My mind goes through all kinds of different shit throughout the day. I'm constantly analyzing and reanalyzing different observations, possible scenarios, and just off-the-wall shit like whether or not the fact that my left big toenail is significantly longer than my right big toenail will affect my overall equilibrium.

You know, just complete randomness.

Before I forget, NBC's "My Name Is Earl" is easily my favorite new TV show of this fall season. Jason Lee is one of my personal favorites. Lee, as you may know already, is of Kevin Smith's "View Askewniverse" fame and was in "Mallrats", "Chasing Amy", "Dogma", and "Jay And Silent Bob Strike Back". And being that I'm a total Kevin Smith mark, I'm a big fan of Lee. With another Kevin Smith connection, Ethan Suplee, who you may remember from NBC's "Boy Meets World", who also happened to be in "Mallrats" as Willam Black and "Dogma" as the "big rubber poop monster" (aka The Golgatha Monster). Jamie Presley reprises her character seen in David Spade's "Joe Dirt", the country ass trailer park girl.

And if Jamie isn't your cup of tea, "My Name Is Earl" doesn't disappoint the eye candy enthusiasts (aka "pervs") with semi-newcomer Nadine Velazquez, who you may remember from a Maxim photospread she's done, or you may not remember from "The Bold And The Beautiful".



The show is just simply entertaining, and I think the premise is pretty damn original. Good shit. If you're an avid "House" watcher, chances are that you've never seen this show since it runs concurrently during the first half hours of "House". My wife is a big fan of "House". I've seen a few episodes. That's not a bad show either.

But yeah, enough of the shills I guess.

On last note, since I'm all out of gas.

The doctor said the Baby Countdown is down to less than 3 weeks.

This shit is nuts.

I tried to write something out for you to celebrate your life yesterday when I found out.

I couldn't find the words to articulate what I really wanted to say then.

But now, all I really want to say is "Thank you".

A couple months ago while looking for books with my son and my wife I picked up a book from a book outlet. Now, I'm not exactly a reader. I've never had much of an attention span for recreational reading, so most of the reading I've done in the last 10 years have been strictly for educational purposes. It wasn't until I started having conversations with one of my Internet friends that I thought that I might be due time to start restimulating my mind after over almost a year of being out of school. So I picked up a couple books on subjects that I have actually become interested in these last couple of years.

The first book I have started reading is a book by Joseph L. Graves regarding the social construct that is "race" ("The Race Myth: Why We Pretend Race Exists in America ") When I first got the book, I really had a hard time getting into it. It's not that I didn't enjoy reading it. That wasn't the issue. The issue is that it's hard to set aside time to just sit down and actually read, especially if you haven't done any recreational reading for any significant amount of time. Before, my casual and recreational reading happened on the toilet. Feel me on that?

As I'm reading this book, a lot of strong assertions are made. Some subjective, and some very objective and supported by statistics. But as we've learned, statistics can be skewed and deceiving. So statistical evidence isn't exactly as concrete as we once thought. I couldn't help but step back from the situation and think how skeptical I've become throughout the years. Right now, I'm reading a book and while I'm totally digging what I'm reading, I can't help but take a lot of what I'm reading with a grain of salt, statistically supported or not. It's a pretty far step from where I was 5 or 6 years ago.

5 or 6 years ago, I could read a book or article and take it for fact. I was naive enough to believe that if it were published, it had to be legitimate. There was no need to question anything. 5 years before that, I believed pretty much anything anyone said. My teachers knew everything. There was no need for "proof". If they said it in a classroom, it had to be true. Junior high is afterall a breeding ground for ridiculous rumors and heresay. With little to nothing to refute what is being said (or assumed), anything said was believable. With such a narrow perspective on the world, it was so easy to trust them. Hell, 5 years before that, I believed everything my parents told me. What they said was fact. It was truth. I couldn't dispute it. And quite frankly, were was no reason to. I depended on them for everything. Food, shelter, comfort, etc. My parents were essentially an infomational sieve, filtering out any information they didn't want to get to me. I can't blame them. That's what parents should do. We're not ready for the truth then anyway.

