Had a garage sale this past wekend, I thought it would be a major hassle, but it turned out to be pretty easy, and rewarding. I left work early on Sunday and Saturday to set up for the sale and post signs on Washington Ave., the main thoroughfare through San Lorenzo and San Leandro. I posted on Craigslist, Jo's forum, Jenn's forum, and even Friendster, but the majority of people that came by probably was just driving through the neighborhood. Many of them seemed like professionals, driving by to look at the goods, and speeding off when they weren't satisfied. Others stayed a while and bargained like a cheap hooker bargains for coke. Here's what I gathered form these people:

80% Mexicans or Latinos looking for some cheap stuff. They came in their old Sentras,nice Landcruisers, decked out Siennas (this one Sienna had chrome spinners on it), and economical Camrys and Corollas. It looked like a run for the border. They were my best customers, bargaining for stuff respectfully, buying in bulk, and taking a bunch of CRAP off my hands.

10% White. Chicks and dudes looking for Home furnishings and cheap Christmas presents. I liked these guys, because they never bargained. One even lived in San Lorenzo since the 50's. He said he owned four houses in the community, but three of them belonged to his ex-wives. We got to talkin' about how he used to work on the farm that our housing development was built on, and how he used to spearfish for aslmon on the San Leandro Creek which is right next to our development. I even gave away a statue of Jesus to a lady who was very appreciative.

5% Black. This one tranny black chick in her dashiki (sic) came with a nice, short, older Latino gentleman. What an odd pairing, I thought. The only other sista I remember was a mom, who left her kid in the car (it wasn't hot), and I made smiley faces and stuff to entertain the 2 year old.

10% Asshole Pinoys. I hate this one especially; they bargain as if their life depended on it, and they lowball you like a Canadian Hooker. When presented a ridiculous offer on an item, I would be curt, bordering on rude, and just say, "No." Take that golden finger and stick it up your shiny ass, pare. Go eat a dog or belt your kids.

5% Nice Pinoys. These are the ones that bargain respectfully, and talk about the old country. And smile and greet you. They come in their Mercedes, buy a shitload of nice crap, and leave you with a feeling of that shit is gonna be put
to good use.

The rest was a hodgepodge. This Indian grandmother scoffed at the price of one of the items, and spoke in her language to her relatives about how unfair the price was. So I didn't sell her jack, even going do far as saying certain items were sold when they weren't. Stick it up your Sari, Punjab MC.

Other than netting 180 bucks in profit, getting rid of a bunch of crap (the majority of which were crap-ass wedding gifts from my Mom and Dad's Forever Dancing friends), and hanging out with Ron, Noel, Arlene, Brady, Vangie, Rich, and my beloved, it was a good study on socioethnic and socioeconomic commerce. Now I actually have room in my garage to put a car in there! Woohoo!

Jo's been working really hard on my blogs. She really has an eye for design and website development. I'm really proud of her for all that she's accomplished. And yes, Jo set up my whole blog. She thinks I am the sexiest man alive, and I would agree. Love you babe!

I picked the music from powerweb. Pretty good reflection of the type of music I like. Too bad it pops up all of these ads. My "It's like this" blog has 311's Amber. I've liked 311 for a long time. I really don't like the current pop music they've been pumping out, like the cover they did on the Cure song. They sold out big time, and their songs have become too mellow and much like something you would hear on VH1 (although, VH1 has been popping out videos like Jay-Z, Beyonce, and last week I saw Lil' Jon on there!). Like Dave Chappelle said, "White people are gonna be surprised to hear what 'skeet, skeet' means". Yeah! What? Back to 311. They're a white boy band from Omaha, Nebraska (311 is the area code there), and back in the late 90's pumped out some really funky, hard, progressive shit. They even have a melodious singer and a irritating little-boy sounding rapper. Quite versatile. My favorite album of theirs is still Grassroots, but I also have a great affinity for their self-titled album. Jo gave me this album early on in our relationship, and I thought it was one of the sweetest things that she's done for me. We were at the San Leandro Marina and it was bout the time that "Down" was getting a lot of airplay on the radio. I mentioned to her a couple of times that I loved that song, and poof, she pops out the CD for me. It was very sweet.

