The Redeem Team

Just finished watching the USA men's basketball team, a/k/a "the Redeem Team," win their first Olympic game against the men's national team from China. It has been said that this was the most-watched game in the history of basketball. And I set my alarm and woke up this morning with the express purpose of watching this game.

And what a game it was! The first half was a nail-biter; I was literally sitting on the edge of my seat, as China hit 3-point shot after 3-point shot, and the Redeem Team kept in the game with solid interior defense and athletic play on the offensive end. And even sitting by myself in my apartment at the Double-Deuce & Spruce, I could just feel the intensity and excitement through the television screen. The game really had the electricity of an NBA finals game 7.

In the second half, Team USA pulled away from China by relentlessly applying pressure defense, oftentimes leading to steals or defensive rebounds off of bad shots, and by pushing the ball up the court in order to take advantage of its greater speed, athleticism, and deeper bench. For me, the most exciting aspect of the game was seeing the NBA's three most dynamic and athletic scorers (with the possible exception of Iverson) on the court at the same time and playing with notable chemistry and selflessless; the three stars, of course: Kobe Bryant, LeBron James, and Dywayne Wade. All 3 looked fast, strong, and sharp, as individuals and as teammates.

There were so many amazing plays. But the one that stood out to me as totally sick was a fast-break where Kobe was handling the ball, and just after he crossed the elbow on the right-wing, he flipped the ball up in the air with his left hand, and LeBron elevated over a Chinese player, and simultaneously grabbed the ball in mid-air with his right hand and, in one decisive motion, slammed the ball through -- and I mean through -- the hoop, with the Chinese player still standing on the floor beneath him. Let me tell you: It. Was. Sick. After that play, the screen flashed to a shot of President Bush in the stands, and he looked thoroughly impressed.

This was the first time that I'd had a chance to see the Redeem Team play. I was happy to see how well they played together, even while I can see that they have some room for improvement. But, all in all, I can definitely say that that game made me proud to be from the United States, undoubtedly still the world's most dominant country in basketball.

From the Gayborhood to Dubai

I watched the Opening Ceremonies of the Beijing Olympics last night. I had decided that I wouldn't go out to meet my friends until I watched the delegations from the United States and Costa Rica walk into the Bird's Nest during the Parade of Nations. Throughout the procession I cooked and then ate dinner: pasta shells with roasted garlic spaghetti sauce and two, chopped roasted garlic Italian sausages.

Once the CR delegation came into the stadium, I got ready to head out. In honor of Team USA and the start of the Beijing Olympics, I wore my red-white-and-blue Nike Prefontaine sneakers and my gray t-shirt with the G.I. Joe insignia, including the red-white-and-blue striped box next to the subtitle, "A Real American Hero."

From the Double-Deuce & Spruce, I walked straight down Spruce Street to Valanni's, a restaurant just below 13th Street. I went there first because the text that I had received from Park a little bit more than an hour earlier said that the group was there. So I walked in and looked around; I didn't recognize anyone there. As I walked out, I looked at my phone, noticed a missed call, and was about to check my voicemail, when I simply looked across the street and saw the gang seated at an outdoor table in front of Mercato. So I walked over briskly, wet my right pinky finger, and with the all-important element of surprise, gave Park a wet willy.

I sat down with the bunch there while everyone finished off their food. I had a couple glasses of wine and a few nibbles of dessert. It's important to note here that the reason that everyone gathered for a night on the town was the imminent departure of our friend, Park, who is set to relocate to Dubai, United Arab Emirates, just this coming Monday. Our night out was a chance to have some fun before he takes off, and to let him know that we're gonna miss him.

Everyone else having finished off their food and the 5 bottles of wine that they BYOB'ed, we gathered up the troops to hit the town. We walked down Camac Street all the way over to Walnut Street, until doubling back half a block down Quince Street between 12th and 11th to go to a practically unmarked bar called the Bike Stop -- a bar which, unknown to me, is apparently renowned in the Gayborhood.

The Bike Stop could've been a bar out in the exurbs for all appearances -- it was very dimly-lit, it was filled with a bunch of biker-looking dudes, it had a pool table on a raised platform on the far side of the bar, and there was classic rock music from the 1980s. But once your eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, you realized that the appearances revealed the bar's Gayborhood nature -- some guys were shirtless, either with or without leather suspenders, and there was not one lone woman inside the place (until we showed up with 3).

