Home Food

My girlfriend once asked me how much I love her. She's fond of using the trite "like a fat kid loves cake" line for the sake of being cliche. Abhorring cliche as much as I do, I try as hard as I can to stray from the beaten figurative language path and strive to rarely repeat myself.

That day I responded with, "I love you like I love Sinigang."

Naturally one might expect the worst of reactions; something like: You love me like a fucking stew!? Fuck you, fat ass! She knows me better than that, fortunately, and she remained silent, signaling I should clarify my statement.

"Well, you know how food is nourishing. It makes you feel good. And any food can taste good. Any food can be filling. But you know what beats the best restaurants and the finest dining? Home food.

"Don't get me wrong, I love Fried Chicken, Pho, and Lo Mein as much as the next guy but they ain't got shit on Tinola, Sotanghon, and Pancit. I'm talking food for the soul. For my soul. My nostalgic, Filipino-American college student soul.

You're my Sinigang, my Kare-Kare, my Bicol Express. You know I have other friends, I know other women but I'm most comfortable, most warm, most rested, most at home with you."

Nothing else was said, we remained still staring into eachothers' eyes for ages afterwards, No Reservations providing the background noise to my awkward culinary exploration of our love.


P.S. I promise to write more Jonathan type shit.

This is getting out of hand...

First, I apologize for not having written in a while. I've been ridiculously busy. Between planning and practicing for my school's Asian Student Union Culture Show, helping to found the Word is Born Poet's Society on campus, and actually giving a shit about my classes, there's been little time for lallygagging (aside from the topic of this entry).

Second, I'm pretty much a NERF addict. I went to COSTCO to buy rice, eggs, and toilet paper. I walked out of the store with rice, eggs, toilet paper, and a NERF Vulcan EBF-25. Now, let me explain. I had already had my eye on this thing from surfing the web. It usually goes for over $40. I walked by it and knew I didn't have the money for it, but then I took second look at the price tag. $35, son! It was on.

So yeah, now it's sharing time:

Truly beautiful

Mere seconds of firing renders a path unpassable. Truly, this is non-lethal firepower at its finest. It makes me want to cry.

There is also a video of me in the store battling my conscience over the purchase of said weapon. We know who won out, but I'll have the video up later when I'm not too lazy to upload it.

I'm an...

...impulsive NERF gun buyer. I went to Wal-Mart today to get a toothbrush and Drano for my tub. I walked out with both of those things and a NERF N-Strike Recon CS-6. Don't judge me!

Alvin Lau - For the Breakdancers

Second post in the past few minutes but GODDAMN! Hot fiyah for real. What happens when figurative language meets figurative movement? This!

Hips For The Hop

Alvin Lau and Dan Sully from Death From Below. Love it love it love it love it. Props to my hip hop ladies!

When I Grow Up...

...I wanna be Kevin Smith. *sigh*

Ahh!!!!

Lego Jewelry!

Ahhh!!!! Let me find out there's actually something I can bling on! I never wear jewelry, I'm talking never (except for that gangsta stage in middle school/early high school when I was rocking the white gold chain, but I don't really count that as being me. I was possessed. Seriously, google it.). For real though, I'd rock this all day every day. The geeks will rule the world!

It's him

It really is the same priest I met way back when. My dad confirmed it by name, and also when I showed him a picture. Crazy!

It figures

Interesting update:

I was having a conversation with my father about the corruption of the Catholic church in the Philippines. Eventually, some of the Filipino priests we knew became part of the discussion and he mentioned one Bicolano that served a parish in Virginia that embezelled money to support his wife, kids, and extended family. Suddenly I remembered this entry from a bit back. I have yet to confirm this with me pops, but it may well be the case that I've met this very same priest before. I'll let ya'll know what's up as soon as I find out.

lulz

The only thing better than tired ethnic stereotypes is reversed ethnic stereotypes. I gotta watch this movie again!

Whiteness is a trick...

