The other day I was here in the office dribbling my basketball during some downtime.

I was watching tv at the same time, not really paying attention. The ball slipped a little bit and bounced off a file drawer, shooting out in a horizontal trajectory and hitting square on my right nut and grazing my left.

Now, I don't know when the last time you got hit in the nuts, but it was easily about 4 or 5 years since I've been hit so squarely. I've had a few grazes here and there, which are arguably worse than a direct shot, but nothing to substantial.

Well, if you're like me before this incident and you've forgotten what it's like, let me tell you: It hurts a whole lot worse than you remember. A lot worse.

The pain immediately shot up towards my kidneys and I fell to the floor. When I get hit in the nuts, I get the urge to crap my pants. And let me tell you, the impact was so hard that the demons of hell were "knocking on the door", ready to put me in a very embarrassing situation (Umm, honey? Can you come to my office and bring me some clean underwear and shorts? I've had an accident...).

It took a while for me to recover, too. Between the rolling around on the floor and the butt-clenching, I was abreaction as hell. Shit, I'm still embarrassed now.

Oh well. At least I didn't shit my pants.

Do you know what today is?




<3

I've been trying to teach myself how to use PhotoShop these last couple days. This here is literally my very first completed attempt to do anything. Jimmy's been giving me pointers. Props to Jimmy (Who just happened to be the master craftsman behind my orginal "Insert Witty Title" banner).



Right now, I suck. I'll probably always suck. But that's okay.

Wow. An obscure "Kids In The Hall" reference. My blog is now complete.

PostSecret is that shit.

I watched "Bush's Brain" a couple weeks ago.

Karl Rove is one shady bitch.

One of the double-edge swords of the Internet is the ability for people around the world to express themsevles freely with little or no repercussions. It's beautiful to think that literally anyone can have a voice about anything a person can think of, but sometimes people get reckless with this freedom.

One of the only things that keep us civil amongst others in traditional settings such as school, work, and home, is the fact that you have to be held accountable for your actions. If you say that all women are gold digging bitches, chances are that somebody will either make you state your case or punch you in your mouth. But either way, there will be some sort of tangible repercussion.

Unfortunately, the Internet gives people a sense of anonymity, leading to flame wars on message boards, hate-filled emails, and pointlessly negative blog comments. It's all too prevalent to those of us who spend a significant part of their lives on the Internet. It's aggravating, annoying, and simply unnecessary.

But I can't really be mad. These bad apples don't ruin the bunch. For every asshole with nothing intelligent to add, you have a hundred people just going about their business with no intent of inconveniencing anybody. They are courteous, repsectful, and understand Internet etiquette. And that's all you can really ask for on this communication medium. Well, that and coherent writing.

So with that said, thank you. Thank you to all you do-wells on the Internet. You make the place a better place, negating the jerkholes like myself online just trying to fuck it up for everybody else.

It's getting to the point where I dread going to work.

Admittedly, the story is typical. I don't think that I'm properly valued by my company. I don't get paid as much as I should. My skill set is being under-utilized.

But all of that could be easily overlooked if it weren't for the very first thing I stated. I hate my job. It's not hard. At all. We used to joke that monkeys could do our jobs. Okay, well maybe not just monkeys. Talking monkeys? Yeah. They'd actually fit in well. But then again, monkeys are easily bored. But I digress.

I know. I'm still young. My two years at this company is coming up next month. I'm starting to prepare for my yearly request for a raise. Will I get it? Probably not. It's frustrating to say the least. I've seen several job postings for jobs with descriptions that fit my duties spot on with pay that is well above what I was hired at and still above what I make now, with almost two years experience. It looks like the ceiling for this job is near. And I still have plans to move on up in the world, so my days here in this very position are limited. Or I can get complacent and stick around 3, 4, 5 years longer than I should.

I still have dreams. Dreams of having a job that I can be happy about. A job that I don't have to dread going to. A job that is actually enjoyable. It's nuts, I know. I became very practical at one point. I was just happy having a job that pays me enough money to not have to live at my parent's house. Now I'm starting to see why people have so many career changes. If you don't continuously pursue that "dream job", your frustrations and overall discontent of your current job just pile up until you want to change career fields.

So I've decided to be persistent. I'm keeping my eyes open. Not because I want to leave this damned place as soon as possible, but because I want to maximize my happiness. Or my paycheck. The former more so than the latter.

I don't believe that I've mentioned it, but I've been dealing with the fact that in about 3 months I will be the father of a baby girl. What I'm having issues with isn't the fact that I'm having another child. Honestly, I would have loved to have the child a year or two ago to keep our children closer together in age. But I guess I never expressed my desire to do so, even though we did a lot of "practicing".