Park had explained to me that the basement of the Bike Stop was a destination in its own right; the word was that it was filled with gay guys four rows deep in total darkness and that you would have to grope your way through sweaty bodies to get to the bar. Of course once we got to the Bike Stop, I asked Park which way to the famed basement to find out if the basement was really as intimidating as its reputation indicated. Before walking down the stairs, Park noticed the sign that said "no cologne and no sneakers allowed"; neither one of us could quite figure out why those two things were prohibited. And despite the fact that I was wearing my bold tricolor sneakers, we went down anyway. So what did we see? To be honest, it really reminded me of the basement of the house I lived in on Water Street during my senior year of college: dank, dark, and cement-exposed walls. It was not, however, totally dark, nor did we have to touch anybody to get around. Other than the very strange, inexplicable feeling that all these quiet men were lined up around the cement wall waiting for some kind of performance to take place, and that there were only men down there, it wasn't weird at all.

Needless to say, we didn't stay down there too long. Park's girlfriend had come down just a couple minutes after us, and after milling down there for a few minutes, we decided to go back upstairs to play pool. The group of us played for about an hour or so. The table that we played on was so terribly slanted toward one corner that it made for some miserable games; it was funny at first, but by the end it was annoying.

So we left there around 1:30 and went directly to Knock. It was a very nice place; I was told that this is a prime location for gay professionals to meet. We all stood around and chatted for a while. But the real story there doesn't begin until right before we left, at about 2:30.

From what I understand, Park had ordered a glass of wine during last call right at 2:00am. He paid for it and may have had a couple sips of it; the glass of wine was sittting on the bar. In the bartender's haste to clean up after closing, however, he accidentally cleared Park's glass of wine. Partly because Park had paid for the wine and had not finished, but also, I suspect, because Park wanted to make a point of having his glass of wine on his last night out in Philly before his grand trip, he demanded another glass of wine to replace the one that had been taken. The bartender poured him another glass, but at that point, the owner came around to find out why a patron could be demanding any alcohol a half-hour past last call. Park had little patience (or sobriety) to explain the whole story, and the owner was put-off, saying that it was against the law to serve alcohol past 2am. So Eric steps up and says to the owner, "We are the law." And James, sensing the tension -- and obviously not knowing to whom he was speaking -- says to the owner, "Hey buddy, why don't you beat it." Right then, I walked out of the bar to meet up with the other half of our group, who were already waiting outside on the sidewalk. Surprisingly, and fortunately, things inside simmered down and the misunderstanding was cleared up -- Park downed his whole glass of wine and the three guys came right out to meet us on the sidewalk. Crisis had been averted.

Without belaboring the details, I'll say simply that we all said our good-byes and best-wishes to Park. His flight to Dubai leaves on Monday. He intends to begin a blog once he gets there; of course I'll post the link.

From the corner of 12th and Locust, four of us -- Eric, Alex, James, and me -- walked west up Locust, since we all live in the general Rittenhouse Square area. For the first couple blocks of our late night walk we saw several trannies walking the streets in search of business. Immediately after crossing Broad Street, I saw two girls and a guy up ahead, so right before we passed them, I said, "look, here are a couple more trannies;" the look on the girls' faces was one of pure indignity, but the four of us laughed our asses off. Then, on the 1500 block of Locust, as we approached Misconduct Tavern in fact, I saw that there was a chain-link chain hanging across part of the sidewalk. So I kept talking to the guys, pretending that I wasn't looking ahead, and purposely ran into the chain, feigning surprise and pain; we all laughed our asses off some more before going our separate ways.

Notes from the Underground

It's 8pm on 8/8/08, and I ate a date that tasted great, but that shouldn't affect my weight of 88 kilos, or the fact that I hate hate (but I guess that means that I do hate, then, right?). But wait, do two wrongs make a right, or shall I state: do two hates make a great? My pate now grates from this constant state of contemplate. Hey mate, at least it's still 8/8/08.

"The gull sees farthest who flies highest." -- from Jonathan Livingston Seagull by Richard Bach.