Really?

http://hiphopnews.yuku.com/topic/651

Seriously? Seriously? I was never one for all this "stop snitching" "fuck the police" business, but seriously.

Fuck the police!

Siege Warfare

Like any good siege tactician,
I know the key to victory is patience
I can throw my forces against the walls day and night,
but a competent fortification will hold.

And even a successful breach is hardly a victory.
The Huns went around it
and the Mongols broke it
but their reigns were but fleeting footnotes in the annals of the earth's history.

I seek eternal conquest.
I seek total victory.
I seek to make my way in and destroy
all that is bad
and then repair and build all that is good
so that my subjects will live forever
oblivious to the evils of the world.

I must wait,
however long it takes
for the gates to open,
because walls are not mere trifles.
I must wait
however long it takes
because this is no Jericho,

I can play the trumpet,
but no tune will take these walls down.
I can march,
but no number of laps will take these walls down.

There is no prayer.
There are no words.
Only time will see the end of this battle.

I must wait,
because the riches that success would bring would last beyond time.
If one must wait an eternity for eternal wealth,
than so be it:

I shall wait.

I should...

...be a music critic. Really. I'm taking an online couse in Cultural Geography and I have to post responses to questions on a discussion board for a small grade. The most recent question was "just for fun" meaning we'd get an A for our responses as long as we gave it the tiniest bit of though. We were asked to check out a youtube video of a band from Tijuana that plays a supposedly new genre of techno called "NorTec" (from norteno and techno). We were supposed to just write about what we think. So yeah, I wrote what I thought...

What do I think of it? It's ridiculous. I'm a fan of electronic music and I couldn't stand it. More akin to modern trance music than any sort of techno heard today, this supposedly new genre sounds just as ridiculous as it's American ancestors and European counterparts. Sure, there are traditional norteno instruments being played live but that doesn't make it sound special, just novel. The musicians bob their head in the same obnoxious way as Moby at a live concert anyways. Heck, there's even the same repetitive phrase usuage, except instead of the usual German "Ich liebe techno sex, ja ja ja" it's "Sound machine, sound machine." I don't mean to knock 'em too hard, though. I hope they can at least get it played on a cheesy Mexican car commerical. If not, half the people listening to their music are on X anyways, so at least they'll have a loyal fan base...
...until they rip off all their clothes and run into traffic while screaming how sorry they for not rinsing the dishes before putting them in the washer.

I rule.

Ugh

So I thought I'd never write like this, but I was never a goal oriented writer. I never set out with pen in hand ready to conquer a challenge. I just write what comes to mind. I always told myself I'd never write like this. I thought that short bit from earlier this month was my only concession. Damnit, I kinda feel like a bitch for compromising my own rule. In hindsight, though, the rule bullshit in the first place. It's just me trying to assert the presence of my penis. Damnit. Damn damn damn damn damn damn damn. Ugh.

I love it when she be asking me stuff,
I’m sure it’s been more than 21 questions
But it’s also damned well been more than 21 lessons
On
On
Love?

I been going through affection 101:
A crash course in touching
In holding
Feeling
Kissing
Licking
Living
And
And
Loving?

Fuck if I know.
I don’t know what I know these days
I don’t know I want to know these days
I don’t know what I need to know these days
All I know
Is that
I
I
I miss her

I miss her so much that I curse the sun for yanking me out of the dream that is her reality
I miss her so much that I caress my sheets hoping for them to become warm, to become alive, and become her
only to end up with fingers numb from touch and a mind numb from disappointment
I sit at home and experience a nostalgia that even the Pacific Ocean couldn’t arouse in me:
My hand longs to be at home behind her head
On her arm
On her belly
On her thigh

In her hand

All I have now is her
voice
on the phone
We talk about our day
Tell stories of what I hesitate to call “life”
As if her absence qualified as living
And we ask each other questions
And though we may be apart
she always be teaching me
these
these
lessons

life lessons

Love lessons?

