MENTAL VENTILATION

Good Read: Fallen by Karin Slaughter

2011-07-13T07:28:00.000-07:00

Wow. I can't believe it's been over a year since I last blogged about something. Geez! It's not that I don't have anything to say, (c'mon son, Me not have anything to say? Really?), it's just that this year has been filled with many events. Some tremendously sad ones, but also some incredibly happy ones. At times I've caught myself calling this year the "bi-polar year" of my life, but I'll save all the details for another day.

The funny thing when I come to think about it is that I have several pending blogs that I just haven't posted yet. I just haven't had a chance to sit, clear my mind, and get down to it. But today I decided that I had to take a minute and post a quick blog about an awesome book I just read. Fallen by Karin Slaughter.

Fallen is the best book I've read in a long while! If you're the suspense/thriller type, this book is definitely, and I mean definitely for you. On Amazon.com, readers gave this book a 4 star rating. What? Someone must have stolen that 5th star cause dammit, this book deserves it! Well that's how I feel anyway if you really wanna know about it (Holy crap! I just sounded like Holden Caulfield from The Catcher in the Rye by J. D. Salinger. A 1950's classic that was banned from school's for a while. A must read! But I'll leave that for another blog lol). Anywho, this is the first book I've read by Karin Slaughter but believe you me it sure won't be my last. Fallen. Stop messing around and go get it! Trust me. I don't play around with good sh*t! That just came out wrong. Wait. Came out? Damn I did it again. In the words of my friend Angel Montalvo, "Sea mi vida gris!" ("May my life be gray!"). It's just a saying folks. I like the everchanging colors in my life if you really wanna know about it. hee-hee :).

Here's an excerpt:

There's no police training stronger than a cop's instinct. Faith Mitchell's mother isn't answering her phone. Her front door is open. There's a bloodstain above the knob. Her infant daughter is hidden in a shed behind the house. All that the Georgia Bureau of Investigations taught Faith Mitchell goes out the window when she charges into her mother's house, gun drawn. She sees a man dead in the laundry room. She sees a hostage situation in the bedroom. What she doesn't see is her mother. . . .

Now tell me that didn't tickle your insides and make your nipples hard? Ok, maybe it didn't tickle your insides but your nipples are definitely hard right now. Aren't they? No? Is it just me? Damn, it's freaking cold in this office. Now go get it!!! lol.

Good Read: Still Alice by Lisa Genova

2010-07-03T22:36:00.000-07:00

Hmmm... I can't seem to remember where I left my keys... Where did I park again? I know it was between Unionport Road and Olmstead Avenue, but I can't seem to find my car... Wait a minute, did I just miss my stop? Man, what's going on with me today? OMG! Another umbrella lost and a new charity gift for a wet straphanger who left his or her umbrella at home! That sh#$ wasn't even mine... I forgot to buy the freaking milk again! I knew I was forgetting something!

Has this ever happened to you? You know, a mental lapse? Where for a split second you're completely disoriented, and forget what you were doing or what you were about to do? If this occurs between the ages of 20-50, you just shrug it off as not being focused. You blame it on the stress, your depression, or lack of sleep. If you're between the ages of 55-65, you blame it on your advanced aged status and the fact that it's normal, for a person of advanced age, to forget certain things. If your above 65 years of age, you automatically lean on the fact that at that age, a person's memory is suppose to fail, and that being disoriented, incoherent, and extremely forgetful is totally normal as well. But what if on a hunch, you decide to visit a neurologist and after an extensive evaluation, the MD enters the room and says, "I'm sorry to tell you this, but after several testing, and analysis, my staff and I believe that your memory loss is not due to stress, depression, your menopausal stage, or your advanced age. We believe you're suffering from Alzheimer's Disease."

According to Wikipedia, Alzheimer's Disease (AD) is known as the most common form of dementia. It's an incurable, degenerative and terminal neurological disease, generally diagnosed in people over 65 years of age. Reports indicate that in the early stages, the most commonly observed symptom is the inability of acquiring new memories.

"As the disease advances, symptoms include confusion, irritability and aggression, mood swings, language breakdown, long-term memory loss, and the general withdrawal of the sufferer as their senses decline. Gradually, bodily functions are lost, ultimately leading to death... The mean life expectancy following diagnosis is approximately seven years. Fewer than three percent of individuals live more than fourteen years after diagnosis." (Wikipedia)

The disease slowly but surely begins to progress, and works its way through the brain suffocating healthy neurons and killing them off. What did that neuron hold? Your child's name? Your address? A special someone's birthday? The feeling of Love?

Unfortunately, Alzheimer's doesn't only affect individuals 65 years of age and older. In several less-common cases, individuals less than 65 can suffer from what is known as Early-Onset Alzheimer's Disease. The majority of these folks are in their 50's or early 60's, however, in very rare instances, people in their 30's and 40's have been found to have early onset AD as well. Studies indicate that approximately half of the cases of early onset AD are Familial Alzheimer's disease, which means that there was a genetic predisposition that lead to the disease.

Can you imagine how debilitating this would be to a person's family, friends, caregiver, co-workers, and wife? Well I don't have to imagine it. For several years now, I've been able to witness the incredible toll early onset AD can cause on a family from a first hand basis. Although I've considered myself an outsider looking in, I've always felt part of their family. Yes, I've been blessed with that privilege. Which family is it that I speak of? The Peralta family and Mr. Freddy Peralta Sr., who has Alzheimer's.

The incredible thing is that when you spend some time with them, the mom, Mrs. Ana Peralta, a hard working self-made business woman, or the eldest son Freddy Peralta Jr., aka Freddy P, or Alex Peralta aka Arod, a humble man and dear brother to me, or Alana Peralta, my P.P.I.C (Party Partner in Crime), aka my Cupcake, you're immediately moved by they're strength, and perseverance. As an outsider, I've been incredibly touched by their faith, unity and love. They don't know this but, in secret, they are some of my heroes (cue the "Hero" song by Nickelback).

In Still Alice, a novel by Lisa Genova a Harvard Grad Neuroscientist, we visit the incredible life and story of Dr. Alice Howland, a 50 year old tenured professor of Cognitive Psychology at Harvard University who's struck with the cruel symptoms of this devastating disease. Dr. Howland, a highly regarded and respected professor in her field, wife and mother, who suddenly begins to loose a grip on the one thing she had so much control over, and knew so much about. Her own mind.

Author Lisa Genova does an amazing job of telling the story not from an outsider's point of view, as many authors and journalists have done in the past, but from the point of view of the innocent victim Dr. Alice Howland herself. As you turn the pages you'll see yourself becoming Alice, suffering with her and her family, feeling her pain and stress, and even feeling some of the degenerative symptoms.

If you know someone who suffers from Alzheimer's or have a friend who does, or have heard or read of people who do, this is definitely a great read and recommendation. For families struck by this awful disease, it may bring further understanding as to what goes on in the mind of the diseased. It also may answer several unaswered questions, bring clarity to some of the confusion, hope when you thought there was none, and allow you to realize that the loved one who you once shared so many things with, is really "still" there.

Here's what other readers have said about Still Alice.

"Heartbreaking real... So real, in fact, that it kept me from sleeping for several nights. I couldn't put it down... Still Alice is a story that must be told"

-Brunonia Barry, New York Times best selling author of The Lace Reader

"After I read Still Alice, I wanted to stand up and tell a train full of strangers, 'You have to read this book.'..."

-Beverly Beckham, The Boston Globe

For Freddy Sr., Ana, Freddy Jr., Alex & Alana Peralta. Stay strong. I love you guys, and I'm here for you.

Good Read: Hellhound On His Trail by Hampton Sides

2010-07-03T12:40:00.000-07:00

His name was Martin Luther King Jr (b. January 15th, 1929-d. April 4th, 1968) and he's most famously known for his nation-changing work as an activist and his role in the Civil Rights Movement of the mid-to late 60's. As I rewind the hands of time, I can recall my days in elementary, junior high school, high school, and even through college, when my teachers would take a moment and reflect on the life of this man. An African-American hero, baptist minister and Nobel Peace Prize recipient, who became selfless in the fight against racial discrimination and racial segregation.

As the years passed by, we spoke and learned of his victories, his passion, his focus on non-violent demonstrations, and his amazing Dream. But oddly enough, and for obvious reasons of course, we never studied the other side of the coin. The fact that Dr. King was a man of flesh and bone, who suffered failures, self-absorbed depression, extra marital affairs, battled a smoking habit and was in constant fear for his life.

We've also learned almost nothing about his "assassin", James Earl Ray. I say "assassin", because there are still several conspiracy theories out there that claim that the "powers that be", and not Ray, had something to do with it. It was a public known fact that Dr. King was tremendously disliked by the then Director of the F.B.I, J. Edgar Hoover, who headed the agency from 1924-1972 (when he passed away) and had an ongoing obsession with the person of Dr. King and his mission. But if for only a moment, we step away from the theories and focus on the facts of the crime, we find ourselves face-to-face with the convicted felon James Earl Ray.

James Earl Ray (b. March 1oth 1928-d.April 23-1998), was the man ultimately convicted of Dr. King's assassination. Besides the fact that he died in jail, known to the world as the murderer of America's Hero, his life's résumé wasn't worth much praise either. Ray was a high school drop-out, World War II veteran, who was convicted of his first crime (burglary) in 1949, and who continued to live the life of a felon, and then escaped convict, until his capture for the assassination of Dr. King on June 8th, 1968.

In Hellhound On His Trail: The Stalking of Martin Luther King Jr., and The International Hunt for His Assassin by acclaimed best-selling author Hampton Sides, Sides provides a unique and detailed report and tells the story of this famed assassination through the eyes of the killer himself. Using the facts surrounding this case-which are plenty-and his knowledge on the life of Ray, Sides paints a vivid picture of the things that could've occurred in the months leading to the tragic event of April 4th, and dissects the person of James Earl Ray. He allows us to visit and enter the mind of this fleeing felon. What's his motive? Did he work alone? Was his work being funded by a segregationist organization? Was Hoover behind this? How about George Wallace, the ex-governor of Alabama and pro-segregationist? Was J.E.R realistically capable of planning and committing this crime on his own?

The murder scene. Using police reports, autopsy reports, facts from evidence and memoir accounts from folks that were present on that day, Sides positions the reader behind a hidden camera lens in the scene of the crime. The reader sees the trajectory of the bullet, the entrance and exit wound, the position of Dr. Kings body on the second floor balcony of the Lorraine Hotel in Memphis Tennessee, and the first response team's attempt to save Dr. King's life. The reader can be easily impacted and emotionally disturbed by how close to the crime Sides' depiction makes you feel.

The final focus of this novel however, and the main reason it differs from other books and reports off this tragic day, is on the international chase of J.E.R, the murderer. A wild-goose chase covering thousands of miles and involving law enforcing groups from Memphis, the United Kingdom, and the F.B.I.

Looking for a page turner? Interested in some American History? Want to get away from that boring book your BFF recommended? Give Hellhound On His Trail a look. You won't be disappointed. I give it two thumbs up!

MAXWELL + New Ablum= Blacksummer's night--->Drops July 7th!!!

2009-06-28T17:44:00.000-07:00

I'm hyped!!!! Believe it or not, there's still good music out there. I've been a fan of Maxwell since he first came out, and I've been anticipating this, his fourth studio album for a while. My main "groovy man" is realeasing Blacksummer's night on July 7th, and I'm definitely picking this up in person. The cool thing about this release is that they have a Deluxe edition, CD/DVD combo, which amazon.com has for $11.99; not bad. Although he has a new look to him, since he cut his hair, he's still the same soulful dude from back-in-the-day. There's no Samson curse here. If you're a fan of cool, smooth, sexy, and real baby-making music, you won't go wrong with Mr. Woooooh-whoo! lol.

Here's a little excerpt from his upcoming album. Two songs, "Bad Habits" & "Pretty Wings".

"Bad Habits"

"Pretty Wings"

Maxwell - New Music - More Music Videos

And here's a little somethin', somethin' from back in the day, a couple of selections that are the reason I call him Mr. Wooooh-whooo! lol.

"This Woman's Work", personally the greatest love song Maxwell has ever done. It's been on so many movie soundtracks, that i've lost count. And let's not even talk about the video...Too soulful... Too Deep...

Maxwell - New Music - More Music Videos

"Ascension (Don't Ever Wonder): MTV Unplugged". Although I like the studio version better, I love how he jazzed it up a bit for this live performance. Music for the soul man... Music for the soul.

As they say in the business world, "the best salesmen is a satisfied customer".

Blacksummer's Night by Maxwell. In stores July 7th. Go get it!

RIP Mr. Thriller. Can't Believe You're Gone.

2009-06-27T08:25:00.000-07:00

I heard it once again yesterday morning and I still couldn't believe it..."The king of pop Michael Jackson dead at the age of 50 years." Cause? An apparent heart attack. On my way to work, I saw his blown up picture in the front page of every newspaper, in every language and I still didn't want to accept it. If I'm being honest I still can't believe it. Why is it always the good ones that have to go? Not that I'm wishing for Souljah-Boy-Tell-Em, and Gucci Mane, to be six feet under, but damn, why Mike? Only God knows.

I was at work when I received the first text message with the news. Of course, at first I thought it was a stupid prank, as recent reports mentioned that MJ had undergone several physicals in preparation for his upcoming concert in England, and was found in great health. So I immediately had one of my co-workers investigate. Minutes later, she confirmed the shocking news that Mike, the "KING OF POP", had passed away in a hospital in L.A. due to cardiac complications.
I was awestruck.

According to NPR Music News, www.npr.org, as of yesterday, no final ruling had been reached regarding the autopsy. USmagazine, www.usmagazine.com, mentioned that the autopsy reports revealed "No indication of foul play or trauma". NPR reports that police are currently trying to locate MJ's private physican, who was reportedly living in the rented mansion, and was present at the home during the 911 phone call. According to the 911 phone call recording, the MD was attempting to resuscitate MJ, who was found by an unidentified caller, unresponsive and not breathing. As of Friday, the MD which is not a suspect in this case, had not been located, and his car was impounded and hauled away from MJ's home.

As the true cause of MJ's death remains unclear, there are rumors that his aggressive addiction to pain killers, could be a related cause. One of MJ's longtime friends, and attorney Brian Oxman, said he was worried about the large amount of drugs at Mike's disposal. NPR reports that Oxman said that in 2007 alone, a local pharmacist had sued MJ for prescription bills totaling more than $100,000. Oxman added, "It's pretty hard to spend $100,000 in a pharmacy in 13 months,"... "This was one of his experiences and was a matter of public record and most people were aware of that fact."

