Before women's fashions began to feature exposed navels, I had no idea how many gals had unattractive midriffs.

--Thomas Sowell

I can see where he is coming from; I've been going back to the Diamond Bar gym since my visit to Shangri Lai, land of the beautiful people over in La Verne, and I have to say that there are some women who really need to rethink their wardrobe options. When your stomach is resembling a third breast, do you really want to wear a spandex shirt that lets it all hang out? Do you really want to be confused with the prostitute in that movie Total Recall? I really don't think so.

I went to see Fahrenheit 9/11 this Friday with my quasi-liberal friends Mr. T and Chow, who both appeared to really enjoy it. I, on the other hand, thought it was full of crap. Michael Moore seems to think just throwing out allegations of Bush being a traitor and a liar is proof enough...no need to find any actual evidence. In fact, the documentary, if you really can call it that, was rather scatter-brained and seemed to contradict itself in several spots. If you've looked at some of the reviews, you'd have heard them. Such as, if Bush is in the control of the Saudis, how come he invaded Iraq and Afghanistan against their strong, public objections? Or why would he say that we shouldn't have gone into Afghanistan then then follow it by saying we didn't bring enough troops? He states that all of the Taliban got away, but in his opinion, they weren't dangerous anyways so why is that important? The only thing you can really take away from this movie is that Moore thinks Bush is the devil. Or a Nazi secretly plotting to take away all our rights. Or a moron who needs to be told what to do at all times or he's helpless. Well, whenever he decides, maybe he'll make another movie.

Saturday was the day of the big hike. There were many of us, about 10 or so who all went hiking. I ended up going with Joan, a friend from high school. To be honest, we weren't really friends, more like acquaintances. We've seen each other more often now due to other other people, so it wasn't weird or anything. She's a smart girl; got her Phd. in English and is teaching right now at Whittier. Anyways, we met up with Jack, Chow, Marlon, Fong, Paul, Vicky, Jerry, and some of Jerry's friends. When we got to our hiking location, the road turned out to be closed for repairs. Luckily, they had a second option, although it wasn't as strenious as I would have liked. We're trying to get ready for hiking the Half-Dome in Yosemite this summer and this hike isn't the best training in the world. It was seven miles, but most of it was flat. The one bonus of that is we could all have a conversation about various things. Joan and I debated whether or not Angel was worthy of a spin off of Buffy the Vampire Slayer; I conceded that the first season was a little formulaic but I won the point of the show picking up momentum and creating a mythos of it's own as the seasons progressed. Yeah, quite the thinker, aren't I? Well, it's more fun than discussing whether a progressive tax system is inherently wrong, isn't it?

When we reached the halfway point, we were greeted with the wafting smell of sewage. It turns out that the end of this trail ends at a damn of sorts with some of the funkiest smelling water I've smelled since Venice. This didn't stop two of Jerry's friends from deciding to walk right through it. Their stupidity should have tipped us off, but when they proposed climbing up this makeshift path along the concrete edge, we ended up going along with it. Obi Wan once said,"Who's the bigger fool? The fool, or the one who follows him?" I'm going to have to go with us, as we followed them all the way past the damn over tricky ledges and through prickly bushes only to find a bigger hill to climb. This one turned out to be chock full of lose gravel and rocks, which Jerry managed to start rolling down the hill as though he was Donkey Kong. Vicky and Fong got smacked with several rocks; Vicky took a football sized one right in the chest. This only got them pelted with insensitive comments like,"If you can dodge a rock, you can dodge a ball!" Well, o.k., most of the comments came from me, but hey, I'm a jerk. I can't help myself. We ended up having to climb back down the way we came all the while cursing those two buffoons we followed up. Well, not all of us had to climb back down--Jerry managed to make it all the way to the top and find the trail. All it cost him was a bunch of scratches and his hundred dollar Oakley sunglasses. Yeah...that was worth it.

My uncle Jimmy passed away this Monday. He was my grandmother's older brother and he was a big FDR liberal; the kind that aren't around anymore. I really liked the guy; he was the first adult I ever had a real political debate with. I was 12...and I won many of my points. That's not really a compliment to my intelligence, not that I want you to think he was stupid. He wasn't; he was...simple, I guess. I mean, he knew what he wanted in life and he made up his mind long ago on issues. He wasn't one to change his opinions. Either way, he was also the first man to show me how to use a gun and the first man to show me how to hunt. I bagged my first and only wabbit with a 22 rifle...I can't say I really enjoyed killing an animal, but I did learn first hand about the circle of life. He carved that sucker up and we had rabbit jerky the next day. Well, he lived a full life into his seventies so it's not as though he was cheated out of years, but I have to say that I will miss him and I'm regretful that I didn't visit him more often in his final years.

"It's sad they would put a price tag on the animals," said Kathy Riordan, a member of the Los Angeles Animal Services Commission and daughter of Schwarzenegger advisor and former Mayor Richard Riordan.

--In reference to cost cutting measures by repealing the 6 day stay on killing stray animals.

What the hell is this woman smoking? No, really...being dogs cost upwards of thousands of dollars for pure breeds, does she think pet stores are sad and cruel as well? Last time I checked, dogs and cats weren't self sufficient.