"Apuntale a la luna, aun si fallas alcanzaras las estrellas." -- from a Johnny Walker billboard along the road from San Jose to Limon, in Costa Rica, 2002

That last quote gives me occasion to remind you, kind reader, to click the link on the blog archive to your izquierda for 2002 entries. I've been adding them steadily, transcribing them from the journal that I kept during that time.

The Opening Ceremonies of the Beijing Olympics will be televised shortly, after which I'll be going out with some friends later tonight. I'll let you know how that goes.

Double-Deuce & Spruce

Many of you have been hearing this term used more and more across the city of Philadelphia. And many of you have been thinking that you would like to use this term too. But you want to find out more about it before you start using it like a native "two-fifteener" (another hot buzzword these days). Well, of course you can count on Philly 215 to help you out; so here you go:

The "Double-Deuce & Spruce" refers to one of today's hottest (and, not coincidentally, one of the most important) intersections in the city of Philadelphia. It is rumored that, if one stands in the mathematical, pinpoint center of that famed intersection, one can hear the whispers of the illustrious Benjamin Franklin, one of our city's and one of our nation's greatest forefathers. And this intersection of which we speak can be located by truthseekers and pilgrims alike by picking apart and analyzing the buzzword itself: "Double-Deuce" is a slang, hip, streetspeak version of what proper grammarians refer to as 22nd Street, and "Spruce" is a rather straight-as-an-arrow, clear-as-Philly-tapwater version of what the bourgeoisie calls Spruce Street.

Now that you understand what "Double-Deuce & Spruce" represents (at least in theory, but not necessarily in practice -- for that you have to live near the epicenter itself), go on with your bad self and spread the good word. And by doing that, you'll be that much closer to being a "two-fifteener," which in turn is defined as a veritable resident of Philadelphia, the connotation being that you are strongly in favor of taking this city boldly into the 21st century by supporting everything and everyone that promotes -- as it has been dubbed by National Geographic Magazine -- "America's Next Great City."

Female Genital Cutting in Egypt

I recently read an article on msnbc.com that caught my eye for two reasons: 1) it was about Egypt, a country that I visited earlier this year, and 2) it was about female genital cutting (FGC), a topic about which I wrote a paper in my third year of law school.

The article is entitled, "Effort in Egypt fights against mutilating girls: Genitals cut on 96 percent of married Egyptian women; girls face same fate." Click HERE to access the article.

Now, before I go any further, I have to address the anticipated (properly or not) protest of one of my friends who often visits Egypt and is sometimes highly critical of his Egyptian friends for not being conformist enough to Egyptian (or more accurately, Islamic) practices. If my assumption -- that he supports, or at least condones, female genital cutting -- is incorrect, then I apologize.

If my assumption is correct, though, then consider this, kind reader: FGC is a cultural practice, not a religious (i.e., Muslim or Christian) practice. As the article indicates, both Muslim and Christian religious leaders have spoken out against FGC. Also, the fight against FGC in Egypt is being led by Egyptians: Egypt's parliament in June voted to ban female genital cutting as part of a law protecting children; and last year, the Egyptian Ministry of Health prohibited licensed medical professionals from performing FGC. These measures are not only laudable, but significant, when one considers that Egypt is the country where FGC is most prevalent.

Reading the article reminded me of a paper I wrote for my "Current Issues in Family Law" class in my third year of law school. My paper was more generally about the reluctance of U.S. asylum law to recognize, and thus grant, asylum on the basis of gender-based persecution. Here's an excerpt from a section entitled "Gender-Based Violence: History and Policy":

"Family violence has historically been perceived as a private matter. Considered as such, it was inappropriate for the state to get involved because of the doctrine of family privacy. Family violence was rarely conceived of as a social problem, or as having roots in women’s subordinated status in society.

The historical reality, however, is that violence against women is a manifestation of historically unequal power relations between men and women. Violence against women in general, and domestic violence in particular, serve as essential components in societies which oppress women, since violence against women not only derives from but also maintains the dominant gender stereotypes and is used to control women in the one area traditionally dominated by women, the home.

Victims of gender-related persecution have been largely unable to overcome the cultural stereotypes and gender inequities that pervade asylum law. Although women and children constitute 80% of the estimated twelve million refugees worldwide, the majority of applicants for asylum in the United States are men."

