involuntary. We don't initially intend on taking such a long walk, but we get caught up sight seeing and amazed by what we encounter. Other times, we take walks and end up looking down corridors and alleys that scare us, frighten us, and leave us wishing we never left the house. For most, this is enough to keep someone from ever taking a walk again.

But what makes some of these walks so scary? Is it the uncertainty? Is it the possibility of getting lost? Certainly.

You ever feel like you planned a walk and determined that your path was the correct way to go? You had the walked planned so perfectly. First, a stroll through the garden to look at the budding trees, welcoming the oncoming Spring. Then you want to make it up the small grassy hill, that most of the year brown and dry from the hot sun, but now is soft and green from the Winter rain. You want to complete the journey by watching the sun reflect off the water in the creek as it runs behind the horizon, first turning yellow, then orange, then red as it sets. Your trip goes as planned, but somewhere in between your destination and home you veer off the trail and end up in an unfamiliar canyon.

You feel lost. The trees don't seem as friendly. The sun has taken cover behind a flurry of dark clouds on the horizon. You no longer have your sense of direction. What's North is South. Or was it West? Every turn you make feels like the right way to go, but as you take a few steps in that direction, you realize that you're wrong. Do you stop, turn around, and head home? Or do you keep walking?

Well, I choose to keep walking. We sometimes plan as if we are impervious to change and outside forces. We can choose our destination. That is for certain. But we can't steer clear of obstacles and setbacks 100% of the time. We veer of our paths almost 10 out of 10 times, and we tend to see nothing but failure. So I might not see the sunset. That's okay. I'll try my hardest to find my way to the top of the hill so I can catch the last seconds of the sunset. But if I don't, I know I will run into something that I never have before. I will see the frogs emerge from the creek as the sky darkens. I will see the first stars in the sky skyly emerge from the increasingly dark sky. The journey to our destinations is what build our character and strengthen our souls, and the magnitude is multiplied ten fold when our walks don't go as planned.

I am no longer scared of what might happen should I get lost on my walk. I will just put extra effort into reaching my destination, making reaching my destination sweet and fulfilling. And if I can't reach my destination, I will learn from it, gain new experience, and be happy that I will be alive one more day to maybe witness the sunset,first turning yellow, then orange, then red as it disappears in the horizon.

This stuff is crazy:

The Perry Bible Fellowship

The Notorious BIG died today eight years ago. Rest in Peace.

Some say he's the greatest rapper of all time.

But Biggie's impact as an emcee is not as wide felt as some make it out to be. People have to face it. Biggie sold an image just as much as he sold his rhymes. Tupac did it. NWA did it. They were all larger than life rappers and heads bought into that as being "real". The image adds legitimacy to the rhymes. Why do people call him "Frank White"? Because he's the "King of New York", right? Well, that says nothing about his ability as a rapper. It was his ability to sell his IMAGE that made that work. Puffy had A LOT to do with that.

I'm not knocking BIG. Don't get it twisted. "Ready To Die" could be released tomorrow and blow heads away in today's market because it was so ahead of its time. I love his music. There's no doubt about it. But I still don't see him as the "Greatest To Get On The Mic", because he just isn't.

You take into consideration all the things that make emcees dope like wordplay, alliteration, cadence, breath control, timing, rhyme pattern, conviction, etc. There are emcees that had and have those skills and do it as well or even better than BIG ever did.

Some people think it's from Johnny Dangerously. Some think I stole it from Lobo.

But "Bastitch" actually started off as a joke between me and one of my good friends. It's a combination of "bastard" and "bitch", a two pronged attack against one's ego. So we'd go back and forth shooting "bastitch" at eat other followed by chuckles, and about half the time a "fuck you".

So one day I'm chatting with that same friend online and he links me to a message board. He tells me he already made me a user account and I should be receiving the email soon. Next thing you know, my user name on http://talk.to/niketalk is "Bastitch".