The song on my diet and exercise blog is by a band that I don't really listen to, but this one song gets me incredibly hyped. It's melodious and hard at the same time, delivers a sense of mystery in its lyrics, and has one of the best drum and bass rifts I've ever heard on a mainstream song. The band is System of a Down, and their song is called "Chop Suey". Or maybe it's "Toxicity", I'm not sure. Either way, it's an ill song. So ill, it needs Theraflu. The band is quite an interesting group. They're a very conscious group, playing for benefits shows and causes, instilling lyrics in some of their songs that calls for social activism, etc. They're a bit like what Rage Against the Machine used to be with Zach De La Rocha, but with lyrics that are more vague and mysterious. I heard them on Loveline one night and they are all Armenian. The lead singer likes to play basketball, but watches no TV. They're a bit into themselves, I think, but who gives a shit. They pump out some good, unique, head-bobbing music.

On my third blog (yes I have three friggin' blogs), I have one of my favorite songs of all time from one of my favorite bands of all time: Santeria by Sublime. You probably already know that Bradley Noel, the lead singer of Sublime died, and the band disbanded. Heroin overdose. This guy was a friggin' musical genius. He could both write songs, play a mean guitar, and sing like a motherfucker. But he wasn't singing like a chick, he would sing about beer, and guns, and shit like that, but with a harmonious style not unlike your typical opera singer. And this guy didn't give shit how he looked. With his shirt off, and his gut hanging out, he frothed at the mouth, took a swig of beer, and belted out songs like a mad man. Too bad he's dead, and it's been around 7 years since his death and no one has even come close to his musical stylings. Much like Bob Marley with Reggae music, his death brought a void in the American Music culture that no one will ever fill. Drugs suck.

I'm digging on Kanye West right now. He's got ill flow, conscious lyrics, and good style. I've always liked Taleb Kweli and Mos Def. Mos Def, especially, since he scored with the beautiful and alluring and lets not forget talented Alicia Keyes. Well at least he scored in the video for "You don't know my Name", and I'm not sure if art imitates life in this case. Coldplay is the next coming of the Beatles, Jason M'raz isn't bad, and No Doubt has staying power. When I want to chill I listen to Tori Amos and Damien Rice; old Seal and Duncan Sheik and Sade ain't bad. Oh, and Goo Goo Dolls and Toad the Wet Sprocket ain't bad. Yup, I'm pretty gay.

I went to an Ear, Nose, and Threat doctor yesterday, and he confirmed what my regular doctor told me. I snore like a hippo because my tonsils are HUGE! It's called obstructive sleep apnea. When I go to sleep, my tonsils, soft palate, uvula all come together and block my air flow. Jo can confirm this, multiple times at night, I stop breathing! This condition is probably the cause for my chronic fatigue syndrome (I've never been diagnosed, but I KNOW that I have it because I'm always tired as hell). It could also cause high blood pressure, and enlarged heart, and obesity. Jeez, I didn't know I was this fucked up. So what my ENT doctor prescribed for me was to perfrom a sleep study, which would require me to sleep for a night in a sleep study lab. Good times. The insurance company needs this to justify a surgery that would take my tonsils and uvula out. I don't know much about tonsilectomies, but I remember from a Brady Bunch episode that one of the kids had one, and got to eat ice cream for a week. Suh-weeet! Then I'll probably have a heart attack from my resulting diabetes.

The one thing that sorta grossed me out was the tube that the ENT doctor stuck in my nose. He first sprayed some afrin in my nostril to lubricate my nasal cavity; then he sprayed it with some numbing agent. Poof! After 5 minutes, my nasal cavity, my nasopharyngeal cavity, and the first section of my esophagus was numb as fuck. Hell, my friggin' palate and some of my teeth were numb, too. The dude stuck a scope into my nose, and thank goodness, found no other obstructions (such as a deviated septum). So there's no need to perform a surgery in that area.