And from the section of the paper entitled "The History and Reality of Gender-Based Persecution" comes this excerpt, which mentions FGC:

"Perhaps the most pervasive forms of gender persecution are rape and other forms of sexual violence. There are, however, other forms of gender-specific persecution, including cultural and religious traditions inhibiting women’s right to life, liberty and security, such as female genital mutilation, honor killings, dowry deaths, and other traditional practices harmful to women’s and girls’ health. Included in this last category are forced abortion, compulsory sterilization, and forced pregnancy."

The bottom line here is that I support efforts to overcome the mystique surrounding certain entrenched cultural practices by exposing their basis in unequal and discriminatory cultural assumptions, as well as exposing the very real harm -- bodily and psychological -- that they pose to its unwilling victims. And so I support these efforts by the Egyptian government -- and the supporting voices of religious leaders -- to end female genital cutting among all Egyptians, Christians and Muslims alike.

Feeling Irie? Jah mon!

One of my good friends, Ethan, recently came back from a vacation (with his wife Christine) to Jamaica. Here's a good story that he passed along, properly quoted at his request and re-printed here with his express, written permission. :)

"I got friendly with a bunch of the locals (It was a very [Frank E. Speaks] moment)...they taught me some Patoi (the local slang dialect)...the thing that impressed me was that they have no word for "bad". Whenever you ask anyone how they are doing it is always Irie. Me being Me asked what happens when everything is not Irie...they actually had to think on it for a few mins and couldn't come up with anything. The one guy told me that everything is Irie and even if it isn't, it will be again soon so looking fwd to that moment...everything is Irie."

I love this philosophy. It's one that I think we'd all be healthier to adopt. Urbandictionary defines "irie" as being "at total peace with your current state of being. The way you feel when you have no worries."

The word and concept of "irie" reminds me a bit of the unofficial national motto of Costa Rica: "pura vida." Pura vida is literally translated as pure life. But its true meaning is much deeper. Pura vida is used as a greeting, such as saying hi. Pura vida is also used to say what's up. But pura vida ultimately means life is good, everything's chill, I hope you're doing alright and chilling too, so take it easy and go good!

In the spirit of this post, I wish you the very best for a wonderful day. Be irie and pura vida mae!!!

Promise Fulfilled (or, Nine Lives)

Yo people, I told you in my penultimate post that I was gonna fill you in on the happenings of Saturday night. Since I didn't fulfill that promise in my last post, I'm gonna do it now.

I caught the EL to Frankford Transportation Center. I got there a few minutes early, so I just hung out at a bus shelter at the corner where Bustleton and Frankford Avenues intersect with Bridge Street.

After a few minutes, I saw Mike's red pick-up pull up. So I ran across the street and opened the passenger-side door. A guy already in the passenger seat slid over on the bench seat so that I could get in. Mike introduced me to him and vice versa. Then Mike prompted the guy to show me something, so the guy lifted up his t-shirt to show me a shit-load of scars all over his abdomen. As he saw the look on my face, the guy told me that he'd been shot 9 times. He explained that he was shot in broad daylight, around 3:30 on a Sunday afternoon, on the street in front of a bar underneath the EL; he was shot for trying to prevent a fight between his friend and some guys whom he didn't know. From what he told me, he tried to put himself between his friend and one of the other guys, in an attempt to prevent the incipient fight, but the other guy interpreted that as him stepping up, and seemingly without any hesitation the other guy pulled out a .45 caliber and fired 9 times into his midsection. People went scrambling in all directions. And though there were police already there, they were somehow unable to catch the shooter. An ambulance came to the scene and one of the EMTs said to this guy, while slapping him across the face, "nigger, you gonna die." Miraculously though, they got him to Temple Hospital, where he was operated upon, and after a week of unconsciousness, woke up to discover that he'd survived.

Simply amazing. And even more so when considered in light of the fact that a few years ago this same guy was involved in a car accident on I-95, which resulted in him being ejected from his seat through the front windshield and thrown across the median into oncoming traffic from the opposite direction. He survived that too. I looked the guy in the face and asked him, "how many lives do you have?"