At the end, whatever the results show, they still won't be able to replace the icon, and the legend. Everyone loved this man; he was an internationally cherished personality. Yet how will he be remembered? As a legend? An amazing and incomparable artist? The King of Pop? Or as a troubled and lonely individual? To me, he will always be Michael Jackson, The legend, The King of Pop. Want to know something really ironic? As I'm writing this piece, I have my music play-list on shuffle, and one of MJ's songs just came on. Damn...

It's clear that MJ has passed on, but his music will keep him alive in our hearts and minds forever.

Farewell to a legend. RIP MJ. We'll miss you.

Good Read: The Book of Lost Things by John Connolly

2009-06-23T19:21:00.000-07:00

A boy lost in the woods; a Woodsman; a beautiful girl in a red cloak; a Crooked-Man; Trickster; Wolves; a ferocious monster; Dwarfs; a lady called Snow White; an enchanted Castle; an Old King; a Warrior; a Knight; a Sleeping Princess; a Ginger Bread House; The Beauty & The Beast; Troll under a bridge; and Werewolves. Do these things sound familiar? Well of course they do. They're the main subjects in most, if not all of our favorite fairy tales, folk stories, and myths that we've read since we were children. Believe it or not though, a reference to all of these can be found in The Book of Lost Things. However, the book is much more than that. In fact, its ongoing reference to our favorite stories is only a small piece of this incredible novel. The real essence of the story is found in the life of a 12 year old boy named David, who in mourning the loss of his dear mother, his first love, completely retreats into the world of his second love; his books.

I dare you, even double-dare you, to set your eyes on the pages of The Book of Lost Things by New York Times Bestselling author of The Unquiet, John Connolly, and accompany David, as he takes you far off into the realms of his incredible imagination. Follow David on a voyage to make sense of things that at a young age he still can't comprehend. See as he grows through the teachings he finds within the stories he's read throughout his early years. Be there as he realizes that life, "real-life", is not as sweet as the stories within the books on the shelves of his room, but rather that life brings loss, pain, suffering, and hate, but also gain, comfort, happiness, and love.

"For all that is lost, can be found again".

I can honestly say that this has been one of the coolest and most entertaining, books I've read in a long a while. It allowed me to see the world through the eyes of a young boy, who in many ways suffered through many of the things that worried me as a young child. You will laugh, worry, and at times get squeamish with some of the gory scenes, but in the end, you'll enjoy it all. And don't worry, this is an adult novel. Trust me.

For in every adult dwells the child that was, and in every child lies the adult that will be.

-John Connolly, The Book of Lost Things

Humor: "And that's how the fight started"

2009-06-23T19:11:00.000-07:00

One year, a husband decided to buy his mother-in-law a cemetery plot as a Christmas gift.

The next year, he didn't buy her a gift.

When she asked him why, he replied, "Well, you still haven't used the
gift I bought you last year!"

And that's how the fight started.....

************ ********* ********* *********

My wife walked into the den & asked "Whats on the tv?"
I replied "Dust".

And that's how the fight started.....

************ ********* ********* *********

A woman is standing nude, looking in the bedroom mirror.
She is not happy with what she sees and says to her husband, 'I feel
horrible; I look old, fat and ugly. I really need you to pay me a compliment.'

The husband replies, 'Your eyesight's damn near perfect.'

And that's how the fight started.....

************ ********* ********* *********

My wife was hinting about what she wanted for our upcoming
anniversary. She said, 'I want something shiny that goes from 0 to 200

in about 3 seconds.

I bought her a scale.

And that's how the fight started.....

************ ********* ********* *********

I asked my wife, 'Where do you want to go for our anniversary? '
It warmed my heart to see her face melt in sweet appreciation.

'Somewhere I haven't been in a long time!' she said.

So I suggested, 'How about the kitchen?'

And that's how the fight started....

************ ********* ********* *********

My wife and I are watching Who Wants To Be A Millionaire while we were
in bed. I turned to her and said, 'Do you want to have sex?'

'No,' she answered.

I then said, 'Is that your final answer?'

She didn't even look at me this time, simply saying 'Yes..'

So I said, 'Then I'd like to phone a friend.'

And that's how the fight started....

************ ********* ********* *********

I tried to talk my wife into buying a case of Miller Light for $14.95.
Instead, she bought a jar of cold cream for $7.95. I told her the beer
would make her look better at night than the cold cream.

And that's how the fight started.....

************ ********* ********* *********
I took my wife to a restaurant. The waiter, for some reason, took my
order first. 'I'll have the strip steak, medium rare, please.'

He said, 'Aren't you worried about the mad cow?'

'Nah, she can order for herself.'

And that's when the fight started

50 Cent's War Angel LP album - Free Download

2009-06-18T14:13:00.000-07:00

Wassup family,

Just letting everyone know that as of last night at 11pm, 50 Cent's street album, War Angel LP, is available for FREE download. That's right, for FREE!

With his next major market album Before I Self Destruct to hit stores in September, Fif wanted to bless the streets with something they've been missing for a while; some Hard-core Rap. Get the FREE download at thisis50.com, while it's still available.

Check out this quick snippet courtesy of MTV.com.

MTV Shows

Go Get It!

In closure, and just cause I like all of the hip-hop gossip, here's an exclusive interview w/ Fif and Funk Master Flex, on the Hot 97 Funk Master Flex show. Hear Fif talk about Nas, Ricky Ross, Diddy, MA$E, Method Man vs. Joe Budden, Chris Brown vs. Rihanna, etc., etc. You can find this interview on Hot97.com, and thisis50.com. Check it!

Bruce Lee is one cool KAT!

2009-06-14T20:35:00.000-07:00

I've been a Bruce Lee fan like FOREVER! As a child growing up, I recall shadow boxing in my room, after seeing one of his films on TV. Over the years I've spent hours online looking for his interviews, stories, anecdotes, etc., just to learn a bit more of this man.

For those that don't know, Bruce was not just a gifted martial artist, or a killing machine. He also studied philosophy at Washington University, was a martial arts teacher, had a really good sense of humor, and was a really cool laid back dude. He was a humble and quiet man of few words, but when he spoke, each word was direct, and sharp like a dagger. Bruce was a really deep and philosophical dude. Below you'll find one of my favorite Bruce Lee interviews taped in 1971 with Pierre Berton, for The Pierre Berton Show. See Bruce Lee like you've probably never seen him before. This was one smooth KAT!

To Note: Check out how fast Bruce's fist moves towards the end of this first clip.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

"Be Water"
Empty your mind.
Be formless, shapeless, like water.
Now you put water into a cup, it becomes the cup.
You put water into a bottle, it becomes the bottle.
You put it in a tea cup, it becomes the tea cup.
Now water can flow or it can crash.
Be Water my friend...

-Bruce Lee

That's deep stuff man.

NAS, Deep Lyrics, and Fried Chicken

2009-06-06T13:57:00.000-07:00

I've previously mentioned that NAS, by far is the deepest lyricist of my time. When I say deep, I don't mean an individual that just captures you with a few punch lines from time-to-time, and is great with his word play, synonyms and painting a picture. When I say deep I mean a lyricist that at times forces you stop, slow down, and listen. Throughout the years, many artists have had this affect on me. Artists like Rakem, Biggie, Big Pun, Jay-Z and of course Eminem. However, I feel they all fall short in comparison to NAS, when it comes to how poetic he is. Personally, he's incomparable with regards to his use of methophors, similes, and personifications, to relay a message.

I've shared this opinion with one of my best friends, and I've said that unlike other artists, NAS is the only artist out there, that I can't listen to on the train when I'm going to work, especially if it's new material that needs to be dissected. I mean, when I first heard tracks like, "It Ain't Hard To Tell", "The Message", "Nas Is Like", "One Mic", "Ether (the Jay-Z diss)", and "Rewind (the so clever backwards song)", just to name a few, I almost caught a stroke. Of course after a while, I would be able to listen to them at anytime, and any place, but when it's stuff fresh off the "frying pan", I have to be at home, in my room, prepared to pay attention.

Speaking of "frying pan", as I revisited NAS's most recent release, and 9th studio album, UNTITLED, given this title because of the controversy surrounding his initial intentions to title it NIGGER, I got smacked by a track that I had somehow missed the first time around. I was probably on the train when this happened lol. The song "Fried Chicken" feat. Busta Rhymes, brings NAS's gift to light once again. In this track, NAS & Busta, go on to show how much Fried Chicken and Women, are so alike, since "to the last breath, there gonna be a niggas death." I know, I know, I couldn't believe it myself. Here's a taste of some "fried chicken":

"Fried Chicken" by Nas feat Busta Rhymes, album: UNTITLED (2008)

Verse 1 (NAS)

Mmm, Fried chicken
Fly vixen
Give me Heart Disease
But need You in my kitchen
You a bird, but you ain't a ki
Got wings but you can't fly away from me
Driving in your bucket seats all the way from Kentucky To fuck with me
Look what you've done to me?
Was number one to me!
After you shower
You and your gold medal flour
Then you rub your hot oil for about a half an hour
You in your hot tub, I'm looking at you salivating
Dry you off, I got your paper towel waiting
Lay you down cause you're red hot
Louisiana style you make my head rot
Then I flock
To the bed then, "Plop"
When we done, I need rest
Don't know a part of you that I love best
Your legs or your breast
Misses Fried Chicken, you gon be a nigga's death
Created by southern black women
To serve massa, guest
You gon be a nigga's death...

Wooooooo! Stop it. Stop it.

Props once again to NAS. Wikipedia reports that UNTITLED is NAS's fourth album to debut at #1 on Billboard 200 album charts, and has been certified Gold. Sweet!

Disturbed Rocks!

2009-06-06T11:45:00.000-07:00

Yup! I love rock. And I love Disturbed. I actually have all of their albums, and purchased their 1st three albums in stores. They've become my favorite Rock Band. Their band kicks ass, especially the band's energetic & talented lead singer David Dramian, from Chi-Town. Their songs are often controversial, offensive to some, and sometimes political, but none lack POWER! This is the only group I listen to when things are just a bit to hectic in life, work; relationships; responsibilities etc. As soon as I feel drowned, I turn off the lights in my room, jump on my bed, grab my ipod, scroll to Disturbed, and press play. The result? STRESS RELIEF!

Check out some of my favorite videos from this group. Let me know what you think.

Release your stress!

"THE NIGHT", album: Indestructible (2008)

Disturbed - New Music - More Music Videos

"STRICKEN", album: Ten Thousand Fists (2005)

Disturbed - New Music - More Music Videos

"REMEMBER", album: Believe (2002)

Disturbed - New Music - More Music Videos

"STUPIFY", album: The Sickness (2000)

Disturbed - New Music - More Music Videos

Rock on!

The System at work SUCKS ASS!

2009-06-05T07:52:00.000-07:00

OK, so, I titled this wonderful Blog Forum: Mental Ventilation. Why? Because, literally, that's what I come here to do...I VENT! So, that being said, I'm about to "VENT RIGHT NOW", or, as my mom would say it, "BEN RAI NAU", which has the same meaning, but is pronounced slightly differently, and with difficulty. OK. So Ready? Here we go!

If you're a friend of mine, and you've known me for more than a few years, you know what I do for a living. That's right, I'm a contract killer for the Merengue Mafia INC. No, just kidding. I'm a spanish-film pornstar (OMG sike!). No, not that either. Actually, I work for an agency, who i'm not going to mention, because i'm just about to say some things about them right about now. I have no idea If I mentioned who I work for in my profile, but oh well. I NEED TO VENT! So listen, or, Read, cause technically if you're reading this, than you can't be listening to me, unless i'm speaking to you, and then that...Oh forget it.

Our freaking system at work freaking "suck's ass". And I mean, it really sucks major ass. The shit goes down every freaking day, for a minimum of at least 2 minutes at times, but in other times as much as hours, and even days! Now, i've worked for several companies during my years of employment, e.g., my old Highschool, Shea Stadium, Christian Book Store, The City of New York, etc., etc. But never, and I mean never-ever-ever-ever, have I worked with a system that is so retarded like this one. THIS-SYSTEM-IS-FREAKING-RETARDED! HELP!

Now, don't get me wrong, I enjoy my job. Even more now that I've gotten the hang of things. I love the perks too. You know, the no dress code; no punch-in time clock; two 15 minute breaks during the day in addition to your lunch; the awesome health benefits (Shout out to Manhattan Physician's Group. Yo, Dr. Sheehan, Waddup? I'll see you next week boo. Or you'll see me. Get it? Ha!); a cool ID that has a sensor that opens doors (shut up! I think that's cool); two monitors to work with, making me feel like Neo in the MATRIX (i don't care, I like imagining that i'm in the MATRIX from time-to-time, it makes the day go faster); unlimited bathroom breaks (hey, some people, like Hospital Telephone Operators, don't have that blessing); the awesome area I work in (Financial District, Battery Park, City Hall, South Street Seaport etc.); and I can go on. But the system is horrible. As we speak it's still down. As a matter of fact, I wrote this blog, during the "down-time" Aaaah! It Erks me.

OK. I vented. Thanks for listening... I mean reading.

Do You Wanna Get Frosty?

2009-06-02T19:29:00.000-07:00

One of the funniest commercials out right now. Boy Band meets Wendy's Coffee Toffee Twisted Frosty. Haaa! Too Funny. Check it!

OMG Hilarious!

Justice, like you’ve never seen it Before

2009-06-01T20:35:00.000-07:00

Want to get a glimpse at how stuff probably goes down in our NYC judicial system? A more realistic look on how the legal system toys with people’s lives? The clean; the dirty; the right; the wrong? Public Defenders vs. District Attorneys? Lawyers vs. Judges? The Innocent vs. The Guilty? Then you really need to check out TNT’s Raising The Bar. Raising The Bar, a show by 10-time Emmy Winner Steven Bochco, creator of Hill Street Blues, LA Law & NYPD Blue, is a fresh new LAW series like no other. Starring Mark-Paul Gosselar (aka Zack from Saved By The Bell), who’s truly stepped his acting game up, bringing a powerful performance every single week. If you missed the 1st season, you’re in time to check out the 2nd. I’m sure that this season of Raising The Bar will be just as good or even better; Keeping you on your toes throughout; Trust me.

Woohoo! Can’t wait, Can’t wait, Can’t wait!

Raising The Bar-Season 2 premier-, sneak peak.

Monday June 8th, 10/9c. Only on TNT.

New Moon Official Trailer

2009-06-01T19:35:00.000-07:00

What do you get when you add a Girl+Vampire Boyfriend+Departure+Depression+ A Werewolf Crush+A Wolf Pack Secret+A Life on the Edge+A rescue Mission? How about New Moon. New Moon, a motion picture based on the Twilight Saga's second book of the same title, by Stephenie Meyer.

I freaking Love you Steph! I can't freaking wait!