Alaska

I was talking with me pops over brunch this morning. We were talking about the disasters in Myanmar and China and how the respective governments dealt with recovery and with the media. This naturally led to a discussion of life under the Marcos regime back in the PI.

He was talking about how a combination of factors lead to him leaving home. The obvious factors aside (corruption etc.), he said his boss provided a large bit of the motivation. After returning from a three week engineering seminar in California his boss, knowing full well my father's connections to the New Peoples Army and various other activist groups, told him, "Hoy, Rudy. I'm telling you right now, you have to go to America. It's amazing, you can wash dishes there and still have a better, safer life."

"What about my resignation?"

"Hell, don't worry about it. You can send it to me when you're rich in Alaska. Go!"

Shortly thereafter his brother (my uncle) a navy serviceman was able to petition his mother (my grandma) to the US. He figured he should go accompany his mother to the US because my uncle was active duty on a carrier and wouldn't be able to take care of her. This would also be a great chance to check up on all the stories he'd heard. My father, a prominent figure in the Manila scene already had a US Visa, had had one for two years, and there were three days left on it. Right then, he decided to go. He went to visit my mom at work, whom he was only dating at the time,"Hey, do you want to go to America?"

"What? I guess, sure. Why?"

"I'm leaving tomorrow."

The rest, as one might say, is history. I, on the other hand, would call it my dad's super spontaneous, ballin-ass history.

I LOL'D!

Bow Ties

One of my cousins got married today. My father was a member of the wedding party and had to wear a tuxedo. While getting ready, he couldn't figure out how the pre-tied bowtie worked. His complaint:

"Ay, burat. I can't do this. The only thing I know how to tie is a water buffalo."

Oh, father.

"You don't know your emcees..."

The guys came over again, and are actually still here. So I started playing "Rising Up" by the Roots and Pee asks if it's Lupe.

"Naw, man. That's the Roots. You don't know your emcees, son."

"Yeah I do. I know mad Emcees."

Chris comes in with, "Yeah, I know some emcees be smoove with the flow. I pipe some, no homo."

Day chimes in, "I know an emcee I'd pipe. Mariah Carey. Dig that."

By far the most quotable person on the planet.

Late night

I just finished reading "The Turing Option," and amazing book by the way, and I was about to go to sleep. I layed there, shifting positions awkwardly. Couldn't sleep, despite the time, and stared the the ceiling thinking about how much it sucks to be tired sleepless. I hate taking drugs, so I guess I'll put pen to paper and then tough out the night.

I line up pillows to take her place,
but nothing can replicate that warm embrace,
I miss skin on skin.

And hell, it's not even sexual,
I mean, shit, even porn's ineffectual.
Her absence makes sleeping sin.

George Watsky at Blah Blah Blah Series pt 1 @ the Bowery

Oh goodness. As a good friend of mine would say, "...alliteration is my fucking fantastically favorite literary device."

"Just Friends" Cover

Love this guy. They say a competent violinist should also be a competent vocalist. Well, "fuck me upside down and sideways," as a friend of mine would say, if this guy can't singed damned well.

That's some...

...real nigga words!"

So, Day² (Damien a.k.a. Day Day) and Jon were playing ping pong in my house and Jon won a few points in a row so he started getting mad cocky and talking shit (even more than usual).

"Yo, son, I thought you was sweet! You can't see me, nigga!"

"Fuck 'yo little Filipino ass. Talkin' shit like you a nigga."

"Nigga, fuck you, how you gonna get mad now after I been saying 'nigga' all your life!?"

"I'm not mad you sayin' it, I'm mad you talking shit wrong."

"Yeah, then show me some real 'nigga talk!'"

Day² then hits a winner and declares, "That's some real nigga words, son!!!" He drops the paddle and runs around the house repeatedly screaming "Face, nigga! I keep it real! Buck buck buck buck buck!"

Meanwhile John stands in his place and screams, "Look, son I'm still up. Pick up your shit and swing that so I can finish waxing your punk ass."

