Echo

An Empire Begins…

These times between when fantasy basketball ends and when it begins can always feel empty. At what time did I become an uber-nerd? It consumes me. And now the Lakers are trading Caron Butler and most likely Chucky Atkins for Kwame Brown. A Butler for Brown straight up trade already seems ridiculous since Butler may prove to be the best player in the long run out of the Shaq trade (Odom=underachiever), and now for Brown who can not function in the triangle offense and is a known headcase? I think Brown needs a different environment but I’m not sure the Lakers are it. I’m just glad he didn’t land on the Warriors. Butler will be moving to the SG position in Washington to replace Hughes. Whatever. While rumor has it Washington is sending Kwame to the Lakers and setting him up to fail. Again, yawn. I just don’t want the Lakers landing Garnett.

In other news, I woke up today in a bad mood and it continues. I would really like to be left alone for a while. At least being left alone to stew in my own headspace means more blogging.

UPDATE!!!!!!

Okay, finally, an update. I have to do this in 10 minutes so let’s see how fast I can type.

It’s been getting really hard to find time to blog since they are actually making me work at work these days, and I’ve been swamped getting this short film going while writing sketches for a sketch comedy show next month.

We all went to Vegas for the 4th weekend last weekend and Reggie had us hooked up by getting us on the list at Pure and his friend’s club Tangerine. We drove out on Saturday morning leaving at 5am. It was surprisingly not as painful as I thought it would be. We hit up the 3 Card Poker table at Treasure Island as soon as we got there, and despite the fact Reggie had been practicing 3 Card and was so excited, in his very first time ever playing the game, he lost $100 within 10 minutes. Fuck. I won almost $100 so it wasn’t so bad but he ended up sitting out most of the day because he had zero cash on him and a whole weekend left to go.

We met up with Amol, Annie, AD and Tyler at the Imperial Palace and split up to play other things. I’ve never been inside the IP because it’s one of the lower end casinoes on the strip, but what they had that was a trip was the Legends Pit where the dealers are all impersonators. Dolly Parton was awesome and “busted” enough for us to win a little. Jake the Blues Brother was a dick so we got up and left, though we came back when Ricky Martin and his huge nipples performed La Vida Loca. The sad thing was that I had left my camera in the car so I can’t show you guys these people. Ricky Martin had this see-through flamboyant red shirt that did little to hide his perky nipples. As Kate, the Hot Librarian said, “It’s like this casino is an accessory for those nipples.” The Rod Stewart impersonator was annoying as hell and freaky looking. He looked like a man trying to look like a drag queen trying to look like Rod Stewart. Tyler noted, “But isn’t that Rod Stewart?” Very good point.

After gambling all day, we headed out for pho for dinner, then to Pure in Caesar’s. I had heard from my coworker that Pure was one of the best dance clubs he’d ever been to, so we were psyched to get on the list, especially when we got there an hour before it opened to see a line of over 100 people already standing outside. The place was awesome, housing the famous Pussycat Dolls on the first floor. Upstairs was an outdoor lounge with an amazing view of the strip. The music was hip hop and decent, and the drinks were strong.

I wanted to see Reggie’s “game” so I told him to hit on someone so I could see his game. We agreed that we would each hit on someone, though his end goal was to dance with someone while mine was to get someone’s phone number. So he walked around looking for a girl while I followed him discretely. He chatted up this Asian girl and her friend and came back and said they said they would dance later. He said it was my turn and even though I didn’t fully think he achieved his goal. I looked around for someone but to be honest, there wasn’t really anyone interesting. I walked around for a bit until some Asian guy grabbed me and was giving me game. So I just chatted him up long enough to get to the numbers stage, telling him, “Hey, I’ve gotta find my friends but maybe we could all hang out later.” He tried to get my number but I didn’t want to give it out, so I just said I’d find him later.

We danced for a bit and walked around, though those two Asian girls kept stopping Reggie and talking to him. I would bolt whenever they did that so he could look single. I ended up bumping into my cousin Parkson who was there with some friends. I think he was afraid I’d get in the way of his game or something, because he disappeared soon after.