After Mike dropped off this cat with nine lives, we drove back to our original destination: Casa Brasil. Located at 6222 Bustleton Avenue (not far from the Boulevard), Casa Brasil is a solid, buffet-style, Brazilian restaurant. For those not familiar, Brazilian cuisine (not unlike that of its neighbor, Argentina) is renowned for its fine meats roasted on a spit or rotisserie, called "churrasco." A server will cut the meat as you prefer, anywhere between well-done and medium rare, and with more or less fat. This time I got some pork slices and sausage. On the side, I got yellow rice with black beans, green beans, and a bacon-wrapped drumstick. All of this, and stacked high on my plate, for less than $10. Talk about a solid, all-around healthy, and filling meal.

Post-dinner we stopped back at Mike's place to drop-off the truck, then we caught the 66 bus back down to the FTC to catch the EL into Center City. We went to Mission Grill, at 18th and Arch, for the birthday party of a girlfriend of a guy who Mike is friends with (Kevin Bacon has gotta be involved here somehow, right?). It was a good night; we got a chance to talk to some different people, as well as catch up with each other. And about Mission Grill, I've been there before, and must say that I really, really like the decor: mission-style, very Spanish-colonial California.

So that's about it. I was gonna write some more shit, but this is enough shock and awe for now. Besides, I've gotta go figure out what to do about dinner: I'm thinking eggs with ham, topped with mozzarella cheese, and with a whole wheat bagel on the side, topped with whipped cream cheese. Whaddaya say now, I got the skills to pay the bills!

Boring....or the prevalence of sand in my life

Here's what today was: sleeping, eating, laying down on couch, television, 3 loads of laundry, food-shopping, cooking, and now blogging. Well, I guess it was Sunday, my I-don't-have-to-run-day. But that's not such a great citation since it wasn't my fun-day, as the song lyrics indicate.

So what the hell else shall I write about? Lucky for you, I've been thinking about that question for a lil' while. And I have an answer: the prevalence of sand in my life. To illustrate:

Just last Thursday I finished the book "Dune" by Frank Herbert. In case you're not a sci-fi geek, Dune is a landmark science fiction novel. It's about a boy named Paul Atreides who grows up to be the leader of Arrakis, which is a desert planet. Ahhh (light bulb shines brightly over your head): a planet of sand AND thus tied to the theme which I have already noted. Although not of the highest literary value in terms of writing technique or style, it is still no doubt a very entertaining novel, and one which does a good job of raising several broader issues within the context of the sci-fi plot. These broader issues include the environmental (e.g., how a planet can manage, and even positively exploit, its limited natural resources), political (e.g., the necessities of power politics and the tactics necessary to gain and maintain political power), religious (e.g., the commonalities between various religions and the effect that space travel may one day have on religion and religious beliefs), and others.

Because of the readability of this book and the way that Herbert ties in some interesting issues that certainly remain pertinent today (especially environmental concerns), I do recommend this book.

While reading the book (and still right now), I set the desktop background of both my work computer and home computer to desert images: "Wind" and "Red moon desert" respectively.

In the book it was interesting to hear descriptions of how the Fremen, or desert-dwellers of Arrakis, developed technology to cope and adapt to the harsh conditions of the desert. For example, "still-suits" which helped to retain the body's moisture and recycle it through mouthtubes.

The imagery that Herbert used also brought me back to my experiences in Egypt earlier this year (see my earlier posts by clicking on "March" under the "2008" tab in the Blog Archives to the left of your screen, and scroll down to the posts between the 5th and 24th of that month).

It's really difficult to put into words the thoughts and feelings, and inner reflections, that one has out in the Sahara. The vastness of the desert is overwhelming, and for that reason, quite humbling. But in its way, it is very beautiful. Its size and simplicity seem to send a clear message to humanity to respect God's power to create and destroy. Perhaps -- if I may speculate -- that is why Islam plays such a central and pervasive role in Arab culture and society: the ever-present reminder of Allah's power over planet Earth and humankind.

Leaving you to ponder these deeper questions of existence, I leave you some visual images of reference. And for me personally, some visual images of remembrance:

NoLibs

For those who aren't in the know, the term "NoLibs" refers to Northern Liberties, a section of the city located roughly in the northeastern part of Center City. NoLibs is bounded by Spring Garden Street to the south, Girard Avenue to the north, Front Street to the east, and 6th Street to the west.