Day² made an epic comeback to win the match and proceeded to take off his wifebeater and twirl it around while running around the house. He finished his circuit and returned to rip the fitted off Jon's head and stomp on it.

Anyways, predictably more shit was spoken and they fought outside the house. No one was hurt and they ended up hugging in the end and returning into my house to eat Honey Nut Cheerios together while watching the Tennis Channel.

Again, I love coming home.

W.M.D.

Random thought:
If I ever wanted an MC name, it would totally be Weapon M.D. aka Dr. Weapon.

Also, Circles 9 was sick as fuck. I'm so mad I left my camera's upload cable at home. I have tooo many pics to post.

Janelle Monae - Violet Stars Happy Hunting

This is my jam for the weekend. That is all.

My Father's Tongue (final)

Big ups to Kuya Bobby for helping me with the translations, I'm really bad at that. Most of the guesses I came up with were way off. Thank you so much for your help! I'm going to be performing this along with other members of JMU's Word is Born during the Vision Conference in Memorial Hall on Friday, April 5th. Be there!

My Father’s Tongue

At birth, God gave my father his tongue:
Muscle
With it came the freedom to laugh
Mag-tawa
to cry
mag-tangis

At home, my grandparents gave my father his tongue:
Rinconada, Bicol-Nabua
and with it the knowledge to speak truth
kamaturan
or tell lies
ambog

At school, the teachers gave my father his tongue:
Pilipino, Tagalog
and with it the skills to read
mag-basa
to write
mag-sulat

In college the professors gave my father his tongue:
English
with it a taste of America
a taste of the dream
pangaturugan

When martial law came, Marcos cut off my father's tongue:
Revolution, democracy
Because he wore jeans and rode a motorcycle
Rebelde
He spoke of freedom
Kalayaan

In America, my father silenced his own tongue:
Career, American dream
His silence brought odd jobs washing dishes and making decks.
Trabaho?
On minimum wage? Di, you mean slavery.
Pang-aalila

Now, here I stand
American born and raised
High school degree out of the way
college degree on the way
hell, maybe even a six pack on the way

It seems like I know everything

And yet,
I stand before you ashamed
ashamed of what I don't know:
My Father's Tongue.

My Father's Tongue

I was lying in bed staring at the ceiling when I started to repeat words in my head. I don't even know why. The phrases started to get longer, and they started to gain structure, and then they started to actually sound good. So i got up and started writing. Not because I wanted to, but because I probably wouldn't be able to sleep if I didn't. So yeah, here it is straight from the page. I'm going to talk to my dad tomorrow and ask him to help me with translations. After every emotion, or whatever, I'm going to have a translation in the different dialects. I have big plans for this. Expect updates.

At birth, God gave my father his tongue:
Muscle
With it came the freedom to laugh
to cry

At home, my grandparents gave my father his tongue:
Rinconada, Bicol-Nabua
and with it the knowledge to speak truth
or tell lies

At school, the teachers gave my father his tongue:
Pilipino, Tagalog
and with it the skills to read
to write

In high school (college?) the teachers (professors?) gave my father his tongue:
English
with it a taste of America
a taste of the dream

When martial law came, Marcos cut off my father's tongue:
Revolution, democracy
Because he wore jeans
he spoke of freedom

In America, my father silenced his own tongue:
American dream
His silence brought odd jobs making decks
minimum wage

Now, here I stand
American born and raised
High school degree out of the way
college degree on the way
hell, maybe even a six pack on the way
It seems like I know everything

And yet, I stand before you ashamed
ashamed of what I don't know:
My Father's Tongue

I'm Cool

My roommates rock...

...for four reasons:

1. “I really wish the ‘T’ in T-Pain stood for Thomas. That way he could name his next album Common Sense.”

2. “There’s this weird Asian guy in my Math lab that walks up and down and always has his head to one side. He’s the most socially awkward person I’ve ever met. So this guy and my friend were working on a Math lab project and they needed a third person for their group. The weird kid literally looks around and calls out ‘Looking for party!’”

