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.

Well...this day just crawls along at a snail's pace. Luckily, everybody is leaving early so we'll all have time to get ready and do nothing on Memorial day weekend. Actually, I'll be going white water rafting up in Kern county, then continue up to Oakland and fly out to see my brother's high school graduation. Not exactly a fitting tribute to all the men and women who have died and are currently fighting for this country's freedoms, but it'll have to do, I suppose. Not that anybody here in California celebrates the military in any way. We're so left-wing that the fire department in Berkeley was forbidden from flying an American flag from their engines just in case it provoked someone into violence. Provoked someone? The American flag? I guess this is proof that the communists in red just turned into the environmentalists in green and moved to Northern California. My friend JJ is out in Kentucky serving in the military right now and he always tells me that the love the Army in that state. I'm not surprised, as Kentucky is part of actual America or as the elites in California and New York refer to as "fly over country." These people, along with white male businessmen are the only groups you're allowed to make fun of in this country anymore. Heaven forbid you comment on someone's race, sex, height, weight, sexual orientation in any way that doesn't make them look like perfect, infalliable humans. That is the amusing part of these leftist's worldview; we don't make fun of anybody unless they disagree with us...then they're obviously evil and must be stopped by any means necessary. I'm sure that worked with the politburo, but luckily for us Americans, we made our government so inefficient that it can't get anything done.

I'm not looking forward to traveling out to Michigan to visit my mother, brother and sister. Not because I don't like them, but because Michigan just plain sucks. It's hot, muggy and full of mosquitoes. There's nothing to do except go to the movies or go bowling...if I lived there, I'm sure I'd have a different opinion, but as it stands, I have to deal with the crappy weather and indifferent siblings as well as my mom's...well, dysfunctional family. My grandfather is an alcoholic, but with good reason as his 40 year old son still lives in his basement and his 35 year old daughter lives with her deadbeat husband in one of his bedrooms upstairs complete with a cooler filled with beer to deaden the senses to their miserable lives. That isn't even the half of it really. My bum of an aunt who lives upstairs somehow managed to get evicted from her trailer home. How embarrassing is that? They don't even qualify as trailer trash anymore. Anyways, I'll have to visit these poor saps as well as my grandmother who is quite insane. I know I have to love them as I don't get to pick my family...but it doesn't mean I have to like or respect them. It's hard to do either once you get to know them. The one uncle I have that I do like on my mom's side of the family is an ex-alcoholic as well. The only thing he had going for him was the fact that he actually showed up to work. He's an ass and a serious racist, which made the fact that his youngest daughter ended up getting knocked up by a black man all the more ironic. Perhaps not ironic...more fitting, I suppose. Either way, he's calmed down a lot since then.

This is what I have to look forward to...dealing with people I don't like in a place I can't stand all to attend a graduation by a brother who never talks to me. At least I don't have to do this every year.

Well, it looks like the Lakers are going to win this Western Conference in 5 games...the Timberwolves looked lost yet again and completely overwhelmed. Too bad; I like Kevin Garnett. Seeing him floundering around yelling at nobody and missing bad shots, I can't help but think of that old line from Gauntlet,"Wizard needs food badly!" MVP needs composure badly!

Just to give you an example of how hard at work people are here at my office, Shaleah(you'd never guess from the name, but she's black)brought in this ass padding that she was wearing under her pants to give the illusion she had "back." This resulted in a whole lot of people smacking her on the butt and grabbing it...of course, only female employees as if any guy did that, it's a lawsuit waiting to happen. It seems since God deemed that Shaleah's breasts were so huge, she shouldn't have a butt...at least, that was her theory. Reo, a male employee here, wasn't a big fan. He thinks that it's false advertisement and that it gets you excited so that once you reach on in...you get disappointed. Obviously he's an ass man. The other girl in here with that same problem also tried on this ass padding. She was wiggling it around and stuff...even had someone take a picture. Say what you want about this company, it's never boring.

So, last night my friend the jinx managed to ensure that the Pacers would lose. Newjen guaranteed that they would win which was pretty much like taking a baseball bat to Jermaine O'Neal's knees. The "Newjen guarantee" is a very famous, or shall I say, infamous act of evil sorcery that this guy can pull. In every case when he's ever guaranteed anything...the exact opposite always happens. In sports, relationships, you name it, he's destroyed something by jinxing it. Anyways, he insists that it's not real and it's a coincidence...which Moody vehemently denies. It's only a coincidence if it happens once or twice, but a Newjen guarantee is as certain as the sun rising in the East. Sure enough, once he guaranteed a win, not only did they lose, they didn't cover the spread AND they went over for total game points...so pretty much, he was a complete loser. Thus the Newjen guarantee legend continues.

So, I sort of played hookey from work today and it almost backfired. Technically, I didn't skip out for no reason; my place was being fumigated as I mentioned and I had to be at my place from 12-4 to wait for the gas man to come and turn it back on. I love those vague time frames they give you...4 freakin' hours? Come on...even my friend Dave who usually takes an hour to tie his shoes can give me a better estimate of when he's showing up! You know that if you show up a little after 12, you'll get one of those notes on your door saying "We stopped by and you weren't there...you loser!" Of course, if you actually show up at 12, you'll generally have to wait until 4. It's almost like they have this satellite system that lets them know your every move so they can screw you over. Sorry, lost my train of thought. I didn't bother going in because even if I got in at 7:30, that's still barely 4 hours at most. I figured I might as well just hang out and take care of this crap that way I don't get screwed by getting stuck in traffic or something. Either way, all this shit happened in Ventura today which just so happens to be my responsibility; I really didn't get to avoid work at all today. I just had to do a bunch of it on the phone instead.

Once I got back to my place, I found that the guys doing the job had actually sealed up a couple more of my perishables in bags that I didn't bother doing because I was just going to throw them out. That was mighty kind of them...now I can just toss the bag out instead. The gas representative shows up around 1 which has to be a first; he also is a pretty funny guy. He lights my pilot light in my heater and then as he's checking the other connections, he starts telling me this funny story that happened to him the other day. This real estate lady smelled gas in one of the houses that she was selling, so she immediately called the gas company to come check it out. Since he happened to be just down the block, he took the call and showed up within 10 minutes. He starts knocking on the door...no answer...he walks around the back and starts shouting Gas Company!...no answer...he's getting a little frustrated so he decides to go back in the front when the real estate agent finally opens the door and tells him she didn't hear him at first. He's pretty impressed as she's wearing a nice outfit; all dressed to the 9s with a blouse and a skirt and heels...anyways, she is acting all proper and haughty, so she tells him she'll lead him to where she smelled the gas. Once she turns around, he has a nice view of her ass...it seems that when he was knocking, she took the time to use the bathroom and had to finish up really quickly to answer the door. Too quickly. She had tucked the back of her skirt right into her pantyhose, so he got quite the view. He laughed and let her in on what the problem was; she of course turned bright red and accused him of staring at her...well duh! That's like asking if the pope is catholic. Either way, that must have made his day.