Initially, I was like "Hey, fuck this. I'm making my own user name." But I got lazy and put it off for a couple days. Then a couple days became a week. Then it eventually turned into a month. By then, I was already known as "Bastitch", so the desire to change it eventually wore off. Now, I AM "Bastitch". I've meet a good amount of people in person from that message board, some of which even call me "Bastitch" in person, even after they have learned my real name (which really irks the fuck out of me).

Nicknames such as "Bas", or "Bassy" have even popped up. It's kind of funny because in the virtual world of the Internet, you really become your screen name to some people. If I were to ever meet some one like Kool Keith in person, I'd be compelled to call him just that: "Kool Keith". Fuck, I don't even KNOW his real name. Maybe it's Keith. Who knows?

But I'd like to think that I'm a little more grounded in reality to think like that. The Internet causes a lot of people to act in ways they normally wouldn't in their personal lives. This reprecussionless nature of the World Wide Web has caused a lot of people to put out personalities not of their true selves, but of people they wish they were. Or maybe of people they think they are.

I can't lie. I am aware that there is some hypocrisy in my criticism. I'm guilty of putting out a facade to a certain extent. But I honestly do make an effort to be true to who I really am. Does it lead to a little self-censorship and slightly limit my ability to freely express myself? Sure.

But demonstrating restraint of any nature is a true form of power.

I like how that sounds. I love how that feels.

It kind of sucks how Michael Jackson has gotten himself into this mess.

I'll admit it. I'm a fan. They played that tribute special they aired on one of the major networks a couple years ago on VH1 recently. My wife and I sat down and watched as some of today's stars took their shot at honoring MJ by singing his classics. The culmination of the ceremony happened when Michael performed a medley of his songs on stage for the crowd. I couldn't help but get goosebumps thinking about how magnificent an entertainer he was, and to a lesser extent is.

When talking about Michael Jackson and the molestation convictions during last HBO Comedy special "Never Scared", Chris Rock asked, "Remember when we used to ask who was better, Michael Jackson or Prince? Prince WON!". It's sad, but true.

Michael Jackson's legacy will be forever tarnished by this accusations, whether they are true or not. But I still listen to and enjoy his music. And interestingly enough, so has my son. He's 4 now, and is begining to develop a taste in music. "Beat it" is his favorite. He also enjoys "Smooth Criminal", since he knows that it is my favorite. He requests it when I'm picking him up from school or dropping him off at his grandparents' house. He knows nothing about the molestation charges. He knows nothing about the rampant rumors that have circulated in the past 20 years. No Elephant Man remains. No skin bleaching. No sleeping in hyperbaric chambers. Just the music.

And that's how you know that American Society is hung up on celebrity. The music is forgotten. Video killed the radio star, and in turn badly injured music. We're so caught up in how someone looks, what they wear, what they eat, who they are married to, who they're fucking while being married to someone else, etc. And I love music. I don't care if you're retarded with three fingers and a banjo. If it sounds good, I'm going to listen to it. Unfortunately, I'm in the minority. People want the total package. They demand perfection, but not musically. They want artists to be more than they are. They aren't gods, they are musicians.

My son, with zero notion of celebrity understands this. It's cool, innocent, and refreshing. But the day is inevitable. The day when he asks "Why did you let me listen to that FREAKS music when I was young?" But that day is still off in the horizon. I'll let him enjoy it for now. No need to.

It's kind of fucked up that I'd let him listen to his music, but wouldn't let him meet Michael. Hell naw. Fuck THAT.

Interesting post script to this story, my son asked me the other day, "Daddy, is Michael Jackson a boy or a girl." I had to hold back the laughter and compose myself before I simply answered, "He's a boy." Little does HE know how literal my answer was.

