On "Oh Oh Oh-oh"

It's june, which means nothing but dross. I entered a tennis tournament to try and uphold my new years resolution, but if the throbbing on the anterior portion of my ankle is any indication, I may need the other 6 months of this year to fulfill it. Not being negative, but it's just a reality. French Open has been on, and Nadal is out. I guess its good for "old" guys like Federererererer, who is a year younger than me. I think deep down inside I think that, by winning a tourney, I will still have that sense of extra-curricular achievement. It's that whole dream fulfillment thing. One of the most emotional things I've witnessed on television (besides the Challenger explosion) has to be Pete Sampras's final two championships. The last Wimbledon he won, in the darkness (perhaps even darker than Fed/Nadal of 08) light bulbs flashing the way and he goes up in the stands, up two decks and finds his dad. Despite winning all those championships, Pete's dad could never muster the stomach to see his son play. Pete was #1 for almost a decade. I welled up as I saw his nebbish father try and hug a man almost a foot taller than he, a pure physical specimen. He was hugging his child, his validation in this world. The last championship Pete won, the 2001 US Open, he was considered too old. People called him out on his speed. His pure serve and volley was derided as ancient as up and comers like Andy Roddick and Roger Federer clubbed winners from behind the baseline. But there he stood, on the biggest stage in tennis, facing his lifelong rival, Andre Agassi. Coming out the victor, Pete put both his hands in the air and yelled a yalp of utter elation. Again he made his way into the stands, and found his new wife, and they had a New york moment as he paused, shared a smile and shut out the stadium by sharing a kiss. This is a guy people called boring, Pete Samprazzzzzz, for his machine like propensity to win. And yet, Roger Federer is considered a teutonic wonder. This, to me, is life. If (when?) I win a tourney, I may not have the flashbulbs, the crowd, or the legacy, but I will share the moment with those around me. Until then, I make like Billy Idol: a-dancin with mah sehelf!

Here is the version that I gets me going, from Blink-182. Yes I liked them in high school, and yes I didn't have a lot of friends.

On home, aspirations for inspirations, and the simple act of gift giving.

I am home for the Mother's Day weekend and I was able to capitalize on the downtime by clearing my head. My method to escape the madness? A two hour drive: solo. Perhaps calling it madness is a touch, extreme, and I certainly don't have a crazy hectic day-to-day. But as I put more and more distance between my silver 4door and the lazing gridlock of the engineering blunder that is the 405/101 interchange, I settled into my silence. I laughed to myself about halfway through the drive, the only break in silence, ironically because I realized I hadn't spoken in an hour. I am (at least I think) quite the Chatty Cathy and it felt good to not have to say anything for those two hours. No platitudes on life to be dispensed, no suggestions on places to go or eat at, and no explaining myself. Heck, even if I had been pulled over for my slightly enthusiastic driving manner, I would have just taken the ticket in silence. I am making it seem like I have an oppressive environment, but really, friendly readers, it's just me being intrigued with this sudden lack of interaction. Going from one home to another, I really liked the time spent in the middle.

And what did I find in my zen-transit? That I am brimming with ideas: thoughts and comments on small facets of my life (man this post is introspective, just hang in there I promise it'll be worth it). One such thing was this blog. I have wanted to make it bigger, better, different. And so comes this bit of an upgrade: I am going to start including some choice music morsels as posts. I am by no means a music expert. I tend to gladly leave such things to others, but seeing as I have been sharing some of my finds with friends, I might as well throw you, the reader, a bone as well.

And so here is my first musical morsel, a cover of Buck Owens's "Streets of Bakersfield". Lemme 'splain.

Aside from the "WHOOO I'M FROM THAT TOWN" spazzing that comes from having your hometown in a song, I have come to appreciate the loner aesthetic being expressed here. The chug a chug beat mimics the thumping of travel one goes through to get to Bakersfield with a mind numbing cadence. Coming from a town that many will dismiss as bereft of culture, I can see now why there is a street named after Buck Owens and also can now take comfort in the fact that this town had its effect on the music world besides Korn. Oddly, I found this song on a cover album of recordings compiled from an Australian radio show. Beau Jennings does a good job here. Better than Dwight Yoakam. Sorry Dwight.

"How many of you that sit and judge me
Have walked the streets of Bakersfield?"

Streets of Bakersfield (Cover) by Beau Jennings

That just happened.

I couldn't write something better:

Scene: Vincent is casually walking out of the grocery store about 12 feet behind an elderly woman. The woman is carrying two small Starbucks sample cups, and walking to the passenger side of a car parked in the Handicapped space hands one of the cups to her husband.

Wife: Here, try this. It was free!
Husband:I don't want it!
Wife: Just try it!
Husband (grabbing the sample cup): Fine.

drinks it

I don't like it!

Wife: Well, you better take your medication. There is sugar in it, too.


End Scene


As the son of both a diabetic father AND a comedienne mother, this brought grins. Hopefully one day my parents will bicker and poison one another to the brink of death, if only to show affection.

Uncomfortable moments

Manny Being Manny.

On friends and friendship.

It's been a hectic month, April, and I am glad it is over. I definitely ended it on a great note though. This past weekend saw me reunited (and it feels so good) with one of my old friends from high school and all points in between: Oscar. Oscar and Santino always make for a good time (see: Boracay 06 and my 25th birthday) and to go on a little road trip to Vegas with them, Cax and Muffinski was a tiring, but fun adventure. As Hemingway put it: "An intelligent man is sometimes forced to be drunk to spend time with his fools." I wasn't really forced, but oh well. Alcohol.

Lest this turn into a bromantic (ugh, I used that. I should TWEET about it.) gush fest, I just feel this a point of note to say I am glad to have friends as equal parts asshole, comedian, and Stand By Me buddy buddy as them. From drunken nights at Lascano house, planning last minute trips to the PI, bullshit conversations over really great music, amateur skim boarding, nefarious plots, girls, and nefarious plots about girls, I would gladly let the company I have kept speak for the kind of person I am.

Rain and gloomy weather.

Not really wanting to do much, but somehow still need to be productive. I have the laundry going, endless cover letters and resumes to write, but deep within my heart I carry this song.

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