I went to a new L.A. Fitness the other night to change things up with my workout. I ended up driving to La Verne which took about 5 minutes longer then the one I go to...apparently there is also one 5 minutes in the other direction. L.A. Fitness has more franchises than Jack in the Box. When I entered, I felt like I just walked into a Bally's Gym commercial. Nothing but beautiful people; gorgeous, slim women and muscular, raging hulks wandering about doing their routines. it was a little disconcerting really; I'm used to seeing the fat housewives trying not to break a sweat that would ruin their make up and the fat old men who do 2 reps per machine. Not at this one...they could take Global Gym's slogan from Dodgeball,"We're better than you, and we know it!" I have to say, the gym was much cleaner and had some better equipment than the one I usually go to. If I can get over feeling out of place surrounded by all the models and action heroes working here, I think this one might be my regular stop. The eye candy is much nicer.

I went to an Angel game this Wednesday with Moody and Newjen; we bought a 20 game pack before the season started so we're commited to seeing a whole bunch of games this year. They were playing their arch-nemesis the A's, so it was an important game for control of their division. Due to that Son of a Newjen, the biggest jinx there ever was, the Angels preceded to lay an egg and get whupped on 7-1. If Newjen puts out another guarantee in my presence, I swear to Bob I'm gonna lay him out. We decided that we'd seen enough and since Moody was heading out on Friday on a 2 week cruise to northern Europe, we decided to go see Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. Well, I should say, Moody and I decided that and set about persuading Newjen to go along. He didn't want to see it as he's never read any of the books nor even seen the first two movies. Well, after he screwed the Angels with his reverse Midas touch, we figured he could suck it up. It's not like he understands half the movies he sees anyways; walking out of a theatre with him you get barraged with 20 questions...sometimes I wonder if he even actually watches these movies. Maybe he takes a nap or something. On the way out, these two older women were...for lack of a better word, leering at us. This has to be the first time I've ever been stared at like that by a woman and it was...well, actually, it felt pretty good. I don't know what women are complaining about. This is a perfect example of the differences between men and women. Either way, after we got past them, Moody was so shocked that while talking about the incident he made up a word.

"Those chicks were bold! I was staring at her to see who would blink first...and I blunk."

He blunk...blunk indeed.

We watched Harry Potter that night and I have to say I think it was misnamed. It should have been Hermoine Granger and the Prisoner of Azkaban. Harry is little more than a sidekick to one of this best friends in this effort to go all women's power on the audience. I like the character of Hermoine as much as anybody; she's a much more complicated and fleshed out female character than you normally get in books, but this movie took it to the extreme. if I wanna watch empowered chicks, I'll wait for Charlie's Angels 3...I better not hold my breath, though. I'm pretty sure that last one was a big bomb.

Since I haven't written a word about this past weekend, I figure I should mention before the next weekend is already over. Saturday night was Jack's big scheme; this girl Julie that he's got the hots for was celebrating her birthday, so Jack decided to set up this VIP room at the Highlands club to impress her. He was trying to get all the usual suspects together to go to this thing, but nobody was all that motivated as it seemed like it was going to be quite pricey. VIP rooms aren't like getting a room at the Motel 6. In fact, it might have been cheaper if he just propositioned Julie and got a room at the Motel 6. Ahhh...the foolishness of Jack is quite incredible...then again, this is year 10 of college for him and he still hasn't even gotten his Batchelor's degree. I was supposed to go to this club with Moody, Brian and probably TG as he was in town from Michigan for the weekend. Of course, reality set in. Depending on Moody not to flake is like expecting Jack to pass a college course.

I sat around waiting for Moody to show until about 8 that evening, then finally decided to track his ass down. I left several messages and finally resorted to calling B who informed me that Moody had "left" is phone at home and didn't have it on him. Also, he wasn't planning on going to the club now and conveniently forgot to call me. Stupid bastard. Anyways, not to be completely deterred, I found Mr. Chow instead and headed out with him and our other friend Paul. Because we didn't get moving until almost 10, we ended up in the crazy Saturday night traffic and didn't arrive to the club until around midnight. Once we got to the front, it was packed with all the usual miscreants and hustlers trying to get in. Theoretically, we were supposed to be on the guest list, but it didn't turn out to be the case. After several calls to Jack or Winston inside, Jack finally told us he found the lady that let him in and she would be coming out to take care of us. It turns out, depending on Jack is equivalent to depending on Moody as the lady denied any knowledge of Jack or of letting us in when we finally saw her. That was the last straw for Mr. Chow and we bounced. I'd say I blame Moody for being late, but it's probably a good thing as the club did turn out to be ridiculously expensive...I can't complain about saving some money on a club that I was only marginally interested in going to.

Sunday was a day of pain and suffering. I decided I need to go to the gym despite the fact that I had a league basketball game to play in later in the afternoon. Our team ended up being short of players as we only had one sub. We ended up running against one of those little asian teams who all shoot lights out and, much like the Energizer bunny, keep going and going...Most of my team is big, slow and out of shape, so you can imagine the unmitigated disaster that occurred by the second half of the game. We did only lose by ten, but it was much worse than it ended up. I also managed to take a terrible fall trying to block a shot on a break away. After I bounced off two players, I hit the ground belly up on my elbows. Hell, they're still swollen and bruised as of today. That is the lesson of the day; never try too hard.