3. They are the whitest people on the planet and they have a large poster of deceased hip hop artists on their wall (next to a poster of Dora the Explorer, but that's another story).
4. Moments like this.
   

Sagaba

Blue Scholars - Sagaba

I've been running this track at least ten times a day for the past two months or so. Everything from the break to the flow just screams chill...

Best line:
"fo shizzle it begins to drizzle"
Clearly someone ran out of rhymes but how can you beat that?

Honestly, this is my jam and I was bummed as shit when they didn't perform this at their show in February up at Cornell. DJ Sabzi dropped the break for this track but Geo started up some other flow. I was kinda pissed but it was a Blue Scholars show, son, so I couldn't really be mad. I still want Geologic's Katipunan hoodie, I would rock that shit all day every day.

Yo, for real, son...

...I say "nigga" a LOT. For real, today I was chilling with my boys because it was raining and we couldn't play tennis (real hood, street tennis of course) and I'm pretty certain I said "nigga" more than ten times in one sentence. Mind you, it was a long sentence. It was one of those distinctly Jonathan sentences that goes on for a while but doesn't necessarily mean anything once it's out there. Frankly, I don't even remember what we were talking about. All I know is that once I was done with my bit it was quiet. My boy Day-Day was the first to speak up:

"Son, you said nigga a LOT."

Again it was quiet, we were thinking about it. He spoke up again:

"For real, though, we all be saying shit way too much."

Once more, silence, even longer this time. The six of us: three Filipinos, one Cambodian, and two "Niggas" were somehow made to ponder our diction for what seemed like hours. As I considered how it was I became so comfortable with the term, I also wondered what the others were thinking. The thoughts of my black brothers were of particular interest to me. I'd always wondered what their stand on our use of the term was. What were the rules for its use? The black man has since come to own the term, but did we qualify? Was our status as minorities payment enough for a title that had so long been derogatory? Was the power of the term's negativity derived from the word itself or merely from the history we had so long associated with it? Were we niggas or did we just want a nigga be?

As all these thoughts ran through my mind and, I can only assume, the minds of my friends Day-Day looked around and then stomped his foot. We looked up, stunned out of our mental meanderings, expecting a revelation to end all revelations.

Day, with a passion in his eyes opened his mouth and declaratively asked:

"Yo, how a bitches cooch gonna smell like strawberries!?"

Shock.

"Naw, for real though, nigga. I dun smelled a lot of pussy in my day and I ain't gonna say they stank or nothing but they smelled like pussy. I was 'chilling' with this girl the other day and I wiped my nose, you know, cause I had the sniffles and I breathe in and I'm like, 'Damn, girl, what is that smell?' And I didn't mean it like that but she definitely thought I did. She started yelling at me like a nigga supposed to know every smell in the world."

Shock.

"I be wondering what she be washing with, you know? It's whatever, though, I still piped. Fuck that bitch, anyways. Whatever the fuck her name is. I just call her strawberries, now."

The moral of the story? Fuck if I know, it's just funny.

God, I love coming home.

Another ride home

My dad asked me if I was keeping track of election news, knowing well the answer. He told me he was as excited as ever about this year because it would be his first time voting for anything relevant. He's going to be taking is oath as a naturalized citizen in April and plans to register to vote later the same day. He's lived in the U.S. for 27 years but hadn't even considered becoming a citizen until just last year. His disdain for the American way of life had prevented him from doing so, but he has since come to terms with the fact that other people are wasteful and it doesn't mean that he has to be. He's going to make is own American lifestyle.
Back to his first vote. In the Philippines, the voting age used to be 21, and the year my father turned 21 was the same year Marcos declared martial law in the P.I. Shortly thereafter my father had to flee the country because of his ties to communism and the New People's Army. He nearly cried when he told me this story, it was an odd and rare moment of weakness. At the same time, however, it was more a show of how strong his idealism is. Now, 27 years after arriving in the U.S., he will finally have a voice, however small, in the discourse that decides the destiny of his home nation and he couldn't be prouder.