Now you take that and fast forward all that in chronological order. It looks like I grown a lot through out the years. As the world unravels to us as we get older, we become more skeptical and less trusting. What I once considered true was eventually contested and reassessed, resulting in my own personal opinion on these issues and "facts". It's pretty scary, because I only have a mere 26 years of experience under my belt.

What else could be out there? At this point in my adulthood, will the world continue to unravel itself like a ball of yarn? How will my opinions change as I get older? The future is so uncertain. We like to feel like we're in control as humans. It's one of the things that keep us sane. But will what I consider true now eventually be proven false? It's disheartening sometime when you find out that something you held as truth is exposed for what it really is. But at the same time there is room for growth.

As I read through this new book, I'm adding to my bag of tricks. As certain absolutes in my life are proven either true or false, I will at least have several perspectives to take into account that will lessen the blow. Honestly, I don't mind that at all.

Two sexy bitches:

She always does.

Add another one to the list.

Where you at?

Dirty Laundry List

I not what most would consider "cool". I was never really cool, nor was I ever really popular. Sure, during my senior year of high school I was one of the most recognizable faces among people my age in my town, but as I've said before, high school superlatives are meaningless. Even in my short and fleeting stint as someone slightly "popular", I was still really awkward. I couldn't dress, I wasn't very funny, and I didn't do anything worthwhile. Wait. I'm still really awkward, I still can't dress, and I don't do anything worthwhile. Well, shit.

When I'm sober, I'm not really funny. Like, at all. And when I'm drunk, I'm really obnoxious and annoying to anyone not drunk. I grew up really wanting to "just be down". I was an attention whore. I made jokes when I know no one else would to emphasize my humor. When I get drunk, that part of me comes out. I come off to some as someone that is uninhibited and spontaneous. It's a facade. I'm full of shit.

I was never really good looking. Even when I was skinny. And when I say "when I was skinny", I really mean "when I wasn't as fat". I tried to make up for my aesthetic shortcomings by doing all the attention-whore-ish stuff mentioned above. I look at my wife and wonder what kind of mind control I used to make her stay with me.

I'm not as intelligent as I think I am. I know a little about a lot of things, but I don't know enough about anything to make a difference in my life.

Although my parents would never admit it, I know they're disappointed in how my life has turned out. I'm sure they love my son to death, there's no denying that. But I know I had the "most likely to succeed" label between of my sisters and I since I was 7 years old. Anything short of greatness was unexpected. And I've fallen short. Real short.

"Where is R. Kelly when you need him?" - Bill Maher on HBO's "Real Time with Bill Maher", regarding Prussian Blue, a tween-aged musical duo who apparently have no connection to the outside world other than the teachings of their racist parents.

Your mission, should you choose to accept it....


I'm getting bored with my blog. So I've decided to seek the help of all you fantastic people.

Send me a picture of yourself holding a piece of paper telling me how you REALLY feel. It can say anything. "Fuck You Joe", "Bastitch Sucks", "My Balls Itch", anything.

You can host it yourself (tinypic.com or putfile.com rock for stuff like this) or you can send me the actual images at bastitch@niketalk.com

Either way, you'll end up on my blog for all to see.

It's your chance America.


By the way, if you're worried that people will see the picture, don't worry. No one reads my blog anyway.

http://bastitch.blogspot.com

Now that I think about it, this is pretty lame and attention whore-ish. Oh well, fuck it. Let's run with it.

At 5:04 on October 17th, 1989 I was leaning over getting ready to press record on the black family 13-channel VCR to record the 3rd game of the World Series. The VCR sat perched on top of our early 80's wooden Zenith television. You know, the kind that in the mid 90's served as the tv stand for your friend's new television? Well, yeah. It was odd because first the quake hit and I saw it on tv before I felt it myself. The reception got blurry and I let out a disappointed "uhh, what?" before the floor started shaking.

I hit up the nearest doorway as per cutomary Bay Area earthquake training at school and the few public service announcements during daytime television. My sisters got under the coffee table, have scared and half amused. After it was over, my sisters and I started laughing the way you laugh after getting off a roller coaster that scared the shit out of you. The fun was shortlived because my dad, who took the day off from work and the hour and half commute that he and my mom drove every workday, brought us all down to earth quickly reminding us that my mom was in rush hour traffic and we didn't know whether or not she was safe.



