the thing about reading a book outside is that it never lasts very long. you plan to be out there for an hour or two. you bring a towel, a drink, some cigarettes, sunglasses, a cell phone perhaps. you settle in and remark to yourself how wonderful the weather is. how jealous all the people you know working must be. and you start to read. and you start to really enjoy yourself.



but then the wind starts to pickup. the sun starts to dart in and out between clouds, messing up your reading pattern. a blue kite is flapping in the breeze, stuck high up in a green tree. delinquent kids start their daily wanderings about on the streets. footballs and screams fill the air. a concerned mother lectures her three year olds on the importance of not going to the pool without her. i can sense her fear from here. "don't you ever ever go in there without me. don't follow any of the other kids, don't go in even if the gate is unlocked." she glances accusingly at me as if it was i who left the gate unlocked. which i did.



all this makes you lose your concentration. your ralphs receipt bookmark has blown away, the bugs are starting to get to you, and you are getting sleepy. and hungry. reading outside is overrated. napping outside however, is always appreciated.

cigaweed. i am drug free. d.a.r.e. is me. however, if there was ever an opportunity, i would think about taking hallucinogens. say shrooms. or maybe acid. i am starting to think that it would be an experience. i am so tightly wrapped up in me, so sure of who i am, that it would be very interesting to see what things might result out of some experimentation. i want to open myself up to the nether world. converse with my subconscious, let down some walls, see what is really hiding behind my cranium. would i have visions? would i be paranoid? would i have an ephipany? would it change me? i want to know.



weed has lost most if it's curiosity for me (not that it had much to begin with). e was kind of exciting for a second. i wonder what those druggy sensations must feel like, but i know that they won't bring me anything but short term pleasure. hallucinogens however, are a different story. i feel like they might open me up to something. allow escape into another dimension, another plane of existence. or perhaps i'm romanticizing what the effects might be. how do i know? i've never tried it. maybe i'm hoping it would allow me to be uber creative. or give me some insight into myself. someone told me this weekend that tripping on acid made all the difference. allowed them to open their eyes. i want to know if my eyes are open or closed. please, no small eyes jokes.



this is not of course, something i'm dying to learn about right away. given the ideal surroundings, with the perfect set of people around, i would be willing and curious. but mostly it's just a thought going through my head.

holy calamity screaming insanity. this week has been some straight craziness. so crazy i haven't been able to touch my computer for a whole three days. *shock* yes, it's true. i was away from my computer for more than seventy two hours and yet here i sit, still alive. how can this be you ask? the secret of my success is dependent upon sleeping ten hours a day, preferably from dawn till sundown. if you can't swing fit that into your schedule, sorry can't help you.



starting with bep tuesdays, i was up in long beach for a second on wednesday to pick up elisa, then back down, to do the usual wednesday night (fumaris followed by martini ranch). some dj from the beat junkies was there and he was spinning some crazy good hip hop. it was five dollar cover though. places are starting to charge for cover even on the weekdays. wacka wacka. thursday was spent out in the gorgeous weather, bouncing around san diego looking for places to eat and sit and smoke. there is nothing that makes me happier than driving around on a sunny day, with jamba juice and cigarette in hand, with hip hop and a friend blasting nearby. some of my favorite moments come exactly packaged like that. windows down, smoke and beats pouring out, cruising in search of everything and nothing.



on the flip side, friday was mainly five hours in traffic from sd to la. my neck, my back, it all hurt-ed just like that. gosh. okay, so it doesn't sound like i did alot. but let me assure you, it was a looong week. a very good week, a week that felt timeless and never-ending. oh, and how could i forget the weed fun we had on thursday nite. i personally did not partake in any of the weed, but without naming names, some people were hella funny high. if i ever smoke up, well, let's not go there because i won't ever smoke up.



anyway, i feel like i've been gone so long from my computer. my love. my sweet. my one and only. mon petit chou-chou. man, i make me sick. especially since i realized it's only technically been two days away. is there a twelve step program for computer addiction? i hope not because i never want to be sent there.

i like to hear my favorite song on the radio

so i called and requested on the radio

tell the dj spin it on the mix show

make a brother feel like i'm down at the disco

and we gonna keep it going like crisco

cuz the dj grab the record by the fist full

by the crate full, and we greatful

when you hear the stuff of records get a tasteful

(last night the dj saved my life)

cuz of the collection of the records he saved

to the direction of the record we swayed

and all night through the session we stayed

-black eyed peas, request line-



nothing happens on tuesdays nights. except this tuesday. when we ended up waiting in line at ole madrid and then walking in to an impromptu bep performance and seeing b babb on stage with taboo and the rest of the gang. whut?!? there isn't much else to say on the matter. seeing a puma rocking, dread knocking, one arm broken babbs on stage was enough to put excitement into my night. not to mention the energy put forth by the entire peas empire. and some chick who could sing and wear very very low pants. oh, and did i mention free?

took this test to determine if i had any personality disorders. negatory. well, they did say that i was anti-social and narcissistic, and that i was moderately schizotypal and histrionic. which to me, discredits the whole thing. because really, i'm very well narcissistic but anti-social, schizotypal and histrionic are not me. so obviously the results are bunk and i am still a normal perfect person. go me.



and then we have this from eharmony, a service that helps you find a life partner, the twenty nine dimensions of compatibility. the twenty nine are: good character, dominance vs submissiveness, curiosity, industry, vitality & security, intellect, appearance, sexual passion, artistic passion, adaptability, obstreperousness, sense of humor, sociability, energy, ambition, emotional health, anger management, quality of self conception, mood management, communication, conflict resolution, kindness, autonomy vs closeness, feelings about children, family background, education, spirituality, traditionalism, values orientation.



whew. quite a list eh? i'm gonna try to think about what all these things mean and if indeed it is the most important twenty nine things to look for. and no, i had no idea what the hell obstreperousness was either.

adjust the bass and let the alpine blast. so i am graduated. or perhaps the past tense is not correct. i am graduating. as in, by my very poor and meager calculations, i have enough credits to graduate. finally. i will no longer be taking any classes at the undergraduate level. barring of course, my not actually graduating. i need to figure out some paperwork, work through some transfers, email here, snail mail there, be responsible everywhere, and then i think i will have a degree. a little piece of a paper that announces my ability to accomplish something in life. i, jonathan yang, will have a college degree. three years "late", but i will have one. then again, i could be totally wrong and my credits could be all fucked up and i may actually not be graduating. which would seem par for the course because there must be something wrong with my calculations.