Check it out! New Moon 11.20.09

Rick Astley Spoof: Hilarious!!!

2009-05-31T15:23:00.000-07:00

Ok, So a few blogs ago, I told you how much I liked "Never Gonna Give You Up", by Rick Astley. Well, as I searched for a video to put on that particular blog, I ran into this spoof interpretation, created by some cat named Joe Sabia, that had me peeing in my pants lol. I think you'll get a kick out of it too. The guy has an awful singing voice, but that's what makes this parody even funnier. I love that Ninja Bartender line lol. Don't worry, you'll see what I mean lmao!

Haaaaa!

Video Feature: Fabolous aka Loso

2009-05-31T15:06:00.000-07:00

Check out these hot new tracks from Mr. LOSO. I thought they were crack!

Fabolous ft. The-Dream - Throw It In The Bag

Fabolous - New Music - More Music Videos

Fabolous - My Time

Fabolous - New Music - More Music Videos

Milk Chocolate Soul Anyone?

2009-05-31T11:42:00.000-07:00

If you really know me well, you'll know that my all time favorite song is... "What you won't do for love" by Bobby Caldwell. I was a young kid when I heard this song for the first time, and when I did, I instantly fell in love with it. I recall that that same day, I ran to the corner bodega, bought a Maxwell 60 minute blank cassette tape, and sat by my stereo system with the dial on NY's CD 101.9, tape in the deck, and my finger on the record and pause buttons. That night, after several hours of being hunched over, with an ear next to the speaker, the DJ played the tune once again; its incomparable introduction playing on. I released the pause button, and the song became mine.

For years, I looked through library books, magazines, discographies, looking for this "black" R&B singer named Bobby Caldwell, who had this amazing soulful groove. Unfortunately, all the pictures I found, were of this Frank Sinatra look-alike, with a top hat, an elongated face, elongated nose, and baby blue eyes. All of my investigations, continued to lead me to this man. But my ignorant self would not accept it. I would tell myself, "Am I spelling his name wrong?" "This cat can't be him." This guy's WHITE". "Don't tell me they pulled a Millie-Vanilli over here?" "That would be a disgrace!"

Bobby Caldwell

As I continued in my stubbornness, I decided to take a trip to "The Wiz", and bring finality to this tormenting investigation. As I walked into the store, I quickly moved to the music section, immediately went to the "C's", for Caldwell, and, and, and..."Crap!" "It's this freaking guy again." I was pissed. I looked on and saw an old black man taking inventory. I figured he worked there because he had one of those WIZ polo's on, and I asked him for help. I said, "hey, you know that song," (i sang the first two lines) "I guess you'll wonder where I've been. I searched to find a love within..." The fellow says, "Of course, that's a classic! You're holding his records right there." Then he says, as to prove himself right, "would you like me to play it for you?" The old man went behind the counter, pulled out a demo of the same CD I was holding, took out the CD in slow-motion so I could see he wasn't fooling me, and placed it in the store's CD player. After a few silent seconds, my favorite tune of all-time, came over the loud speakers. I smiled, looked at the CD I was holding and said, "I'll take it!".

Yes, I felt like smacking myself. But, that incident taught me a great lesson, "NEVER JUDGE A BOOK BY IT'S COVER". After this, I came across two other artists, the soulful Michael Mcdonald, and Teen 80's sensation Rick Astley. Two fella's who I could've sworn were black R&B/PoP singers, but this time, when I came across their pictures, I didn't fight it. I appreciated their talent, their sound, and added their music to my personal collection.

Michael McDonald

Rick Astley

Maybe you already know their music, but I still come across folks in different areas of the city, who can't believe what i'm telling them. "Yup, they're white". "Nope they're not black". And "Yes, their definitely some soulful dudes". But I like to call their music...
"MILK CHOCOLATE SOUL".

Check out a few videos, showing some of their greatest hits. Enjoy.

Bobby Caldwell: What You Don't For Love (not the best quality, but it's the original video)

Bobby Caldwell - What You Won't Do for Love
by 2fresh

Michael McDonald: Keep Forgetting
(sampled by Warren G for his Regulate record)

Rick Astley: Never Gonna Give You Up

Rick Astley - New Music - More Music Videos

Good Read: A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hossein

2009-05-31T08:36:00.000-07:00

Picture a world where you're merely seen as an object; a property; a thing; a nobody. A world where your only function in society is to be married off-if that's possible, to procreate, care for your home, and your husband. A world, where your rights to learn, to study, to be independent, and to run free, are snatched from you in the blink of an eye. A world where your days are threatened by insensitive beatings, bombings, run-away missiles, murders, ongoing civil warfare, and tragedy, in a land that was once your own, a land you once called "home sweet home". A world where PERSEVERANCE; FAITH; FAMILY; INNER-STRENGTH; and LOVE FOR THY COUNTRY; are the only things that keep you moving on, and keep you ALIVE.

For two women in Kabul, Afghanistan, this became an everyday reality.

In this #1 New York Times Bestseller, A Thousand Splendid Suns, by Khaled Hosseini, also the author of #1 New York Times Bestseller, The Kite Runner, Khaled tells the story of two women of Kabul, Afghanistan, his own homeland, who fought through their lives' painful transgressions, and lived through each other, for each other, for their families, and their country. A Thousand Splendid Suns is one of the strongest, most passionate and riveting tales I've ever read. An incredible page turner that can be read in one sitting.

I must warn you though, this story is not for the weak of heart. As it continuously depicts tragic and mournful situations. But don't worry, there's a light at the end of the tunnel. Don't be surprised if you catch yourself holding back a few tears, or choking through some of the scenes, or see yourself living through these characters, and feeling what they felt. Believe it or not, tears came to my mother's eyes when I described some of the scenes of this book over supper at our dinning table.

Personally, I was touched. The story brought several things into perspective for me, and allowed me to further appreciate my own life and existence. Appreciate things that at times we take for granted and see as insignificant, but if we only knew how blessed we really were to have them. I highly recommend this book. Without a doubt, one of my personal favorites.

5 stars for Khaled Hosseini on another amazing book.

One could not count the moons that shimmer on her roofs,
Or the thousand splendid suns that hide behind her walls.

- Saeb-e-Tabrizi

Also by Khaled Hosseini, The Kite Runner. Check it out! You won't be dissapointed.

Documentary: Before The Music Dies

2009-05-24T20:53:00.000-07:00

As I've mentioned in prior blogs, the arts & music mean everything to me. I mean, I honestly cannot leave home without my 80 gig Ipod classic; I love that freaking device. You see, music is like an engine that keeps me going, and momentarily takes many of my worries away. It allows me to appreciate where I've been, where I've come from, and where I'm going. Music is so powerful that it effortlessly takes me on a voyage to my childhood, my first kiss, my first crush. Then on the next music track, delivers me to my first true love, the first time I told someone "I LOVE YOU", my first affectionate embrace. Music has the ability to remove me from my current worries and premonitions, and take me to a safe haven, even if just for a moment in time.

I love music, cause it's been so good to me. It's been my best friend. We've been through it all together. However, for many years, I've continuously voiced my opinion on how music was just not the same anymore. Of how it was slowly turning into something else. Sadly, over the years, music has become a beauty pageant; a popularity contest; JUST A MONEY THING. The skill, talent, sacrifices, and determination of an artist have been set aside, made secondary, and a concentration has been placed on how marketable an individual can be. Bottom line is: "What sells?" "How much money can we make off of this person?"

I'm only 30 now, and to be honest, I really don't know enough of music as a whole. I mean, I would need a few years in a conservatory to review the works of all of the greats and be able to really appreciate it. My God, wouldn't that be something? I would honestly LOVE to do that. But, If there's something I do know, and something I've been able to observe over the last 20 years, is that there's clearly been a loss of respect & appreciation for this amazing art, an art that's slowly dying among the new masses. I repeat, a loss of respect & appreciation for this amazing ART, AN ART THAT'S SLOW DYING AMONG THE NEW MASSES.

Rapper Nasir bin Olu Dara Jones aka NAS, personally the deepest hip hop lyricist I've ever encountered, was cursed at, made fun off, and talked about on numerous records, when he titled his December 2006 release,"Hip Hop Is Dead." But, don't you think NAS was on to something? I think he was, but you see it goes beyond the genre of Hip Hop. Regardless of the few, and I mean very few artists with true raw talent out there, there's not much that's really being done to keep the true essence of music alive for our children, and our children's children.

In "Before the Music Dies", a documentary by Andrew Shapter & Joel Rasmussen, they hit this important topic right on the head. These friends united, and as a tribute to their lost siblings, who were musicians, directed an impacting, and inspirational story of music, it's roots, and where it's sadly heading.

I can't finish this blog off without giving a shout out to my current favorite kick-ass website, www.hulu.com. I honestly cannot go to bed at night without seeing another clip, or bits of an intriguing documentary. Make sure to check them out.

Peace, love & keep the music ALIVE. If you have a moment, check out this documentary.

Do you have any last parting words?

2009-05-24T19:42:00.000-07:00

Funerals. We never like to hear about them, and we never like to attend them either, but as it is with death, the accompanying funeral ceremony, is also inevitable. Now leave it to SNL, the MASTERS of skit comedy, to poke fun at this traditional ceremony. Now, I recall that in many of the funerals I attended, if not all, whenever the priest or pastor would ask for any parting words, only a few family members and friends took a stand in the podium, never going more than a few minutes. Now, what If these same folks, just had too much to say? Check out another awesome and hilarious skit. Too funny.

P.S. I freaking love Will Ferrel lmao!!!

Intel: Rockstar Status. Mr. Ajay V. Bhatt

2009-05-22T07:30:00.000-07:00

OMG! Can you imagine how cool it would be to meet the co-inventor of the USB device? Yes, that's right, the U-S-to-the-mother-freaking-B. Well, if you've been absent from this planet for the last 10 yrs, this probably won't excite you. So, for all of you electronically impaired individuals, i'll do a quick recap. The USB, has revolutionized the world of electronics, and you use it every single day, and probably haven't even noticed. It's what you use to upload music into your ipod, sync your devices to your computer, download pics into your PC or MAC from your digital camera, attach your printer to your computer with, charge the lithium batter on your phone, recharge that favorite blue tooth of yours, so on and so forth. Practically every single thing invented nowadays, especially every FREAKING computer in the galaxy, has to, and I mean has to, be compatible with a USB port for a USB cable. EVERYTHING!!! OMG! Can you say $$$$$-Cha-Ching. Before the USB was invented, everything was plugged in with PARALLEL PORT ADAPTORS! (pictured below) YUK!!!

Remember these things? Some of our comp's still use them for video devices like the monitor and stuff. But haven't USB's made life a bit easier? Just imagine having to screw and unscrew that gigantic thing every time you wanted to add a new song to your Ipod's playlist?
No way Jose!

Now what would it be like to meet this guy. Wouldn't he have like "Rockstar" status in the world of gizmos and gadgets aficionados? I'm sure you've probably seen the commercial that Intel has done poking fun at this idea, with a smooth man (I love his hair lol) playing the role of Mr. Ajay Bhatt, co-inventor of the USB. No, that's not the real Mr. Bhatt in the commercial, but this other dude just became famous in about 30 seconds lmao!

The real Mr. Ajay V. Bhatt (pictured on the left), and I keep saying Mr. because this man has made billions of lives just a bit easier, and much more enjoyable-Gracias!-is the Intel Fellow and Chief Client Architect for Mobile Platforms Group, Intel Corporation. According to a column on Intel's own website, www.intel.com, Mr. Bhatt has not only been a developmental force behind the USB, but also the Accelerated Graphic Port, PCI Express, Platform Power management architecture and various chipset enhancements. Mr. Bhat holds nine U.S. patents with several in various stages of filing. But hold up everyone, get this, what's even crazier, and this blew me backwards, is that Mr. Bhat received his master's degree from The City University of New York. That's right, CUNY baby! I wonder why they haven't put this guy in one of those "Look who's at CUNY" posters of our subway trains. Come on now! The inventor of the USB. Educated in NYC? Woohoo! Go CUNY. I'm a City College Alumni myself and this makes me proud. Woohoo!

Can you imagine how much money this guy's making? OMG!!! OK enough excitement. Check out the commercial. lmao! Rockstar status baby!

Good Read: The Double by José Saramago

2009-05-19T18:08:00.000-07:00

They say that for every person, there's an identical twin somewhere in the world. But, you've never believed that stuff right? I mean, you've never come across someone who looked just like you right? Or who sounded just like you? Or who walked just like you? Or someone with all of the above, and was also anatomically identical to you in every aspect of the word? Someone who was so freaking identical to you, that a picture ID of them, would be a picture of you, with their name and signature. What would you do if you ran into such a person on your way to work? Would you freak out? Would you make a story of it?

Welcome Mr. Tertuliano Máximo Afonso to the scene. If his name hasn't already attracted you, maybe his story will. The story of a secondary school history teacher, who in efforts to find something entertaining to relieve a possible onset of depression,-which he would never admit-and on the recommendation of a colleague-math teacher-friend, rented what was categorized as an OK comedy, to cheer himself up. However, instead of finding laughter, or even enjoyment in this mediocre film, Tertuliano is stumped when he sees himself playing a short role in the film, the actor an exact replica of himself. The only difference, the man he's now staring at, exactly resembles how Tertuliano himself looked 5 years ago, when he wore a mustache.

Who is this man? How can this be? It can't be possible?

Portuguese author and winner of the nobel prize for literature, José Saramago, entertains us with another master piece, and one of my personal favorites. "The Double", will captivate you from start to finish. Accompany Tertuliano Máximo Afonso, as he transforms himself into a Private Investigator, and begins to decipher clues to meet this man, actor, who's become his personal enigma, and his immediate DOUBLE.

Also by Jose Saramago: All The Names, The Cave, Seeing, &
Blindness (Now a Major Motion Picture)

Good Read: The Soloist by Steve Lopez

2009-05-18T19:20:00.000-07:00

The Soloist: A Lost Dream, An Unlikely Friendship, and The Redemptive Power Of Music.

I can always appreciate a great book, a great story. A book that can go beyond the pages, the print size, and the black letters neatly placed on top off white pages, in parallel lines. A book that can take your mind away to a different city, state, and into someone's life. A book that allows you to practically teleport to a specific place and moment in time and turn you into a caregiver and/or caretaker. A book that can touch you, and birth a new appreciation for the arts. The Soloist, by Steve Lopez is one of those books.