I managed to go to the gym early today; this was nice as I've not been able to consistently go since I've been back from my vacation to Peru. I had a nice workout; back, chest and arms as well as a three mile run. I hopefully can get back into the swing of things as I noticed that I've actually gotten weaker. Oh well, at least the travel has made me lose weight again. I'm down to a level that I should be now; I probably weigh less than my dad now and he's 3 inches shorter than I am.

Damn...I'm a lazy ass. It's been half a year and I haven't posted a single thing...this in a time when I've been to Macchu Picchu and back. Oh well, I guess whining about it won't get anything written. I should just start up again and pretend that this little lapse(little in the grand scheme of things...think dinosaurs)won't happen again. Seems fair to me...how about you? You know, the imaginary readership I have.

So, this week my place has turned into a circus...it's being fumigated and it has a giant tent over it. This means, of course, that I had to find another place to stay. Normally I'd just stay at someone's place, but I didn't really feel like imposing on anybody this time so I just decided to rent a room at Motel 6. It's probably a waste of money, but hey, there are worse things I could be wasting my money on...like watching Van Helsing again. Of course, that would be wasting money and my brain...and might actually push me over sanity's edge. I've always wondered what a killing spree would be like. Anyways, since I'm hanging out in a crappy trucker's motel, I get to see all the weirdoes that check into places like this. I swear, I feel like I'm in an episode of Cops when I step outside. Luckily, nobody has tried to sell me crack just yet.

I spent most of yesterday after work watching t.v. and reading...which is generally what I do when I have to stay in a motel. It's almost like I'm on a business trip or vacation...even though I'm about 5 minutes from home. I got to watch the end of the Pacers/Pistons game; looks like Rasheed "Smokey" Wallace was bailed out by the basketball player known as Prince with his silly guarantee of a win. It's kind of sad, but Reggie Miller had the chance to make or break the game yet again as he did in the first one. You'd think an old man like Reggie wouldn't be put in such a position by this young, deep team, but apparently nobody is ready to step up. He somehow blew a lay-up to tie the game up at the end; well, actually it was just a good play by Tayshaun Prince. He flew out of nowhere to block this easy basket and sacrificed his already frail looking body into the stands. Of course, everytime I look at this guy, I think, "Wow...the Pistons gave up the chance to take Carmelo Anthony because THIS GUY is their future?" He doesn't suck, but, come on! 'Melo or Prince? They've been sharing Rasheed's pipe way too much or something. That's not fair...Rasheed didn't show up until the middle of the season, so really, they had no excuse other then stupidity.

I then wasted my time watching that great show Curb Your Enthusiasm...it's pretty much Seinfeld only the main character isn't likeable in the least. Plus they get to curse. Other then that, it's really damn hilarious. The first episode was a plot involving a surrogate mother who changed her mind due to the main character Larry David's spiel about how having a script is like a "baby" and giving it up is the hardest thing to do. This is only one section of the plot; it revolved around racism, the penis size of white and black men and the magazine selection at the doctor's office just to name a few. Classic stuff. The next episode even revolved around a College Girls Gone Wild video tape...really, how has nobody else used this plotline? It was way overdue.

After watching an episode of Monk, which is one of those entertaining shows that I make no effort to watch consistently...sort of like E.R., I decided to go get a bite to eat and read my current book, Shadow of the Hegemon. As I walked out, I realized there was a Denny's right next door, so I just walked there and had a Lumberjack's special and a coke. Damn...that was way too much food, to be honest. I couldn't even finish it...which must be a sign that I really have changed my horrible eating habits...or at least my stomach size. I'm almost all the way through this book and I look forward to buying the next one. It's a spinoff series of books based on a minor character from Ender's Game by Orson Scott Card; sci-fi crap...but this book plays more like a game of Risk with genius mastermind children. Yes, very realistic, as you can tell by the description, but also very entertaining. I'd recommend you read Ender's Game first; a sci-fi masterpiece if you ask me...even if you don't ask me. It's usually on the top book lists.

Well, I’ve taken a whole damn month off from actually posting an update which is quite sad. I guess I was discouraging myself from updating when I would launch into my rambling two page posts. I’ll just try and stick to the basics and update more regularly. Many things have happened since I’ve posted…I’ve done many signings with some strange ass people(I even did a signing for Jon Vogt…the dentist, I’m assuming) and attended the company 25th anniversary Christmas party which resulted in way too much amaretto and a big slab of fat with a little bit of beef inside. In keeping up with my newly formed love of the gym, I’ve switched to dead weights which has been a shock to the system. I’ve noticed some progress, so I suppose that’s good and healthy, but the endorphins is really what it’s all about. Oh yes, and I was almost in a huge car accident this past week. It happened that the truck in the left lane next to mine lost its tire and spun out missing my car by maybe a foot. Had I been a fraction of a second slower I would have probably been crushed into the divider. The fella behind me wasn’t so lucky, but he seemed to be o.k. as he slowed down a bit…he wasn’t tailgating or anything. Needless to say, I was as jumpy as a cat all day long. Near scrapes with death really force you to examine your life and show how close you really are to ceasing to exist on this plane of existence. Luckily, that dead weight of a feeling disappears after a while…I mean, how could you enjoy life with that hanging over your head all the time? Well, that’s enough for now, but I’m going to try and post tomorrow as well and stop being a lazy bastard.