Last night, after hitting up the gym for a quick leg work-out, I headed out to catch the trolley at 19th and Market Streets, then transferred to the EL at 15th Street to head eastbound up to the Spring Garden stop. I was going to meet some friends at a highly-acclaimed restaurant up that way, Bar Ferdinand, which I've been meaning to hit up for a while.

Once I got there, I realized that I really should've gotten off at the Girard stop of the EL, since Bar Ferdinand is located just a couple blocks south of Girard. But the text message that I'd gotten earlier told me that I should get off at Spring Garden; oh well, it allowed me a pleasant walking tour of NoLibs' de facto main street: 2nd Street, along which are lots of bars, restaurants, and local threads shops. Second Street there really embodies the spirit of Northern Liberties: upscale alternative urban counterculture, i.e., hipster. (By the way, please read urbandictionary's definition of "hipster" HERE, hilarious shit and so on-point!).

Bar Ferdinand was definitely very hip, nice decor, quite upscale, a lot of good-looking people. I found my friends sitting at a long table directly in front of a mosaic mural with the Black Osborne Bull of Spain (El Toro Negro; the unofficial national symbol of Spain) right in the smack-dab center of the mural; it was really nice. Since the restaurant only serves tapas -- and I ate just one (mejillones con chorizo) -- I had to stop at Rustica Pizza back on 2nd Street, closer to Fairmount, to get 3 slices of pizza to completely fill me up.

After hanging out at Lisa's for a little while -- so everyone could have a breather before going out for the night and so I could finish up my pizza -- Claire and I decided to leave to catch the EL back to Center City. After having drank a very refreshing cup of Pepsi with my pizza, though, I was determined to find another cup of Pepsi: and not merely a plastic bottle of it, but another fountain drink of Pepsi. Wow! Well, that was a long and harrowing journey that eventually led to Drinker's, where I gave up and just ordered a cola, hoping that it would be Pepsi. I asked the bartender if it was Coca-Cola or Pepsi, and to my surprise he said that it was neither, but was instead a local, Philadelphia-produced cola. After doing a quite cursory search on Google (as if you need a link to Google, right) to find out the name of this local cola, I couldn't find anything. If you know what it's called, then please let me know!

Anyway, back to today. In just a little bit, I'm heading out again to once more catch the EL. This time I'm taking the line to the eastbound (northern) terminus: Frankford Transportation Center. Mike is picking me up there and we're gonna get some eats up that way before heading back down to Center City for a couple drinks. That story to be filled out tomorrow, so check back in y'all.

Flip-Flops

This afternoon, after work, I went to Urban Outfitters (which, incidentally, began in 1970 as a store called "The Free People's Store" right here in Philadelphia) on Walnut Street to take advantage of their sale of flip-flops: 2 pairs for $10. Considering that I've been needing to pick-up flip-flops, this turned out to be a great opportunity. I got a brown pair and a blue pair.

Afterward, in the spirit of getting some stuff that I need, I walked a block down Walnut to City Sports. I've really been in need of some athletic shorts to play basketball and work-out at the gym. I was in luck. I picked up a pair of navy blue Nike basketball shorts.

After that, I walked over to Rittenhouse Square to sit down on a bench and enjoy the really beautiful weather (mostly sunny; 88 F / 31 C). Of course, on a warm and sunny Friday evening, the park was packed with people hanging out and walking through. It was the kind of scene that really makes me happy and proud to live in the city, and so close to the park itself. After sitting and enjoying the scene for a little while, I decide to call Paul to talk to him about, among other things, our trip. We both agreed that we have some planning to do. And Paul suggested that at some point while we're over there we should rent motorcycles and just go riding through the countryside to see where we end up. I told him that I love that idea, that's what it's all about!

Well, in a little while here, I'm heading off to Northern Liberties to meet some friends. I'll let'cha know how that all pans out.

A Whole Lotta Soul

The Philadelphia Soul are the 2008 Arena Football League champions after winning ArenaBowl XXII just this past Sunday. Earlier today I went with a few co-workers to the post-season victory rally held at Dilworth Plaza, located at 15th and Market Streets on the west-side of City Hall. Click HERE to see a video of this "Soulabration."

