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.