We headed to Tangerine after Pure where Reggie had gotten us table service. We lost half the group–only Reg, Sareet, Kate, AD and I left. We were the real troopers. Reggie’s friend Cooper hooked us up with a table in the VIP section with a bottle of Grey Goose, which was all it took to get Kate and Sareet dancing on a platform. Near the end of the night, we were ready to leave but AD convinced us to leave him there so he could try to get with this trashy looking girl with huge breasts. “I’m not a stripper, I’m a DANCER,” he quoted/declared, but I’m sure we would have both understood the context in which that statement makes sense if we hadn’t both been blasted.

The group woke up just before 10am the next day…I think most of us were still drunk.

The second day was interesting. 4 hours at the Bellagio buffet (2 1/2 hours spent in the line). We went back to the hotel and then I wanted to stop by the drugstore down the street to pick up flipflops before we headed over to meet the rest of the group at the Fremont Experience. While leaving the drugstore, this old black lady asks us for a ride to her hotel which was just up the street. It was probably only a 5-10 minute walk, but it was 110 degrees outside so it would have been a miserable walk. We had 5 people all together so we didn’t have room for her, but it didn’t feel right not to take her when it was so close. So we discussed it outside. Tyler voted not to take her. Kate threw in that it would be good karma to take her. We ended up leaving Kate, Sarita and Tyler at the store while we dropped her off. The only thing I was worried about was if it was a hustle and she was leading us into some dark alley to get robbed, so I asked her first, “Do you have any guns?” She laughed and it sounded sincere so we gave her a ride.

It turned out she was staying in the same hotel as us, in the room right below ours. She tried to give us $5 for taking her but we wouldn’t take it. I told her just to tell her friends back home in Michigan (yay!) that California people are really nice. We went back and picked up the grew, then headed out to old town Vegas.

We sat down at a $5 minimum 3 Card table and once again, Reggie was down. I hit 2 straights within 8 hands (odds are 6 to 1) so I was doing really well. Reggie went down $60 so he sat out. He decided to jump back in for one hand, and his timely entry led to me being dealt a straight flush, odds 40-1. Being $335 up, I left the table. Reggie had $30 and wanted to play craps. I decided to play the $35, figuring that if I lost it, I’d still be up $300. We rode some hot shooters, and then Reggie went crazy, shooting for over half an hour. He ended up turning $30 into $150 with me up about the same, so we decided to leave while we were up.

It wasn’t until we got home later that night that we realized…maybe it really was good karma at work. Because Tyler, who had been the only one who didn’t want to give the old lady a ride, had been up $240 dollars the day before, ended up losing it at the casino.

We went to dinner at the Star Trek Experience in the Hilton to celebrate Amol’s birthday, then headed back to Tangerine that night for more table service and to meet up with Alex and Sarah. It was Sarah’s birthday weekend so she was there with a group of girls, making Alex the big pimp. The night ended with a dance off between Alex and Reggie, where Alex made all us Asians proud because the boy can move like he’s black.

We left at 8am the next day. It was a crazy fun trip. But the crazy thing was what happened after we got back. We got in around 2pm, and had to be at Reggie’s manager’s house for a 4th of July bbq at 4. So we took a short nap then headed to the Valley for the bbq, only to show up to find it had been moved to the day before but no one had told us. So we chat with her family for a while then leave, only to find that we must have run over a nail on the way over because the tire is flat. So it takes us an hour to change the tire because the jack is broken and we have to borrow one from a neighbor. Keep in mind, neither of us have eaten since 8am that morning (McDonald’s) and it’s 5pm so we’re starving. Sometime while we’re changing the tire, I start getting really
nauseous but I attribute it to having not eaten in a while.

We finally get the tire fixed and hurry to grab dinner. We decide on Souplantation because I’m actually feeling sicker than I want to admit, and soup is the only thing I can think of being able to put in me. We show up and I have some chicken noodle soup but it wasn’t doing anything. I end up rushing home and spending the rest of the night and most of the next day throwing up everything I try to put in me. Must have been food poisoning from McDonald’s that morning.