Speaking of Dilworth Plaza, there are plans to renovate it within the next couple of years. Click HERE to see a really cool virtual-reality video of what Dilworth Plaza will look like once it has been modernized.

Anyway, getting back to the Soulabration, we had a really fun time. We were within 30 meters of the stage, which means that we were within 30 meters of the likes of Jon Bon Jovi, one of the team's two co-majority owners, and Ron "Jaws" Jaworski, one of the team's minority owners. When Jaworski stepped up to the podium, the entire crowd began chanting "Jaws, Jaws, Jaws"; it was great. As an aside, though, I have to admit that I would have preferred if the crowd had chanted Jaworski's other nickname: "The Polish Rifle."

What was also amusing about the Soulabration was the abundance (and dare I say horse-beat-dead-overusage) of references to Bon Jovi song lyrics -- as applied to the Soul's 2008 season and ArenaBowl XXII victory -- made by several speakers at the podium. Here are some examples paraphrased: 'Until we actually won the championship, we had been livin' on a prayer'; 'Now that we've won the championship, we're riding out in a blaze of glory'; and several others. Needless to say, there was a lot of eye-rolling throughout the crowd.

Finally, what may have been the best part of the whole experience: during the Soulabration I stood next to a wild-eyed, fanatic, possibly homeless man, who was whipped up into a fervor throughout the entire ceremony. At moments of crowd excitement, this wild man would move his arm in a combination --"forward-football-pass"/"tomahawk-chop"-- motion. Anytime he did this, I would imitate him: the two of us vehemently gesturing with our right arm in support of our hometown champions. Hey, no one can say that I don't have soul!

One Year Ago Today...

. . . I was in the middle of the bar examination, a three-day process on the last Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday of July 2007.

For the first two days I got a ride with a classmate to the Valley Forge Convention Center, located in King of Prussia, where I sat for the Pennsylvania bar examination. Tuesday was essay day; Wednesday was the MBE -- the Multi-State Bar Examination -- a 200-question, multiple choice bonanza: 100 questions in 3 hours in the morning, then 100 questions in 3 hours in the afternoon.

I remember sitting there in this enormous convention hall, rows upon rows of desks (i.e., picnic tables) filled with fellow test-takers, thinking to myself that this was the real deal, the culmination of a summer of anticipation, and ultimately the final psychological obstacle, after 3 years of self-sacrifice and a great deal of unhappiness, that I would soon re-enter society and begin reestablishing some self-sufficiency and, concomitantly, some self-respect. I was worn-out and depressed at being dependent. Thus, the natural nervousness that I had sitting there for the bar exam was counterbalanced, and perhaps even outweighed, by a keen sense of completion.

"It's game-time, baby," I said to my friend Mike, while slapping his hand in greeting, that first morning right as I was walking into the Convention Center. And that's how it felt to me; it reminded me of the feelings that coursed through my body before my high school and college football games, the nervous excitement I had before club meetings and public speaking experiences in college: the common factor being that I was stepping up to the stage, confident in my ability to perform under pressure and under the spotlight, and get the win no matter what.

Wednesday night, after taking the MBE earlier that day, I packed my bookbag and went to 30th Street Station to catch an Amtrak train to Trenton. My dad picked me up and I spent the night with him, so I could leave first thing on Thursday morning to drop him off at the train station (to get to work) and I could continue driving on to Somerset, New Jersey, where I sat for the essay day of the New Jersey bar examination.

Thursday was a breeze, psychologically speaking: I knew that the PA bar was behind me and this was just gonna be icing on the cake. The ambivalent feelings of the first two days shifted weight by the time I arrived in Somerset, to the point that I felt bold and quite assured, thinking to myself that I had absolutely nothing to lose. The NJ bar was administered in a huge garage, what could've easily been an airplane hangar, it was so big and absent of any spirit or comfort. But it didn't faze me because I was already looking forward to drinking a few cold beers that evening with my dad, and the certainty of that made the day itself seem like only a formal requisite that merely had to be dealt with. Despite this, I remember pulling out of the parking lot in Somerset feeling like an emancipated man, as if I had graduated again for the second time in just two months. Man, what a feeling!