"Studies show" is to the modern secular college graduate what "Scripture says" is to the religious fundamentalist.-Dennis Prager

As I’ve mentioned before, I like to listen to Dennis Prager in the morning, and today he had an interesting guest. This physicist who was also a religious man had written a book in which he demonstrated present knowledge of science does not disprove God and may even strengthen the case for a higher being. I’d read pretty much the same thing in Darwin’s Black Box, a very good book written by Michael Behe about the irreducible complexity of cell structures, but it was still interesting to listen to. I’ve often wondered why anyone would want to believe that we were just a cosmic freak occurrence; a one in 13 billion shot at achieving life. It seems that life would be little bit more depressing to such people. Then again, some people like to be depressed; victimhood seems to be all the rage these days. Either way, this scientist was very articulate and clear headed; he handled many questions from the audience and did a good job of making very complex issues understandable. Sometimes he’d descend into scripture; he made a very interesting point which Dennis himself has made, but may have done an even better job. He stated that the book of Genesis in the bible is not a “How to create a Universe for Dummies,” that it wasn’t giving us detailed information; rather it was a scathing indictment of the current state of religion at the time. Thousands of years ago, most religions consisted of worshipping nature as it was the most unpredictable and powerful influence on mankind. Humans attributed all types of mystical powers to inanimate objects such as trees or the sun. The book of Genesis states categorically that these are just things; creations by an all powerful supernatural being that exists outside of nature and is, in fact, the master of it. It can be argued that this argument was the first basis for mankind to actually be interested in discovering what makes the world tick as opposed to sacrificing goats to some sun god. Although religious dogma may have gone the to the opposite extremes in the dark ages, it still remains that this strange religion from the Jews is the first to think outside the box, or nature.

I had a signing today with a Mexican fellow who was studying to be a nurse. He was about average height, weight and looks…about as average as you can get. The only striking feature was his wispy mustache that didn’t quite want to grow completely in, sort of like the Mexican comedian Cantiflas. Talking with him, I could see that his eyes were the eyes of an exhausted man; I just assumed that he must have been studying and working, burning the candle at both ends. As our conversation continued, I realized I was only partially right. He was getting the house refinanced so he could take out money to pay to his recently ex-wife. His parting words were, “Never get married.” Hehe…like I haven’t heard that one from my dad before. I know it’s in fashion to blame the man for everything that goes wrong in a marriage, but as I see a lot of court cases, I have to say that the man usually gets the shaft regardless of whether he’s a bad guy or not. I’ve looked at hundreds of divorce cases and I can count on one hand the amount of custody cases that were in favor of the husband. I’ve heard the horror stories from the women’s point of view of the ex not paying, but I’ve heard just as many horror stories from the men of being kept from seeing their children. Hell, I’ve seen a messy divorce up close; my parents didn’t exactly split on good terms and I’ve seen how it becomes a game to turn the children into allies on one side or another. Being that the man’s side is already handicapped for being a guy, guess which side usually wins out? I can understand the advice, but it’s still not worth taking. You can’t live your life running scared from every shadow that may poke it’s head at you.

Since I haven’t gotten around to it, I must discuss the movie I watched this Saturday evening, Matrix Revolutions. I’d say don’t read this if you don’t want the movie spoiled, but I’m not sure I can spoil it more than the directors already have. To say I’m disappointed would probably be an understatement. Let me start off by saying that I wasn’t a huge fan of the first one; personally, I thought the philosophy was pretty simplistic and the themes have been explored by better writers like Philip K. Dick or even Heinlein. The fusion of a silly kung fu movie and a sci-fi story with more to it than fight the big boss and blow stuff up was what made it work. It was a smart action flick; it had real characters that were personable and extraordinary having exciting adventures that had a purpose and even questioned existence itself, if in a half-baked intellectual way. What made it even more engrossing was that it was the best type of sci-fi; a fantasy story set in this world maybe even down the street from your office building. This is why stories like Harry Potter work; you can imagine yourself joining along with the heroes. This is probably the main reason the sequels really don’t work.

In the first story, we have three main heroes and a villain. In the sequels, we have more characters than a Tom Clancy novel; in fact, I don’t think Neo was even in half of this most recent movie. Even worse, Morpheus, who was transformed into a quixotic Yoda by the second movie, could have stayed home in bed for this 3rd installment and we probably wouldn’t have missed him. They included these pointless scenes involving Neo being trapped between the Matrix and reality. Why? Where is it? How did he get there? Being the filmmakers felt no need to tell us, my only theory is that if they didn’t have to get him out, Morpheus would have been in the movie for about 10 minutes. At least it was 15 minutes we didn’t have to endure with boring characters from Zion. There’s a whole bunch of characters running around Zion that I certainly have nothing invested in and, quite wrongly, have me rooting for the robots to kill them and get them off the screen. When Neo was trying to rescue mankind from enslavement, I felt as though he was fighting for all of us; instead, all you see is him fighting for the ridiculously dull Ravers dressed like orphans who make up Zion. Not once in the sequels do you even see regular joe schmoe on the street; instead the Matrix seems to suddenly been taken over by all these programs with even less personality than the Zionists. Because I have ceased to care about anybody in the story, it’s a lot easier to point out all the plot holes and inconsistencies that would have been covered by a fun ride…and boy, are there a whole lot of problems.

I think the most galling thing about this was the fact that had Neo just walked through the door the architect wanted him to, everything would have ended pretty much exactly as it did. Trinity still died, the Matrix reset itself to keep enslaving the humans there, Zion was reduced to a crippled state and humans were still forced to live under the ground like rodents until the machines decided it was time to clean house again. I’m not sure if they were going for this irony…personally, I think they just wanted us to pay another 8.50. This may be the most frustrating thing about the movie; nothing actually gets accomplished…other than me shelling out a bunch of money to see some explosions and people walking around on the ceiling. I think I got the crap end of the stick on this one. I think they should have just gone campy with this movie and gotten it over with. If you’re going to have Neo and Agent Smith flying around in midair, why aren’t they throwing fireballs and mouthing inane Japanese phrases? If you’re going to have Neo’s character appear so stupid in not recognizing Agent Smith in another body for a good 5 minutes of dialogue, why not turn it into an Abbott and Castello “Who’s on First” routine? If you’re going to have Trinity deliver a 15 minutes soliloquy with 4 pipes sticking out of her chest, why not have Neo have to knock her out as she keeps shouting,”I’m not dead yet! I think I’m getting better!” Once the war was declared over and the Zionists in their caves were celebrating, why didn’t they bust out a D.J. and break into another impromptu rave dance? Seriously, there were many opportunities missed here. The only one who seems to have gotten the joke is Agent Smith, who camps up his part better than even Adam West could have done. Either way, I’m just going to pretend the Matrix was a very cool movie and the two sequels just didn’t happen. Kind of like Alien 3…or Godfather 3…or those Pokemon sequels. Seriously, did they really think they could match the perfection of Pokemon, the first movie?