When you work 12 hours a night doing pretty much nothing but watching TV and surfing the Internet (and fighting the urge to risk your job by looking at porn from your desk), you run into shit like this:

SlipUps.com

And I can dig it. Tons of movies. Tons of slip ups. Check out your favorite movie. I'm sure someone fucked up.

GoogleFight.com ain't no joke...

Round 1 - Bastitch vs. Muscle 68



Yeah, no upsets here.

Round 2 - Bing's Bangs vs. Leah's Boobs



No upsets here, either.

Round 3
Ryan having sex with a middle-aged Brazilian chick vs Drinking the sweat off of Kool Keith's balls



You heard it here folks. The upset of the century.

On the corner of King and 3rd st....



...you can't help but notice and love San Francisco's desire to find new and agressive methods of promoting safe sex.

The music we listen to is the soundtrack of our lives.

That's nothing new. I'm sure you've heard that before. But it takes on even more relevant meaning when you think about how certain songs seem to yank memories from the past and make them so vivid you feel like it just happened yesterday.

There's that commercial out now that refers to scent as the strongest sense linked to memory. But it's hard to argue against sense of sound, and and more specifically, music. It is one of the most literal forms of artistic expression. Unlike other forms of art such as painting or dance, music leaves little to interpretation yet Not only can the lyrics describe emotion and a state of being, but the melody itself is a form of descriptive expression. You can even dig further and look into the tone of the voice, voice inflection, and cadence as evidence of this unique art of expression.

This identification of music's place within our lives has even seeped into our everyday language. The coordination of cohesive but seperate parts in a beautiful manner are described as a "symphony" or "melodic". Good news is "music to the ears". When all is well, we are living in "harmony". These metaphors are not the product of coincidence. There is a reason why we associate music with happiness, joy, and well-being, and vice-versa.

San Francisco is filled with some of the most politically active people in the world.

You could pick any day of the week in downtown San Francisco, whether it be a busy Saturday filled with tourists and shoppers, or a relatively quiet Wednesday morning, and you'll see people picketing outside their least favorite stores.

Outside Nieman Marcus? People handing out flyers about animal cruelty, and the immorality of wearing fur. NikeTown? Yeah, child labor. I heard. Gap on the corner of Powell and Market? Yeah, I hear they're having child labor issues as well. Kentucky Fried Chicken? Animal cruelty.

Wait, what?

Animal cruelty?

At a restaurant?

Now we're talking chicken. K-F fuckin' C.

They kill chicken to make fried chicken?

Now, I know there may be some treatment issues. Like free range vs. caged, etc. And mistreating animals is kind of fucked up. But honestly, is that a battle that really needs to be fought? Should people really put in time and effort into protecting animals that are specifically bred for consumption?

I mean, there are hundreds of human issues that seem thousands of times more worthwhile.

But oh well. There I go again, worrying about what other people do. Find something to worth living for or something worth dying for.

Credit, whoever the hell said that.

Oh shit, dude.

I just found one of those "Kill an hour doing absolutely nothing" websites.

Tinypic.com

Go to the site.

Click random.

Now you're surfing through a plethora of images.

Completely random images.

Sure, there's some porn.

But damn, there's some crazy shit, too.

Shit that'll make you laugh out loud.

And shit that'll make you say, "Ummm, huh?"

But yeah. You get the point. Enjoy.

I did it again.

I went on one of those rampages through the Blogger world that I do from time to time.

I tried studying for one of my certification tests, but it just got boring.

So here I was clicking "Next Blog".

Over and over and over again.

I went around the world in 80 clicks.

Korea.

Singapore.

The Philippines.

Norway.

Austrailia.

Russia.

Saudi Arabia.

Could I read half of them?

Hell no.

And those are just the 13-year olds with fonts you simply can't read.

Or the people that choose to express themselves through written text but refuse to spell words in their entirety.

For the record,

"r" = "are".

Sure. I can dig it.

But for some people, "r" = "our", which is just plain retarded.

"lv" and "hv" are "love" and "have" respectively. Uhh. Okay. I'll still following.