i think i'll actually miss taking classes. at least at the leisurely two classes per week pace i've been taking them. with that kind of academic schedule, there is very little stress and very little pressure (not that i had much of it beforehand). i actually get to learn things and feel like i'm taking something out of a classroom. and the classes i've been taking at ucsd have been fun. and i have a friend in most of my classes, which helps for motivation to actually attend classes. i don't think i've missed more than two classes this entire quarter. and people say old dogs can't learn new tricks...



i'm also thinking about taking some classes just for kicks. to extend my education. because learning does not stop outside the classroom kids. learning is a life long journey. sounds like some hokey slogan they made up in middle school for us impressionable kids to remember doesn't it? for now however, i will be undertaking the enormous responsibility of working the computer full time for our company. i'll have set hours and a salary and everything. our boy's all growns up, he's all growns up! not quite. this is only temporary for a month or two. then we'll see what happens. but for the moment, so long school, hello nine in the morning.

listen, here's the thing. if you can't spot the sucker in your first half-hour at the table, then you are the sucker. last night, and into the wee hours of this morning, we got our poker on. texas hold'em, no limit, high stakes poker among friends. well actually, there were some limits. lots of limits. the limits of our cash flow for instance. but we were doing the poker thing with quarters and dollars. we played for a good six or seven hours. the juice kept on flowing and the fun wouldn't quit.



the house is in absolute disarray after some alchohol on friday and some poker today, but it's a good kind of disarray. there is so much busting that goes on at a poker table. actually, if you get a couple of guys (plus a few chill girls) anywhere, there is always busting to be done. halo, poker, it's all about competition, friendly and fierce. in lieu of actually doing anything on the weekends, i think we should just do lots more poker night-ish things. we may as well spread the wealth among ourselves, as opposed to throwing it away to some random establishment.



quoting rounders is hilariously fun. we've never done poker before as a group. and now i'm sure we'll continue to set up some sort of poker event. i'm in it for the thrills of talking a lot and smacking my gums. the winning or losing is really just a bonus. of course it's nice to win, but it's far nicer to just sit there and talk shit about each other, and see how much fun you can make of everybody as you're taking their money. or losing it like i initially did.



hanging arrround, hanging arrround, kids got alligator blood, can't get rrrid of him.

maybe it'll be like the last time i stick it in you... (said while humping the air).

just like a young man in for a quickie. i feel so unsatisfied.

absolut los angeles. rolled up yesterday to la, mainly to catch amit while he's on his west coast swing. drove up with babbs and some friends of his from arizona. it felt like a whirlwind of a trip. we were always moving. always going somewhere. up to venice beach (closed). up to santa monica (open). over to victor's to change. back down to santa monica to hit up a lounge/club (a very decent time). a little bit of mexican food (very necessary). and then ass out. we picked up random individuals and groups of people at everywhere and our numbers shifted up and down. making me feel like we were constantly planning and waiting and gathering. but in a good way of course. the more the merrier, as always.



traveling up to LA used to be a routine, so every weekend-ish. but it's been awhile and now it's a semi-production. you should see the amount of crap i bring for a one night stay. blankets, clothing, shoes, black socks, towel, sleep clothes, bum clothes, clean clothes. of course i had to get some cookies from diddy riese. like always. that's the capper. when i know my trip is done, when i have some white chocolate macadamian cookies in hand.



we were talking on the drive home, about the feeling that the city of angels gives you. the traffic, the congestion, the wide open streets, the type of houses, the telephone wires stretched everywhere. it's a very unique feeling. we don't really have that type of atmosphere in san diego. sd is very suburban and filled with little clumps of things stuck together to form a city. la is a megatropolis that just flows, tied together by streets that strech on for miles and miles. i guess you really need to drive it, to understand what i'm talking about it. either way, i really enjoy cruising the streets of la.



this week has been so long. each day has been an adventure in and of itself. from coming back from vegas, to ending school, to meeting up with people, to LA and now back to san diego. the memories of vegas are already that, memories. still fresh in pictures but mentally so far away and in the past. and now it's barely friday, and a whole weekend lies empty before me.

i have discovered that honey bunches of oats is still fabulous even sans milk. which is fortunate because i am definitely sans milk.

inter-national, underground

thunder pounds when i stomp the ground

like a million elephants with silverback orangutans

you can't stop a train

who want some? don't come un-pre-pared

i'll be there, but when i leave there

better be a household name



don't pull the thang out, unless you plan to bang

bombs over baghdad!

don't even bang unless you plan to hit something

bombs over baghdad!



so war has started today. before i even had really decided if i was anti-war or pro-war. not that my opinions on the matter were heavily anticipated by g dub or anything. i guess one could still be anti-war in the middle of an ongoing war so my education on world events can still continue. i was gone all weekend so i had no knowledge of bush's declaration of "forty eight hours or we're coming in" thing. that seems absurd to me. why would saddam just jet out of iraq suddenly because of a forty eight hour time limit? i suppose george did it to give him a chance. and that's all we need isn't it? a chance?



watching the initial bombing on tv is very weird. first of all, the live video feed is very strange. it's live. we are watching war happen. not on tape delay, not on re-enactment. it's happening. the streets of baghdad look very peaceful in the morning. lonely cars were trucking around on the roads. i wonder where they were going. who was in them. why they were on the road when their city was about to get bombed on. but i suppose people need to get places, war or no war. mcdonald's after all, is getting ready to serve breakfast around that time.



they interviewed some captain or something. the reporter asked him the most inane questions. stuff like "so what do you expect out there? how much force are you guys bringing in? have you been given any commands? where are you most likely to hit first? what is your quest? what is your favorite color?" why are we interviewing soldiers about what they're gonna do? watching the telecast, i felt like it was the moments before a big sporting event. "what do you guys have to do to win tonight? are you motivated by saddam's comments? how excited are you to finally reach the big dance?" it's just ridiculous, watching reality tv war. i'm waiting for them to break out the play by play. direct hit baybee!