Anyways, that’s enough about a bad movie. I had a signing this morning about 3 blocks away from work. It was right across the street from MOCA, or for those that don’t give a fig about art, the Museum of Contemporary Art. Actually, if you don’t give a fig about art, you might enjoy the place. I wouldn’t classify most of the crap in it as art. Thomas Edison referred to inventing as 1 percent inspiration, 99 percent perspiration. This is the problem with this modern fashion art. It’s all reversed; people do things for originality alone and to hell with any skill. In an invention, you need a skilled craftsman for something to work; lots of people thought it would be cool to be able to talk to their friends long distances but only one was able to actually get it to be feasible in the marketplace; Alexander Graham Bell. In this fashion art, it’s there to look pretty; practicability be damned! I’ll take the skilled craftsman any day over the hack who throws paint on a canvas and tells you it’s art. Oh, right, I was talking about my signing. The man cut a striking figure; he was taller than I am and seemed even more towering by the lanky, outstretched arms…sort of like those aliens in Close Encounters of the Third Kind. He had a huge ring in his ear that would have made him look piratical if not for the conventional, close cropped haircut that made it seem garish instead. Wow…I’m on a roll with my adjectives today. Hopefully, this will be an exemplar of things to come. Hehe…and I managed to get my word of the day into a sentence. 2-2! Anyways, he works for Phantom of the Opera as their special effects manager which seems like a very cool job. This is one of the best parts about my signing side gig; I get to meet people with unconventional jobs. Maybe not as cool as the guy who was the zookeeper at the Playboy Mansion I happened to visit that one glorious day, but it’s still pretty unique. It turns out he lives really close to where my Aunt up in Sacramento lives. Either way, it was a nice, calm, by the book signing that I love to accomplish. Nothing like it was on Friday with all the mistakes and screw ups…thank god for small favors.

The score: 77-0. This is why I hate college football. The two teams aren’t important, but one was the almost inhuman Oklahoma Sooners who are unbeaten and are giving the beating of a lifetime to every team they run into. The other poor suckers were Texas A&M who were humiliated on national television and will have to live with the shame of having been beaten by 11 touchdowns. Think about that…what are they supposed to say? Well, it was much closer than it looked? What about the people watching a crap game like this? This must be the equivalent of watching Jessica Simpson competing on Jeopardy. I’m thinking a mercy rule needs to be enforced by the time a team goes up by 50…which is sad in and of itself.

This Friday I had to redo a signing that I brought up last week with these three asian ladies. It didn’t go so well last time as the company screwed up about 5 things. They sent me a new package with a week to have taken care of all the problems. Would you like to wager a guess on whether or not they fixed everything? It’s quite sad, really. I wrote detailed directions concerning the corrections which were pretty simple yet they couldn’t even correct the biggest screw up; the lady’s name was still spelled wrong. Needless to say, the signors were not in a good mood…of course, this could also have resulted from a mix up on the time and the fact that I was given a contact phone number that could contact nobody involved in the signing. Just another day in the life of an independent notary, really.

Once I finished this little task up, I headed over to my friend Jimmy’s place. I had nothing to do for the evening and I figured I’d wait out the Friday night traffic watching basketball. Fitting in with my predictions this week, the Lakers lost their first game in a real stinker of a performance by almost 20 points. Personally, I’m not sold on the greatness of the team just yet. They’ve improved in some ways as they have a real point guard for once, but their defense is a mirror image of the Dallas Mavericks; score more points than the other team. You’d think their defense would be drastically improved just by making Derek Fisher, their usual point guard, sit down. He’s the type of player who helps other point guards look like superstars in the playoffs as he ineffectually attempts to guard them. I will say he spends a lot of time on the floor; not that he plays a lot, but that he spends more time on his back than a 20 dollar hooker. I’ve theorized that he has an inner ear problem which keeps him from being able to stay on his feet for more than 2 minute of playing time as he seems to just fall down for seemingly no reason. I’m not sure he would even be good enough to back up most point guards in the league, but hey, he is the best third string point guard in the league. It makes you marvel at how the Lakers have managed to win 3 championships with this Albatross around their necks.

After the game, my friend Mr. T had a pot luck to go to which was being held for people involved in a Vietnamese film festival and he asked if I would like to come. Being that I’m not Vietnamese, could never even hope to pass as even Asian in a dark room and last was involved in theater back in high school, I could expect to stand out as much as Ben Stein at a rock concert. Of course I said yes…you don’t pass up opportunities like this. We picked up his friend, the K-man and being as it was a pot luck, K-man and I had to go pick up something to bring. We ended up just buying a 12 pack of Corona. A word on K-man…he’s a very positive guy. He talks like a salesman and is supportive of any idea that comes out of your mouth. He could probably find something positive about me telling him the earth was about to crash into the sun…I guess I wouldn’t have to return those overdue movies I rented. Hey, I can play this game too! Anyways, being I’ve gotten lost in my own backyard, I was depending on either of them to get us to the location. They weren’t so good at directions either. It was literally the blind leading the blind. After about a hour of wandering about aimlessly through the city, I finally broke down and asked Mr. T for a map book so I could find where we were going. Of all my learned skills, very few have come in as handy as being able to read a Thomas Guide. Of course, I had to look for his in the trunk. I can say that Mr. T is ready to play any sport you can think of…he had a tennis racket and a basketball, a glove and a baseball; the guy is prepared for any spontaneous play he’s likely to stumble upon. He did actually have a Thomas Guide…from 1983. I have no idea how he had a map book almost as old as we were, but luckily the area we were in was even older. It only took 10 minutes to get to where we were going as it turned out we had passed it at least 3 or 4 times in our wanderings.

We finally arrived and I was introduced to some very interesting people. There was the girl throwing the pot luck, who, with two other girls make up a spoken word performance trio named Mai Piece. They even performed a couple of poems for us. Pretty dirty, too. Watching three giggling asian girls reading poetry about sex was about as bizarre as it gets for me on a Friday night, anyways. They told us that they normally do better with more rehearsals and the lightings and their guitars and a stage…blah blah blah. I’m sure even with that they still would have sucked. The only way it would have been salvaged was if they performed it naked…it wouldn’t have made the poetry better, but at least we’d have something to distract us from listening to it. They were very nice as was everybody else there. It was a surprise for me as I’ve ran into my fair share of “artists” and they usually are so caught up in themselves that they hardly notice anybody else.