We stayed close to the television as the stream of news started coming in. Part of the Bay Bridge fell. The 880 Cypress Structure collapsed. The San Francisco Marina district was on fire. The entire Bay Area came to a complete halt. It wasn't until later that I understood the scope of the entire situation.

It turned out that my mom was indeed on the Oakland side of the Bay Bridge going East, only half a mile from the portion that collapsed. We didn't hear from her until later that night. I remember because it was already dark and we still didn't hear a thing. Phonelines were busier than ever with people trying to get a hold of their loved ones. I really didn't show my concern initially like my younger sister, who looked noticeably worried. She was only 6 back then. But when she finally did call, I was more than relieved.

My neighbors across the street weren't as lucky as we were. The father was one of the many that were crushed in the collapse of the Cypress structure, leaving two young children and a wife behind. It wasn't until days later that the mother was called to identify the body.

It was one of those things that I never want to experience again. Just all the uncertainty and fear drove me crazy. Anybody remember the episode of Full House when Stephanie was having problems with her dad going to work after the earthquake? Well, I saw that episode a couple months ago and it brought me all back to when I was 10, not really sure how to process everything that just had happened. It wasn't like now, where the people you love all have cell phones or the Internet and are just a press of a button away. We really had no clue what was going on.



It's been 16 years and the Bay Area has been spared from a major natural disaster since. But I have to admit that it wasn't until this 16th anniversary of the Loma Prieta that the tsunami in Southeast Asia and the recent hurricanes in the South became very "real" to me. I kind of separated myself from the events and my emotions were detatched. It was like a television show that was constantly on every news channel. You get a constant dose of something and you start to become tolerant, you know?

One odd byproduct of the Loma Prieta earthquake was the term "earthquake weather". Before October 17th, the weather was still relatively Summer-like. Typical California weather with fog during the early morning, only to burn away from the relentless power sun. But that day, it was an unusually cloudy and humid day. What could have been chalked up to mere coincidence or seen as an unrelated anomaly has become a way to kind of reflect back on that time.

There were a few moments this past baseball season that I'll never forget. I really have to publicly thank my boy Albert, who was kind enough to take me along to a handful of games with his second season ticket. For that, I am etenally thankful. I went to more games this season then I ever have. For that, you get my Matt Cain "Gamer" award.

The seats are awesome. Section 138, row 21, seats 3 and 4. The bleachers of SBC Park are a throwback to a different time in San Francisco Giants history. They're filled with many of the great fans that were scattered around Candlestick Park, the stadium that served as the Giants' home before PacBell/SBC was built. Now that many of the "good" seats are taken by corporate types and season ticket holders. I'm not complaining about those fans what so ever. They are one of the main reasons this beautiful ballpark even exists. But the people in the left field bleachers are definitely a unique breed and are more "my people" than the fans in other sections. Definitely hardcore fans.

There was a surreal moment on September 15, the first game in a series against the hated Los Angeles Dodgers. The Giants were down by a few runs and were threatening. On came on "Next Episode", Barry Bonds' music as he is announed to come up to bat. Everybody in the park stood up in anticipation. As the beat hits, everybody in the bleachers has their hands in the air and in unison are bouncing to the beat as Nate Dogg sings "Nah, nah, nah, nah, nah..". The anticipation and energy level is so high throughout the park.

During the at bat, Bonds yanks one down the line, well over the stands for what we think is a homerun. The crowd is going nuts and I'm jumping up and down yelling. It slowly quiets down and the cheers turn into a chorus of boos. It was ruled a foulball. I was so disappointed. The Giants went on to lose the game by 6, and it was all for naught.

But I'll be damn if it wasn't worth it. That's the beauty of being a fan of baseball and sports. You are on a mountain one second and be jerked to the bottom floor in half the time. We always have our disappointments, but unless you're a Yankees fan, that will make up for the majority of our time as a sports fan. It is seriously fun and recreation. It's hard to explain to anybody that isn't really a big fan. We ride through a rollercoaster of win and loses, high moments and low moments, but through it all we're honestly enjoying ourselves.

It's great being a fan.

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.