I had quite an entertaining weekend, but let's start with Thursday night. I met up with Marlon, Fong, Jack and Carol to attend a party at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, or LACMA. They were opening two new exhibits and to celebrate, they were having drinks and music, including a DJ. DJ Diabetic, to be exact. Marlon wanted to eat twinkees in front of his set to mess with his mind. Marlon just wouldn't accept that he probably wasn't diabetic; then again, he probably thinks Dr. Dre is a pediatrician. I'm sure Dr. Dre considers himself a gynecologist...but I digress. We had dinner that night beforehand and tried to show up fashionably late, but ended up in a huge line instead. So much for RSVPing; the line for those on the list was as long as the rest of the rabble showing up on a whim. On the way to the line, we witnessed this really bizarre act out front. There was what appeared to be an asian woman dressed in white spandex with a huge blonde wig singing some weird disembodied vocals which seemed to have nothing to do with her background dance music. We all wanted to stop and see where she was going with this, except for Jack. He seemed rather frightened by her act; of course, I'm not even sure it was totally a she. But hey, what with the lack of facial hair and delicate features, it's often hard to tell asian men from women anyways. Either way, I teased Jack all the way to the line that he wanted us to leave this independent performer because it was, in fact, his mother moonlighting and trying to jump start a singing career and he didn't want us to see her. He wasn't amused, but everyone else was. It really did kind of look like his mother...

After waiting around in line for a while and witnessing a street performer who bore a striking resemblance to the singer from Jamiroquai(Hey, have you seen him anywhere lately? I'm not ruling it out)we finally made it into the museum and were met with a huge crowd of trendy looking people hanging out and drinking...well, it was the liveliest I've ever seen a museum, anyways. We ended up getting a couple of drinks; or I should say Jack and Marlon had a couple of drinks. They managed to get nice and drunk. I'm always entertained by Marlon when he's drunk as he ignores that little voice in the back of his head that regulates his speech and just says what's on his mind; let's just say what's on his mind would get him beat up on a daily basis. our first choice on the evening was to go into the exhibit titled Geometry: Art from the 40s-70s.

When modern art gets brought up, I usually go on a rant about what a bunch of useless crap it is. Lo and behold! This Geometry exhibit is a perfect illustration of what I'm talking about. This is the usual art deco garbage that's all about perceptions and lines as opposed to skill or beauty. I like to think of art as made up of two parts, skill and innovation. While you can get by completely on skill, your work generally seems derivative and somewhat boring. Most of the great artists were able to do things that were inventive and original with their incredible skills; this is generally what separates the wheat from the chaff. If you go in the other direction, you have modern art. The concept of total originality is what powers modern art today. If you take a look at any of this junk, you can tell that your kid brother probably has about as much skill. The historian Paul Johnson compared pop art with the fashion industry and I think that's a perfect analogy; both are quickly outdated and have to be updated every "season" which perpetuates the industry as a whole. You won't ever not have customers if what you made last year is suddenly "out." Let me just bring up a couple of pieces of shi...er...art. My personal favorite was a steel box painted black titled, "Black Box." I'm sure there are layers upon layers of complexity with this piece that I can't ever fathom, but I suspect it's actually just a black box. Another winner was a piece of tape ran along a wall with blue crayon surrounding it with random numbers written upon it. How this qualifies as art when done by an adult but as rampant vandalism when done by a child, I dunno...age discrimination I suppose. Either way, if this qualifies as high art, my little brother Jackson is a genius. Look out Da Vinci!

The next exhibit actually consisted of art. Titled "Inventing Race: Casta Painting and Eighteenth Century Mexico," it was made up of paintings that used to decorate the walls of the upper crust of Spanish artistocracy in the new world. It seems that with the influx of black slaves and a mix of the native population, they were having a really hard time classifying all the different racial categories. The Spaniards thought of themselves as superior to the cultures around them, no surprise really, since they dominated so easily with better technology. The way they separated the cultures, however was based on the color of the skin. Casta refers to caste, or your ranking in society. It was quite popular with the Indian culture, but it hardly was confined there. They would come up with different classifications of race due to the combinations of Spaniards and indians, Spaniards and blacks, blacks and indians, etc...From that they came up with various new ways to title them such as mulatto, mestizo, you know the drill. An interesting new category was "Held up in the air" to define someone you couldn't tell what the hell their race was. Although the art wasn't anything special, it's an interesting glimpse into the minds of the people of 300 years ago. Eh...what do you expect from the Spaniards, anyhow?

On a side note, there was this really funny story I heard on Sirius radio this morning that I just had to share. It was regarding this actress who was doing a rather racy show where it begins with her and her husband having sex. She was doing the part completely nude even though it wasn't necessary; must be a method actress. Anyways, at the end of the encounter, she's supposed to sit on her husband's back as they continue the scene. Unbeknownst to her(how often do you get to use that word in a sentence?), he had a bad back and had completely covered his back with Bengay. For those of you not familiar with the cream, it is a muscle pain reliever which eventually numbs the muscle and relaxes it. Bengay also burns like hell on a normal part of the body, so you can imagine her surprise when her private area came into contact with it...I bet all of New York heard that scream. All I can say is, ouch.

So, the Laker empire is no more. The king is dead, long live the king! Of course, if the king is Chauncey Billups, stop the ride, I wanna get off. The fact that the finals mvp award went to a man named after a butler is not going to be forgotten too soon. He has to be one of the worst MVPs I can remember; the guy has been on 5 teams because of his inability to pass...this is usually a problem when you're a point guard. You know, since your job is to PASS THE BALL! It really shouldn't come as a surprise, because he did get to play the Lakers who have been making superstars out of mediocre point guards for the past couple of years. Do you really think Mike Bibby is that good? Of course, when either Gary "if the glove don't fit, you better quit" Payton and Derek Fisher are the defensive specialists covering you...well, that must be like Christmas for any decent player with a first step. I'm having a hard time seeing the Pistons doing this again, but we'll see. They work really well as a team, but they don't have a bonafide superstar who can take over when they need it. If anything, their superstar is their defense, but I'm sure with a summer off teams will figure out how to deal.