I have to bring up one of the strangest characters that was at this little shindig. His name was Val, I believe, and he was quite a card. First off, he was a very slight, effeminate looking asian guy with very graceful movements and a habit for striking a girly pose. He liked to say things to get a rise out of people, such as he liked it when people pulled his hair. He had a whole soliloquy on how he hated showering as it affected the smell of his hair and took away the natural style that it received as he slept on it. To be honest, I don’t think he was as weird as he acted; he seemed to just like to see how far he could push people. Either way, he was pretty effective in convincing most everyone that he was…well, to put it bluntly, a weirdo.

I also had a discussion with another guy named Tony about his art. You see, Tony is in a fine arts school and was working on sculpting at the time. I’ve always been fascinated by this particular field so I asked him what he was using…Clay, perhaps? Maybe metal? Playdoh even? No…the most I could get out of him was he was using television monitors to display fire. I hope he isn’t paying a lot of money for this school, because that is not sculpting. That’s wasting your fucking time. I know fashion art has really pushed out all the actual skill that people used to learn in order to paint or what have you, but t.v. monitors in a sculpture? What kind of a crap is that? Whatever happened to making a guy on a horse, or just a horse even? Where is the skill in playing a video of flames on a monitor? Andy Warhol once said, “Art is whatever you can get away with.” In this day and age, that seems to be the case. Nobody wants to see a beautiful painting of a landscape or a person that actually looks like the subject…no, they’d rather look at an unmade bed, a blank canvas or feces smeared on a backdrop. I hope Andy Warhol and Jasper Johns pay for what they’ve wrecked on these poor, impressionable young artists.

I had a signing today with a middle aged black lady who had a lot to say. She was in her late thirties, average looking, and lived in, well, the hood. She said she bought the property because it was cheap, and compared to other properties of similar size in Los Angeles, it was. She thought it wouldn’t be so bad living in a neighborhood with her “brothers and sisters” as she called them, but she had very quickly changed her mind. Referring to most of them as criminals and degenerates who wanted to bring down those more successful then themselves, she was pretty much ready to leave the area and rent it out to a friend. She also elaborated on her romantic life with way too much information. Stating that black men were a bunch of head case losers with no money or jobs and with emotional or physical baggage (i.e. children from previous relationships), she had pretty much given up on ever getting married. Also, the successful black men that she did meet didn’t want to date black women; they preferred white ones. This was a vocalization of a trend I’ve seen in my travels as a notary; there is a surprising number of single black women and a distinct lack of black men owning property. It seems that these women manage to make it themselves while the men do god knows what in the meantime probably living at home or off their girlfriends. I think that movie Baby Boy had a message somewhat like this; lots of black men refusing to grow up. It’s a tragedy, really. Black women seem to have an even bigger disadvantage than just being black; they literally can’t find a good man. The lack of fathers in the ghetto is obviously one of the main causes of this situation. Hopefully, now that welfare reform has been enforced, it’ll force people to be more responsible. It’s the only thing I can think of to fix it; not more laws or bills. The government’s done enough damage.

Today, hard at work yet again, I was able IM with Moodsquad today about the state of the Lakers.  Just two weeks ago, he wanted Kobe traded as quickly as possible and was sure he was done as a player.  He was about to become the next Penny Hardaway; several great years, then to sink into obscurity and role player status.  He may have been a little hasty; the silent killer of the game last night and savior turned out to be Mr. Bryant, defendant.  After the Bucks had convinced themselves that they were about to beat the unbeatable foe, Kobe stuck a dagger in their heart and twisted it a couple times for good measure.  I can't imagine how the Bucks felt after this loss; they lead almost the entire game and then blew it in the last couple of minutes.  I guess what I'm trying to say is I think everybody has reported the news of Kobe's death prematurely.  Besides a lack of first step speed and conditioning, he seems to be the same player that's won 3 championships in the last 4 years.

Moodsquad brought up an interesting fact.  Of the head coaches in basketball, only 2 of them have ever won a championship!  Can you believe that?  Only Popovich of the Spurs and the Zen master Phil Jackson have won it all.  I know basketball is full of dynasties, and that Phil has been the coach of 9 of the last 13 championships, but that's a bad situation for the league to be in.  What are these coaches supposed to say?  Ummm...maybe this year it'll be different?  At least we're consistent...we always lose the big one?  I know the story is always about how the Yankees dominate the sport of baseball, but they haven't won a championship in 3 years.  There have been a whole bunch of teams in the last 14 years that have won the World Series.  This could be the reason that basketball has been losing ratings lately...you really DO know who's going to win it every year.  Hopefully the influx of the new guys, Carmelo Anthony and LeBron James can help it because despite all the rape charges, drug charges, egos and gangster references, I really do love this game!

The Matrix finale has been released today and I can honestly say I really don't care.  I mean, I will see it.  In fact, I've already made plans to see it this weekend, but it could have been Brother Bear for all I care.  The last movie was such sound and fury signifiying nothing that I can hardly work up the energy to care about the conclusion.  It's usually the case that sequels are inferior to the originals; usually the movie makers take the easy way out and make the exact same movie over again with more explosions.  I guess I really shouldn't have expected more out of the Matrix, but the first one was such a breath of fresh air and such fun that I expected they might be able to continue the ride.  Oh well, at least Return of the King is coming out; that's one series of movies I have yet to be disappointed in.  Lord of the Rings has been much more entertaining than the actual books they're based on.  Maybe for you Tolkein purists it's not as good, but I am very happy to do with less about detailed descriptions of their dinners and goofy songs as long as it's a compelling story.  So far, I'm compelled.  Compelled to spend 9.50 and sit through a 3 hour movie to see what happens.  That's about as compelling as it gets.