Neither can I.

Bastos, Padre...

Retired Priest Sentenced for Bilking Two Churches

Oh, Filipino priests...
Obviously, what he did to the people of those two parishes was grimy, but a lot of people like to focus on the fact that he was married and had kids. Honestly, I've met a lot of Filipino priests with illegitimate children, or with legitimate ones. Frankly, that doesn't make them bad priests, if anything these have been some of the realest people I've ever met and they have a love of God that is hard to find in others.

My Godfather had studied in a seminary for a long time, but he met his wife shortly before he was supposed to "marry" God. He respected the laws of the church enough to drop out of the seminary but, frankly, I don't think it was necessary. He's one of the most intelligent and devout men in the world. I've been in too many masses with priests that seemed disenchanted with their profession, that preached their parts as an afterthought. My ninong lives his life for God, so he has a wife and a kid, if anything that's strengthened his faith more than anything.

Hell, my fondest memories are of 10 visiting Bicolano priests and my Ninong in the backyard singing songs and telling dirty jokes while drunk out of their minds and then celebrating a joint mass the next day. Priests are people too. I think Rome needs to take a new look at old laws.

To Magibon from GyaO 1(http://www.gyao.jp/)

So for those of you waiting for me to write something original, it'll happen when it happens. Until then, I think this is hilarious. If you don't know who Magibon/MRiaian is then check her out: http://www.youtube.com/user/MRirian

All of her vids involver her staring into the camera doing nothing. In some she talks, but it's really just staring. Some think she's a hapa Japanese girl, but there's increasing evidence pointing to her being an Asian-looking white girl that knows basic Japanese. If you listen to her talk, her accent is a little off and she speaks very slowly. Also, when she uses English words she uses little to no inflection (i.e. she has an American accent). A lot of her popularity is due to her being "kawaii!" Honestly, I wouldn't pay half as much attention to her account if I just knew the truth, damnit.

For those of you wondering what's being said in the vid, basically these people think she's cute and they want her to go to Japan and "perform" though I really don't know what it is she would do...

Who knows? Japanese people will watch anything.

Video of Silly Cambodian Kid

How cool is that? He's on Al Jazeera! You know you're interested in the right things when you find stuff before a major new network does.
Honestly, though, that's really really really cool, and his Buddhist take on things kinda makes it logical, in a way.

Joy Luck Club Review (High school essay)

So, yeah. I wrote this as my first assignment in 12th grade for AP English Literature. I usually make my first essays for writing classes as close a reflection of me as possible, and leave seriousness for later in the year. I actually don't have this essay saved anywhere, I was looking at my rarely updated MySpace page and saw this as the only entry in the blog. I read through it and was thoroughly entertained by past-me, however recent ago it may have been. I like to think I'm not nearly as bitter. Note: The weird characters are how MySpace interpreted apostrophes. I just copied and pasted this and am far too lazy to go through and fix all of those. Just use your imagination.