i know everyone wants to know everything that's going on but do we really need to tell the other side exactly what our weapons are? what plans and strategies we are planning to employ? did we ask george washington what he was planning to do to defeat the english? was custer made aware of the whoop ass that was coming to bear on him? war is ridiculous enough as it is, without all this tele-drama and live video action.

lions and tigers and peacocks oh my. the question i had looking at the white tigers of the mirage was "why are there white tigers?" they certainly shouldn't occur naturally in the wild, because their coloring would make for poor camouflage (they live in the jungles and not the artic), and that should be enough to eventually kill off all white tigers. white tigers were obviously not albino either so the question remained in everybody's mind. possible answers were that the white tigers could camouflage just as well, because the stripes were still there. or that white tigers were localized in a certain area so that although they were at a disadvantage, they could still exist. some of these ideas were right. some of these ideas were wrong.



but allow the guessing to cease. the answers are now clear. thanks to a bit of reading on this site, i have been opened up to the world of white tigers and i am armed with words like melanism, chinchilla albinistic, and leucism to explain to you gentle reader, why there are white tigers.



the simple answer to the "why are there white tigers?" question is that "they are all sick and twisted and mutated and in-bred and sleep with each other even though they are related." ewwww. yes. most white tigers are in-bred. oedipus was apparently a white tiger in man's clothing.



the longer answer is that the white coloration is the result of a recessive gene. as is everything cool. if levi's ever came out with a recessive jean, i'm buying it, no questions asked. anyhow. the white tiger is rare because both the mother and the father need to have the white recessive gene. most white tigers have blue eyes although sometimes they can be a golden or green color. all white tigers are from the same species of tiger, a bengalese tiger. but you knew all this already of course. on to the cool stuff.



all the excessive in-breeding causes white tigers to exhibit signs of how-you-say, weird shit. weird shit like abortions, stillbirths, unexplained mortalities, crossed eyes, curvature of the spine, twisted necks, shortened tendons and in the case of white lions, missing manes. it's a curse to be a white tiger. so the white tiger that we saw, the one that looked like it was about to puke? it was probably okay. it was just in-bred, it's not gonna puke, he's supposed to look like that.



wild white tigers are considered to be extinct in the wild. and white tigers aren't even endangered because technically they are not a separate species and thus not eligible for endangerment. tell that to your girlfriend. "we are technically still the same species so thus ineligible for endangerment or break up." white tigers did once exist in the wild and litters of normal and white colored tigers have been reported and documented. however, white tiger and lions are now only bred in captivity and the philosophy of in-breeding to create a "non-natural" animal is up for some debate.



there a possible fourteen possible color combinations in a tiger. who knew? the site covers nine of them. check it out man. fascinating stuff. nature is so damn cool. there are so many weird aberrant creatures. i'm stunned that me, an animal lover and collector, did not know there were white elephants, alligators or peacocks. geez. i have so much to learn and so little time. you can cross breed lions and tigers to produce tigons and ligers! how dope is that? and let's not even get started on how cool fish are. the animal kingdom is undoubtably the greatest kingdom of all.



in the manly kingdom of assam, the belief existed that anyone sighting a white tiger would soon die. which does not bode well for the millions of people who pass through vegas yearly. although this does prove that siegfried and roy really are out to to get us. the lesson we have learned today is that you can mix your lions and tigers but never ever mix one -er with the other because then you might get weirdo results like white, cross eyed, short tendoned offspring.

i just finished my paper. there's this thing on word after you spell and grammar check that tells you what level your writing is. my paper was written at a tenth grade level. what the hell? i write like i'm in tenth grade? let's hope i don't get graded with this system.



this feature being so amusing, i decided to run my last post through it. that vegas post was 528 words long and contained 2390 characters. i averaged 11.2 words per sentence and 4.3 characters per word. 12% of my sentences were passive (is that good or bad?). the ease at which you read it was probably 73.4. the flesch-kincaid reading grade level? 5.7. i have apparently just discovered the reason for my middle school mentality. it all makes so much sense now.

leaving las vegas. there is now a sense that there will always be another day. there used to be a panic attached to leaving. a "when will i see you again" type of moment. but after a few dozen rounds of goodbyes, in locales all around the globe, you start to get the reassuring feeling that you will see people again. the people you want to see will eventually come back around into your life. even if it's only for one or two week stints. this is just a very general rule of thumb though. because there are many people that i wish i could see more, but just don't get the opportunity to.



but the best thing about getting these opportunities to re-unite is the little moments and memories that are created. and then remembered, and then re-told. a little story to be pulled out three hours later, five days later, three years later. who could forget ameer cruising the public streets of vegas with a glass and flask of crown perpetually in hand. who could forget mental images of the bellagio fountains? who could forget the system (more on that later)? every new trip, every new group of people, creates a web of memories and images that binds them together.



what happens when those memories are old? when all the creation of new memories is gone and all you are left with are fumes from the "good old days?" is there still a bond? is there still something to be held onto? or is it simply that? memories? luckily, i may not know anytime soon because new memories with old people are being created at a fast and furious pace.



like for example. vegas and the system. when james and eric and michigan united came up with a system of craps in december, they really came up with a system. they weren't fooling around. eric wasn't fooling around. he came with sheets prepared. we analyzed and looked at those sheets even though we had all just arrived in vegas and many of us were hungry. we luxuriated around in our venetian suite and pontificated on "what the hell are all these numbers?" no details will be revealed. no numbers exposed. but suffice to say, the system worked. we all won. together. like a team. we all essentially spent a weekend in vegas for free (unless you lost money, in which case, you just feel a little better). that my friends, is a system.