Now that basketball is done with, I get to concentrate on my baseball team the Angels. It turns out, the Angels pitching just plain stinks. I had a feeling this was going to happen, but I was hoping for them to just be able to score enough runs until their bullpen takes over. Unfortunately, they're dropping like flies from injuries which means their offense can't quite make up for their poor ass pitching...well, I'll just have to wait. It is a long season, after all.

This week so far has been fairly uneventful; Newjen and some other folks came over yesterday and we grilled up some chicken and burgers. I was doing my best to ruin my eating habits what with the hotdogs as well. Luckily, I can still fit into my pants this morning, so all is well. Newjen is quite the cook when a grill is involved; in fact, I'd rather have him in charge than Chris, the expensively schooled chef friend of mine.

I'd like to make mention of a sad event that occurred this week. Ralph Wiley, a sports writer for Sports Illustrated passed away from a sudden heart attack. I hate SI, but he was also one of the founding writers of the columns on Page 2 on ESPN.com. This is one of the more fun sections of the website as it has columnists who write opinion pieces on various events, not always sports related. Since about a year ago, however, there have only been 2 regular contributors which were actually worth reading and he was one of them. He had just started to write point-counterpoint pieces with the other good writer on the site, Bill Simmons or the Sports Guy, and had breathed new life into the genre. He was very opinionated and had years of knowledge and expertise in almost all sports; those two combinations made his pieces readable. His sense of humor and personality made it a must read. I, and many other sports fans, will miss his columns.

To Sleep

O soft embalmer of the still midnight,
Shutting, with careful fingers and benign,
Our gloom-pleas'd eyes, embower'd from the light,
Enshaded in forgetfulness divine:
O soothest Sleep! if so it please thee, close
In midst of this thine hymn my willing eyes,
Or wait the "Amen," ere thy poppy throws
Around my bed its lulling charities.
Then save me, or the passed day will shine
Upon my pillow, breeding many woes,--
Save me from curious Conscience, that still lords
Its strength for darkness, burrowing like a mole;
Turn the key deftly in the oiled wards,
And seal the hushed Casket of my Soul.

--John Keats

Well, some people say when I get into a sleep it's as though I'm dead. They call it the "Mummy's Curse"; I can't be awakened by anything short of actual physical pain and even then it's a toss up. I really wish I could get into that mode more often as I didn't get a whole lot of sleep this weekend. Friday night was quite fun, but I sure as hell regretted it the next day.

Because of President Bush shutting down the government in honor of Reagan's departure from this Earth, my workplace shut down nice and early. I was outta there by 1:30, so after sitting in some terrible traffic, I still managed to get home by 2:30. The plan was to meet up with Newjen and Moodsquad and head on over to Angel Stadium of Anaheim(that's the new title; I just got used to calling it Edison Field and they went ahead and changed it again)and have a nice tailgating session before the game. Newjen brought his cool little portable grill and we went and picked up a whole bunch of food and drink. Once we picked up Moody and got into the stadium parking lot, we wasted no time with the drink. Because you're not supposed to drink alcoholic beverages, we brought some cups in order to pour our alcohol into...sort of like a wino, I guess. Even with that, I almost got caught by a cop driving around looking for people drinking...you know, as opposed to actually patrolling Santa Ana and actually helping people. Due to my suave and skillful manuevering of popping open a beer right in front of his face, he decided I was too stupid to give a ticket to just yet so just told us that it was against the law and if he saw anything public, he'd have to do something about it. We managed to stay out of trouble for the rest of the time there while getting riotously drunk. Let me just say that a Rockstar energy drink with some Jack Daniels is a good way to ensure a bad morning. We were having such a good time we forgot to go into the game on time. Once we did get in, we somehow ended up messing with these two 10 year old kids in front of us...they were wearing Cubs hats so we had to mock them for a while. They took a liking to Moody so they started telling us all about their season in Little League...I'm gonna have to start calling Moody Michael Jackson pretty soon. The kids almost followed us out to our car by the end of the game. I was planning on going hiking the next day at 6:30 in the morning, so in my drunken wisdom I decided to stay up until about 2 in the morning hanging out with friends.