Only one other incident caught my attention today.  I was listening to Dennis Prager, my favorite radio talk show host, and he was once again bashing television.  He specifically brought up that popular show, 8 Simple Rules for Dating my Teenage Daughter(Good god, is there a more unweildy, stupid title out there?) and he was disappointed in how they resolved the death of the star, Jack Tripper...I mean, John Ritter.  He says that his death was incorporated into the show and that the family managed to get over the loss in 22 minutes.  Dennis was not happy about how they dealt with a complex and powerful issue in the span of an episode and thinks it's not good for society to see and think that's how it works.  Personally, I think he's putting far too much into the influence of the show.  I'm never a fan of comedies trying to have a "very special episode" and deal with serious issues because that's not what we watch a comedy for.  We watch it simply for escapism; we want to laugh and forget about all the terrible things going on in the world and maybe even our lives.  It reminds me of that old 40's movie, Sullivan's Travels; a rather moving story about an idealistic Hollywood director that's famous for making comedies but wants to move and influence people.  He decides to do a movie about the pain and suffering going on during the depression and be taken seriously as an artist.  He finally decides at the end that people suffering don't want to see more of it; they just want a little bit of levity in an all too serious world.  I can understand how you might think the simplification of death in a comedy can bring false expectations to society, but why stop there?  Why not the simplification of romance movies where people find their perfect mates and live happily ever after?  Or how about the fact that the good guys usually win in t.v. shows and movies without ever having to compromise their morals?  Aren't these just as ridiculous as what was done in 8 Rules?  I like to think that people have a brain and can separate reality from fiction, and for those who can't, they've got bigger problems than a t.v. show.  Besides, that problem is hardly new; Cervantes wrote a whole epic about a guy who had problems with accepting reality, Don Quixote.  Sure, maybe much of televsion programming is inferior in quality and coarse in nature, but they explore the exact same concepts as Shakespeare or Moliere.  Nobody worrys when a person reads Romeo and Juliet that they will get dangerous ideas on love and death.  Why is that?  Probably because if you're going out of your way to read it, you probably have a brain.  It sounds to me like prejudice, really.  It's an assumption that people who watch t.v. are morally and intellectually inferior to those who appreciate the classics and the arts.  I don't know about you, but I understand Hitler was a very cultured guy with a very deep appreciation for art.

After watching the Bucks blow a victory against the “unstoppable” Lakers, I decided I needed to start reading one of the myriad of books that line my shelves that I haven’t gotten to due to more important things…like Joe Millionaire. Since the last book I read was a weighty historical tome about the entire history of the Ottoman Empire, I was looking to burn through a fun page turner full of impossible action and witty dialogue. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find anything by Bernard Cornwell I haven’t read yet, so I decided to finally start reading the biography of John Adams I bought for my vacation but decided at the last minute it was too damn heavy to bring. I’m very glad I made this decision as it’s opened my eyes to a very important American character who I know far too little about. Damn public schools. Anyways, I’m a very big admirer of the Founding Fathers of our country and I don’t think they get nearly as much love and credit as they deserve nowadays. These men sacrificed everything in the name of justice and principles and the most we can do is combine George Washington’s day with Abraham Lincoln’s to make a meaningless “President’s Day” and make a disparaging movie about Jefferson knockin’ the boots with his slaves. Horrible, really. I’ve read much on the Revolutionary war including a biography of George Washington who was an extraordinary man completely different from what the common knowledge of him is. Not only did he tell lies, but he was technically the head of his country’s intelligence department spreading dissemination to the British! He was almost like James Bond…only without the cool gadgets. Or dalliances with beautiful women, or a drinking problem…o.k., he’s not really anything like James Bond, except for the fact that they’re both British. Anyways, in my readings I have always found John Adams to be the butt of many jokes at the expense of the hero worship bestowed upon Thomas Jefferson, but it seems he was more of an everyman than the aristocratic Jefferson.

“We have not men fit for the times. We are deficient in genius, education, in travel, fortune-in everything. I feel unutterable anxiety.” No, that’s not a quote from the Howard Dean campaign; it’s the words of John Adams written in his lengthy and detailed journals just before the Continental Congress met in 1776. As you can see, it’s in line with probably every era. We always have very little confidence in our leaders as they apparently have their own lack of self-confidence, and yet, sometimes they surprise us. It’s quite amazing really; you read history books about all these important figures and you never really see them as living, breathing men and women, but as cardboard cutouts that serve their part in history as though it was ordained. Reading the actual thoughts gives you a glimpse into the type of people they were, and strangely enough, it often mirrors our own. We know that the American Revolution would be ultimately successful, but to the people involved, it was a scary, unpredictable time rife with dangers from armies or disease. If you think you’re stressed out about the Iraq war, imagine what it was like to have 20,000 soldiers within riding distance from your house ready to crush any who would stand up against them. When you look at all the instances in history that were decided by the smallest of details, it makes you quite thankful that these men were the ones in charge of America’s destiny. We could have ended up in endless civil wars, a monarchy or countless other horrible choices. Somehow we ended up with the best damn government on the face of the Earth where changes occur peacefully as opposed to the bloodshed that was quite common in the past. I think this is what impresses me most about the Founding fathers; not their intelligence or tenacity, but their self control. As Lord Acton said, Power corrupts; absolute power corrupts absolutely. Somehow, with a strange combination of deeply held religious convictions, an open mind to a new line of thought regarding humanism, and a deep sense of justice they managed not to screw everything up. George Washington actually walked away from the Presidency! Nobody voted him down or ran him out on a rail; he chose to leave on his own. How many politicians can you think of that would do that today? I don’t know if it was the right men at the right time or just the right men choosing it was their time. I’d like to believe it’s the latter as it fits in with my belief that we aren’t just wandering in a random universe with no control over our future, but a free thinking race that can make our own tomorrow. I sure hope so…

Castro Street had really expanded by the time we got back to it. Like the many headed Hydra (I figured I’d go with a Greek reference again), Castro was starting to live up to it’s reputation. There had to be a good 100,000 folks partying down. Unfortunately, they stopped the alcohol consumption on the street this year, so it apparently wasn’t as cool as last years. This was what I heard anyways; it was pretty damn wild to me. We listened to this funk band play hits of the 70s while dressed in multicolored wigs and revealing outfits…and that was just the guys! The female back-up singers were mighty cold; you could tell if you looked at their tops close enough. Changomo somehow managed to start talking to the Girls Gone Wild film crew while they were cruising the street. In his words though, he choked. They asked him to do something “wild;” what that would entail being he’s a guy I have no idea and it probably stumped him too. It’s not like he can flash his chest or anything. Willy decided at about this point to take a picture with all the women that he could. This is going to make for some entertaining viewing when he develops those pics; he has pictures with nurses, scantily clad women with one asking to be spanked(that should be a good shot), more nurses…there really were a lot of nurse costumes. One particular group of girls was not amused by his request as they were being questioned by several of San Francisco’s finest as one looked like she was about to be arrested for public intoxication…I believe their direct phrase was ”Fuck off!” Changomo took exception to this bit of rudeness, but I could understand their apprehension, so we managed to drag him off before he gave the cops a different target for their hassles. It was about this time that my stomach began to rebel against that drink I forced it to endure and I was really damn tired what with no sleep and all the driving, so I was ready to head back to the hotel. I ended up escorting Changomo’s wife back as well as she was up past her bedtime. I swear, she’s like an old woman; has to be in bed by 10 or she melts or something. Anyways, there were no taxis to be found and we ended up having to walk about a mile and a half back. I did manage to get into the room before I collapsed into hibernation. Although I barely made it to 2 a.m., I considered it a fairly successful night. I saw some of the strangest shit I had ever seen, had caramel apple slices at a gay man’s house (hmmm….that doesn’t sound right), and partied with some of my oldest friends. Good times.