After being diagnosed with hypercholesterolemia (I think I just made that term up), high triglyceride levels, and having diabetes in my genes, I'm really trying to take care of my body. Less carbs, less saturated fats, no trans fats, less red meat, etc. Now, with this pending surgery, I can increase my activity level, and exercise more. Can't wait!

It could also save my marriage. Joanne is ready to stab me in the middle of the night because of my snoring. I've never actually heard myself snore, but I've heard that I sound like a foghorn. Every time I go camping, my camp mates, the bears, squirrels, and even invertebrates like the worms and mosquitos, want to murder me because I kept them up the whole night. I went camping with a bunch of camp counselors once, and a group of them could not sleep so they migrated 100 yards away to the campfire to try to get some rest. They told me later tha morning that they could even hear me from that distance. Holy Crap! I'm sorry, babe, for my snoring. You can blame my Mom and Dad, and their familial genes, because they also snore like me. In fact, the only one in our family that doesn't snore is my middle brother, Mikey. If one of our relatives slept over our house, they would hear a symphony of our snoring, multiple cessations of breathing, and ton of snorts and whistles. It was a symphony no one would pay to hear. Mikey had his own problems. He would tumble and roll around in his bound as if he was a mad-man possessed. When I had to share a bed with him, I woke up with bruises and scratches. I feel for his future wife. Maybe she can suit up in a football uniform while he brushes his teeth, as they get ready for bed. One time, he even woke up in the middle of our street because he was walking in his sleep. Our family has problems. During family parties, after every meal, my mom, my brother, John, and myself would hibernate for hours. My dad would do it, too, when he was tired. I think we ALL have chronic fatigue syndrome. Maybe I'll suggest to them that they also see an ENT doctor. Sleep well!

I went to the Warriors vs. Magic game tonight, and saw the Warriors actually win a game!!! Granted, it was the Orlando Magic, the worst team in the Eastern Conference, but Tracy McGrady was on their team. He could have gone off for 62 points, like he did against Gilbert Arenas and the Wizards, or pull something out their collective asses, like go into Staples and beat up on the LA Lakers, complete w/ Shaq, Kobe, Karl Malone, and GP. I was expecting the lowly Warriors to lay an egg. Not only did they win, they went over 100 points, which means free Weinerschnitzel chili dogs for everyone in the crowd. My friend hooked us up with a suite, so we had our own bathroom, beer, snacks, you name it. It was St. Patrick's Day, so my boy, Troy Murphy, a Notre Dame alum, and as Irish as a white boy can get, went of for 20 points and 11 boards. It was a weird night in the Warriors Universe, because everything was going right. We even got VIP parking right next to the Coliseum; I thought that a black hole would open up right in the coliseum, or an earthquake, or maelstrom of locusts would swallow us up. I was scared as hell.



The Warriors Universe is a weird one. It has come up with the likes of Victor Alexander, Les Jepsen, Uwe Blab, Manute Bol, Rony Seikaly, Tom Gugliotta, Todd Fuller and Joe Smith, all a bunch of has-been or never been big men that plagued the Warriors lineup and never succeeded anywhere else. But these guys are the exception to the rule. Usually Warriors who move on do really well.

Chris Mullin went to the Pacers, and now they are an elite team. Tim Hardaway went the Heat, and him and Pat Riley enjoyed some good years with Alonzo Mourning and Steve Smith. Mitch Richmond won a championship with the Lakers. But those were players in the past. Does the same still hold true now?

Latrell Sprewell, who got ousted because he choked the coach, went to a good Knicks team and is now a contender on the Minnesota TimberWolves. Chris Webber is, who got outed because he got into a little tiff with the coach, is now on the best team in the NBA, the Sacramento Kings. Donyell Marshall is averaging 20pts and 10 rebounds in Toronto, Damon Jones and Rafer Alston are starting point guards on playoff-bound teams, Milwaukee and Miami. And these guys only tried out during training camp or had 10 day contracts! It's a curse, I tell you.

The list goes on to other arenas: Tom Tolbert becomes a successful announcer on ABC, and has his own Bay Area radio Sports Talk show, Earl Boykins is going to the playoffs with Melo and the Nuggets, and even coaches get love.....Gregg Popovich is the coach for the World Champion Spurs, Don Nelson is the coach for the high-powered Mavericks, and Rick Adelman is the coach for the Sacramento Kings. Yet, the Warriors are mired in mediocrity.