The Joy Luck Club is a novel that is widely praised for itâs detailed description of life in America for newcomers and their children; celebrated for delving into the relationship between mother and daughter and highly acclaimed for celebrating Americaâs diversity. Despite all of these credits, this book is ludicrously mundane as well as boring. In fact this novel is among the ranks of other powerful sleep aids such as The Scarlet Letter, To Kill a Mockingbird and elephant tranquilizers. I literally had to go to my doctor and ask for a prescription for Zoloft after completing this book, not even because it was depressing, but because the thought of people actually enjoying it lead me to lose all hope in humanity.
Being the son of immigrants, Iâm sure I was able to better understand a few of the novelâs motifs and themes such as differences in ideology between the generations, difficulties in communication and the desire for immigrant parents for their children to strive and fit in while unreasonably expecting them to become slightly Americanized versions of their parents. Granted, yes, I do understand Tanâs message, Iâve even witnessed it in my extended family and among others but I feel itâs been made overly dramatic.
While reading the novel, I often found myself sympathizing more with the parents of these rebellious, disrespectful second generation children. I know my language and I can communicate with my elders just fine. Iâve always obeyed, Iâve always capitulated and Iâve never come across complications as a result. I can honestly say that Iâve never spoken back to my parents, even once. I just donât get why these girls have such resentment for their mothers. What did their mothers ever do to wrong them? They came to America with hopes of raising children in a world where water flowed into their homes and replenished instead of killed; where they didnât have to worry about where the next meal would come from; where women were respected and judged as individuals and not just accessories to husbands. They exercised their rights as mothers to do what they thought best for their children, thatâs what they did. What did they get in return? They ended up with daughters that looked down on their parents as ignorant because they couldnât speak English. They ended up with daughters that ignored all their advice as over-used Confucian banter. They ended up as old women without respect, without prestige, whose only joy was playing mah jong on weekends and comparing the successes of their unappreciative children. What reward is there in such an end?
Another thing adding to my dislike of Tanâs supposed masterpiece is the overtly feminine nature of the novel. I guess it canât be avoided, being as she is a woman, but I really donât care why so and so cried, how bad it hurt, or how a guy gave the character multiple orgasms. Honestly, a motherâs intuition and daily gossip just donât matter.
In short, The Joy Luck Club may be the greatest novel even written, but itâs over dramatized situations and overly feminine nature make for a ridiculously bland reading experience I can truly say reflects nothing of importance in my life. In fact, I once held the book while looking in the mirror and saw myself holding a steaming pile of feces, true story.



Note: I got a B on this essay. Yeah, I'm sweet like that.

Milk

No, I'm not asking if you've got any. I stumbled across an amazing artist who goes by this lactose pseudonym. Frankly, her stuff is amazing. I really just don't know what to say. Check it out, let me know what you think.

Unrelated to this:
I've been jamming to Janet Jackson's Got Til It's Gone featuring Q-Tip from a Tribe Called Quest. It makes me feel good...

Random Flashback

Last semester, two of my roommates and I were walking around campus (probably towards or away from food) when we saw this girl walking with two dudes. The following conversation ensued and entertained us for the next week or so:

Ryan: That girl is totally getting banged twice.
Me: Let's make it five.
Ryan: She doesn't have that many holes, silly.
Glenn: She's got two hands, though

DJ Mike Rizzy

Mike Rizzy is a DJ from the 757 that makes some solid mixes. Unlike most of the DJs I recommend, he doesn't really scratch or cut, though he does produce breaks. I just like to check up on this page every once in a while to see if he has a new mix up.

Dahlak - Just Another Routine Check

Goddamn!

Call of Duty 4 -- Sniper Montage

This is for my reference. I'm in a computer lab and I want to save this video for later viewing. I guess you could enjoy it while it's up.

Battle for Haditha

I really really really really want to see this movie. You should too.



That is all.

Doctor Miracles

I was sorting through my bookmarks in search of videos to use in a presentation when I came upon this oldie but goodie. I remember this vid was made before YouTube made it big, and before Randall Park was on Whylin' out. This is some OG shit. OG, and hilarious as fuck.

Yet another example...

Seriously, Asian kids, just chill out with the being awesome at stuff. Let's let everyone else catch up, at least a little bit. Start working on getting taller and playing basketball or something.

Alicia Keys and Arturo Sandoval

Two of my favorite true musicians performing one of my favorite songs. It speaks for itself. Arturo makes any song better.

Wallace!

The guys on the tennis team I coach like to scream out the names of basketball players when they make awesome shots. However little sense the use of unrelated player allusions may seem, it strikes me as particularly hilarious. Honestly, how can you go wrong by screaming "JORDAN!" at the top of your lungs after or while hitting a jumping overhead smash? Or screaming "KOBE!" after hitting a stretch, drop-volley winner?

So I just watched a highlight reel of Ben Wallace's blocks on YouTube:





I am now seriously committed to screaming "Wallace!" after blocking/counter-hitting a winner in table tennis a la Waldner: