At one point, I was really into sneakers. Like REALLY into sneakers.





Back in high school, it really wasn't that bad. I had 2 pairs of shoes at most. I didn't even buy my first pair of $100 sneakers until my senior year of high school. I remember going to the mall with Erica and buying them. She was like, "Uhhh...nice shoes."

She didn't care for them. I could tell. But it didn't matter. I loved them. Up until that point, I was subjected to the budget restraints determined by the will of my mom. I was a Mervyn's shoe guy. And I really didn't mind it. I wore what my mom bought me and I honestly didn't have much fashion sense. I was popular anyway, right? Well, maybe I wasn't. But I guess thinking I was actually popular was good enough (on a side note, looking back at how much I wanted to be popular in high school always leaves me sheepish and embarassed. I was stupid doo doo dumb).

A year out of high school and I get a job at Foot Locker on a whim. It was funny, because we were just checking out a local mall that had the closest Target to our apartment.

"Hey man, can I help you with something?"

"Yeah, a job."

I was half joking. I didn't really need a job right away. I did just move out of the house, but still had money to keep me afloat for a while. 2 days later, I was in the store, wearing stripes, with a part-time job.

So now I'm around shoes all day. And initially, I didn't care. But then my boy gets a jobs at Champs. And he's always been about shoes, especially Nikes and Jordans. Then he gets me hooked on this Internet website (NikePark RIP)and now I'm in a store all day looking at shoes, then on the Internet all night looking at shoes. With the money I was making, I found a few shoes that had evaded me in high school that were being rereleased by Nike. Next thing you know, my 3 pairs of shoes that I brought with me from home because 5. Then 10. Then eBay finally opens my eyes and I have twenty pairs of sneakers. The complex of attaining shoes that I couldn't afford in high school took over me. eBay was Godsend.

It was official. I was addicted.

Sometime in 2002, I was hovering around 80 pairs. Mostly Nikes. Some Jordans.

In between 2002 and last year, I because very "budget conscious". I started selling a lot of my shoes on ebay. The money was used to pay for a lot of bills we were accumulating because I spent the majority of that time still in school and taking care of my son while my wife was our only source of income. Slowly but surely, I finally get down to around 25-30.

Around this time, I finally landed a good paying job. We got our own apartment and were living well within our means. But for the first time in my life, I actually had extra money. But instead of breaking the bank and buying $120 every week, I'd stick to a pair of $40 shoes couple weeks or so. This went on for at good part of this last year.

On Saturday, as I was cleaning up the living room, I was dusting a chest that held about 8 pairs of shoes. I took them out and admired them for a while, since I haven't worn these shoes for a year or so since I put them in that chest. I then had this urge to look at all my shoes. They've never been all in the same room. Just in a closet here, under the bed there, in someone else's closet, on top of a dresser, etc. You know. All over the damn place. So I finally got around to just stacking them in one place.





A little over 60 pairs. Got dammit. That doesn't even include the gang of dress shoes I've been stocking up on, waiting for the time some crazy company decides to put me in an important enough position to wear nice shoes and nice clothes (BTW, if you ever need a cheap pair of dress shoes, I defnintely suggest you hit up the Kohl's clearance section).

It's bad. I'm not addicted or anything. But I'm beginning to feel the itch to start hoarding shoes again. It's kind of lame in the sense that I dont' even wear the majority of my shoes. They've all been worn, but in the grand scheme of things, it's hard justifying having so many unneccesary things that I don't use on a regular basis.

I'm getting older, that's for sure. But this "habit" is a hard one to break. There's always the option of liquidating through eBay again. But I don't think I'll do that unless completely necessary, ie my kids are starving.

Gotta keep my priorities straight, right?

[Mental Note]

MySpace/Friendster/Blogs that play music and/or video automatically as the page loads are the most annoying pieces of shit on the Internet since unsolicited SPAM emails. People. Please. Make this something to remember if it's the only thing you ever take with you after reading this blog: The more time and effort you invest making your blog/myspace/friendster look "cool", the bigger a tool you make yourself out to be. All the little HTML gadgets in the world can't make up for the gaping hole in your character called "insecurity". I don't want any unexpected pop-ups. I'm not impressed by the little java app you installed on your page. It makes me not want to know who the hell you are.

Thank you, and die.


[/Mental Note]

What in the fuck happened to children's game shows?

Remember Double Dare? Fun House? Guts? Legends Of The Hidden Temple?

Wait, before I get ahead of myself, JD Roth is a tool. He is a tool in the same way that Ryan Seacrest is a tool. He is a tool in the same way that former MLB pitcher Jeff Juden is a tool.