The next morning after we finally became fully conscious, Willy and I headed over to my Dad’s house in the Oakland hills. It was empty for the weekend as he and his new wife went to Jamaica with the kiddies to celebrate their wedding anniversary. He purposely got married on Halloween just so he wouldn’t forget his anniversary this time. I guess it’s as good a reason as any, and I’m sure his new wife appreciates at least some effort on his part. Jamaica is a god damned paradise too, so there better be no complaints. Willy had never been to my pop’s house so I gave him the tour. It’s a beautiful home built right on the hillside with the first level being the top floor with the other two floors built beneath. He just finished the last level which I believe he christened the Money Pit when it was finally completed only 5 months after it was supposed to. I can’t complain; there is a guest room down there that I can now use when I visit. It’s kind of strange living away from my parents in the fact that they moved away from me. Isn’t is supposed to be the other way around? We washed up and were joined by Changomo and his wife later that day. We were going to drive up to Napa and I suppose do the hair of the dog and keep drinking, but that didn’t happen. The reason for it not occurring is actually kind of stupid; we started watching the World Series of Poker. I’m not sure why this was so enthralling, but we couldn’t stop watching. I was rooting for “Dutch” Boyd, this young guy who looked like Kurt Warner but acted like Ben Affleck. He could do all types of tricks with his chips, had attended college at 12, went to law school at 15…yeah, he was way overqualified to be a professional gambler. He just seemed like he was straight out of that movie Rounders, though. He ended up finishing 18th, but he was happy as hell to have gotten that far. Changomo loved Scotty Nguyen, who was a previous champion and talked a whole bunch of trash in broken English. You really had to see him to believe it. In point of fact, there were 3 Nguyens all competing in the final stage of the Championship; I guess Vietnamese really are good at gambling. With that said, I’m not sure what Newjen’s problem is. He’s Vietnamese but a TERRIBLE gambler! I guess it must have skipped his generation or something. Watching this show made me reminisce back to high school where Willy, Changomo, Moodsquad, Johan and Jon used to play poker almost every day after school for hours. We never really lost a whole lot of money until we got out of high school…maybe that’s why we stopped playing. It’s a lot easier to recover from losing 2 dollars than from 150 bucks. It was my damn father that raised the stakes for good. Trust me, never start playing Guts for big money. You start getting people trying to mortgage their watches and their shoes just to stay in. It’s not a pretty sight.

Our only choice at this point was to go see a movie, so we headed out to Emeryville’s new shopping center which included a nice, new AMC theatre. There really wasn’t much to see, so instead of taking my advice to watch Lost in Translation, that Bill Murray movie directed by Sofia Coppola that I hear is really good and I STILL haven’t seen yet, we decided to take a chance and watch Mystic River. Oh my god. This is a decision on par with with Portland drafting Sam Bowie over Michael Jordan. This was the most god awful film I have ever sat through. Usually I can enjoy bad movies because I can make fun of the bad acting, or the terrible storyline, but this one seemed to go out of it’s way to deny any enjoyment whatsoever. There wasn’t a damn thing salvageable about this trash; the only way it could have been saved is had all the copies of the film burned up and saved the country from having to watch any of it. There were several fine actors in the film, Sean Penn and Kevin Bacon being two, who managed to take it seriously enough that it couldn’t be laughed at but had to work with material that should have been used to paper the bottom of a bird cage. It’s really sad…I like Kevin Bacon, but he just keeps going out of his way to make terrible movies. Willy thought this movie would be a good idea…I should have suspected something. The last time he wanted to see a movie it was the Hulk. There’s two hours of my live I’ll never get back. We all decided Willy wasn’t allowed to make any more movie choices for at least a year. Personally, I think he got off way too lightly. They were laughing at me because I came out of the theater with a stunned look on my face, but at least I managed to not scream out “This movie is Shit!” like Changomo did in the middle of it. I have some standards. We finished the night with dinner at the California Pizza kitchen, which was decent, I suppose. They make exotic pizzas and because they’re “special,” they can charge twice what they’re worth. It’s amazing what we as consumers will put up with. Anyways, this pretty much ended the night as we went back to my dad’s place, said goodbye to Changomo and his wife and ended up passing out on the couch watching tv. I was waiting for my friend Jules to give us a call, but she ended up calling after I had fallen asleep. Eh…her loss. Hell, maybe I’m becoming an old man. That’s two nights in a row I fell asleep way too early…oh well, at least I have my hair. *Knock, Knock*

I had quite the weekend this Halloween; much different than last year’s action-packed “Hide from the Trick or Treaters.” I decided, mostly at the last minute, to drive on up to San Francisco with a friend. I figured I’d get to bed nice and early the night before and be ready for the grueling 6 hour drive. This was not to be, however. When I came back from the movies, my friends B, Moodsquad and Newjen had already made themselves at home and were settling into a tournament bout of NBA Live 2004 on the ps2. To be honest, this is generally more entertaining than a movie, so I had to stop and listen to the trash talk and general nonsense that occurs during these “athletic” events. Now, Newjen goes by many names and none of them reflect well on him. His most recently earned name was Dirt Newjinski, a take off of Dirk Nowitzki, but more for his horribly cheap and dirty play. Moodsquad, on the other hand, has a reputation for playing fairly but also as a big whiner when things don’t quite go his way. B, who is the definitive Mouth from the South, is a guy who starts talking before the game even starts and stops only when he’s finally left the building. I may have to start charging admission to see these clowns in action. There’s singing, Moodsquad’s touching ballad “Computer Love” is highly effective in describing B’s uncanny luck, dancing, as B and Newjen complete victory laps around the couch, and more comedy than you can throw a controller at. I know. Moodsquad’s tried. Anyways, the three stooges managed to keep me up way past my bed time so I was hurting by the time I got to work…that wasn’t a good way to start a day where I had to drive 400 miles.