The Soloist, is the emotional, often anxious, and incredible true-story of a homeless man, (Nathaniel Ayers, from Cleveland Ohio) who struck the curiosity of a passer-byer (Steve Lopez, columnist for the LA TIMES), as he was found playing a violin, in a highway tunnel of Skid Row, Los Angeles, out of all places, with just "TWO" strings. For Lopez, this was just the beginning of another interesting column for his readers; another deadline met. Little did Lopez know, that this harmless and expedient meeting, would result in a life-changing friendship. A friendship that would reshape his outlook on life, society, and teach him a lesson on the REDEMPTIVE POWER OF MUSIC.

Add this book to your current reading list. You won't be disappointed.

Now A Major Motion Picture starring Jamie Foxx & Robert Downey Jr.

Check it out!

Justin Timberlake SNL excerpts

2009-05-17T15:23:00.000-07:00

Another hilarious "not-so-popular" SNL skit featuring Justine Timberlake, and an older Barry Gibb Talk Show skit. Lmao! I can't take this lmao! Very Funny.

SNL: The Barry Gibb Talk Show

2009-05-17T14:23:00.000-07:00

For years SNL has entertained us with all their amazing skits, but have you ever wondered what a show hosted by Barry Gibb would be like? I ran into this skit and was practically peeing in my pants. Justin Timberlake continues to show us how gifted he is, and Jimmy Fallen keeps beign that crazy funny dude. I just love how Justin plays Robin Gibb, with his f*$ked up teeth and all, and Jimmy plays Barry, the temperamental lead singer of the 70's disco kings, The Bee Gees. Check out their original pics and the Hilarious skit. Lmao!

Robin Gibb

Barry Gibb

The Artist Within

2008-12-07T19:49:00.000-08:00

As a child, and through my teenage and young adult years, I drew something every single day. My cousin Ariel, can tell you how I had folders, and folders and folders full of sketches, and scraps of things that I drew. A few weeks ago, as I had lunch with a co-worker/friend, So-Yon, she questioned why I had stopped drawing and encouraged me to get back into it. Then this past weekend, my boy Tim, reminded me about this craft, and he gave me the same words of advice. Is it a calling? I don't know, but I decided to start things off by looking through my old drawings and reflect on what was once my best friend, and my favorite thing to do. Now, since my move to the Boogie down Bronx, I haven't been able to recall what I did with all of these drawings, I know it was careless of me, but, I found two drawings that I did about 10 years ago. It's crazy when I look at them, because it brings back so many memories from that time.

Now these aren't original characters made up by me, but they weren't traced either, that's like artistic blasphemy. These two characters were from a SONY PlayStation game from back in the day titled "Oddworld: Abe's Exoddus", the sequel to Oddworld: Abe's Odyssey, two of my favorite games of all time. I'm not going to go to deep into who Abe was and what the game was all about, but I would let you know that Elum, was Abe's companion and "ride"; kind of like his horse.

The images were taken from a strategy book and as I recall, my rendition was about 5 to 6 times their original size. This took a lot of skill at that time, because I had to mentally enlarge every portion of their bodies, without the use of a grid as a guide; I refused to take the easy route. I drew them with a #2 pencil, and a black gel-ink fine point pen for the final outline. Believe or not, the shading was done with my fingers and a piece of construction paper. A little trick I learned from my 7th grade art teacher Ms. Goldstein. If you notice, I ran out of space on both of the drawings. This was one of the difficulties in enlarging things from their original size without using a grid to guide me, but I enjoyed the the challenge and appreciated the results. Elum was my favorite, not only drawing him, but the job I did with the shading. I was proud of the results back then, and still feel the same way now. Check out how I use to sign my name. Memories...

Abe by J. Gomez signed 12/30/98

Elum by J. Gomez 1/4/99

I hope to have more to come. Hopefully some of my original characters.

Peace and Love.

I'm Rick James Bitch! Happy Halloween!

2008-11-01T22:09:00.000-07:00

For the first time since about the age of 6, which was the last time I was allowed to wear a costume, I got dressed up for Halloween. On the suggestion of a very special friend, I went dressed as the legend of "funk rock", Mr. "super freak", Rick James himself. How impersonating this character would bring me so much attention, affection, love, titties in my face, humor, pictures, phat asses at my hips, and shout outs, was unbeknownst to me. Friday night, I learned a very valuable and important lesson. There are two types of folks in a given Halloween celebration, those dressed in their pretty, unique and/or sexy costumes, and then there's Rick James Bitch! I've never taken so many pictures, grabbed and hugged so many strangers, and heard so many people call-out my name. I honestly lost count after the 100th pic that I took with some chick on the corner of 32nd and 10th ave, NYC, and they must have said "Rick James Bitch" at least 5,000 times. In all, I had an incredible and fun-filled night of ongoing attention. Those folks, my friends included, made Rick James aka ME, feel like I was on top of the world. Thank you Bitches! It was a celebration!

The crazy thing about all this is that going as Rick James, was a bit intimidating for me. You see, besides his music hits, and the popular phrases made famous by David Chappelle, I didn't really know much of the man, and I wanted to play my part right and give the role justice. So after some research, made possible by YOUTUBE and images obtained from Google, I was able to put something together. What's even crazier, is that the outfit I wore, was improvised the day of. As many of my friends know, I was actually waiting for a shirt, which still hasn't arrived, that said "Good Evening Bitches". You know, kind of cuing people in on who I was. But the result that was born from a brain child idea, was better than any shirt. My focus shifted from going dressed as Rick James, to being Rick James himself, period. Have you ever heard of the phrase, "Can't have your cake and eat it to?" Well, I have to believe that Rick James, had his cake, and ate the shit all the way to the grave. Being this man for one entire night, gave me the "Green Liiiiiiiight", like John Legend says, to call every female I saw a Bitch, and have them smile back at me or blow me a kiss. I couldn't believe it. I even called a few men Bitches, and they laughed with me. Shit was too easy. So here was my try at being Rick James. What do you think?

Me: Rick James

The wig, which arrived two weeks after I ordered it, and the jacket which I got for 50 bucks, were the only things that had been previously purchased in preparation for my costume. Everything else, as in all the jewelry, earrings, nose-ring, studded leather gloves, glasses etc., was put together with random shit that I found around my apartment, and things I picked up @ Ricky's the same day; I'm glad I was off from work.

I must add though, that putting this fabulous outfit together came with some sacrifices. Do you see that nose-ring? That shit hurt more than a mother-sucker and it kicked my ass. One thing worst than getting a piercing in a sensitive area, is getting a fake piercing in that same area. As we speak, my right nostril is a bit infected from that shit, with pus and everything, true story. It seems that the "fake" nose-ring pierced through a portion of my skin, and infected it. And lets not even talk about the boots I had on. OMG!!! Them shits, 3 quarter high Frye boots, destroyed and annihilated my feet to the extent that tears almost came out of my eyes when Taxi's kept zooming past us. I didn't cry when I read the "Kite Runner", but I almost wailed on the corner of 96th and Broadway @ 4:00am. What was I to expect, I hadn't worn them in over 10 yrs. Funny shit right? But hey, it was all worth the pain and time of recovery. I felt like He-Man for an entire evening. I was the "Master of the Universe" and by the power of Grey Skull, "I had the mother freaking Poweeeeeeeer!!!" Bitch!!!

My crew says that I put it together better than they could have imagined, and they loved it. My boy Zak said "You look better as Rick James than Rick James did. When I saw you through my peep-hole, I almost threw up". That was funny. My boy Tim said "OMG! Increible (incredible), you look amazing bro. I can't stop staring at you!" My boy Arod said, "I didn't even recognize you when you opened your door. That's when you know it's a good costume. I thought you were really Rick James." And finally, My cuzzo Big A said, "The costume is freaking hilarious. You look like a modern version of the old Rick James. All you need is to get all his lines down, and you'll add the icing to the cake."

The fellas and I (Zak, Tim, Big A, and Arod), got together this year to celebrate Halloween and we made it a celebration of a lifetime. We were also quite unique with our choice of costumes. I counted over 102 Jokers; 7 Gynecologists; about 10 or so Gladiators; 15 girls dressed up as some sort of insect either a bumble bee or a lady bug;

and the rest of them were dressed as FBI agents, Cops, or other forms of protective services, oh yeah and your usual devil girl here and there. But no one, and I mean no one, was dressed up like us. Especially not like me; "I'm Rick James Bitch!!!"

When we initially saw each other, we almost threw up in laughter. Even before stepping out of Zak's crib, where the pre-party was taking place, we were in tears. When we all looked at each other, we just fell to the floor laughing. I second Mr. Brucru by saying that no one can do it like we do, and that's the motherfreaking Truth. Here's what the rest of my crew was dressed up as:

Zak: Princess Leia (Star Wars)

Tim: Penny Wise the Dancing Clown (Stephen King's IT)

Arod: Speed Racer. Not by choice, but because of procrastination
&

Big-A: Santa Clause

We laughed, and laughed, and looked at each other, and laughed some more.

The Halloween '08 party went down @ Prime, a small club/crack in the wall (literally), located on 28th, off of 10th avenue. The club was so small, that we walked by it 4 or 5 times, and took several pictures before even noticing it.

Actually, we still didn't notice the shit, cause there wasn't a sign to identify it. Rick James (that's me), had to ask some random white dude who was posing as a hard body security asshole, to confirm that the black door with the red spotlight above it, was PRIME. When we finally got in, I quickly noticed that the space was not my cup of tea; nobody told us we had arrived to Ricker's Island. They padded us down like convicts. I mean they even went to the extreme of grabbing our genitalia, with prior permission of course, "I'm sorry but I'm gonna have to grab your privates to get a full check-up", but still, the spot wasn't even all that, and having my balls fondled by a complete stranger, a f#*king man at that, was not a nice way to start the night. I know it was Halloween, and they were trying to keep things safe and in check, but I know profiling when I see it, and I would bet all the money in the world, that Tom Cruise or Donald Trump would've not been searched in the same manner my friends and I were. If I'm going to be honest, I rather you get a K-9 to sniff the crack of my ass for drugs, if that's what your searching for, than to have some random bitch ass toy cop, touching me where only a preselected number of females and myself have. And all that for what? Honestly, it was one of the worst spaces I've ever been to, and the liquor was way-way-way over priced. My gosh, I ordered three shots of Hennessy and my bill was $39. That's the price of a medium sized bottle of Henny.

But, they're not gonna be playing people for their money for too long. I'm a great judge of success, and I give that venue another few months before it has to close down, seriously. But, all that being said, and since this isn't a blog about clubs, I want to say that the boys and I still had a freaking awesome time and we made the best of the situation, like we always do.

I have to admit, that although we enjoyed ourselves, and I had an awesome time seeing the fellas in character, and loving every minute of being Rick James, this year may be the last time I go to a club for Halloween. Catching a cab was mother freaking nightmare. It took Penny Wise The Clown, Speed Racer and myself, almost three hours to catch one. It eventually came to the point where we took the Subway, to get further uptown, where racism & stereotypes don't reign as much, you know, a little closer to home, but no auto-mobile would stop for us. AT 4:00am, we were finally picked up by a "gypsy" cab who probably noticed that the sun was rising and felt sorry for us; Unbelievable. It's funny, but even with all the bitter sweet moments of the evening, I'm already pumped for next year's event. I already know what I'm going to be. You wanna know? You really wanna know? It's a surprise. Wait 'til next year and see.

Ah-Ah-Ah-Ah. Life's a celebration! It's a celebration Bitches! Unityyyyyyy!

I'M RICK JAMES BITCH!!!!

Cool Artwork by cartoonist Jean-Marc Borot

2008-10-26T05:09:00.000-07:00

Ms. Rehab: Amy Winehouse

I love art! Even more, I love caricatures. I love picking up the local newspaper and turning to the cartoon section just to see the caricatures of the day; especially the political ones. To my amusement, this morning, as I paid a visit to my web home page, MSN, I ran across some awesome caricatures of artists from our past and present. French cartoonist Jean-Marc Borot, does an incredible job of bringing these cartoons to life and accentuating the unique features that made and/or make these artists who they are/or were. Check 'em out!

Freddie Mercury

Kylie Minogue

The Original Guitar Hero: Jimi Hendrix

Iggy Pop

The Godfather of Soul: James Brown

Marilyn Manson

"I don't love 'em ho's": Snopp Dogg

Tina Turner

Tokio Hotel

The King of Pop: Michael Jackson

Props go out to Artist Jean-Marc Borot. If you wanna see more of his work, well you're in luck, he's a fellow blogger. Check him out at http://leboblogaboro.blogspot.com/. Hey Jean-Marc, you have a new fan dude.

A Rear Obsession...

2008-10-21T19:04:00.000-07:00

Folks I have something to confess. I have an obsession, or better yet an addiction. I'm addicted to crack. Not cocaine crackel-pop-crack, but Female crack; phat ass crack; booty crack. I desperately need your immediate assistance in this matter. I've tried to go cold turkey on my own since the age of 7 or 8, when I first caught myself staring at a girls phat ass for a longer than normal period of time, but my attempts to rid myself of this addiction have constantly failed; nothing seems to work. I've continuously attended A.A.S.S. (Ass Anonymous Stop Staring) meetings, but I immediately start staring at the instructor's phat ass and am asked to leave within the first 15 minutes of arriving to the session. If only they would listen to what I had to say, maybe they could help. Can somebody help me? Anyone? Please help me. I'm obsessed with the booty!

OK, maybe most of the introduction was a bit fabricated, you know the whole attending A.A.S.S. meetings business and all, which by the way you must admit was pretty clever, but the reality of it all is that I do have an unhealthy obsession with the “butt”; "junk in the trunk"; "onion"; "badunkadunk"; "phatty"; “back”; “buns”; “wobble-wobble”; "sweet-tweet"; "cabinet"; “pancakes”; "ass"; "booty".

You see, it all started in 1985 or 6, right around the time my uncle exposed me to a second-hand copy of Michael Jackson’s Thriller album. Up until the age of 7 or 8, my life was filled with sweet and heavenly innocence. I mean I wasn't an angel, but I was a good kid; my eyes were veiled. Unfortunately for me, this veil came burning and crashing down when I was exposed to my first event of some watermelon jolly rancher tongue action.

She was my 1st floor neighbor and I was 3 yrs her minor, and she must have had cable back then or something cause the girl was highly sexual. Every once in a while we kept each other company, playing one-on-one games of: MOTHER MAY I, RED LIGHT-GREEN LIGHT-1-2-3, TAG and I DECLARE WAR; the card game. We never did any of that touchy-touchy stuff cause for ONE, she was a girl and therefore an automatic carrier of the cooties, and TWO, I was a younger, inexperienced and shorter boy, and a love relationship between us was socially forbidden. Yet, one lovely summer day, this memory will stay with me 'til death, she looked me in the eyes, it was a different kind of look, and asked me to play HOUSE with her. She placed the rules and regulations: she would be the mom, the caretaker of the home and I would be the hard working dad. She clarified that because we were now "a couple" we were obligated to act like one; the veil was beginning to burn. She found two huge cardboard boxes and we built a cozy home to our liking; the veil was beginning to catch on fire. All of a sudden, she asked to speak to me outside of our home, which was situated by the stairs leading to our basement. She quickly grabbed me by my t-shirt, and pushed me against an adjacent wall. Her hour-glass shaped, well nourished body, suffocated mine as her overdeveloped breast pressed against the upper portions of my bony chest.

The scent of her watermelon-jolly rancher breath was absorbed and savored by my nostrils and lips; the freaking veil burned. She took my soft Johnson & Johnson baby-lotion hands and wrapped them around her round, lower mid section and forced me to squeeze and hold; the veil quickly burned. She then slowly leaned towards my face, puckered up and gave me a watermelon jolly rancher tongue-flavored French kiss. Honestly, at that time, not knowing what a French kiss was, I thought it was an alien kiss with candy bliss. You see, her tongue was all up in my tonsils, and it was sort of wrestling my tongue and teeth; it scared me shitless. For starters, I wasn't expecting “it” and secondly, I wasn't expecting “that!” When she finished, she leaned back, my hands still firmly gripping her larger than humanly normal assets, and she asked: "Did u like it?" Liked it? I hated it! I did! Well, I hated everything about it except for two things. One, the warm watermelon jolly rancher (my favorite flavor) that she had purposely transferred to my mouth as a token of completion, and was now being nervously tossed around by my tongue, and TWO, the wonderful feeling of her boombastic and amazingly virtuous badunk-adunk-acrunk soft Dominican ass, still within the grips of my tiny baby-lotion hands; the burning veil came mother-freaking crashing down.

Five minutes passed and we stood there motionless. Well, motionless except for one specific part of my body, which has always had a mind of its own, literally. I stood my ground and maintained a firm grip. What happened next would change my life forever. She gently loosened the grip I had on her trunk and slowly walked away, speaking into my mind saying: "you felt it, now pay attention to the way gravity helps it move". Good lawd! I surely did pay attention. So much so, that my eyes were transplanted to the back of her Adidas wind-breakers. Chick's ass was a sweet-a-lee, tweet-a-lee and I followed the rhythmic movement of them cheeks. It had been there all of this time but I never noticed it. How could I have missed that? Feeling the "phatty" was an amazing and ground breaking event, but staring at it, with the movement and sounds of her wind-breaker pants, was overwhelmingly spectacular. True story.

So thus began my years of torment as a result of "the booty". A boy prematurely introduced to the "ass realm", "por una maltida" (by a damn girl). I was hitched. Hitched to the round phat ass of a woman; an obsessed individual. The life of ongoing days of whiplash and eye cramps had begun. Twenty-three somewhat years later and I still can't resist the cravings of a harmless peek, an undercover look, a reflection, a tease. The view of a bikini, a thong, a pair of booty shorts, a tight spandex dress, a pair of pajamas with little Mickey Mouse faces in the corner bodega, some tight denims on the 6 train, khaki slacks at Best Buy, a nice two-piece business suit, some SWEATS. A glimpse of a phat ass in any of these garments is like White Castle to me: "It's what I crave".

Now, am I the only sicko in this world that suffers from this disease? Au contraire (French: On the contrary), I am not alone. Out of random curiosity, as it always occurs with me, I conducted a survey via text messaging and e-mail, in which 50 NYC males between the ages of 21-51 were asked the following question: If you had a chance to choose, what would you go for, nice teeth, beautiful hair, or a phat ass? The results were astonishing. Out of the 50 surveyed, only two men answered something other than a PHAT ASS. One of them said teeth, you know who you are, and the other male, said Tits, which was not even part of the f*&cking question. What does this quick survey show? That for one, I’m not the only addicted individual, but most importantly, that it’s not just about the beauty, it’s ultimately about the B-to-the-double-O-T-Y! Yes sir! It’s all about the booty!

Honestly, having nice teeth is a plus. It would probably, and I mean probably, get you a few compliments here and there and maybe even a Colgate commercial, although very unlikely. A nice set of hair would have your girlfriends going on and on about what products you use and how you gave your hair so much volume, but it would pretty much end there. But, a phat ass? A phat ass you say? A phat ass can get you a record deal, hook you up with a professional athlete, get you a mansion in the Hampton's, a shoe/sneaker contract, your own perfume: “Le Bootylicious Eau de toilette”, an instant modeling career, a starring role in a box office hit, your own talk show, appearances in more than your fair share of hip-hop music videos, and more than a few filthy rich baby daddy’s supplying some form of child support; and you don’t even have to be all that cute.

There are times in a given week when an addict's craving for rear “pancakes” doesn't even take into consideration what the girl looks like. The chick could be a “butaface” (everything looks good but-a-face), shit, she could have a chest made up of two large nipples and an eye in the middle of her forehead, but if she has a nice-round “sweet-tweet”, someone, will turn around and stare at her “wobble-wobble”. Strangely enough, the chick becomes equivalent to a Taco Bell Crunch Wrap Supreme; "Good To Go!" The truth is, that being ugly and having a phat ass, justifies your man’s choice in YOU. His friends will tease him and say, “that bitch is ugly…(pause)…but she got a phat ass though”.

So, do I really have a serious problem here? Maybe so. Do I really want some help? Maybe not. I just wanted your attention. I take this time to send a shout out to the legend, Mr. Sir Mix-A-Lot, for his contribution to the music industry with his powerful “Baby Got Back” song, and I leave this blog dedicating a song to the booty, in the words of Ryan Leslie:

I’m addicted to you, I’m addicted to you, I’m addicted to you, you’re my addiction!

Berry Merry, Live, love and laugh. If you have a chance, take a peek at what this world has to offer. There’s booty everywhere!

It’s a Celebration Bitches!!!

Do you prefer 6 inches or 12?

2008-10-18T17:47:00.000-07:00

The title sounds a bit pornographic doesn't it? But, as you may have already noticed by my history of blogs, I'm a master of "random" thoughts. Over several months now, I've been disturbed; frustrated; and filled with curiosity as a result of the following question: Who the hell made the 6 inch or 12 inch sandwich, the rule of thumb for supreme hunger satisfaction? Ah, you thought I was going to talk about something else huh? You nasty people you.

For starters, why has the world become so hooked on sandwiches all of a sudden? Well, a bit of recent sandwich history reminds us of just why. In 1999, a young man named Jared Fogle, an Indiana University student at that time, lost an astonishing 245 pounds, with a diet focused on eating Subway Restaurant sandwiches and exercise. His remarkable weight-loss story impacted people around the world, and got everyone hooked on sandwiches like the resurgence of coffee.

This began a movement, and businesses everywhere, introduced some sort of cold cut alternative to their ever so popular menus; Dunkin Donuts and Dominoes now offer sandwiches as well. The ever so famous Blimpies is back on track (I'm a Blimpies man myself), and the idea of "healthy eating made possible via the sandwich", stuck a thorn to the side of all the burger eateries and gave birth to businesses like Quiznos, who makes a pretty freaking good toasty sandwich. Yet, the question at hand: Why a 6 inch/12inch and not a 5 inch,or a 8 1/2 inch, or 7 3/4 inch with a curve (you nasty) or any other measurement, remains unanswered.
Who came up with this precise statistic of measurement and labeled this finding, as the "SANDWICH SIZE PHENOMENON". Was there a town hall meeting about how long (stop being nasty) a sandwich should be to satisfy the appetite of all humanoids. Maybe, in one of the past business Expos, while all the up and coming entrepreneurs were off to lunch, someone suggested:

"Hey!" "How about we go to a sandwich store and tell them to cut all of our sandwiches in rectangular shapes of six inches? Or for those who are a bit hungrier, let them get a whole foot long with their favorite condiments. Sounds delicious doesn't it? Mmmmmm... (your nasty)."

Well, having nothing better to do with the spare minutes of my life...

(Sidebar: I just got a flashback of that AT&T commercial, where the dad spills milk on his left-over roll-over minutes and he's about to throw them away. "Who wants milky minutes anyway...". Check it out:

Anyway, as I was saying, having nothing better to do with the spare minutes of my life, I began an extensive research trying to discover the history and founder of the 6 inch/12 inch sandwich idea. Looking into the history of the franchise known as Subway Restaurants aka Subway, who as I recall were the first to make an emphasis on "bread" inches, I learned several cool things.

According to Wikipedia (which I must warn you, shouldn't be your go to source for any medical information, or anything that's truly serious, as it can be edited by it's subscribers), the franchise which is owned by Doctor's Associates, Inc. (DAI), not medical doctors by the way, is currently the fastest growing franchise in the world. There are over 30,016 franchised units in 88 countries, and as of this month, is third largest fast food operator globally after Yum! Brands (35,000 locations) and McDonald's (31,000 locations). Not bad huh? In further research, I learned that there are Subway's in Muslim countries that serve alternative menus with substitutes with Halal produce. That means that my man Amir, from The Kite Runner, the best-selling novel by Khaled Hosseini and one of my favorite books, thanks Zak, can revisit Afghanistan and pick-up a foot-long Halal Sub. Cool isn't it?

As I continued my research, I obtained other cool info, like the fact that the first form of sandwich was attributed to the ancient Jewish sage Hillel the Elder, who is said to have put meat from the Paschal lamb and bitter herbs inside matzo (or flat, unleavened bread) during Passover; hey that flat bread idea goes way back. Furthermore, I discovered that the first English usage of the word "sandwich" goes back to the 18th century. According to Wikipedia, the sandwich was named after an English aristocrat named John Montagu, 4th Earl of Sandwich.

Mr. Montagu aka Lord Sandwich, who quite strangely resembles our contries 1st president (please see pic above), and even more strangely existed in same time period of G.W., was fond of this type of food that consisted of "bits of cold meat" in bread. He favored this food because it allowed him to continue playing cards while eating, without getting his cards greasy. Far out right?

Nevertheless, I was not able to obtain any information on the emphasis on SIZE and how it mattered (you nasty). I was eventually forced to arrive to a theory of my own.

My theory: I believe the guy who came up with this was probably watching an X-rated... No sorry, I don't think that, please disregard the previous statement. I think that, some jobless dude with a whole bunch of "roll-over" minutes to spare, a kitchen counter overflowing with loafs of bread of all sizes, and a fridge full of healthy vegetables, and condiments, sat down and began a personal investigation of this "cold-cut" case. His mission? To uncover the myth behind the statement: Does size really matter? He locked himself up, in a dungeon, or a basement, as the time period of this discovery is unclear, and conducted several tests until he would satisfy his hunger. Maybe he began at 1, then 2, until reaching six inches and feeling a complete sense of pleasure and satisfaction. Then, all of a sudden, he received an unexpected visit from his larger than normal cousin, who found two six inch subs and scarfed them down with no apparent difficulty. At that exact moment, this man was enlightened with a new discovery, and thus began his voyage across the globe to spread the "good news", the gospel, on how many inches does it really take to satisfy mankind.

Is this how it really went down? The world may never know. Just another one of those things that make you go Hmmmm....

Yes i'm random, but you freaking love it.

Be merry, call Jared and try a $5 foot-long. You'll be totally satisfied with how BIG it really is. Oh yeah! hehe (you nasty).

Creatures of Sameness

2008-09-22T04:17:00.000-07:00

Aaaah yes! New York City; The Big Apple; The Melting Pot; Capital City of The World! Our city; your city; his city; her city; my city! A city known by so many names, tales, descriptions and stereotypes. They call our city the melting pot because it’s made up of a mix of folks from all around. We’re like this ginormous pot of paella (a Spanish dish prepared by simmering together chicken, seafood, rice, vegetables, and saffron and other seasonings) made up of several different cultures, beliefs, habits, tastes, customs and smells (yes folks, some of our people stink); I LOVE NY! But when you take some time to think about it, which I'm sure you have as we're all tormented with random thoughts from time-to-time, with all our differences, including but not limited to our different stinky perspiration's, we're quite alike. There are moments where we all behave like Siamese twins in this "paella" (pronounced pah-e-lyah, for those who are unfamiliar with the word) of a city. Now you may be asking yourself what the hell is this man of random thoughts talking about. Well, In what follows, I will show you, the reader, or listener if this is being read to you, several scenarios where we unconsciously acquire identical habits, therefore making us, even if u stink, "creatures of sameness." Ooh! I like the sound of that..."creatures of sameness." Hmmm... (In the annoying high pitch voice of a child) I'm a creature of sameness! I'm a creature of sameness! I'm a creature of sameness! Shall we continue?

The Dining scene

Hey! We all eat out from time to time. Heck! There are some of us who eat out every day, and, even though this could be a point of reference to reveal a clear example of sameness, this is not the example I would like to present. Instead, I would like to focus on the restaurant scene and the introduction; or the "welcoming act" we receive when we visit them. Ahead, I will do my best to role-play this episode of "sameness", that believe it or not, we’ve all gone through.

The Restaurant introductions, be it from a hostess, mantra dean, or your waiter(tress), are so rehearsed, and fake that we very rarely ever pay attention to them! Unless it’s a hot-ass chick for us guys or a sexy dude for the ladies, our brain automatically selects small parts of their pre-rehearsed small-talk of “blah!-blah!-blah!”, to let that person know that we're not mildly retarded, we care about our food not being spat on, and we’re on point with everything they’re telling us. If they only knew (which they probably do by the expression on our faces) that at that exact moment, our BRAIN is receiving, and we’re hearing this scene in the following way...(Now forgive me as I make the best possible attempt to verbalize the jargon that comes out of their mouths in their introduction. Aaaaand Action!):

The employee approaches your party, "Hi, my name is shua-shua-blah-blue (smiles). The special of the day is crickie-cra-cra, and foo-foo-ma-blah with a sprinkle (does a sprinkling gesture in the air) of chacky-poo-pa, and a side of rice and beans (we Spanish folks always here the rice and beans part). The employee continues, “The desert of the day is chocolate blah-poo-poo, with a cherry on top (men like cherries hehe), and the drink of the day is shua-shua-shua with pineapple blah-splah, on a blah-flah-blah with whip cream and a shot of tequila on the side (hey, our brain likes whip cream and liquor? Not a bad combo if u know what I saying).” “Now what would you like to drink?”

Now you can’t tell me that you haven’t been through this scene at least once in your lifetime. Shit, I go through this scene every time I go out; especially when I’m starving. OMG! Isn’t it when you’re starving that the freaking waiter wants to look “all-knowledgeable” about how much of the menu he/she has been able to memorize for your amusement. OMG! Just give me the freaking menu, my hot bread with a stick of butter, my glass of water, and show me where the specials of the day are. Thank you very much! I’ll decide what I want to eat…coño! (This is a curse word in Spanish culture closely compared to “damn” “dam it” or “f&#ck”. It all depends on what just happened, or how you feel and who made you feel this way. In Dominican culture, this is by far, our universal curse word. Sorry for the side bar).