What brought this on? Well, we now have digital cable. And with digital cable came the Nick GAS(Games and Sports)channel. There are tons of reruns of great gameshows for kids. And I'm trying to think of the equivalent in today's children's television. And you know what? There really isn't anything comparable.

Well, except for Endurance. And guess who hosts that "Survivor For Kids" game show? JD fuckin' Roth. Did I mention that he's a tool? But other than that tool hosted game, there really isn't anything out there.

I know what you're thinking. Why the fuck am I watching game shows for kids? Well, my son loves them. And honestly, I've always had this dream of being on Double Dare. Because let's face it, some of those kids had no business doing anything athletic. And on tv? Sometimes it's just embarrassing.

Now my only hope is for them to revive Family Double Dare and to have another child. We'd kick so much ass on that show it'd be ridiculous. And Nickelodeon? If you do revive Family Double Dare, bring back Marc Summers. He's beginning to annoy me on Unwrapped.

Actually, on second thought, forget it. Marc has moved on from kids gameshows, to adult game shows on the History Channel, and now on to Unwrapped on the food network. He realized that kids would no longer think of him as being "cool". Unfortunately, some tool named JD Roth can't seem to get it. You know, he's probably a bitter asshole by now. Wait, didn't I know that already? Yeah, it looks like I did.

Fuck that tool.

Fuck Bret Hart. HBK is the best there is, the best there was, and the best there ever will be.

Do I think Hip Hop is a "legitimate" part of what you call "American Culture"?

No.

Hip Hop "culture" has become pop culture. In "Beat Street" there's a line by Kenny that articulates how I feel about these Hip Hop/Pop relationship:

"Y'all are like all the biters. You take a bite and leave the rest."

And that's what it's like. Only parts of the Hip Hop culture are being accepted by American society. The slang, the music,and the dance. And they can't even get the "dance" part right because bboying has been inaccurately defined as some sort of gymnastic exhibition rather than an actual dance in the minds of most people. But the true culture of Hip Hop? The consciousness? The philosophy? Neglected. Even by the people who consider themselves true Hip Hop heads. Even by the people who are out there on rap videos making millions off Hip Hop's infiltration of pop culture.

When will Hip Hop become a legitimate part of American Culture? When the people within Hip Hop take ownership of the culture. You always hear or read about the original Hip Hop heads talking about "foundation". Crazy Legs of the Rock Steady Crew always talks about the "foundation" of bboying. About how even though tricks and power moves have become bigger and better, the foundation of footwork, top rock and brooklyn rock still remains the same. The same analogy can be used for Hip Hop culture as a whole.

There are principles and ideology behind the elements of Hip Hop that have remained the same. The uninhibited and uncensored expression, the elevation of the art through competition (rap battles, bboying battles), the self-awareness and self-preservation of the culture and the art etc. It is getting "American Culture" to buy into those principles that will change the way America looks down and and scoffs at Hip Hop culture.

People need to realize where Hip Hop came from and not be afraid of what it could become. Remember, Hip Hop is only a little more than 30 years old.

"He slides and he's safe at home!"



Serious question.

Why the fuck are we going into space?

What is our business up there?

How much money is going into shooting people into space?

Can that money be used for more pertinent, terrestrial uses?

Just wondering.

I'm still confused.

I mean, it's cool and all.

We're in space.

There's a space station.

Awesome.

But now what?

My wife is a goofball.



We were at Old Navy on Saturday taking advantage of the Friends & Family coupon I snagged from one of Gap's Unix Admins I just happened to be taking a class with two weeks ago. 20% off retail and sale price. Not bad, eh?

Well, I'm walking around and I see her excitedly pointing across from the Men's section to the Women's, quitely mouthing,"...Cyn-thi-a. Reeeeeal Woooorld". I turn around, and sure as hell, it's Cynthia from Real World Miami.

Cynthia has always been sort of a local Vallejo celebrity. When the season first aired, everybody talked about how she worked at Applebees, or how on the first episode they said "North of Oakland" instead of "Vallejo" when referring to where she was from.

But it was kind of weird. I'm not used to seeing anybody from television in real life. I don't live in LA or New York, where these celebrity/regular folk run-ins seem to happen on a regular basis. I turned into a goofball. Wanting to look but not wanting to look, ya know?

Goofballs, man. Goofballs.

And dat? Das cool.

I'm not the coolest guy on the Internet, nor am I qualified to decide what is universally cool. But I was over at NancyShmancy.com a) because she's an old friend, and b) because she's so damn cool, and I saw this. And I'll be damned if that isn't one of the coolest features I've ever seen on a blog. Different skins?

Wicked awesome.

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.