Liquor before beer, never fear. Beer before liquor you've never been sicker. Guess which one I chose? Since I spent part of the next morning praying to the porcelain gods, that would be the latter. I somehow managed to get moving on time and met up with the folks I was going hiking with at around 6:50. I was a little late, but so was everyone else, plus I had to pick up my friend Jack. He's even more idiotic; he got talked into coming over to my place the night before even though he was going to get a good night's sleep, but once he was there he didn't go home until 5:30. He pretty much decided to go hiking on no sleep whatsoever. The group consisted of Ben, his buddy Simon, Jack the lego maniac, Joan and her friends Christine and...it's pronounced Hen Vu. I don't know how to spell that, but I do know she was called Chicken Vu back in high school...damn that's funny, I wish I had thought of it. "But you're not a man, you're a chicken boo!" It actually turned out to be a fairly easy hike; about 6 miles or so without too much of an incline...I still managed to tweak my ankle and burn the hell out of my arms. My mind wasn't functioning completely that morning, so I guess I forgot the sunblock for the arms...now I have two red sleeves. We spent most of the day talking about movies and vacations; Joan asked what my favorite teenager movie of the 80's was and I really couldn't focus so I said Sixteen Candles. I should have said Better Off Dead with John Cusack; it doesn't get any better than skiing advice like,"Go that way really fast...if something gets in your way...turn." We somehow had a huge conversation about Robotech which involved the girls trying to sing a Minmei song...try is probably the apt definition...or mangle. I'll be nice and stick with try. Her friend Christina did her best impression of Donkey from Shrek and somehow managed to creatively ask the same question over and over..."Are we there yet?" She was wearing this visor that she was horribly embarrassed by and repeatedly called "gay" yet she went on about how she wanted to buy one of those weird opaque visors that covers the entire face sort of like a steel welder's mask. You can see through it while you're wearing it but those outside can't see into it; it's all the rave right now with the asian population. I don't see how she'd rather look like Darth Vader than a member of a girl's softball team, but maybe it's an asian thing. Or maybe it's just a Christina thing. Before the hike was over, Joan managed to go off on a man hating rant which made me wonder if I'd stepped into the Vagina Monologues or something. It seems she just broke up with her boyfriend and is a big liberal, so of course she now hates all men. I love feminists; they're so much fun to be around!

Speaking of feminists, I somehow ended up at an Aimee Mann concert that night. I can honestly say I could have gone the rest of my life never attending an Aimee Mann concert, but sometimes fate intervenes. Mr. T had asked me to take his place as he was getting prepared to travel to Japan on a business trip; personally, I think he just realized he was about to see Aimee Mann and got the hell out while the getting was good. I went because at the time I had no other plans and I had managed to miss the last two concerts I was supposed to go see. She hardly made up for the Strokes or Franz Ferdinand, but at least it was a live performance. I hitched a ride with Chow and we headed on down to the House of Blues in Downtown Disney to meet up with Linh the Villian and Carol...and more interestingly Carol's date for evening. His name was Eddie...no wait, he introduced himself as Edward and he was a rather tall fellow for being an asian, thin and with a characteristic that disturbed me but I couldn't quite place. Chow pointed it out later; he had curly hair. How many asian guys do you know have curly hair? Either it was a perm or his genes have a more mysterious past I don't know. Either way, he was from Canada, eh, spent some years in Tawain and then settled here in Irvine. He was a nice enough person, although it seems Carol related to Linh later that she could do better. You gotta love the arrogance behind a statement like that; he was seemingly a successful decent looking guy. Then again, I'm sure all women are like that. Luckily, their standards drop a little more each year they're still available. I guess it's like depreciation; us guys only get more refined, successful and confident. I think someone should write a book Women are like cars, men are like houses...I guess we meet in the middle of expectations at some point. Oh yeah, back to the concert; well, if you like Aimee Mann, you'd like the concert. Me, I like that one song Save Me that was on the Magnolia soundtrack. Well, she did play that, and a whole lot of other songs that sounded exactly the same. Let's just say her range is equivalent to Brad Pitt's acting. From A-B. On a good day. By her third song in the encore, I was more then ready to get the hell out of there.

Afterwards, Chow and I ended up meeting with Mr. T for a drink and some fries at Tokyo Plaza. It's a hangout for the asian set with food and a book store that's open pretty much all night long. We had a nice bull session and wished Mr. T good luck on his trip to Japan. I keep trying to convince him to go to a kareoke bar just like in Lost in Translation, but he seemed unmoved so far. I guess we'll just have to see. By the time I got home, it was about 2 in the morning, which is too bad as I was supposed to stop by my other friend Jonathan's place as he was having a party. Being I hadn't slept in the past two days, I figured the last thing I needed was to be driving 30 miles away in the middle of the night. I've fallen asleep driving once before and it pretty much killed a sapling tree and scared me senseless. I've vowed since to not drive while I'm really tired.

Hehe...the Lakers lost today. I can't say as I'm surprised; Malone is literally playing on one leg and the rest of them just look tired. The East was bound to win a championship at some point and it might as well be this year. Even though I don't like either team, at least Ben Wallace will get a championship...I like him...and his hair.

I'll pass with the poetry today; not in a very poetic mood. This incident in the news with Jimmy Kimmel and his "insult" of Detroit has kind of gotten me a little upset. If you're unfamiliar with what happened, his joke was,"They're going to burn the city of Detroit down if the Pistons win, and it's not worth it." They took his show off the air and gave him all this grief for a statement that is absolute fact. Even when the Detroit Red Wings win a championship, the city goes bonkers and burns down at least 2 blocks...and that's a strictly white man's sport. Political correctness has gone bonkers in this country; here in California they decided to remove this tiny cross on our seal that's on top of a mission. You know, one of the defining characteristics of this state's inception. Apparently, actual historical fact was just too much for the ACLU to take, so they decided to threaten lawsuits against it. The spineless legislatures we have were frightened into removing under the explanation that they want to not "offend" anyone. This whole concept of a right to not be offended really pisses me off. The irony is that the people who are all in favor of free speech or the bastardization of it which is known as "expression" are the first people to demonize and try and outlaw things that offend them. Do as I say, not as I do. And if you disagree with me, I'll make sure you're run up on a hate crime.