The subway scene

In everyday life, for most New Yorkers (myself included…shut up! Hehe), mass transit is the way to go! Unless of course, you’re one of these snobs who, with a tone of superiority towards others, and with a vocal pitch as if they had a finger stuck up their asses say,

"Not me, I drive into work. I can't deal with rush hour. Too much chaos and people for me. I suffer from claustrophobia".

Ah shut up! But anyway, (sorry for the side-bar vent), back to business! When you think about it, it is crazily insane how our habits in public transit are so ridiculously alike. For instance, most of us rush out of our homes, with 2 point 2 seconds left on the clock. Why is this? Well because in our train calculating expertise, we’ve been able to take note of the exact time, and speed rate in which a train will enter the station. Furthermore, we even have a few back-up plans, and know the exact time of the next two or three trains as well. We have that shit synchronized, like we use to do in High School with that “end of the period BELL.” You remember that right? I don’t care if you went to school during the 80’s and early 90’s and heard a real bell, or went to school afterwards, when the ringing was replaced by an electronic buzz, we all synchronized our watches to that freaking thing. Regardless of what sound you heard, there was always that one kid, maybe it was you, who had the timing of that bell down to the last second. He/she would even do the countdown in silence while picking up his/her bag, to walk out the door while the teacher was still talking. Creatures of Sameness? I think so. But anyway, for some odd reason, most of us go to the train in the same way, every single day. We walk or run (depending how many seconds are left on our stop watch) towards the train as if a nuclear war-head missile was homing in on the crack of our asses. Shit, some of us have even developed rush our ninja skills. We can't dance salsa, or keep a calorie count, but we can move in and out between thousands of bystanders, taking short cuts, jay walking and even sliding down a railing if we must, just in time to squeeze in between the closing doors (“Stand clear of the closing doors please”).

Now if you’re not one of the ninja skilled, than you’re probably one of those folks that makes it to the platform on “good-time.” Just with enough time to read a little bit more of your favorite magazine, or book, or shuffle through your favorite songs on your iPod. You may not be in a hurry a day in your life, but, you’re known to other strap hangers as the mother-freaking “seat-hogger”, who through time has developed blood thirsty vampire-eagle-eye skills to seek-and-destroy. What do I mean? Well, you’re one of them folks that as the train approaches the platform, quickly scans the insides of the speedy train with x-ray like vision, squinting as you locate any empty seat. Once you find one, you immediately position yourself, in an angle towards the opening door, so that no other citizen or green-card holder can skip you. The event becomes a freaking thrill ride as all strap hangers, including you, head for the races. As you run towards that seat, in between the chubby guy and a homeless man who’s been sleeping there for 7 hours, you pray and hope that you don't run into a 90 year old lady or an 8 1/2 month old pregnant girl, so that you won’t be forced to relinquish your seat. Once you’re seated, you make it your mission not to ever give your seat up if your life depended on it. You begin to play little games within your head, like the “let me close my eyes and make believe I’m into this song game”, or the “make believe I’m all into this book game” or the ever so popular and my personal favorite, the "make believe I'm sleeping game", so that no one would bother to even ask you to please give up your seat. Come on, don't lie, u know you've played this game before. You remain rigid as you peek around through your semi-closed eyes, looking on through the hairs of your eye lashes to see if the person in need, like that 100 year old grandmother of 25, or the woman who’s giving birth right in front of you, begs with their eyes for your seat. Cruel wouldn’t you say? Maybe so, but you’re shocked to see that you’ve done this before right? Don’t be, it’s a part of who we are.

A Gas crisis

Come on! Don’t tell me you haven’t been through that embarrassing day. You know, maybe had a little too much melted nacho cheese in that chili; a little too many yogurts in the morning; too many pinto-beans in that burrito during lunch time. It’s now a little after 5pm, and your stomach is going bonkers! Not because you’re hungry, or are suffering from a major stomach virus, but because your extremely bloated, and there’s a war of gases taking place in your “insides”. And of course, you have pride, you’re of the higher classes. Maybe you’re one of those “drive-to-work” folks I mentioned a little earlier in this segment of sameness. You can’t possibly take care of the infamous, and now popularly referred to “#2”, or “take-a-poop” in the “can”, or “ the john”, or the toilet at work. What? “Never will I Mr. or Ms. (Your Last Name Here), ever, ever, ever, use a toilet out of my own my home to do the-poop thing.” “That is just disgusting!” Well, just great, your body would like to take this time to thank you for the torture you’re making it go through. It could’ve simply been a harmless form of a flatulent expression. One of those wonderful enormous “gassy” farts (which bring great relief I might add), or maybe just a “row” of baby farts lined up in single line formation, waiting for the appropriate moment of release; freedom! As it is for those of us who suffer from heartburn (myself included), that can’t seem to find a pack of TUMS or ROLAIDS when struck with the uncomfortable symptoms associated with acid reflux, the same goes for our fellow “gassy” counter-parts; there are no anti-gas tablets in sight. Heck, the only time we’ve really seen an anti-gas medicine is on TV in a late-night infomercial. Presenting Gastro Herbal, for the quickest relief...

Anyway, seeing no other solution, your stubborn ass (literally speaking, since it is this area of the body that we’re currently concentrating on…how ironic), decides to fight the forces of human nature, and make a break for home, in hope that when you finally arrive there, the toilet will be unoccupied.

OMG! Your subway “ninja skills” come into full affect now. You zoom through the other 1.5 million pedestrians like a swift wind. If only they knew, you were holding-in a number of “swift-winds” yourself. If you weren’t a subway “seat-hogger” before, you definitely become one now, running to the first available seat to trap the tormenting vibrations being caused by your butt cheeks. This is when you remember God, yes, even you “so called Atheist”. You begin to silently recite the speech that has been made ever-so popular by the drunk folks: “Please let me make it home!” “Please let me make it home!” Please let me make it home!” You do your best not to make the slightest inappropriate move, in fear that a little “spurt” of gas may involuntarily ooze out, but you just can’t control it. The forces from within are just a bit too powerful for you. With the AC on blast, you decide to give things a little test. You say to yourself, “If I were to let one go, and feel nothing coming afterwards, I’ll be an awesome condition to relax, and maybe even fall asleep in front of this little old lady. At that exact moment, “The Conscious” interrupts. Throughout the centuries, and since the times of Adam, it has been known that the conscious pays a visit in the most crucial and decisive times, and it has chosen the most opportune time to provide it’s “2 cents” of advice. It says, “Listen, Mr. or Ms. (Your last name here), this is your conscious speaking, I don't mean to interrupt you, but if you decide to do this, you must be prepared for the repercussions.” With stubbornness, you respond “What repercussions?” The conscious answers, “Well, if you decide to go through with this manifestation, and something a little more “solid” follows, you’ll find yourself in a very BIG PROBLEMO, and you would be on your own with this one." You see, I'm, in a sense, of the spiritual form, and I think you would agree that there's no way in hell or heaven, if you're of the optimistic type, that I can help you out with this "pooh-pooh" situation; it's all on you (literally).

You sit back in your chair, and give this dramatic scene some thought and, to the relief of your conscious, you take it's advice and wait till you get home. When you arrive home, things that you usually did with your eyes closed, are now giving you trouble. You pushed the entrance door, when for the past 25+ yrs of your life, you know that it's always been a pull door. You decide to wait for the elevator when you know for a fact, that it's not going to come to your rescue. You hit the stairs, and as you reach your door, you can't seem to get the key into the keyhole. It is at that moment that you realize you were using the wrong freaking key! Your body unconsciously goes into the "pooh-pooh" dance. You know the "pooh-pooh" dance, you begin to rock at the hip from side to side, front to back, as your bum-bum, keeps giving you that annoying pushing sensation at the rhythm of every heartbeat. (OMG! You know exactly what I'm talking about don't you!) You finally get inside your apartment, sprint over hurdles of three out-of-place dining chairs, smack your dad, kick the cat, tackle the dog, spit at your grandmother (OK, maybe that's a little too much), ninja flip over your grandmother (much better), and you make it to the bathroom. You instantaneously sit your ASS on the toilet and let it rip. Wow! World War III anyone? The explosion scares the shit out of you (not literally, though you kind of wish it did). It's a thunderous-volcanic gas, followed by spurts of machine-gun-like gases, followed by baby farts, a side-angled final wheeze, and then nothing else...nothing else. You give yourself a few minutes just to be 110% sure. First, because your conscious was talking all that shit (literally), 2nd, because a 1% miscalculation could be a devastating and uncomfortable situation, and 3rd you don't want to even imagine going through all of that for NOTHING! Sadly, time goes by, and you come to the realization, that...that...that...it was all just a false alarm. Fu#%ing Conscious! Noticing your anger, the conscious tags in one last time for the day and says,

"NEXT TIME USE THE TOILET AT WORK, YOU FU#%ING IDIOT!"

Be Merry, Enjoy life, and never leave work with "pooh-like" symptoms.
Talk about "rush hour?"

Songs of Innocence? Maybe not!

2008-09-20T12:54:00.000-07:00

So a lot has happened since I last wrote something. Mr. Barack Obama! Obama! Obama! accepted the democratic nomination and, became the first African-American in history to be elected as the democratic front runner for President of the United States (woo-hoo!); my computer caught the most annoying mother-freaking spyware virus which I believe I have finally been able to resolve and get rid of; the NFL kicked off another season and my NY GIANTS are 2-0; and, last but definitely not least, I’ve been informed that I have a subliminal/undercover/cult following now. Yup! I actually have a fan base, and they’ve been bugging me to write something fresh, new, interesting, and maybe shall I say…cool. I must thank Ms. Betty Boo’ for that (you know who you are). I take this time to send some homie love to my folks @ 120 Broadway. You know who ya is, Val (thanx for introducing me to that “Black Russian” bread. It sounds dirty, but I’m hooked, dat shit is bangin’), Royal, Glen, and of course the infamous Ms. Betty Boo-woop-ti-woop! While I’m at it, I have to also give props to other fans who continue to show me love, like my peeps Zak, Renu, So Yon, Candice, Giselle and my cuzzo Ariel. Ah! Ya didn’t think I would do it huh? Yup, that’s right, I gots love for ya. Yes, gots, with a mother-freaking “S” at the end. I’m gangsta’, you didn’t know? You betta ask somebody…who am I kidding; I wouldn’t hurt a fly while It’s still breathing. Wait a minute, do fly’s breath? If they do, is it oxygen? How long can they hold their breath? Do fly's fart? Can you imagine the sound of that? Would the fart be hidden under a buzzing sound? OMG! Another blog idea. OMG! I can see it now, the pathology of a fly-“The Fly Buziness”. Interested? No? Ok, let’s continue.

Well as far back as I can remember music has been a part of my life. I’ve had to hear some form of melody every single day, since the day I was born...I ain’t lying! For those that don’t know me personally, I’m Dominican, or as we like to say it, “Soy Dominicano!” That being said, you know I was born with the innate ability to dance to any tune ever invented; really! My mom says I learned to dance merengue before learning how to speak or walk or even suck a titty….I ain’t lying! And growing up in Washington Heights didn’t help me either. Washington Heights aka “The Mini-D.R.”, was known for booming systems in cars that were constructed by putting the pieces from three or four other model cars together. We had Honda/Toyota/Chevy’s, driving up and down the streets all day, every day. You gotta admit though, we some creative people son. Yup! We had some f&*cked up cars, but the systems on them suckers would put Funk Master Flex’ system to shame, and the sound could be heard in Jersey City, NJ...I ain’t lying! If I’m being honest, cause as I’ve said in three previous occasions, I don’t lie, I think my people purchased cars just to see what kind of stereo system they could squeeze in to them. The music would blast 24/7, 7 days a weeks, 365 days a year, and I would dance to every song, every single hour, every single day. I ain’t lying!

Growing up though, I became a true R&B and POP fan (come on, with Michael Jackson around, who wasn’t a pop/r&b fan?). Although when I come to think of it, rap was my first and preferred choice, but, I was forced to pick-up these other genres instead. Why forced? You see, although rap was a fairly new genre for the kids of my day, thus being the reason why we were all hooked to it like crack-heads with 3 good teeth (ok, maybe we had several good teeth), it wasn’t allowed in my home. I was a church-going-boy, part of a family that had been Spanish-Pentecostal for 3 generations, and my mom, wasn’t cool with me listening to any of that “worldly music” (as she and everyone else of the doctrine would refer to it). She wasn’t having none of that “hip hop the hippie the hippie to the hip-hip hop, a you don’t stop the rock it to the bang bang boogie say up jumped the boogie to the rhythm of the boogie, the beat”, coming out of the stereo system, especially if she owned the only stereo available and was the one paying the “La Luz” (“The Light”) bill. One day though, as I chilled at home after school, one of my younger uncles called me into his room and showed me something, something special, incredible even. He had just picked up a used copy of Michael Jackson’s Thriller album (the best-selling record in music history), from one of the Salvation Army thrift stores in our neighborhood. I was about 6 or 7yrs old back then, and as I sat next to him, I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. At that moment, my mom quietly passed by his open door, and as my heart stopped in anticipation for some form of disciplinary action, she said,

“He’s always been an amazing artist, even though he’s a little coo-coo in the head.” “He looked cute with his big nose”. “I don’t know why he had to do that stupid operation.”

I was awestruck. My mom was cool with Mike? My mom was cool with Mike! For the first time ever, I felt a silent approval for anything having to do with English music, Michael Jackson, or anyone else. I began to visit my uncles room every single day, for a taste of “Beat it”, or “Billie Jean” or “PYT-Pretty Young Thing” and the scary as hell “Thriller”. It started with Mike, but then it eventually passed on to other records in his collection, Stevie Wonder, Lionel Richie, Madonna, and Diana Ross etc. Everything I listened to during these “wonder years” became engraved in history, as my “songs of innocence”. I sang them everywhere; in the shower, in the store, at church, at burial services, parents-teachers conferences, every freaking where.

The funny thing is that when I look back at all the songs I learned, and sang over the years, I realized that my “songs of innocence”, weren’t that innocent after all. There were several songs that caught me “off-guard”. You see, their messages were hidden. Contrary to these days, the songs in those days weren’t all up in your face about, “whipping it out” and “sexing” someone up. Although most adults got the message, ignorant and gullible children like myself, didn’t get it until later on in life. I was surprised to find that the songs that began with my first experience with Mike, and then moved on to other artists over the years, were not only kind of dirty, they were sexually explicit and freaking HOT! What’s even funnier is that the older I got, the dirtier the songs became…or was me that was getting dirtier? Who knows, but I continued to notice that songs, which were created for the larger masses, carried these hidden messages, so the younger individuals could groove to them with no regret, and the older folks could do the “nasty” to them, with no regrets he-he. Although I’m sure you can come up with maybe 1,000 songs like these (you dirty minded people), I can recall a few that I learned to sing, before I learned what the hell they were talking about…SEX!!!! Not to overwhelm the reader, I will take excerpts from a couple of these songs to show you what I mean.