Barely.

The use of "lol"...fine. I can deal with that.

But never...EVER...will I tolerate "lolz".

"lolz"?

What the fuck is that shit?

Is that the pluralization of "LOL"?

Can you even pluralize "LOL"?

Probably not.

Either way, it's intolerable.

I can dig stories, though.

Good stories, at least.

I also like journal/diary type entries.

Okay, maybe I don't.

I wouldn't bore you with an account of my past 24 hours that includes what I ate for breakfast and what Jane told me during lunch.

I REALLY like blogs that list open MP3 directories.

Those are awesome.

But, I absolutely dread blogs that have music autostart when the page loads.

That's just plain inconsiderate.

And a Java pop-up when the page load?

Fuck you.

Lots and lots of pictures?

Word.

Interesting wordplay?

Bring them on.

Colorful metaphors and vivid descriptions?

English is a beautiful language when put in the mouths of those who understand its power and beauty.

I guess it is safe to say that blogs can't please everbody.

Hell, some blogs can't please anybody.

But there's enough fun out there for everybody to enjoy.

And you knew that.

Awesome.

Group Therapy



"...supposed to be overly excited to be seen, but that's ain't who we are..."

"...feelin' confident, not to be confused with your cockiness.."



Last Tuesday night marked my final night of class at St. Mary's college of California.

That night, I presented my Senior Project. It was a project that I conducted at my workplace and was the design and implementation of a training procedure for new employees in my department. It was the end of a journey. And it was literally my coming out party. I was in my element. And after it was done, I felt a combination of relief and unadulterated joy. But it was the complete opposite of what I was going through the night before.

The night before, I was at work typing it all out and putting the finishing touches on it. I was scrambling to get done what I had over 6 months to work on. I got it all the documents together, noted the dividers for the attached appendices, three-hole punched each sheet of paper, and placed them in the binder. When I completed it, I held it in front of me and damn near cried. It was literally the culmination of what I had been working towards for the past 18 months. But now I'm done, and for that I'm thankful for.

As far as the presentation was concerned, I killed. It was enough where people felt compelled to stand up and applaud. I was amazed myself that it went as well as it did. I was the youngest person in the room by 10 years. But the way I handled myself, not only during the presentation, but the 18 months in class as well, placed me as a peer among my older and more experienced classmate. Not a week passed without a compliment from a classmate. It is because of that that I am especially proud.

Now I stand on top of the hill. The hill I was fighting to get to the top of for the past 18 months. At the top of this hill, I have an epiphany. This is only a foothill of the mountain I am about to work my way up. Wish me luck, and stand behind me in case I fall. Because I know I will. And I know you'll be there to pick me up, dust me off, and send me on my way.

Thanks.

"...because you can't, you won't, and you don't stop..."

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Phone sex.

It's the next level.

People think they're above it.

Not me.

I'm down.

I think someone's voice is a lot sexier than most realize.

It's more than just jacking off while on the phone.

It's an exercise of sexual fantasy.

Who's around?

No one.

Who can hear you?

Who cares?

Talking about what could happen?

Sexy.

Talking about what should happen?

Really sexy.

Don't sweat the technique.

Sometimes, you don't even have time to handle your business.

You're going to jack off anyway?

Why not share it with someone you love?

If not in person, why not over the phone?

Keep it different.

Keep it spicy.

Keep within the relationship.

The benefits outweigh the cost.

You can do it.

Call her on her way to work and put a make her giggle like a school girl.

Call him at work an make it so he can't get up from out of his desk for a while.

Think you got it in you?

It's kind of fun being in the job hunt again. Don't get it twisted. I don't hate my current job. I just like to keep my options open and leave room for improvement. I think at this stage in my life, with me finishing up school and 1 year completed at my first "real job", complacency is Public Enemy #1.