It was weird how all these bad things happened after we got home, but I keep thinking of it like this–thank God our tire didn’t blow out or get flat between here and Vegas. Also, if the bbq had been on, we would have been there until the sun set and could have had to change the tire in the dark, so we’re lucky we didn’t have to do that. And lastly, it would have been horrible if I had started getting sick on the long drive home from Vegas, but luckily, it didn’t kick in until I was home. So overall, I’m really thankful.

So without further ado, some photos (click them to enlarge):

Alex loves Reggie.

Reggie gets his ass whupped.

We play the Star Trek crew’s stand-ins.

Tyler wonders what we’re looking at.

My brother’s such a good sport.

And so’s Reggie…

From someone’s sig file on www.warriorsworld.net:

The government today announced that it is changing its emblem from an Eagle
to a CONDOM because it more accurately reflects the government’s political
stance.

A condom allows for inflation, halts production, destroys the next
generation, protects a bunch of pricks, and gives you a sense of security while you’re
actually being screwed.

*****

The Warriors draft Ike Diogu with the #9 pick. I can live with that. I hoped for Warrick but Ike is fine. I hate Monta and Chris Taft though. Taft’s a lazy fuck but deep in the 2nd round isn’t a bad price. He seems like the second coming of Dampier’s attitude though.

Ah, sometimes who you are can be a mystery even to yourself. I write stream of consciousness in a notebook every day, in hopes that one day, a me from the future who is wiser and more knowledgeable will analyze the clues I leave and tell me who I am.

I had forgotten about having created a site with the transcribed version of these entries; I kept the site as an electronic backup for my notebooks. I just remembered it today, even though I was a little nervous about not being able to remember its address.

I’ve been writing less on this blog due to probably a need to weed its readership down to a more intimate crowd. I miss the days of being able to write very vunerable, personal, pathetic, sad, angry, cruel, insane expressions of myself. But honestly, I have no problem with sharing these things with people I trust and care about. I mean, hey, it’s life, right? We’re all scared.

Reggie wins the Heisman for Spanking.

I’m in love with Maryjane…

Interpret however you’d like.

Nerd Island makes a special appearance at the afterparty.

May the tradition live on forever…

She was in my kitchen when I got home, opening my mail.

“How’d you get in,” I asked her, angrily surprised but too polite to be anything but civil.

“I borrowed a set of keys the last time I was here,” she said, holding them up, letting them glint smugly in the late afternoon sun.

“You stole them,” I said, to which she shrugged.

“You need to give those back,” I told her. It sounded weak coming out of my mouth. I was never good at asking for things I really wanted, never any fucking good. I went around her and poured myself a glass of water. I didn’t really want it but I didn’t know what else to do with myself. I was sick of her hanging around, always on top of me, crowding me. Not only did I not appreciate her as a person, but more importantly, I had no interest in fucking her and she knew as much, but I couldn’t tell if her constant clinging despite that fact was out of being naïve or brilliantly manipulative. It’s not you, I had told her once, it’s all girls. They’ve got nothing I’m interested in. So it’s me AND all girls, she said. Get a penis and will talk, I joked dismissively, and for a split second, I worried if she was the type who was crazy enough to actually go out and do something like that, just for the sake of dishing out crow.

“You’ve gotta pay your bills,” she said nonchalantly, holding up a pink letter, acting as if her letting herself into my home was the most normal thing in the world.

“Fuuuck,” I exhaled quietly, when I really wanted to say “Get the fuck out of my house.” I grabbed the bill out of her hands, then scooped the rest of the pile before she could get any kind of defensive position over them.

“Listen, I need a place for a while. I’ve gotta find a place to stay. You’ve gotta let me stay. “

I said no in my head. I mean, obviously, no way in fucking hell. But my stomach sank. I’m the world’s biggest pussy and I knew it.

“It’s just for a few days. You won’t even notice me. “

Why is it that she’s making it sound more like a statement than a request?