Song: PYT “Pretty Young Thing”; Artist: Michael Jackson; Album: Thriller

It was 1985, and as history shows, a couple of cool things happened that year. Mike Tyson made his boxing debut; Wrestlemania debuted in Madison Square Garden; Tetris was released; the Nintendo Entertainment System is released; Microsoft releases the first version of Windows, Windows 1.0; and for kids everywhere, Thundercats debuted on TV. Now, on that year, at the age of 7, I finally learned the words to one of the songs from Michael Jacksons “Thriller” album. Although this was not my favorite, “Billie Jean” was, I recall that as I revisited the lyrics as a teenager, I couldn’t believe how sexually explicit this song was. To add more terror to the previous finding, I thanked the heavens, that my mom didn’t know any English at that time. That Dominican lady would’ve smacked my lips off, changed my name to a curse word, and demand that I stop crying immediately. In any event, my lips are still intact, but I still couldn’t believe how “dirty” this song was. For starters, Mike begins this song by saying:

“You know you, you make me feel so good inside”.
(Pause) OMG! What the hell was Mike talking about? What’s inside? Why should I be feeling something good inside? Mike, what the hell did you mean by that? Just imagine, a 7 year old boy, taking ESL (English as a Second Language) classes, singing this stuff in the hallways of his elementary school, P.S. 173 in Washington Heights, NY. Yup! Hilarious!

Mike goes on to the second verse to say:

“Nothin' Can Stop This Burnin'”
(Pause) Okay, Okay, Okay what’s burning Mike? What are you burning Mike and why? Is there an STD going around that you haven’t told us about Mike?
“Desire To Be With You”
(Pause) Folks, remember, I’m a kid singing this stuff….sweet!
“Gotta Get To You Baby, Won't You Come...
(Pause) Come where Mike?
“It's Emergency. Cool My Fire Yearnin' Honey…”
(Pause)There he goes again talking about this freaking fire!
“Come Set Me Free Don't You Know Now Is The Perfect Time. We Can Dim The Lights Just To Make It Right. In The Night Hit The Lovin' Spot. I'll Give You All That I've Got.”
(Pause) What the hell is wrong with you Mike? How are you gonna make things right by hitting the “loving spot”. What loving spot are you going to hit Mike and why? OMG! Is he talking about that spot? That secret spot? No! I can’t believe what my ears are hearing. Mike, in 1983 when this album was originally released, was talking about hitting the D, E, F, G spot. OMG! Mike was nasty!!!! What’s even nastier, is that he ends the song making several kissing & moaning sounds, like if he just finished doing "the nasty", with this PYT, that he's been rambling on-and-on about. Maaaaad dirty! But I loved it! Thank you Michael! We love you!

Song: Downtown; Artist: SWV; Album: It’s About Time (1992)

Fast forward 6 yrs into the future, and you’ll find yourself in peak of modern R&B music. The early 90’s was known as the rebirth of R&B, or R&B groups for that matter. With groups like Jodeci, H-Town, X-Scape, Total, TLC, Blackstreet, EnVogue and so many others, things were taken back to the roots, when talented groups defined this music. Now, in the 90's, 1992 to be exact, there was one special group that brought a little twist to the game, and really put female R&B groups on the map. Originally from our very own NYC, this trio of fine sistas were introduced to the world as SWV (aka Sisters With Voices). They came on the scene with their double platinum-selling and American Grammy Award nominated album, “It’s About Time”, which had hits like “Weak”, “I’m so into you”, “Right Here/Human Nature” (that hot track w/ Michael Jackson in the background) and finally the women-anthem “Downtown”. Now, “Downtown”, was written in honor of all the ladies, to inform all the men of the world, of something they were not quite getting. The Woman’s Rights Movement, not only brought equality between men and women, but also allowed women to express their true feelings about several topics; politics, the entertainment business, and yes, even SEX! The phrase “going downtown”, took a whole new meaning, and became really popular in the 80’s and 90’s, and the women of the world took great advantage of it; it was quite revolutionary. It (the phrase) would come up in casual conversations, board meetings, and even parent-teacher conferences. “By the way Hun, I’m a bit stressed from a long day of hard work, so when we get home, I need you to go “downtown” for me. Now of course, as a gullible 13yr old freshman in high-school, which is when this album dropped, I thought the lady wanted her man to take a quick trip to Union-Square or The Financial District or something. But nope, little-old-ignorant me was fooled once again. SWV made an important point to stress that there was really only one way to a women’s heart; “GOING DOWNTOWN”. They said:

“Boy, I want you to listen closely to what I have to say
'Cause this is the way to my heart”
(pause) For many women, this is the only way to their heart. They’re so selfish (he-he).
“You've been wondering how you can make it better
Baby, it's easy to turn my world inside out…”
“You gotta go downtown”
(pause) And not downtown time square, or union square, or any other squares.
“That's the way to my love. Take it round and round”
(pause) Fellas, yeah, I’m speaking to you, this means some circular tongue action.
“Oooh, you can't stop 'til you find my love
Go downtown, To taste the sweetness…”
(pause) So you see after not stopping till’ you find her love or aka bring her to a “sexual eruption”, you won’t be able to taste sweetness. OMG! Nasty!)
“Until you uncover the mystery”
(pause) Since most men were in darkness about what was missing in their love life…
“Take it nice and slow. Baby, don't rush the feeling
Now you know how you can make it happen, yeah…”
“Let me guide you down to the place to be.
(pause) Woman mother-freaking love this song. Where’s the place to be ladies? Sing it! Doooowntooooooown!

To my surprise, when SWV dropped this joint, they were actually given men a 101, on a very sensitive topic, about a very sensitive area, in essence, the need for a little more focus and “special” attention. In other words, a basic lesson, “tit-for-tat”, or “you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours”, or I “licky-licky” for you, and you “licky-licky” to me. Plainly put, an introductory to “eating the box”, some “cunnilingus”, or “going downtown!”

So, with that in mind, sit back, relax, turn on your stereo system, and if your in company of that special someone... " Do the nasty!" You're not that innocent after all. Be Merry!

In Other Noticias/News no. 1

2008-08-25T16:17:00.000-07:00

As a child I hated anything on TV that didn’t involve cartoons (G.I. Joes, Voltron, Thundercats, Bravestar, Silver Hawks, Ducktales, Bionic Six...ok i'll stop), a cool sitcom (Different Strokes, Happy Days, Webster, Silver Spoons, Facts of Life, Saved by the Bell, Charles in Charge), or sports (of course the AMAZIN' METS; yup, the METS. I’ve been a METS fan since I was 5 yrs old, don’t hate). I would practically get a nervous breakdown if anything else was showing on our 26 inch Zenith Television with the wooden frame that weighed 3,000 pounds; especially the NEWS. Are you kidding me, the news? (believe it or not this wooden framed TV, was a must have in every Dominican household, don't ask me why...look at that cute kid up there. That was before all of the appetite enhancers! And yes, we continue to put plastic covering on our couches) Man, I don’t know what was worse for a child during after school hours, being asked to do your homework before anything else, even breathing; being told to take a trip to the corner bodega for wonder bread, a dollar worth of American cheese and a half-gallon of whole milk (none of that skim crap) while you were watching Thunder Cats; or having to bare the torment of watching Rafael Pineda and Denise Oller (two of the most famous Latin anchors in Spanish TV HISTORY…for like FOREVER!) for half-an-hour, as they reported the local news…IN SPANISH!!!! OMG! Hang me! But, something funny began to occur as I grew older. I actually began to enjoy some local news, some current affairs, a little NY1 here, and even a little UNIVISION there. I also became interested in world news, and “weird” news, as I like to call it. I was highly interested in the unusually; things that occurred that were a bit out of the ordinary. From these “out of the ordinary” stories, I decided to create an addition to this blog titled “In Other Noticias/News”. Every once in a while I’ll write about these creepy, funny, scary, and out of the ordinary reports and I’ll try to keep it interesting and current. Enjoy!

Tuesday August 19th, 2008: “Dead Man Standing?”

If you were granted one last wish on your death bed, what would you ask for? Would you have any special requests for the day of your wake? Or would you feel too young to begin planning the way to “go” when it was time to “go”? Well the person or former person in our first story made sure he had everything planned out; with every detail. This is the story of a 24 yr old man from San Juan, Puerto Rico; The man once known as Angel Pantoja Medina, but who is currently known to the media as “Dead Man Standing”. If you haven’t heard this unique and “creepy” story, stay tuned for this one. It is reported that Angel Pantoja Medina, made a special request to his loved ones. The request, that in the event of his death, and for his wake, he preferred to be placed in the upright position or “standing”, for everyone to see. Yup, once again, not a typo folks. The young man dreamed of being watched, at his wake, by family and friends, in the upright position…or in the “Chillin” position, with hands in his pockets and all. Unfortunately for Angel, his dream, or wish, however you may want to call it, was fulfilled a bit too soon. Angel was discovered dead last Friday, buried underneath a bridge. Puerto Rico police are still investigating this case. At the time of his untimely death, his mother went along with her son’s request and found a funeral home, that promised to carry out this feat, and that they surely did. If you take a moment to view the pictures to the left, although I know you’ve done that already, you’ll witness the images of Angel, or the corpse of, dressed up in his favorite Yankees baseball cap, his favorite pair of Dolce-Gabbana sunglasses, a designer shirt and some baggy jeans. Thanks to a special embalming treatment, the body was kept upright in one of the corners of his mother’s home, for 3 days of viewing (omg, that’s so creepy. who slept in that house?). According to El Nuevo Dia newspaper, the “Dead Man Standing’s” brother, Carlos (seen here kissing Angel), disclosed that Angel had always said that he wanted to be upright for his own wake. Carlos said “We use to talk about this stuff. He said he wanted to be happy, standing, ready to party when it was his time.” OK? But things don't end there, according to Primer Impacto, in addition to his wake request, Angel also requested that he not be watched during his burial, so that everyone's final memory of him, would be of him standing, "happy". It is reported that no one, not even his immediate family, watched as he was lowered 6 feet under, keeping their promise. Woe?

August 06th, 2008: Chinese man found humping a bench: “Me Love you long time?”

Women always say that men have two heads, and that we’re always thinking with the “other one”. I can’t seem to blame them, but I think a lot of us just do; I plead the 5th (hehe). Some time ago, an article was published that stated that men think about sex every 7 seconds; well that’s a little too crazy don’t you think? A few years ago, UK’s own TIMESONLINE, featured an article where research by The Kinsey Institute at Indiana University revealed that 54% of men think about sex at least every day (yup!), 43% think about it a few times a week or month (umm…I’m still in that previous bracket), and 4% think about it once a month or less (what? And we’re speaking about live men right?). So, this study clearly shows one commonality here, men think about SEX, even if it’s only once a month (sike, sike, sike). Now, having put that behind us, I raise the following question, what was Mr. Xian Xing thinking about?

A few weeks ago, a 41-year-old Hong Kong man by the name of Xian Xing, was found stuck to a bench. Not because he was “crazy glued” to it, or holding on to it in protest of the 2008 Beijing Olympics, or because he was nailed to it, No!, BUT BECAUSE HE WAS ACTUALLY NAILING IT! Yes, my friends, the 41-year-old man was caught humping a freaking bench in the middle of the night. According to weirdasiannews.com the lonely man apparently thought it would be fun, or even satisfying I might add, to place his “thingy” in one of the numerous holes found in the bench’s design, and perform the act of SEX. To his dismay, when his “thingy-wingy” became aroused (no homo), he was stuck to the uniquely designed and “tempting” bench (please view Exhibit A up above). Now found in this “stiff” predicament, he was forced to phone the police for help. When the cops arrived, they found Xing face down where he had been for some time. When the doctors arrived to the scene, they tried different procedures to free him from “his love toy”, but his “thingy-wingy” was a bit to swollen (no homo). The team was forced to cut the entire bench off, and transport it to the nearest hospital, with Xing stuck to it. After four grueling hours, the staff of Doctors managed to free him. One of the doctors on the scene said that if he would have been stuck for even an hour longer, they would have had to remove his penis; how’s that for current affairs?

See Mr. Xing leaving the Hospital after his embarrassing procedure. I bet he won't do that again; at least not with the same bench.

Now, giving this scene a little comical flip, can you imagine that phone call? I can, and it probably went a little something like this: (now I don’t know Mandarin or Cantonese, so I’ll role play this scene in English).

Xing: Ah, police-ah?

Police: Yes, this-ah police-ah?

Xing: Me have ah hard problem…

Police: Wha’ hard problem you have?

Xing: A very, very hard one!

Police: Plea’ explain-ah

Xing: Me very lonely man you see…

Police: Yes, you lonely man…

Xing: (clearing his throat, and maybe crying) Um…Me ova here in LanTian park righ?

Police: Righ?

Xing: And-
ah, me wanna do a quickie, wit da beautiful benchy righ?

Police: (with confusion)Uh.. Riiigh?

Xing: So, Me ah sticky, me peepe, in a benchy

Police: What-ah You-ah say?

Xing: Me ah, sticky ah, me peepee, in the benchy!

Police: So sowy, come again?

Xing: I got my d*ck stuck in one of these motherf&*king benches with all the f&*king holes!

Police: Oh shit! You didn’t? We’ll be right there….WITH EVERYBODY! (Click)

Man-o-man, what will they come up with next? Tune in next time for more Noticias/News!

Be Merry! Live, Love, and…don’t mess around with benches.

The year of the Aqua-Man aka Mr. Phelps

2008-08-23T17:00:00.000-07:00

So, the USA women’s basketball team got the gold earlier today, by smacking the Aussie by 27 pts (92-65), and the men’s “Redeem Team” (derived from Dream Team), as they are called after losing an upset in Athens 2004, are bound to win their 2nd gold in the last three Olympics. Now, that’s good news, all is fine and dandy, and I’m truly proud of our nation. We've definitely brought some heat to this year’s events. But, for some odd reason, I feel there’s been something recently missing from these “Beijing 2008 Games”. Something feels really weird and I can’t seem to point it out. What could it be? I got it; the Olympics are AMAZINGLY boring without University of Michigan Alumni (even though they didn't let him swim after he landed an endorsement deal with speedo he-he; morons), and swimming phenom 23 year old Michael Phelps aka Mr. Aqua-Man (as I'll refer to him throughout this blog).