It's been ten years since the Warriors have made it to the playoffs. I reminisce back to the days of Run TMC, and when Avery Johnson took over for the injured Tim Hardaway and led the team to a 55-27 record in '93. Heck, let's go back to the Rick Barry championship in the 70's, with Al Attles, Nate Thurmond, and Wilt Chamberlain.

After this wonderful night in the Oakland Colisuem, let' hope its a harbinger of things to come for the Warriors. Then again, it was only the Orlando Magic.

Ever since the Korean "conflict" in the 1950's Korea has been an enigma to the world. And they certainly have me mystified. They are a proud people with a great history, yet they have several black stains that I cannot ignore. Here they are in no particular order->

-Kim Jong Yul Brenner (or something like that): could someone who wants to look like Roy Orbison, act like the Ayatollah Khomeni, and be as tall as Gary Coleman really govern a country?

-South Korea: what the HELL is up with your political system? I thought the US (specifically California) was a joke.....electing the Terminator and Kindergarten Cop as our Governor, having our most popular president in the last half-century be a chubby chaser with a penchant for girls that look like TGIF hostesses. Did anyone see that debachle in South Korea after the president was impeached?!?!? Fights breaking out everywhere, shoes being thrown, grown men getting on their knees and crying their eyes out? That shit was funny as hell. But I would definitely not want to be a South Korean (or North Korean for that matter), because your leaders are leaving very little to be desired.

-Animal rights: Hello?!?! Why do so many Koreans insist that eating Fido is a symbol of Korean pride when the practice was only borne from starvation bouts during the war? I know what you're saying, "what the heck is a chinelas-wearing, adobo-eating filipino have to say about eating dogs?" Stop torturing dogs! If you've seen the pictures that I've seen, you'd be as nuts about this as I am. They cram 20 dogs in a cage fit for only 3 dogs. If you think I'm exaggerating, look at this website:

http://www.koreananimals.org/dogs_p7.htm


And for those korean immigrants who get Jindos for national pride and stick them in their backyard, don't play with them, don't walk 'em, and just use them as a friggin' motion detector, you should be ashamed of yourselves. More and more jindos are popping up in shelters all over the US, and it's mostly because of you ig'nant little motherfuckers. How could such a noble, loyal, and beautiful breed be going the way of the dodo?

Alright, I've been pretty hard on Koreans in this post; I apologize. Yes, I am stereotyping, so if you don't like it, bite me. Filipinos, of which I race I belong to, like big white vans with musical songs that turn on when you put them in reverse. Indian people stink because they eat so much friggin' curry. Black people have long schlongs. White people can't dance. So what? Lighten up, people.

If it wasn't for Korean bbq and Su-Chin Pak, world famous MTV VJ, I would have given up on Koreans a long time ago.

3/11........I'm back!!!! Word up, homie? I'm not making any promises, but it's 3/11 and it's a good day to start blogging again. As if I was blogging consistently in the first place. I think posting a bunch on Jo's forum (www.joannemarie.com/forum) prevent me from blogging, because I get out my thoughts and opinions there quite often. Hell, I have twice as many posts as the moderator of the forum. It's nice to belong to a community. Lately the only community I associate with on a daily basis are my dogs, my chick, her best friend, and if I'm lucky, the blockbuster employee behind the counter. It's been nice to be secluded for a while, but it would be nice to have some friends to hang out with once in a while. Maybe once a month; any more and I'll get sick of them. It's also given me some time to clean up around the house, and look inward.

Jo and I had a pretty interesting and nostalgic weekend. First of all, we don't go to the groceries together often. I guess we're afraid of getting into a fight in middle of the bread section and suddenly getting a loaf of Columbo bread thrown at your head. But we've been getting better at it. It's actually nice to go the groceries together; it's like a team--sport. Complete with hand signals, and one-word questions and answers..."Milk?" "Nope." "TP?" "Got it." Alright, the last one was two words, and the one before that was an abbreviation, but you get the picture. I want in and out. I especially love the end of the grocery shopping experience, which results in finding which line is the shortest. It's a lost artform. One line may seem shorter than the other, but then there goes the single mom with a hundred items and a thousand coupons, especially the 50 cans of soup that go on sale for a buck a pop, and of course, she has to pull out the friggin' bane of my supermarket existence....the checkbook. Who writes checks anymore? And then there's the price check dude. You stand there awkwardly as the checker tries to look busy, avoid eye contact, and wait for Felipe who's taking his sweet ole' time checking for the price of the seedless grapes (it's gotta be seedless, motherfucker!) Anyhoo, that's the grocery store for you. I should get on with my story....

Jo and I are in the meat sxn, trying to figure out if we have any more chicken thighs in the fridge, and all of a sudden, rounding the condiment corner, is a spectre from our past. This dude....let's name him Frankie....fuck it, Franco is his name....and he was a good friend of ours. I knew this cat since 3rd grade when I used to go over his house and play Jumpman, Jr. on his Commodore 64. Jo and Franco has always had a good relationship all throughout high school and college. In fact, he even tried to see if there was a chance that they could get together right before I ensnared my future wife with my amazing charm and good looks (insert laugh track here). What is it with friends/assholes/strangers that try to get up on Joanne? I've had a good friend of mine do it right after one of our many breakups, a dude who barely knew her telling her he would "take her on a moonlight walk" (in fact it was one of Franco's good friends; I think his name was Reynato - what major asshole), an acquantance (sic) who eventually got together with her when we broke up a final time, but is now her best friend and my good friend (go figure), and her sister-n-laws cousin who tried to get together with her while we were going out, and still tried to get with her after he had a girlfriend AND after we were married. Now this asswipe (letsname him.....Brian.....which is an anagram of Brain.....which is an organ department that he is a bit deficient in; let's call him a bit special) is engaged to that girl - poor girl cuz she doesn't even know it; the guy's a real slimeball, and a lousy basketball player. I've seen more physical coordination on Biddy the robot from the old Buck Rodgers TV series. Biddy-biddy-biddy! (Damn Erin Greyt was hot, especially in her tights) This guy couldn't shoot the ball straight if his dick was in a vice and his manhood (or lack thereof) depended on it. Whew! Another tangent. I feel like I'm in Geometry class.

Alright, Franny, let's get the ADD under control. Things to get....Ritalin, Adderall, Reefer......Back to the story....to make a long story short....Franco's girlfriend fucks Joanne royally (and they were best friends), pretends to go to medical school, takes Jo's identity, fucks with her own cousin, and brings Franco along for the ride. Apparently, he's willing to go with her. When we tried to tell Franco how fucked up she was, it seemed as though he already knew....asshole! It had been two years since we last see him, and here he is at Albertson's buying food to stuff his fat ass. He looks Jo directly in the face and turns away immediately. Jo dogs him with her "stare death" (her infamous stare death put many a girl and guy in Logan High School between 1989 and 1993 in their place and crying for their momma; believe me....I was a constant recipient for the fir three years). Of course, I'm oblivious because I'm trying to figure out if $2.99 a pound for chicken thighs is a good deal. I finally see him out of the corner of my eye, and being the calm and cool character that I am, I start giggling like a school girl. In fact, Jo and I sneak of into an aisle and it's high school all over again. "Oh my gosh, Becky, look at his butt....it's fatter than ever!" The funny thing is, we actually run into him again, almost running him over with our cart. If it wasn't for my quick thinking, we would have. I can't pretend to be clairvoyant, but I had a feeling that our paths would cross again. So as we walked down the main aisle, I was cognizant of the good chance that he would be crisscrossing from another aisle. Sure enough he comes out of the soda aisle, and a plit second before that, I direct Jo and the cart over into the olive oil aisle. Was it luck? Premonition? The smell of his stanky ass repelling my very being? Who knows.....

Ironically, Franco's ex-girlfriend from high school, who also had a falling out with Joanne, showed up in that same market about two years before, and did the same exact thing. Ignored us. Pussies.