Once I finished up at work and picked up my friend, Willy, we headed on up to Oakland. It was a fairly uneventful drive and we consumed more Doritos than was good for us, but we balanced it out with a healthy Gatorade…at least that’s what we told ourselves. Once we got up to Oakland, we had to take the BART to San Francisco, or as the locals call it, The City! Yes, pretentious is actually selling those people up there short. They’re a lot like New Yorkers in that way; they believe the world revolves around them. How else do you explain those cities up north passing resolutions against the war? I mean, who the hell cares what a city thinks about a war, exactly? If you didn’t know, the BART is the subway system up there, short for the Bay Area Rapid Transit and a fairly efficient way to get around if you don’t mind standing next to the most bizarre cross section of humanity for half an hour. People were in their costumes heading on out to the City, which included a guy dressed like a giant penis. Yep…this is San Francisco, folks.

Once we got out onto Market Street, these two girls crossed…well, sort of wobbled past us. One was almost naked; she had painted on latex covering her top, a pair of black panties and the rest of her was painted red which also happened to be the color of her eyes. Whatever she and her friend was on, I wanted no part of. God knows where she woke up the next morning; probably in the middle of a porn shoot. That was our welcome to Halloween in San Fran…rather auspicious, wouldn’t you say? I know I did. I said, “Hey Willy, this is a rather auspicious beginning to the night.” Willy followed up with the question, “What’s auspicious mean?”

We were supposed to meet several people at the Marriot; our old friend Changomo and his wife, and one of his strange friend’s Andre. A word about Andre; he likes to take naked pictures of his girlfriends and show them to people. That really says it all, doesn’t it? He was dressed up as Dr. Evil; about 4 years too late, but hey, at least he was trying. I was dressed up as a shivering Los Angelinos. Did I mention it was at least 40 degrees up there? There were some brave and cold people up there with the costumes I witnessed. Andre’s Dr. Evil costume didn’t quite come out exactly right, though. He didn’t have a very good bald head covering; he bought a cheapie at Spencer’s Gifts so it actually looked like he was wearing a very flexible condom on his head. I may have been the first to mention this to him, but I certainly wasn’t the last. At least two other groups of people took pictures with the “condom head.” He was cool with it; he said it seemed to work better than his Dr. Evil attempt. Changomo showed up with the strangest hat I’ve ever seen; it was a giant hotdog in a bun sitting right on his head. In his left hand he carried a plastic trident which he said represented his power as the Hotdog King. I asked why he had started drinking without us, and how many would it take for me to catch up. His wife was dressed as a pirate, which was a pretty good costume and actually turned out to be the theme of the party we were set to go to. Unfortunately, Changomo never mentioned that little detail; seems he was busy sending out orders to his hotdog minions or something.

Setting out to take the Muni to Castro street turned out to be a bit of an adventure. None of us had ever taken the Muni, which is a local train that runs throughout the city. It turns out you need quarters and the machines had been changed to give out quarters if you typed in the special code. I say special code as it seems pressing the button marked H was too difficult for the guy in front of us. It took him at least 10 minutes to master this difficult puzzle at which time he picked up his quarters and angrily tried to enter them back into the machine. Changomo asked, “Hey, buddy, what are you doing?” The man said, “The guy over there said the Muni only takes coins. This damn machine gave me quarters!” We reassured him that quarters actually were defined as “change,” and then gave him the prerequisite 10 feet of space we all give to loonies. Once we jumped onto the Muni, we started discussing the costumes that we were seeing around us. There were some strange choices, including a guy dressed as David Beckham. Then again, maybe it really was David Beckham out to have fun wearing his own jersey…o.k., that just sounded stupid. I was telling my friends how I had seen two great costumes last week, one guy was dressed up as one of the Warriors and the other was dressed as one of the Furies, two of the gangs from that great 70’s movie The Warriors. None of them had ever even seen the movie. This shocked and depressed me; shocking because I thought it was a pretty damn common movie as our local channel 13 used to play it at least once a month for at least 5 years straight and depressing because it was yet another reminder that I’ve watched way too many movies. I then told them that it was based on the Anabasis, Xenophon’s account of his travels leading a Greek army through Turkey back in the 4th century B.C. You know, trying to salvage some intellectual points and to tell myself I hadn’t wasted my entire life. None of them had heard of Xenophon either. Damn…somehow, I have managed to make myself irrelevant to my own generation. This wasn’t supposed to happen until I was 40 and trying to use hip slang.

Once we arrived on Castro street, I have to say I was taken aback. There were thousands of people wandering about dressed in crazy costumes all the while loud dance music was pumping through the night’s air. It seems that the most popular costume for a woman was a Nurse; can’t argue with a classic. The most popular costume for a guy seemed to be a tag team of either Siegfried or Roy, complete with tiger gashes on the neck. Not exactly the most classy costume, but hey, it was pretty funny in a sick sort of way. We pushed our way through the crowds and started up towards Changomo’s wife’s friend’s house; the fella throwing the party. We found the place after some wanderings, and once we stepped in it was a pirate fantasy land. Most of the people were in various pirate motifs and there was even a ship deck with sails propped up in the yard complete with a steering wheel. Combine this with the fact that the party denizens were made up of internet millionaires and/or flamboyantly gay men, I have to say I felt a bit out of place. Marco, her friend, turned out to be a cool guy, if as queer as a three dollar bill. He was dressed as Liberace…or a pirate. One or the other. He had the craziest shoes; they had silver designs with sparkles all over them, a puffy shirt with lace, gold chains around his neck, fingers full of colorful rings and a foppish black curly wig. It was quite the sight, let me tell ya. We talked to several of the people there all the while loading up on alcohol. We ran into this particularly snobbish guy who was giving Andre a hard time about his costume. Andre managed to end that pretty quickly when he asked the guy if his costume was Andy Dick. The fact that his friend laughed at the joke only reinforced the fact that he really did look like Andy Dick. Andy wasn’t too amused, however, and retreated to another room. Score one for “condom head”! It turns out that Andy Dick was a guy who was in the ground floor of the web site Yahoo and got out before the crash. He’s one of the ”pretentious, snot nosed punks that thinks the world revolves around them just because they were lucky enough to pull out in time,” or so Changomo refers to them. Changomo’s not particularly impressed, as you can tell. It’s not sour grapes either; he’s pretty damn wealthy on his own. He just hasn’t gotten used to the snobbish name-droppers he gets to deal with now that he has money. Sounds like a nice problem to have, really. Anyways, the night was progressing pretty smooth until Willy decided to try and poison me with this drink he made. It wasn’t just that it was a strong alcoholic drink; it was the fact that it had at least 4 other flavors that were all fighting with one another. I swear, it was WWII in my stomach after I had some of it. Once we had our fill, we decided to walk on down to the wild street of Castro.