Who's Michael Phelps you may ask? Well, if you’ve just arrived to this country and by that matter shouldn’t be reading this blog, or you’ve been in a coma and on life support and just woke up TODAY, or, you live in a cave, in some strange location where there’s absolutely no human contact, (shit, even the Mayan know who Michael Phelps is), or if you’ve been kept hostage by some down-and-under stealth-mob, then you’re forgiven; but for the rest of you humanoids, shame-shame. In the event that you’ve missed it all, here's a snippet. Diagnosed with ADHD (attention deficit hyperactivity disorder) as a child, his mom thought it would do him well to put his hyperactivity to good use, maybe some type of sport or physical activity; she chose SWIMMING! Boy-o-boy, did Ms. Phelps make the correct choice. Check his recent résumé: He’s obtained 14 total gold medals in the last two Olympics -all-time record; 8 gold medals at this year’s games surpassing Mark Spitz ’72-another record; and 16 total medals in the Olympics second only to Soviet gymnast Larissa Latynina; and he's only 23. Impressed? Let’s get a quick breakdown of the man that took the world by storm; maybe even by THUNDER STORM.

We’ll begin with Mr. Aqua-Man’s physique shall we? Body Type: 6’4” (76”), 200-205 pounds; Wingspan: 6' 7" (79”), yes, the measurement across his arms from tip-to-tip is taller than he is; Inseam: 32”; Shoe size: 14. According to an article from The Detroit News (detnews.com), Mr. Aqua-man, is the closest thing to a mother-freaking human dolphin. He has hyper-mobility and/or flexibility throughout his whole body. What does that mean? The dude has double-jointed ankles, knees, wrists and elbows. Let me repeat this folks, he has DOUBLE-JOINTED ANKLES, KNEES, and WRISTS and ELBOWS! Oh my gooseness (as the folks from my country say). Wanna hear something freakier? Mr. Aqua-man’s “ankles bend about 10-15 degrees more than normal, to almost parallel with his leg at full extension, turning his feet into flippers.” Ed Reese, coach of the U.S. swim team in Beijing says “He’s a once-in-a-lifetime physical specimen.” If that's not enough, he has a bit of X-MEN in him. That's right, an X-MEN, like Wolverine, or if you're a Heroes fan like I am, he's a bit like Claire the cheerleader. Not that he can regenerate in an instant to gunshot wounds, or broken bones, and an atomic bomb, but the Dude, was tested some years ago, and it was found that his muscles recover remarkably fast between workout and races. Crazy right? And let’s not even mention his diet and workout regimen; Simply abnormal!

Depending on the day and what workout he has planned, Mr. Aqua-man can scarf down anywhere from 8,000-12,000 calories per day. That’s not a typo folks, it’s the real deal. That’s more than 4 to 6 times what the normal adult male in-takes on any given day; 4 to 6 TIMES! (If you read my previous blog on calorie count, you know this would really traumatize the nation). Let’s look at a typical “breakfast of champions” (and kids, you shouldn’t try this at home, this is done by a professional whose workout routine would make a Belmont Horse take a cigarette break). NBCOlympics.com reports that it “starts off with three fried-egg sandwiches loaded with cheese, lettuce, tomatoes, fried onions and mayonnaise, five-egg omelet, two cups of coffee, three chocolate chip pancakes, three slices of French toast with powdered sugar, and, to top it all off, a bowl of grits… Now for the rest of the day, Phelps eats two pounds of pasta, two ham and cheese sandwiches smothered in mayo, an entire pizza, and then he washes it down with 2,000 calories worth of energy drinks.” Who would want to pick-up that bill? Yo no (not me)! Pete Bommarito, the director of performance and nutrition at Perfect Competition says “It’s one of the most insane things I’ve ever heard”.

It may sound insane to many, even to myself, but this outrageous meal plan, which is packed with carbohydrates for fuel, is done in preparation for his intense workout regimen; this dude burns it all off, or how else do you think he can maintain an approximate 8% of body fat. It is reported that Mr. Aqua-Man works out 5 hours a day, 6-7 days a week. While training, he swims an estimated 50 miles per week (that's about the same as swimming around the island of Manhattan...twice), and can burn up to 4,000 calories just in his warm-ups. During these 2008 Olympics he swam an approximate 25 miles and over 1,000 laps at Water Cube, including preliminary and semifinal heats. Why do I call this guy Mr. Aqua-Man? According to Munfitnessblog.com, he was reported as saying “My job is to be in the water and swim,”. He later admitted that without water, he does not know what he would be doing. Now if that's not an Aquaman talking, than i don't know what is. His schedule during the week? Eat, swim and sleep. He says "that's all I have time for". Hey Michael! Where are you man? Beijing ain't the same without you! Well, let's see what 2012 will bring. He'll be 27 by then, hmmm... U.S. swimmer and Olympic medalist Dana Torres was 41 at this year's showdown. Can you just imagine? Oh man, that's scary, I feel more medals coming along. Opponents please be scared...Be very scared.

Kinda looks like a freaking AQUAMAN to me. See the resemblance?

Big Ups Mon! Everything’s Irie (alright). Be Merry! Live, Love and Swim!

Oh, and give that man something to EAT!

Salsa Anyone?

2008-08-22T17:31:00.000-07:00

You've been there. Yeah, I'm talking to you! You know, a nice after work event, with all or most of your favorite buddies, while you're enjoying your first of "2 for 1" drinks special. You take that first sip of your favorite drink, or henney (my favorite), while you simultaneously move your feet to everything they play. House? "Check!" Hip-Hop? "No Problem". Reggae and/or Reggeaton? "My hips don't lie, piece of cake"! Merengue? "Man! Spin me faster, I'm on a roll". Bachata? "Hey DJ keep playing that song, I'm killing the dance floor".

Your grooving and moving, getting freaky on the dance floor, and sweating to the oldies (ok, that was a bit lame, but you get the point). And suddenly, something really strange occurs, something horrifying. You feel an uncomfortable mist fill the room like that deep muggy fog, found in the woods scene of your favorite Friday the 13th movie. You begin to hear a familiar voice, followed by a familiar sound from afar. You don't know where it's coming from, and you can't understand why this is happening, but you can hear it. You begin to hear the distinct sound of the "clave" pa-pa, pa-pa-pa, pa-pa, pa-pa-pa. The tune starts to ring in your ears and you begin to look for ways of escape. The DJ skillfully begins to raise the volume to single out the song thats playing. A song from El Gran Combo (the great combo), titled El Negro Bembon (The black guy w/ big lips), and in an instant, as if someone released a potent flatulent rectal gas (a fart), all hell breaks lose and 95% of the folks that were getting jiggy with it (i know lame) clear the dance floor. The walls of the club become a refuge for the innocent bystanders who are looking for shelter. What just happened you may ask? What could have caused this mayhem?
The DJ decided to play SALSA! Yup! SALSA! SALSA! SALSA! and SALSA!

I don't know what it is, but I've witnessed this (and so have you) time and time again. People are terrified of dancing this style of music. Now is it me, or everywhere I go it seems that only an eighth of the folks stay on the dance floor. Something just comes over folks when this intimidating form of dance expression known as SALSA, is heard over the speaker systems. There's just something about completing a dance w/ coordination and style that drives people NUTS! And as the floor is deserted, they (the intimated) come up with excuses of having to go smoke, or take a piss, or check their make-up, or take a piss and check their make up or smoke, take a piss and check their make-up. But you will NEVER, or very rarely hear a group say...."Hey, it's SALSA, OMG please, please, please, let's go dance! OMG! "This is like my favorite song for like forever and ever!" "Chicas (girls) pleeease let's go Daaaaaance!" That will never, ever happen! Well, Unless you're at an afro-Cuban/puerto rican convention, them folks don't play. But do you know why it won't happen? Ever? Cause there's always one or two people in every given group, that will never dare to mess with it...they just wont. They'll pierce their nipples, tongues and toes...YES! Tattoo their eyelids, sharpen their teeth with chisels (thanks Zak), and even suspend themselves from their skin, for pleasure. But they will never, ever, ever, ever...mess with the creature of "dance-floor-destruction" known as SALSA. Is it all the spotlights?

The funny thing is that, although most of the party people in the house would be scared shit less of stepping on the dance floor with, OMG all those SPOTLIGHTS! You'll notice that there are a few that have some freaking courage. You see them, trying to pull a quick one-two step in a dark corner...BY THEMSELVES! Or you'll catch the classic and always occurring scene of those two BFF's, performing the same freaking "wrong" steps they practiced in their rooms the day before (i love seeing them). But the one that takes the cake, and I love this one, is that occasionally unique, special and drunk ass couple, that just had a little too much to drink, and really believe they know what they're doing. They just don't give a shit about anything or anyone. They come to drink and dance all night! They'll stay on the dance floor for 18 consecutive hours, regardless of what plays, who stays, who goes, who comes and YUP! They'll even dance SALSA! You stare at them and laugh cause their happy feet are doing something that looks like a mixture between merengue and house w/ a little bit of hip-hop/bachata. Yeah! They're dancing merenhouhihoachata. But at least they have the testicular fortitude to be out there and give a try.

Now of course, you have the selected few (myself included hehe, Exhibit A to the left..don't hate. Yup, that's me and my homegirl Giz.) that know a little something-something about this dance. But i'm not gonna try and play myself and act like i'm a pro. I'm not like some of those other couples that take advantage of the deserted dance floor. You've seen them. You actually become one of their fans. They always show up and their outfits are even coordinated and shit. And they look so serious, never making eye contact with all the jaw dropped spectators. And please don't tell me they don't take classes together. Pleeeeease! Just save it. You've seen them! I know you have. They spin each other 3,793 times in the same spot, and twist themselves in and out of pretzel formations without breaking a sweat or their bones. Almost having sex with their cloths on while they complete all their moves. I know you hate them... I hate them to. You know their showing off right? You know they are! Just look at them, as they glide across the dance floor as if they were wearing ice skates and competing for the mother-freaking Olympic gold medal. But what is it that separates them from the other 95% who abandoned ship? They have guts and they practice!

So... To all you none SALSA dancers who never, ever care to give it a try. Do yourself a favor, take some time out for yourself, even Google it if you have to, and take some Got Damn Salsa lessons! Don't get caught abandoning ship anymore, or I'll hook you up with that guy that dances by himself in the dark corner. he he.

BE THE MAN! Live, Love and Dance SALSA!

What's Your Problem? Volume 1. Does America suffer from Obesophobia?

2008-08-21T00:15:00.000-07:00

So, I was inspired by a friend to begin my own blog, and after other folks agreed with that notion, I said what the hell. Being someone constantly filled with random thoughts, and several none important, yet interesting topics, I thought a blog would be a good way to share my mental ventilation as I like to call it.

I’ve decided to briefly entertain and pick your brains with one of these unique and random thoughts. How about phobias? A phobia is known as a persistent, irrational fear of a specific object, activity, or situation that leads to a compelling desire to AVOID it. In the study of phobias, we find several intriguing ones like: Medorthophobia- Fear of an erect penis (I’m not kidding); Ballistophobia- Fear of missiles or bullets (shit, I think I suffer from this one); Pluviophobia- Fear of rain or of being rained on; Mageirocophobia- Fear of cooking (some females suffer from this one); and how about Obesophobia aka Pocrescophobia- The Fear of gaining weight. The latter, will be our topic of discussion.

As I focus on the definition of the word PHOBIA, I can’t fail to notice something. Hmmmm… What can it be? Good Lawd! Holy Shit! America suffers from OBESOPHOBIA! They’re afraid, terrified of being categorized as a FAT country. They (the nation) went from spending most of their commercial time and money on “the baby-boomers” to now focusing all of their energy on the “boomers” aka us chubby folk. What? The “baby-boomers” stopped buying all the Fixodent and Ben gay you were trying to sell them? You couldn’t get them to believe that that lady from “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up” fell for real? I’m not going to get to political on this topic, although I feel it’s a move to get more money out of us, but I’m just going to brush the surface with it.

So the question arises; does the world, or better put, this nation of ours have a thing against obese aka fat aka big boned aka chubby people? I don’t know, but they’ve made it seem like being overweight is practically illegal. I can’t comprehend what crime we’ve committed but over the past decade or so they have had a tendency of trying to “help us”; “correct us”; “change us”. It’s not enough with letting us know that we’re a bit on the big side; on both sides of the family; tipping the scale; a little too big for comfort, or whatever else they call us! They want to bash it into our heads.

As most of you may already know, a law was passed in New York City, that as of July 18th of this year, chain restaurants (with 15 or more outlets), or 10 percent of New York’s restaurants, were now required to place a calorie count next to the items prices. Now everywhere you go, those little numbers are staring at you dictating what your next meal should be, when in fact your taste buds are craving for something else. Can I be as innocent as a child when I have a meal and enjoy it just for the simple and wonderful reason that it arouses my numerous taste buds? No! Somebody had to come and mess that up as well. Un-freaking-believable! Un-freaking-believable! Just when you thought things were getting worse, with gas prices, global warming, and the never ending war, now I have to consciously know the exact fraction, percentage and quantum physics of calories that I’m in taking per bite/per second. You’re kidding me right?

So ok, I’m not going to be ignorant to the fact that we should be healthy and all, and that being morbidly obese may cause great harm to your body, and life, but shouldn’t information like calorie count be up to the consumer to follow-up on? If I want to have a double quarter pounder with cheese, which by the way I converted to from the famous Big Mac about 7 years ago, then let me have one in peace. If I'm interested in the calorie breakdown, I’ll ask! Been to Dunkin Donuts lately? Why must I freaking know, that a delicious glazed donut is 230 calories, and that a banana walnut muffin is 540 calories, and that I shouldn’t wash that down with a medium size coolatta because that’s 560 calories. Geez, I’m going to be traumatized FOREVER!

I say enough with all this crap already. This is a free and democratic country, and we should have the right to eat whatever the hell we want and it should be cool. Beauty is in the eye of the freaking beholder right? So, behold my big ASS and my “chichos” aka love handles, as I strut my stuff right past you. That’s right! We sexy!

And In honor of this subject, here's a tribute to some chubby folks that are no longer with us, but while they were here, made being chubby the thing to Be! R.I.P my brothers.

Sam Kinison (b. 12/8/53- d. 4/10/92) one crazy ass controversial yes hilarious comedian. Check this classic clip out lol.

Notorious B.I.G(b. 5/21/72- d. 3/9/97): Arguably the greatest EVER!

Big Pun (b. 11/131971-2/7/00): The greatest latin rapper to ever hold a mic.

Chris Farley (b. 2/15/64- d. 12/18/97) : He was my favorite comedian.

Eat what you like and be merry! Celebration Bitches!