We get comfortable in our lives. It's natural. We as humans are very ritualistic. We like knowing what's going to happen next. But this desire to remain comfortable leaves us susceptible to stagnation. Being stagnant is the very last thing I want to experience at this stage in my life. I look at myself, how I am, and how I go about doing certain things, and I see a flawed human being living a flawed life. There is always room for improvement. But when we get to a specific comfort level, sometimes we fail to acknowledge these flaws. And if we do acknowledge them, we fail to take steps to repairing these flaws.

So now I'm back out there looking for ways to improve my situation. Now that a degree is literally days from being attained, I'm looking for a better, more rewarding job. I'm even considering going to graduate school to further pursue knowledge and wisdom. I really think that learning is a life-long journey, and once we give up on learning, we again, become complacent.

Things are good, but they definitely could be better. And they will be better.

Word.

Something out of something.



There's this misconception that some people have in relation to these two men. Supposedly, these two men had opposing ideologies. One is perceived as a peaceful man who stood his grown through civil disobendience. The other was a more intimidating and forceful embodiment of the militant black civil rights movement.

During his days as a top minister within the ranks of Elijah Muhammed's Nation of Islam, Malcolm Little, then and now known as Malcolm X, never held his tongue when describing the work of anti-segregation activists, such as Dr. Martin Luther King. He described them as "Uncle Toms", today's equivalent of a "sell-out". He questioned why black men and women would want to integrate into a society that hates them. In order for there to be equality in America, Malcolm believed that the black community would need to rise up independently. Through empowerment and self-reliance, the black community could avoid racial inequality and bigotry on all levels. Dr. King, on the other hand, believed in civil disobedience. Through peaceful protest, slow and incremental changes would be made towards peace and equality.

It's easy to look at the beliefs of Malcolm X and see them as overly militant, or unnecessarily confrontational. It's easy for one to look at these two men and see Dr. King as a benevolent man with ideals that were more "friendly" to the rest of American society. But while we celebrate Dr. King this Monday, and Black History throughout the month of February, let us not forget the value of both of these two men. Although many perceive them as dueling opposites, it is important to see how the contributions of each man have proven to be invaluable to the civil rights movement.

Malcolm X stressed the importance of being empowered as minorities. No longer would people take oppression and discrimination with a smile. From that point on, there would be repercussions for such actions. These concepts were relatively unknown and unpracticed until Malcolm began his journey upwards through the ranks of the Nation of Islam. Many believed that what Malcolm taught was hatred, reverse racism, etc., but not many people understand what he really contributed.

But since this is afterall Dr. King's holiday, I will focus on what made him so special in relation to civil rights and the example he set. Dr. Martin Luther King believed in civil disobedience and carried himself and his protests accordingly. While Malcolm stressed a "by any means necessary" credo where the end justifies the means in the fight for equality, Dr. King embraced a mentality that not only does the end justify means, but the means were just in themselves. His acts were peaceful and benevolent in the same manner that his quest for justice and racial equality were peaceful and benevolent. It's a very special train of thought shared by another well known civil rights leader, Gandhi. We spend a lot of our time pursuing our goals without thinking about how we are going about achieving them. To many of us, the end is all that is important. But is that how we want to live our lives? If you get anything out of this holiday, try to understand what Dr. Martin Luther King stood for and try to incorporate some of the great ideologies that he set forward.

So after all is said and done, one of these men will always have this negative stigma associated with his name and his beliefs, another will always have an American holiday. I may be seem just or unjust, depending on who you talk to, but there is no doubt in my mind that both men are integral parts of the civil rights movement. Their concepts and ideologies will remain with us even after we do finally come to a state known as equality. There are people out there that believe that Dr. King is someone to be celebrated. But I'm not too sure many people out there know why they should be celebrating.

Enlighten yourself. The means justify themselves.

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.

Well this kind of freaks me out....

Whoa.

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

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.

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.

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

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.

"...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...

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.

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.

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

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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