(let’s face it…there’s nothing on this earth that I can stand up to)

The drowning gets louder and louder in my head as something overwhelming fills my chest and lungs, and the next thing I know, I’m putting my cup in the sink and I’m dropping my mail into the trash…and I’m walking back out the door, quietly pulling it closed behind me.

5:12 am is a good hour to wake up drunk.

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

Her stray, wounded puppy act was getting to me, especially because there were times I looked at her and suspected her of being deceptively dangerous. But every time I asked her when she was going to leave, she told me I was passive aggressive. It didn’t even make any sense. “What is it about me that turns you off so much,” she would ask.

You just have to open your mouth and I curdle inside, I would tell her, with a tone like I was joking when I really wasn’t. Like I didn’t have the guts to just say it and mean it. And then despite her tough girl act, I could see her insides flinch, and I’d feel a rough twinge of guilt. She didn’t get it. Or was this part of her thing to get into my head? I honestly wasn’t sure.

Last week this woman with a deep smoker’s voice called for her at 2:41am on my home line. I’d been asking her not to give out my number to people, especially crazy female strangers picked up from bars whose insane jealousies didn’t adhere to normal waking hours. I could hear her in the living room, alternating between sniffling and screaming (fucking lesbian phone sex, I thought), as I cussed at her in my head and tried to plunge back into sleep. But when I got up in the morning, I saw her asleep on the couch with an expression so intent on hiding out in the underworld of sleep that it made me feel sorry enough for her to want to do something nice for her.

I stopped by the newsstand on my way home and picked up a few of those magazines she likes, those fancy architecture ones that are thick like glossy books. I can’t stand them; even the pictures bore me. But I think she liked to keep them around because they made her feel cultured. Maybe sophisticated. I got home to see she was in the exact same spot on the couch, even though she was now wearing my favorite t-shirt sans pants and my fucking UNDERWEAR. She was eating peanut butter out of the jar with a serving spoon, dipping and dipping again. I hated her. What was I thinking, doing something nice for her. It only encouraged her ridiculous sense of entitlement. I threw the magazines down on the coffee table like I wanted them to be an insult. “I found these at the office,” I said. “You want ‘em?” The intonation was equivalent to me saying “fuck you.”

She slipped that spoon into her mouth and licked it nowhere near clean then stuck it back into the jar. I wanted to kill her.

“Have you ever been in love?”, she asked me.

“No,” I said, quickly with finality, not even sure myself if it was a lie. My only concern was that I ended any kind of assumed intimacy she thought she had with me.

“Do you think the world is as complicated as you? Or do you just look at it that way so you have an excuse to stay locked up in your head?”

She swirled that spoon around in the jar.

I glared at her. I didn’t have time for her semantics and her incessant digging at my seams, her condescending analysis of me when what she really wanted was a way to claw inside me until she found a part of me that would need her. I didn’t have time for her shit, not when I find myself spending more and more time each day having to remind myself of my will to exist, when I find myself driving around with a mini-recorder to record my last words just in case…just in case something happens to me so there will be meaningful last words that were designated last words, not something worthless like asking for a super-size at the drive-through window that will serve for eternity as the bullshit echo of my legacy. Yeah, this world is fucking complicated.

“You’re so passive aggressive, you know that?” She said it so blasély as she took another lick off that spoon.

I smiled at her through clenched teeth, my blood pulsing at the end of each and every one of my fingers. I promised myself that if she said another fucking word, I was going to throw her and that damn jar of peanut butter head-first off the fucking balcony.

Michael Jackson’s Closing Statement:

Your honor, first of all, I did not touch those kids. And even if I did…so I touched a few kids. Big. Deal. I mean, what’s up with all y’all kids calling me on my shit…and you know I’m talkin’ to you, lil’ boy in the suspenders…You better not be talkin’ bout my business unless you wanna play with my monkey no more. And besides your honor,…did you see what he was wearing? That muthafucker was asking for it. And so I only flicked him a couple times and it was nothing. Your honor, as the founding fathers of our country said, two flicks, does not convict.

I rest my case.

We all come in here, masking our discomfort with having been born. Every single one of us, is scared to be here.