SUNRISE ON THE HILLS

I stood upon the hills, when heaven's wide arch
Was glorious with the sun's returning march,
And woods were brightened, and soft gales
Went forth to kiss the sun-clad vales.
The clouds were far beneath me; bathed in light,
They gathered mid-way round the wooded height,
And, in their fading glory, shone
Like hosts in battle overthrown.
As many a pinnacle, with shifting glance.
Through the gray mist thrust up its shattered lance,
And rocking on the cliff was left
The dark pine blasted, bare, and cleft.
The veil of cloud was lifted, and below
Glowed the rich valley, and the river's flow
Was darkened by the forest's shade,
Or glistened in the white cascade;
Where upward, in the mellow blush of day,
The noisy bittern wheeled his spiral way.

I heard the distant waters dash,
I saw the current whirl and flash,
And richly, by the blue lake's silver beach,
The woods were bending with a silent reach.
Then o'er the vale, with gentle swell,
The music of the village bell
Came sweetly to the echo-giving hills;
And the wild horn, whose voice the woodland fills,
Was ringing to the merry shout,
That faint and far the glen sent out,
Where, answering to the sudden shot, thin smoke,
Through thick-leaved branches, from the dingle broke.

If thou art worn and hard beset
With sorrows, that thou wouldst forget,
If thou wouldst read a lesson, that will keep
Thy heart from fainting and thy soul from sleep,
Go to the woods and hills! No tears
Dim the sweet look that Nature wears.

--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Damn...ain't that the truth? I plan on going hiking this weekend on Saturday in the Santa Monica hills. O.K., it's not quite as nice as the sentiments echoed in this poem, but hell, I have quite an imagination. So did Longfellow, I'd venture. I used to kind of hate going out in the woods and dealing with nature; I have bad allergic reaction to all things natural. Dogs, cats, pollen, you name it. Since I've been exposing myself back out into nature on hikes and my vacations, however, I've started to see what people appreciate about it. Walking through a peaceful forest by yourself can make you forget about just about everything for a while; it's almost a zen like experience. It must be why people buy those stupid cds with sounds of the forest or beach on them.

THE CLOD AND THE PEBBLE


'Love seeketh not itself to please,
Nor for itself hath any care,
But for another gives its ease,
And builds a heaven in hell's despair.'

So sung a little clod of clay,
Trodden with the cattle's feet,
But a pebble of the brook
Warbled out these metres meet:

'Love seeketh only Self to please,
To bind another to its delight,
Joys in another's loss of ease,
And builds a hell in heaven's despite.'

--William Blake

I figured I nice little poem would improve my day. This one is a little depressing, really. Oh well...is it really possible now to argue against Kobe Bryant being the most exciting player in the NBA? I've been a big fan of his for a while despite my indifference and sometimes outright hatred for the Lakers, and did he put on a show last night or what? Putting in that 3 pointer to tie the game with 2 seconds left and then taking over in overtime was one of the most clutch performances I've ever seen; he's doing a good job putting his name in the same breath with Michael Jordan. Speaking of basketball, what is with the mock controversy about Larry Bird's comments? If you're not familiar, here's the quote.

"The one thing that always bothered me when I played in the NBA was I really got irritated when they put a white guy on me," Bird said. "I still don't understand why. A white guy would come out (and) I would always ask him: 'What, do you have a problem with your coach? Did you coach do this to you?' And he'd go, 'No,' and I'd say, 'Come on, you got a white guy coming out here to guard me; you got no chance.' ... For some reason, that always bothered me when I was playing against a white guy."

Race controversies aren't so much about the color of someone's skin but by what our prejudices deem to represent their respective cultures. A black guy like Bill Cosby was embraced by all of America because he was a whole lot like...well, America. His life and tastes seemed to be like that of others who happen to be white, so they were able to relate to him. Allen Iverson, on the other hand, represents a different culture than that of America, with his aggressive attitude and connections to thug or criminal elements. This would seem to be the main issue with the popularity with the NBA declining nowadays. The NBA seems to be showcasing players as opposed to the game as the NFL does, and when model citizen Michael Jordan was it's representative, all was good. Great even. Now that he's gone and we have tattoos, drug abuse and wife beating to take it's place. That stuff goes on in every sport with every race, but in the NBA it's much more prevalent because each player is more important than it's competition. This has always been it's appeal; it's a team sport yet individuals can truly take over a game and make a difference much more than any other. When you have people who actually seem alien to you leading the way in the sport like, oh...Rasheed Wallace, you have less of a connection to it as it's popularity is based on their personalities. I think the NBA's main problem is image at this point; the games are far harder played and with the influx of foreign players, the fundamentals are being reinforced even more. Back in the 80's, you had Magic Johnson and Larry Bird. They were the best of the best; Magic is a fun agreeable guy who looks like he'd be fun to hang out with...easy for anyone to connect with just like Bill Cosby. Larry Bird was very reticent and almost surly; he was as much a punk as Allen Iverson is today, but he had one thing going for him. He was the right color. He looked like most people do in America. The irony is that had you switched personalities with the two players, Magic wouldn't have been nearly as popular and Larry Legend would have probably been loved even more. Because Magic is black he's supposed to have a chip on his shoulder and be defensive, so when he's not, people begin to look past his color and see a fun guy who's a great player. Because Larry is white, people assume that he's pretty much like "us" and are amazed that he's able to compete at such a high level and are able to look past his bad attitude and arrogance. Because he's already been given the benefit of the doubt, what stays with you is his game. Too bad we can't all just look at people's "game" before coming to conclusions...but hey, that's how we're made.