the other thing i've taken out of the weekend is exactly how gigantically dorky we are. porta and louis were cranking out a C++ program to figure out the possible numercial success of our system. there was much discussion of things related to blogs and the internet. there was "it's saturday in vegas and we're sitting here watching alot of television" moments. out of fifteen people, ten of us were engineers or computer science majors. do we sound boring? i assure you we're not. no clubs, no alchohol, just lots of hanging out with a vegas backdrop. and of course, about a bajillion cameras to document everything that twitched or moved. [pictures] [louis' pictures]

sometimes i wouldn'ta made it if it wasn't for you

when i was handlin the shit i had to do

it was all for you, from the door for you

speak through you, gettin paper on tour for you

from the start, thought was down by law for you

used to hit up every corner store wall for you

we ripped shit, and kept it hardcore for you

i remember late nights, steady rockin the mic

i remember lots of times i wouldn'ta made it if it wasn't for you

hip-hop, you the love of my life and that's true

-the roots, act too.. the love of my life-



hip hop. i love it. i appreciate it. i feel it. but do i own it? is it me? do i have any ownership of the music, the movement, the culture, the history? to me those answers are a resounding "no." i don't own hip hop. i am not hip hop. my persona, my being, is not hip hop. one can be infused with hip hop, to have a deep appreciation for all that true hip hop stands for, yet still be not hip hop. i do not mc. i do not break. i do not write. i do not dj. i do not partake of the culture any more than the average person on the street. i buy (download) the music. i respect the art form. but because of that respect, i cannot say that i am a part of hip hop.



but what then is ownership of something? do you have to be a part of something to own it? if i rock phat farm and fubu, am i hip hop? if i dance to hip hop, am i hip hop? if i know every little minute detail of the history of hip hop, am i hip hop? if i can sing along to the lyrics, am i hip hop? i don't think so. some people think you can buy ownership of hip hop. some people think that you can just pick it up like the latest fashion. but i think to be a part of something, to say that you have ownership and possession of something, you need to be a part of its creation. not just a bystander, not just someone looking from the outside in. you have to be, if not a part of that community, then somewhere uplifting it and representing it.



hip hop is more than just music. it's a culture. it's a culture that i have not grown up with, that i have not actively participated in, that i have not in any way shape or form advanced. i can breathe eat and sleep hip hop but i still would not feel right saying that "yes, i am hip hop." because i come from a place where i only adopted hip hop because i felt like it was right for me. because i initially felt the music. i love hip hop, but at this point, i hesitate to say that it is me. because it's not me. you can dress hip hop, talk hip hop, appreciate hip hop but unless you create hip hop, i don't feel like you have any right to ownership of it. i can say that hip hop is a part of me, but not vice verse. people sometimes confuse the two. they are not to be confused.



i am however sure that i own something. i own filet o fish fridays. one dollar for a filet. one dollar people. this is not a game. this is not a joke. this is not a warning in the event of an emergency. this is real. one dollar. fillet o fish. this is the great social equalizer. this is a public service announcement. go get that filet on friday.



and also. with any luck, i will own vegas by the end of this weekend. double down. yo.

all i do, man, is stare at their mouths and wrinkle my eyebrows, and somehow i turn out to be a big sweetie, okay? so are you a listener or a talker? i'm generally a listener. i think. some people say that i talk alot but i think i only talk alot when i need to. i'll turn it on when it's supposed to be me talking. i'm efficient like a sprinkler. this is not to say that i'm a quiet person however. but the art form of listening has been apparently broken down into five levels (courtesy of the seven habits of highly effective people), let's take a gander shall we?



(1) ignoring - not really listening at all.

(2) pretending - make believe listening filled with "yeah, uh-huh, right".

(3) selective listening - hearing only certain parts of the conversation, like when we're listening to the constant chatter of a preschool child.

(4) attentive listening - paying attention and focusing energy on the words being said.

(5) empathic listening - listening with the intent to really understand what a person is saying by getting inside their frame of reference.



now this seems to make pretending listening and selective listening pretty bad. ignoring isn't so bad. if you're ignoring someone you're trying to show them that you have no interest whatsoever. at least that's honest. pretend listening. ooooh. now that's bad. nobody likes to be pretend listened to. that just plain sucks. i think i come off alot at number two and three. mainly because i feel like i'm nodding alot and making alot of "um-hums." but i'm listening, really. i just want to reinforce the person speaking to me, but sometimes i feel like a bobble head doll. nod nod smile nod.



i try to be at level four most of the time. if people want to sit me down to have a conversation, i'll try to be engaging and attentive, keeping the most salient points in mind. i like people. people like listeners. people like people who are actively truly listening. now level five, can we say that we do that all the time? in my conceit i would like to say that i do. but i'll have to think about it some more. "listening with the intent to really understand what a person is saying by getting inside their frame of reference." hum, that sounds like quite a bit of work. are number five listeners pretty rare do you think?



i have to say though, there are many times when i really am pretending and selective listening. how do you tell? hell if i know.

how does this this work? i had serenity explain it to me. buuut. it makes no sense. and don't be using words like "math" and "equation" and "formulas." that arithmetic stuff is all fake. i want the real psychic answer.



update: two minutes later. shit. i feel dumb as shit. no, dumber than shit. i just figured it out. or had it explained to me. man, i hate feeling stupid. i did go to kindergarten twice so i'm a little slower than you. ms cleo is salivating over my stupidity. oh man. hit me over the head and call me brain dead.

larry legend. james just called to say that he ran into larry bird in an elevator at vegas. larry freakin bird! james got to shake his hand. the field report said that his hand was "very large." james didn't have a camera though so he didn't get a picture. but that's okay, because i will be stalking larry bird (he's staying on the twenty fifth floor) from the moment i touch down in vegas. man, larry bird, the best player to ever put on little tight green shorts. larry bird, the most clutch player ever. larry bird, the man i tried to pattern my own game after (so far i've only got the too slow, non-athletic part down, the shooting and skills will follow). larry bird was drafted by the celtics in 1978. i was born in 1978. coincidence? i think not. i wonder if mr bird will sign my celtics jersey, the one with his number and my last name.



and in an unrelated yet related to testosterone thing. is there anything that makes you feel more manly than picking up your very own dry cleaning? i know you females out there won't understand this, but when a guy has to go get something dry cleaned it's a sure sign that they've reached adulthood. those of us in the white t-shirt jeans bum set don't often have very many articles of clothing to dry clean, but when we do, wow, how masculating. it ranks right up there with popping those giant packing bubbles. aargh. feel the power.

a key principle in realizing our oneness with the tao is that of wu-wei, or "non-doing." wu-wei refers to behavior that arises from a sense of oneself as connected to others and to one's environment. it is not motivated by a sense of separateness. it is action that is spontaneous and effortless. at the same time it is not to be considered inertia, laziness, or mere passivity. rather, it is the experience of going with the grain or swimming with the current. our contemporary expression, "going with the flow," is a direct expression of this fundamental taoist principle, which in its most basic form refers to behavior occurring in response to the flow of the tao.



we watched a video today in taoism class. about tai-chi and chinese calligraphy and the tao and the wu-wei. it's such a beautiful way of thinking and interpreting the world around us. to draw power and energy from the earth, from the trees, from nature. the tao can be simply explained: taoism's central principle is that all life, all manifestation, is part of an inseparable whole, an interconnected organic unity which arises from a deep, mysterious, and essentially unexplainable source which is the tao itself. the philosophy and world view that arises from these simple principles is so beautiful.



i watch the tai-chi movements and can't help but wonder what i could get from learning about this ancient philosophy. would it open doors to myself? to the world? to a place where i can gain an understanding of life? the awesomeness of nature and the purpose of duality all expose themselves through the motions and the thought processes of the tao.



i believe so much in participating with the flow, in not interfering with life (which is not inaction), not fighting the natural current of things. this, in a way, helps to explain to me the way i am, the way i react to things, the way i function. the duality of objectivism and relativism seems not so much a struggle anymore, but more like opposite forces working together harmoniously. i want to experience the tao. i want to tap into spiritual strength. take the knowledge of a thousands year old philosophy and see what i can glean from it. i've seen tai-chi many times and never really got a good grasp of the meanings involved in the motions. i want to know. i want to open those doors and see what i can find.



it's very hard to put into words the sense of awe i feel at exploring taoism and eastern philosophy. it feels very right. like when i read rand. it feels like i belong to this, and it belongs to me. my modern day interpretation of the tao is summed up thusly, "chill out."

the future is a stereo that eats your favorite tapes

the soundtrack to your youth that cannot be replaced

so hold on to every song before they disappear

your future almost here

-josh joplin group, siddhartha's of suburbia-



and it starts like this we crave to be kissed

by a moment complete in its happiness

far away from the things we wish to escape

that lead us to think we are not awake

we are ourselves despite ourselves

this place gets smaller as the universe swells

we come to terms eventually, eventually, eventually

i am not the only cowboy in this one horse metaphor

-josh joplin group, i am not the only cowboy-



i think therefore, i think i am

i can’t make my mind up and i can’t make you understand

how i get distracted, how i search for things to say

how i let myself get myself into my way

i love to hear you talk, it’s funny but it’s true

what gets into me must be you

what gets into me must be you



i’m always late but it’s really not my fault

time just hates me, that’s why it made me an adult

if wisdom comes with age then i haven’t got a clue

-josh joplin group, must be you-

how can you not love a wizard of oz toy line that comes with the "not for children under seventeen" warning? craziness. and it's todd mcfarlane. obviously. it's a little sick, a little grotesque. but i love the wizard of oz so maybe i'll have to get it. what will the neighbors think?



and also, we've all seen contenders for the world's smallest cheeto but here is the world's largest cheeto. i hate cheetos but this is just too amusing.

another gripe spawned at the bookstore. so i flipped around some various music magazines while i was doing the dinosaur/scantily clad women thing. hip hop has come to the brink and everyone is coming up with "the top ten ways to fix hip hop." and related shit like that (although one particular article was penned by the esteemable common). vibe was featuring something about the hip hop hollywood phenomenon. the source was featuring some hip hop article too. as it should, since it is a hip hop magazine (i had no clue benzino was a co-owner of the source).



anyhoo. the main source article was not about naked dinosaurs hip hopping around but rather the way records are only getting radio play nowadays based on kickbacks and greased palms. the clipse couldn't find any radio play for their hit single, grindin, in their very own hometown because they weren't well connected enough. they had to do some grass roots touring to get the radio punks to play their music. and that song is a butt moving classic. the conglomerating and consolidating of radio stations has led to a very difficult environment for up-and-coming artists to break into. many radio djs and owners are getting paid to play singles and sometimes won't play tracks without some payola. this means that however hard you might struggle, however good your music might be, you might never get that breakthrough moment due to twisted shady economics. one agent even said that he could hardly get any love for a guru/premier/krumb snatcher track. not that gangstarr ever gets radio play anyway. but the fact of the matter is that radio is soon (if not already) becoming as homogenized as your local starbucks (not to drag them into it, i actually like starbucks). the little people get left starving on the sidelines while the crap gets distributed. i hate capitalism. oh wait, no i don't. i'm randian. whatever.



does this whole thing not make you outraged? does this not make you wonder how you'll ever make it in this big bad noon to five world? yeah okay. me neither. but seriously, this ain't funny so don't ya dare laugh. just another case about the wrong path, straight and narrow, or your soul gets cast. good night.

sex (and dinosaurs) sell. is it not disgusting that you have to pander to the masses when selling magazines? when national geographic has to resort to putting out a swimsuit issue, you know something's wrong. and don't be telling me we need to see "one hundred years of swimsuit pictures." it's all for marketing purposes, these scantifly clad national geographic women. nothing redeeming or inventive about a retrospective of swimsuits. and not nearly enough skin either. if you're gonna do a swimsuit issue, do it right. forego classiness and education. go for crass and botox and silicon. sheesh.



i was about to grab a national geographic to read when i looked at the cover and was revolted by some half naked seductive female on the cover. oh whoops, that was a maxim. national geographic actually had a cover about dinosaurs.



as did scientific american. which brings me to a sudden startling realization. magazines are putting dinosaurs on their covers because they know i like dinosaurs and want me to buy the issue! the article is barely anything news worthy or revolutionary. dinosaurs just appear on science magazines so that they can keep circulation up! whoa now conspiracy theory. whoa now nelly. this is despicable. i refuse to be led around by my single celled brain and buy magazines just because they have a dinosaur story as a "feature." they know i like dinosaurs. i know i like dinosaurs. and they know that you like dinosaurs. so they put dinosaurs on the cover to fool us into buying a magazine. luckily i circument the whole buyer-seller relationship by camping out at the bookstore to just read and re-rack. i will show you, the man, that i will not be coerced into buying your damn magazine. but i will read your interesting, informative and thought-provoking article. thank you for keeping me abone of dinosaur happenings.



i could never work for a magazine company. having to continually put half naked women and dinosaurs on my covers just to make money. how shameful. but then again, it's not like i'm adverse to half-naked women and dinosaurs. they are probably both up in my list of top one hundred favorite things. so i guess the system is alright. don't you hate it when you go to the bookstore and get all activist and bitter about the world? just read man. it's fundamental.



on a side note. does putting sex and dinosaurs as my blog title totally discredit my gripe? does it make you want to send me money or just read and re-rack this post? i'd prefer if you sent money. vegas calls this weekend. i promise profits from all contributions.

to the extreme i rock a mic like a vandal. rolled up to the studio this afternoon. i just like saying that. combining "rolled up" and "studio" in the same sentence makes me feel important. like i'm an artist creating stuff for mass consumption. like, "i rolled up in the studio today and knocked out a few tracks. kicked back, relaxed a little bit, worked some, sipped on a keg of lemon water. the album'll be out in june. holla." and then go get in my limo and cruise away into the sunrise.



but alas, i was only in the studio to witness the decimating talents of my friends. the studio was somewhere in el cajon and it was typical studio stuff. big warehouse building with aluminum siding and cars parked all about. i mean, nothing big. so blase, this studio stuff. you've seen one recording studio you've seen them all. ha. totally not. being in the studio was really cool. i like looking at all the machinery. i am mesmerized by all the blinking lights and the pushy button things. i like thinking, "stuff is made here." it's obviously incomparable to being in a flute factory but it's very cool nonetheless.



victor was crooning away when we first got into the recording lab and we could see him through the glass and communicate via microphones and speakers. i wanted to take a picture of me, all serious-like, sitting at the boards but i figured that would be disrespectful to the real sound engineer. anyhow, hung out at the studio for a couple hours, watching and listening to gene and james do some singing and guitaring. it's damn neat to see your friends shine. whether it be on stage or in a little two by two hot box.



i don't get tired of listening to the same thing over and over again. especially if it's good stuff like gene's got. instead of getting sick of something due to immense repetition, i learn to appreciate more when i can see the whole creation process. it's a neat feeling. whether you're sitting down to video edit, write something, create something, if you're there during the whole process you can marvel at how a project got from a to b to c. i wish i could of captured my feelings in some sort of written form. but instead i just read magazines and tried to soak the atmosphere in. i did of course dust off my trusty camcorder to get some footage. so look for that on some bootleg business someday when everybody's famous. if you can't make money off your friends' talents what good are they anyway?



i am also amazed at the musical technical expertise of the people in that studio. "that bar there, that something something there." they have to repeat and do takes over and over and correct tiny little things each time. for me, i can appreciate the medium of music but i don't know enough about it to be breaking it down. so watching and learning how a group of people work with each other to pick out little nuances and details is pretty amazing. because of my lack of knowledge, everything seems so magical. vagical even. that's the new word from today. if it's better than magical, it's vagical. sick and stupid. but hey. you reap what you sow. peace.

so our new dryer came today. apparently our old dryer was off protesting. anti-spinning rally i believe. because i am the man of the house, and because nobody else is home, i had to wait for the burly dryer men to come. they came. and delivered our new dryer. normally a totally un-blogworthy event. but this dryer is craziness. it's so new it smells like fresh bounce. it's got a plastic shoe rack for drying shoes. it's got two buttons and four dials- one dial is to set the finishing beep volume, i hope we didn't pay extra for that feature. it's an extra large dryer, for extra wide loads. there's a little light inside the dryer, undoubtably a close kinsman of the oven light, so that you can check on your clothing mid-cycle. my clothes have never been dryer. it's great. you should come over. we can dry stuff together. even shoes.



on a sidenote, i think that "your dryer so big" jokes would be way more pc and humane than "your momma so fat jokes." your dryer so big the last time she saw 90210 was on the scale! um, but not nearly as funny.

guacamole. it's not as easy as it looks. have you seen this ad? the one for the new carl's junior guacamole bacon six dollar burger? a guy gets an avocado out of the refrigerator and attempts to make guacamole (you knew guacamole came from avocadoes right? right?) by putting the avocado in a blender. the avocado bounces uncut in the cylinder and the tag line comes up. "guacamole. it's not as easy as it looks." hilarious man. hilarious.



so i'm trying to write an article for tien and victor's web thing. my article is supposed to be about babbs. about his work, about him, about something. but the problem is i'm having a terrible time getting started. i want to do something good. i want to do something that reveals a part of him, that reflects his work. and i want it to be good. oh wait, i said that already. but anyway, i've decided that attempting to write something about someone you know is extremely hard. because you already know them, those initial impression feelings are gone, they've been replaced by memories and opinions. it would be so much easier to just interview some random person. because then everything you feel in that encounter can be noted and written about.



but in the case of trying to write about a good friend of yours, it's difficult. i don't want to have an interview with him that's just straight forward and relatively boring. or maybe it should be that way, so that i can't mess up. but i would like to engage the reader as well as highlight some aspect of the artist. so basically i'm blogging instead of brainstorming. that's been proven to solve many a problem. blogging. it's as easy as it looks.

don't be fooled by the rocks that i got. this jenny working the block business has got to go. i'm past the point of trying to hate the song for good reasons, ie. her bling bling image contrasted with her keep it real lyrics. now i just hate the song. the beat is stolen from a far superior track, the lyrics are terrible, the radio keeps playing it over and over. and over. doesn't she have a new single by now? dang-o. i think it's partly because of this very song that i don't listen to the radio anymore.



and look at how seamlessly she went from jennifer lopez to j-lo. so easy, so febreezy. just like when puff daddy became the p diddy, and mc hammer became just hammer. i choose to disregard the initial skepticism and mockery. nobody likes change. nobody likes initials. this smooth as butter transformation does make me believe that i too could be monikered anything i want with a little public support. so when i decide on a new name for myself, i expect your support okay? okay.



this is in no way hating on jennifer lopez. she's great. i'm a great admirer of her multimedia mogulship. anyone who can successfully transition between three careers is to be applauded. plus, any woman who needs to insure her ass is pretty much golden in my book. btw, her j-lo clothing line sells plus sizes. interesting. i'm not sure if i should be all like go girl or if it's just funny. in a twist of irony with a hint of lime way of course.

you (sdg&e) light up my life. the electricity just went out. my first panicky thought was that someone cut the lights and was about to come breaking in. but keep it real. if somebody wanted to come in and jack me and my home, i doubt they would need to clip the lights first. i mean, i'm intimidating and all but we're talking professionals here. i am but an amateur screamer. my initial secondary thought was that the fbi was putting some moves on. but once again, the same irrefutable logic lead me to the conclusion that this was just a power outtage. and seriously, i live in del mar, the bastion of upper middle class suburbia. nothing crazy goes on here.



where is that prometheus guy when you need him? i dug around for a lighter or matches to light my candle. i couldn't find any. ironic no? i am a smoker who can't find a damn light when absolutely necessary. i should be shunned. i was using the fluorescent light from my cell phone to find my way around. ghetto.



the lights are on now. obviously. no need to get freaked out for me here. i'm a-ok. check your pulse, hitch up your belt, bunch up your panties, life can go on. it occured to me that if the lights went off when i was all alone at home i might just be forced to cower. but let's hope it never gets to that. suburbia man, it's not the inner city but its got its hazards.



[update 12:21am] the lights went off again. if this isn't a reason to buy more glow in the dark stuff i don't know what is.

upside down and inside out. do you know someone who needs hours alone every day? who loves quiet conversations about feelings or ideas, and can give a dynamite presentation to a big audience, but seems awkward in groups and maladroit at small talk? who has to be dragged to parties and then needs the rest of the day to recuperate? who growls or scowls or grunts or winces when accosted with pleasantries by people who are just trying to be nice?



this article calls these people "introverts." i just say they're anti-social. but hey, i'm quick to judge. but since i was speaking of introspection the other day, this article is about introverts. wheee.



the quintessential hard-core smoker, according to eysenck, is an extrovert, the kind of person who: is sociable, likes parties, has many friends, needs to have people to talk to....he craves excitement, takes chances, acts on the spur of the moment and is generally an impulsive individual....he prefers to keep moving and doing things, tends to be aggressive and loses his temper quickly; his feelings are not kept under tight control and he is not always a reliable person. heavy smokers have been shown to have a much greater sex drive than nonsmokers.



i can't decide if this makes me want to smoke more or less. not that i'm a hard-core smoker by any means. but not being a hard-core smoker doesn't mean i don't like parties. in related news, i'm free friday.

chimerical. in adaptation, charlie kaufman asks his brother how he can ignore what everyone thinks of him and be such a total dolt. david/daniel/d-something replies that he decided long ago "you are what you love, not what loves you." deep. who writes this stuff? oh right, charlie kaufman. anyway. after thinking about this one for a bit of time now, i've decided that not only is this absolutely right, it's absolutely confusing. (it's also against the grain of what we are taught in our daily interactions.)



i agree with it very much because in principle it means that you are who you want to be. you get to decide what you love and thus who you are. the opinions of others don't matter in the slightest. the issue here of course, is that it's pretty easy to end up with a pretty unrealistic vision of yourself. if everyone else says that you're a fool but you don't think so, chances are, you're a fool. power to the little people and fight the power but four out of five dentists can't be wrong.



so what to do with this "you are what you love" phrase? define yourself on your own terms and decide what makes you tick or take a slightly more realistic view and figure out how people actually perceive you? do people's perceptions matter? it does to an extent, but it's far more empowering to say that people's views don't matter. it makes us all stand grandly like oak trees, to say that we are unaffected by the perceptions and misconceptions of others. i like to say this to myself all the time. "i don't care what anybody else thinks, i'm me regardless of people's perceptions." this is mostly true when i speak it but even i understand that i can only say this after many years of affirmations and friendly support.



nobody comes out of the womb confident by nature. some people never gain that inner confidence, but for most of us, we are emerging or fully in it right now. we have friends who accept us for who we are, we have left the stifling social circles of institutionalized education, we are stable solid and aware. we know what we like and why we like it. i think it would be extremely interesting to chronicle the steps and the events that lead to someone's state of self assurance.



wouldn't it be a shocking thing to be told that your version of you is totally different than everybody else's version of you? would that be merely interesting or more along the lines of earth shattering?

at one point in the orchid thief, ms. orlean asks a park ranger named tony why he thinks people find orchids so seductive. his answer matches both the nonchalance and the insight of this remarkable, impossible film: "oh, mystery, beauty, unknowability, i suppose. besides, i think the real reason is that life has no meaning. i mean, no obvious meaning. you wake up, you go to work, you do stuff. i think everybody's always looking for something a little unusual that can preoccupy them and help pass the time."



for susan orlean (the character), the flower is literally and figuratively a drug. she desires desire itself. in a world of convenience and leisure, can one want something so thoroughly as to make oneself vulnerable to it? this is a major modern conundrum. but the addict will give you a quick answer.

intro to the spective. i used to say that i really liked people who were introspective. this is until recently when i realized "hey, everyone is introspective." who doesn't like to think about themselves? shit, if you can't think about yourself what else are you gonna think about? introspectioin is perhaps a little deeper than just thinking about yourself but anyone who doesn't contemplate their own thoughts and feelings probably ain't doing too much anyway. we're all trying to figure ourselves out as we figure out the rest of the world. so thus i've concluded that introspection is going right up on the shelf with "nice" as an attribute. everyone's "nice." everyone's "introspective."



not everyone however, is interesting. some people are quite frankly boring. or trite. or boring. or have a lot to say but you've heard it all before. this is of course based on my own personal observations. and my biases play strongly in this particular opinion. actually my biases play strongly in all my opinions.



i've been told that maybe sometimes people just don't open up to everyone and so they appear shallow or boring on the surface. but no. i hold strongly to the opinion that while god may have made men equal, he did not make them all equally interesting. you don't have to entertain me or be interesting to me right off the bat but honestly, aren't there many times when you meet people and you go "oh, i've seen this before. let's mosey on out of this conversation..." giddy yap.

astra starfallen. for our final children's story we had to take one of our previous stories and flip it and reverse it. changing the tone or the characters and totally ignoring all the things we've learned about plot, setting, character and resolution. so pretty much we could write however the hell we wanted. that's my kind of assignment.

il postino. have you ever tried to track down the mailman while he's working the route? it's like finding a cop, there's always two when you don't need them but never one when you do. ms pamela left her wallet up in LA a few days back and she had it express mailed to her friend's house but the mailman never dropped it off as requested. so pam had to delay her return trip for a day in an attempt to get her wallet back this morning. but we woke up a little too late and the postman had already left on his deliveries and there was no way to contact him. in this day and age of cell phones and electronic gadgets and the mailman don't got no communication? that's taking snail mail to the extreme don't you think?



so we cruised the twenty two hundred through twenty five hundred block of carmel valley road and amazingly enough, found the damn guy. as soon as pam got her mouth open to say we were looking for a package, he was like "oh, twenty five oh five right? yeah, i just dropped it off." the larger gentleman then said something about not noticing the waiver to drop off the package on saturday. but we were happy. our mission was at an apparent end and we cruised two streets over to grab the package.



duuuude. the mailbox had a lock on it. and it was one of those security mailboxes where you can drop stuff in but a metal plate prevented you from pulling stuff out. we borrowed a construction worker's tool thingy and started to yank stuff out of the mailbox using our arms to reach into the locked part. pam yanked out some catalogs and some junk mail. i tried and actually pulled out a small package. i thought i was gonna be a big hero and save the day but naw, it was the wrong package. snikes.



after a few more failed attempts and one instance of trying to fish something out with gum, we decided to give up in order to get her to the airport on time. in short, we had quite an adventure trying to find the postman and the package but in the end, was totally unsuccessful. but mondays like this are far and few between. and now i know what to do when trying to recover a package from the postman. i know how to track him down and get him to spill his guts. well, either that or we could just wake up earlier.

bein my bloodline is one with the divine

in time brotha, you will discover the light

some say that god is black and the devil's white

well, the devil is wrong and god is what's right

i fight, with myself in the ring of doubt and fear

the rain ain't gone, but i can still see clear



as a child, given religion with no answer to why

just told believe in jesus cuz for me he did die

curiosity killed the catechism

understanding and wisdom became the rhythm that i played to

and became a slave to master self

a rich man is one with knowledge, happiness and his health



my mind had dealt with the books of zen, tao the lessons

koran and the bible, to me they all vital

and got truth within'em, gotta read them boys

you just can't skim'em, different branches of belief

but one root that stem'em, but people of the venom try to trim'em

and use religion as an emblem

when it should be a natural way of life



who am i or they to say to whom you pray ain't right

that's who got you doin right and got you this far

whether you say "in jesus name" or "al hum du'allah"

long as you know it's a bein' that's supreme to you

you let that show towards others in the things you do

cuz when the trumpets blowin, 24 elders surround the throne

only 144,000 gon get home



i've lived and i've learned

i have taken and i've earned

i have laughed, i've cried

i have failed and i have tried

sunshine, pouring rain

found joy through all my pain

i just wanna be happy with being me

-common, g.o.d (gaining one's definition)-

it hurts to laugh. any clenching of any muscle hurts. this makes getting out of bed, getting into and out of the car, a little slow. i walk very gingerly. this is the result of a day's worth of football. not even tackle football mind you, it was a day's worth of flag football. i haven't been this sore in awhile. i don't work out (duh), i don't run, i don't exercise except when i play basketball, and i expect to never get sore. this is when i'm supposed to be reaching my athletic peak. if i were in the league, my age would bring me heightened expectations and fatty contracts. instead i'm sore as all hell from a day of flag football.



but it was well worth it. we, a ragtag bunch from cbc, put up a good fight and only really lost due to our inexperience and lack of practice. when we first got to the field we were staring at the other teams --all korean churches, stocked with large korean male specimens-- running pass drills. the quarterback would take the snap, whip out a laser and the receivers would catch that thing in stride. well actually, some of the receivers really sucked but the team uniforms they sported were slightly intimidating. needless to say we were not half that organized. but we put on a good show. after giving up five touchdowns to none the first half of our first game, we only allowed three more touchdowns the rest of the way. we lost all three games, 34-10, 12-10 and 2-0. we gave up like four safeties in total. but we were bringing these organized teams to their knees with our studlly defense. a moral victory is just as good as a real victory, especially when your body is breaking down. half our squad had rebuilt knees, tweaked ankles, torn muscles, and we had more strappable gear than a s&m convention.



why are korean guys so damn big? that was a problem, the huge offensive and defensive linemen trying to truck us little chinese guys. but our d-line was outstanding. i don't even know why i'm sore. i didn't really get hit that much, outside of one huge guy killing me on a block. i knocked off his glasses, he knocked me on my ass with my legs facing the sky. fair tradeoff i'd say. but today was more fun than i've had in quite awhile. we need some more participation in organized sports.

fireman: one. financial analyst: zero. ok ok, i'm a little slow on this bachelorette dealy. shame shame you know my name, blah blah. i caught the back three episodes though, in tonight's marathon, but i forced myself to turn it off before the last "giveaway" episode. (instead i called george for the answer to "who did trista pick?" because i figured she would know.) i didn't want to stick around for the final "heavily edited, sure to be heart wrenching" ending because (a) dude it's saturday night, i'm single and in my house alone, and i'm watching a bachelorette marathon. if that doesn't spell loser i must be using a different alphabet than you. and (b) i can't stand to watch a grown ass man get his little heart broken. sure, it's kind of okay to see girls cry on tv, it happens all the time. trista was rejected? whoever whoever was rejected? boohoo, i've seen girls cry. but dang man, to see one of these studmuffins break down in tears after a rejection? that my friend is too much for me. there's no crying in baseball!



but i realize the entire appeal of these reality dating/marrying shows is to see the rejection. do you really care who ends up with whom? it never lasts anyway. the thing to watch is people handling rejection. i'm not a raiderette? i'm not a laker girl? i'm not tough enough? i'm not the one?!? oh the pain and the agony. i've never gotten flat out rejected like that, to my face, in front of tv cameras. how do you react to something like that? most of my rejections have come slowly and ubiquitously. there's a sudden aha moment when i realize "hey, i'm a reject." but to have someone just tell you that to your face. dang man. hurts hurts. that's why i try not to overextend myself and expect acceptance into anything. clubs, girls, basketball games, social functions. set those bars low and keep that attitude nonchalant, it may not make for a great tv show but it certainly causes less drama. and it keeps the tears away, you know how important that is for big men like us. i mean, you.



another thing i've learned with ryan taking trista home. chicks dig poetry eh? or was it the hunky fireman thing?