The timing isn't it, though. When the reality that we were actually having another child hit me, I went through a whirlwind of emotions, similar to the ones I experienced before my son was born. Am I ready to take resposibility for another life? Are our finances in place to be able to support an additional person? You know, the typical stuff.

I even had residual feelings of guilt and shame, and it took me a while to even tell my parents. It was weird. I'm a grown ass man, and for some reason I felt almost like I did when I finally admitted to my mom that I, at the age of 20 with little to know education, would be having a child with a 19 year old girl that I wasn't married to. I got over that quickly, though. My life is definitely different than it was 5 years ago. I'm educated, have a steady job, and I have experience. I know what to expect. I'm a father already, right? P.S to that part of my life, I eventually told my mom. Actually, I didn't. I had my son tell her.

Damn, I'm a pussy. But, yeah.

August 18th was the day. My wife marked it on the calendar and would constantly remind me how many days were left until we reached that day. It was the day we would have the ultrasound that would inform us what the gender of our child would be. I wasn't too concerned about the sex, to be quite honest. I was dead set on the baby being a boy. Whenever someone would ask us what gender we'd prefer before that day, we'd both answer "a boy". "I'm supposed to be the mother of all boys," my wife would say. Just before and during the ultrasound, I was just concerned about everything being "normal" with the baby. Normal size, normal development, 5 finger on each hand, and 5 toes on each foot. That's all I really cared about.

Then the technician said it: "You see? She's right there."

She?

At first I though he just mispoke, so I ignored it. My wife completely missed it, so at the end of the ultrasound, she asked, "Well?".

The went on to tell us that the baby was definitely a girl.

Great.

I was a little disappointed. My wife could see it on my face. I wanted another boy. And at first I thought it was just because I wanted another boy. But it simply wasn't the case. Confirmation that my next child would be indeed female filled my mind with a plethora of new worries and concerns. Can I take care of a girl? I've never done that before. Should I get a gun now, or should I wait until she starts dating? How am I going to protect her from all the jerkhole guys in this world? And even worse, how am I goin to protect her from jerkhole guys like me?

It's an odd place for me to say the least. I can't wait to meet my new daughter and to do everything in my power to make sure that she realizes her ultimate potential. And I know I'll love her as much as humanly possible plus one. But damn, I'm not sure if I can do all this.

Back to square one.

If you haven't figured it out yet, gas is fuckin' expensive.

I hate to be insensitive to the current event in our country, but got damn. 30 bucks to fill up my tiny Corolla? Damn, fuck, shit. It happened yesterday. My first fill up since the hurricane hit. I was at the Safeway gas station. 6 cents off with the Club Card, yo. So 2.99 became 2.93. Which rocks, I guess.

Honestly, I want to take back the apology for being insensitive. It's been bugging me lately how events like this "put things in perspective". I've heard a handful of times that the majority of people who were stuck in New Orleans and the surrounding areas affected were already in bad shape to begin with. In between catasphrophic events such as the tsunami and Hurricane Katrina, there is fucked up shit happening in your own town that should "put things in perspective".

But I'm not going to be a jerk and revoke everybody's right to vent or bitch about anything. Everything is relative. And relative to people living in poverty, I'm doing okay. I'm educated,I have a decent roof over my head, and a reliable means of transportation. But got dammmit, my budget does not allow me to absorb the increasing cost of transportation.

It's easy to look around and scoff at people without repercussions. Pointing out their flaws, their mistakes, their inconsistencies. If only we could do the same thing in our minds we could be better people. Not for the sake of feeling sorry for ourselves, but for the sake of improvement, being constructive, and being virtuous.

If it weren't for our insecurity, we probably wouldn't even pay attention. But the our lives aren't always where we want to be, so our reality is easy to forget. Well, maybe it's not easy to forget, just easy to push to the side and ignore. We run from our problems more than we confront them. We tell ourselves that everything is fine, that we're non-confrontational,and that we're peaceful, even.

At the same time an all out war is taking place in our minds. Peace is relative, because "peace of mind" is almost impossible to attain. The battle between what is convenient and what is right is what determines our character. How we handle this battle is how we behave. Whether we like it or not, virtue cannot be taught. But virtuous actions in theory should be easier to come by.

We know what is right and what is wrong. The right thing to do is worry about yourself before you worry about the next person. Approaching and rectifying your own flaws is definitely not the easy thing to do. Although we cannot be sure that we are truly virtuous people, it doesn't hurt to act like one.

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.