There has been a lot said about Ronald Reagan this past couple of days, much more than I could ever express. Technically, he was before my time. As a child, I remember the contempt all my teachers had for our Idiot in the office and how endangered we were by the cowboy who wanted to push the button. I remember that the Berlin wall was permanent; the Soviet Union was indestructable and that we were going to just have to make peace with them. At least, that's what our teachers tried to get across to us whenever politics came up in those formative years. This was not what I heard when our president would give his speeches however. My father has always been interested in politics and I knew that he thought that Reagan was the best president in his lifetime, therefore he would never miss a speech or press conference. At the time, I wasn't really sure what was going on; I had more important things to worry about...such as my handball and kicksquare skills on the blacktop, whether my hairstyle or clothes was fitting in with my friends and of course, saving Zelda from the evil Gannon. My world consisted of a 20 mile radius for the most part, the real world might as well be a rumor. The first event I remember that truly had any meaning to me as far as world politics go was the collapse of the Soviet Union and the Berlin Wall coming down. This wasn't supposed to happen...well, ever. It was a permanent thing; like my parents or school, like the U.S. Constitution that I had vaguely read or the sun continuing to rise in the East. In history, you read about the rise and fall of empires and countries all the time, but you get no real sense of what actually happened. It's all in the past and therefore, in a way, was always MEANT to happen. To be in a time with world changing events is something I'm still not used to, but it's given me my current love for history. The Soviet Union's demise was one of those epic events that shifts the entire balance of power in the world itself. Does that mean it was always meant to happen? Once you begin to look into the actual events, hell, observe them as they occur, you begin to see that the future really can be decided by individuals with vision and determination. Who says that Hitler was destined to lose WWII? He was winning in Russia until he took command and ruined his once great armies. What if he had never done this? How close are we all to destruction and upheaval in this world? Probably a lot closer than we'll ever realize. I'm obviously rambling, but I do, in fact, have a point. The Soviet Union did indeed collapse from it's own weight of empty promises and illegitimate government based on fear and violence, but the reasons it occurred in 1989 as opposed to 2189 can be traced back to one man with the clarity and faith to do the right things in order to bring this about. This man died last Saturday. Someday, I hope, people will read those stuffy history books about how the United States, the beacon of freedom or a "shining city on a hill", triumphed over tyranny and true monstrous evil and not just think, "Well, I'm sure that's what was meant to happen."

Well...time to break the silence yet again. As I stated before, I was out of town for this past week, hence no update. Still, I was about to not update again in get into my lazy mode of ignoring this record. Oh well, at least I'm trying now. Nobody cares, but at least I'll remember what I was doing on June 7th 2004 someday. Sitting around in my underwear typing on the computer...that's too much info, isn't it?

So, white water rafting was a hella good time...as my friend Julie up north would say. Then I would ridicule her idiotic use of that stupid Berkeley slang "hella." It was a lot more intense than the Peruvian rafting trip and with far less protection. We did class IV which is just like class 4, only more classy looking. Hey, if it works for the NFL, why not here? We did pretty well too; only one chick fell out of the boat on the entire trip. That was Fong, which isn't unexpected; the girl weighs like 60 pounds or something. My Buddy dolls might be bigger...anyways, one incident was pretty amusing as it involved Vicky falling into a rapid. I know I said only one person fell out of a raft, but hear me out.

The raft in front of ours gets stuck on a huge rock right in the middle of a class III, so we had to pull off to the side and wait until they got unstuck. They managed to get moving again, so we pushed off and, surprise surprise, ran smack into that same rock as we had no room for manuevering...not that we were all that adept at it in the first place. So anyways, we try the high side manuever and end up just getting off the damn raft and huddling onto the big rock while our guide Andy maintains a tenuous grip on our raft. At this point, we can almost see the hamster in his little head start spinning trying to figure out what the hell he's supposed to do. Suddenly, we hear a splash and as we turn around, we see Vicky go rushing through the rapids. Apparently, Linh pushed her in...or "accidentally" shoved her in, whatever. That chick is dangerous. About this time, Chih Hao decides to take matters into his own hands and leaps onto the raft. This breaks our guides grip on it, which causes him to jump in after it. The rest of us distracted by Vicky bobbing down the river suddenly realize that we're standing on a rock in the middle of the rapids with no god damned raft. We weren't stuck up shit creek without a paddle...we didn't even have a damn boat! I did, however, have my paddle still. So you see, the lesson is...well, I guess it's to not get out of your raft when you're in a rapid. Vicky learned that the hard way. We were eventually rescued by one of the other boats as the rest of us were too chicken to jump in and swim out to our raft.

Once we got back through all the rapids, some affectionately named "Eat Rocks and Bleed" or "Surprise", Chih Hao and I were in for a rude awakening. We had our keys with our alarm clicker in this plastic bag that ended up leaking water. A Glad bag it wasn't...this led to a whole telephone adventure which involved me having to call up the original installers probably routed through India or some such nonsense for them to finally tell me that they installed this little button hidden behind everything which I can press to reset the alarm. Thanks for that tip off guys. It only took 2 hours of explaining...Chih Hao wasn't as lucky. His stupid alarm wouldn't reset so he couldn't start his car. Finally, Jerry, Vicky's boyfriend, got one of his friends to disable it. He's an "engineer" and knows about circuits and stuff...right...he just steals cars on the weekends for fun, I guess.

Well, this was what preceded my trip up to Oakland and on to Michigan...which didn't turn out to be as terrible as I thought. This, sadly, was because I spent minimal time with my family out there and mostly with my dad. We got to watch game 4 and 5 of the Stanly Cup finals, not to mention the movie Miracle, about the 1980 Olympic hockey team which beat those Commie bastards and inspired our country. Turned out to be an omen as we got Ronald Reagan as our president shortly after. We also checked out Shrek 2, the Butterfly Effect and Troy. I already mentioned Shrek, but I saw it again with my sister and she enjoyed it as well. The Butterfly Effect was actually a very clever movie involving time travel and, unfortunately, Ashton Kutcher. Still, he wasn't too terrible. Troy was a big, stupid spectacle that horribly miscast Helen of Troy. They couldn't have gotten a more boring chick to play her if they tried. The dialogue between her and Legolas...sorry, Paris was so terrible and laughable that it gave Star Wars II: Attack of the Clones a run for it's money. Luckily, the rest of the cast was actually quite good. Brian Cox is brilliant as always playing a really cool character named Agamemnon...well, actually he's a total prick, but he has a lot of fun doing it. Brad Pitt doesn't have to stretch too far as they've realized his acting range is from A to B, so he manages the killing machine Achilles quite nicely. One of my favorite was Sean Bean as I really liked him in all the Sharpe movies on A & E and he didn't disappoint as Odysseus. There were several things that bothered me about the themes of Troy, however. It seems that Wolfgang Peterson went out of his way to make a whole lot of anti religious statements. Of course, these people were pagans, but they were very superstitious...hell, Agamemnon sacrificed his daughter to appease the gods so his ships would get a favorable wind. Yet in this movie they were mocking the gods like it's fashionable to do nowadays about any christian "fool" who still believes in all that hocus pocus supernatural stuff. I guess it can't be helped, but still; atheists running around in Anatolia 3400 years ago?

My brother's graduation was mercifully short, which they also managed to mangle our last name when announcing him. It came out Castiolano...I think the teacher has been watching too much Sopranos...I wish I were in the mafia so I could have had someone break her kneecaps...the stupid bitch. She had him in her class; how the hell do you misprounce a student's name on his graduation? The head of the school system gave his quasi inspirational speech and in order to be more hip, he decided he'd use the Lion King as a learning model. Yeah, Disney's the Lion King. What a frickin' tool. I guess the lesson is to make sure your father is the king and get rid of any uncles hanging around...I met several of Alex's buddies who also graduated...boy, Michigan sure is a different place. I wouldn't fit in there.

The next day we got to go to the Henry Ford Museum, mostly because I pestered my mom into giving us a ride. It was definitely worth it...there was all types of exhibits from the usual planes, trains and automobiles as well as motorhomes, appliances and even mock hotel rooms from the past. I must admit I've never been a car buff, or even that interested in vehicles other than to get me where I'm going, but this museum had me fascinated for hours. I had no idea that with the original automobiles, gas, electric and steam were all challenging each other for dominance as the fuel for tomorrow. Turns out gas was the weakest link at first, but pulled ahead, just like VHS over betamax. Oh well, I'll have to wait a while for my steam powered car, I guess. I'll be cruisin' like Jules Verne.

There were several interesting exhibits at the Ford Museum, such as the secret service vehicle that JFK was shot in...as I stared at it I kept thinking, Back and to the left, back and to the left...god, that was a crappy movie. Also there was the rocking chair that Abraham Lincoln was sitting in to watch Our American Cousin as he took a bullet from John Wilkes Booth...both had been cleaned pretty well, no blood stains...darn it. Right next to it was a vial that supposedly contains the last breathe of Thomas Edison...what the hell was his son doing to get that? I can just imagine him standing there with the vial in one hand and a pillow in the other. "O.K. dad, that's your last god damned breath!" Come to think of it, that's a rather morbid collection, but still, they're definitely conversational pieces.

Once we finally got the hell out of Michigan...er, I mean, once we took off for the Left Coast again, I started to feel more comfortable, but still a little peeved that I had to miss a Franz Ferdinand concert. I mean, it's not like it's a once in a lifetime thing to see my brother graduate from high school...oh, you mean it is? Nevermind then. I listened to the book Catch me if you can which they based the movie on with Leonardo Di Caprio. It was a very good movie, but the book was even better. The real Frank Abignale, Jr. was one of the ballsiest con artists I've ever heard of. He pulled some shit that fiction writers would have called bullshit on. If you ever get a chance to pick up a copy, do it. I laughed my ass off and disturbed the guy next to me on the plane. Hell, I'd laugh my ass off to disturb the wacko next to me on any plane without the encouragement, but this book is seriously funny. If you can't be a real con artist, at least you can live vicariously through one of the most successful ones in history. Hell, he had stolen millions of dollars before he was 21; has to be the biggest thief since Olowikandi signed with the Timberwolves.

Once I got back to San Fran, I got to go and see a musical about Buddy Holly. It was pretty fun as the people involved were having a good time and they played their own instruments, so it was almost like a real concert, just like Franz Ferdinand. Except that it was Buddy Holly music. Yeah...I'm not bitter or anything. The drive home was horrible as usual as I can never stay awake on that drive. This might be because it's always around 2 a.m. when I end up home, but I blame the road. It must have sleeping agents in it somewhere, like a turkey. Hmmm...well, I better get to bed.