And so, being very aware of others who are taking bar exams this year, I'm reflective of where I was this time last year. I'm very thankful that I passed both the PA and NJ bar exams. I'm very relieved that I was able to push through all the frustrating, helpless, and depressed times over the course of 3 years and get to where I am today. That's not to say that I've reached my final destination, because the new journey is still just beginning. But law school and the bar exam was a chapter unto itself, one that I look back on with wistful self-pity, but in the sweetness of retrospect, with a sense of pride and accomplishment, all the more so for having endured so many psychological and mental challenges.

Resurrection

Okay, so maybe the title is a little bit dramatic. But hey, I had to get your attention somehow, right? And it does apply since I haven't checked in here for two months. Let's catch up, then!

Here's the big news hot off the presses: later this year I'm heading to southeast Asia for just under 3 weeks. My partner-in-crime is one of my very best friends, Paul. This will be our first trip together where we're both in a totally new place. Although we're only at the beginning of the planning phase -- the tickets were just reserved -- I think, for my part at least, that we'd like to try hitting all 4 accessible countries of the mainland region: Thailand, Laos, Cambodia, and Vietnam. We arrive in Bangkok, Thailand, so at least that much is known.

In the meantime, if you or anyone you know is from SE Asia or has been to SE Asia, please hook me up with some advice. As G.I. Joe said, "knowing is half the battle!" So give me knowledge, all you shiny happy people!

Finally, in a note to "Phil", who left a comment in one of my earlier posts, I'd like to report that the brown Tasso Elba Elliot Cap Toe Oxford shoes (a photo of which you can access HERE) are now completely broken in. Coincidentally enough (are there such things are coinky-dinks?), one of my co-workers today noticed the shoes and was informed, much to her delight, that I had finally conquered them. I guess you could call that a "taming of the shoe."

I'm gonna try my darndest to keep writing regularly! So please check back at your leisure (pronounce in the British manner, i.e. "lezhure", if you don't mind).

Saw 311 and Snoop Dogg at Festival Pier, Penn's Landing, for $49.50 with Jess.

the pros & cons of cherise

Pro
- genuinely good person
- beautiful smile
- athletic, in shape
- likes to travel
- gives me easy access to West Coast
- multicultural, open to other cultures
- fun to be with
- college-educated
- comes from a good family
- my family and friends like her
- wants to have a family, i.e. children

Con
- doesn't show interest, substantively, in my career
- doesn't really like to read
- doesn't seem to show an active interest in my interests, thoughts, & beliefs
- we don't seem to communicate effectively with each other, especially to resolve disagreements
- may not be willing to settle in Philly
- doesn't seem to have any plan for employment after dancing
- is not, at the least, financially self-sufficient
- messy and disorganized, possibly sometimes affecting her responsibilities
- her free time has not coincided with my free time, so we have little quality time together

Quick hallo!

Work has picked up again at the project. And I've picked up a couple more clients on the side. So I've been busy. Also, to be honest, I haven't had the motivation or desire to write anything in here for a while. But I figured I'd check in with this quick hallo! Perhaps there will be more to come soon. You'll just have to come back again to find out!

Finally!

For the past week my internet connection has been terribly slow if not totally non-existent. Hence my extended absence. Believe me, this wasn't intentional.

So where do I even begin now that I'm back? Well I guess I'll pick up where I left off: I'm still in the process of breaking in my new dress shoes. As I write this now, I'm looking at a well-developed scab on my right heel, marking the precise spot where my new shoe is rubbing the heck out of my skin. The breaking-in process is coming along though, and I'm still very committed to breaking them in because I'm not quite rich enough to simply go out and buy another pair at the next half-size up.

Speaking of hurting feet, I've also kept up my playing basketball. I played again last Saturday, and it was the best that I've played in years. In the last game up to 16 points, I scored about 11 or 12 of our team's points. And this is saying quite a bit when you realize that, of the five guys on the other team, three of them were around 6'4". The guy guarding me was that tall, but he couldn't guard me since I simply had the quickest first step on the court and my ball-handling skills were the best that they've been this year.

Now that my cardiovascular endurance is slowly building up now, I decided to play just a couple nights ago, i.e. this past Wednesday. Before playing, though, I made the mistake of drinking a coffee toward the end of the workday. I realized while I was playing that I felt jumpy and nervous. It wasn't until later that night that I put two and two together and figured out that the caffeine must have still been coursing through my veins when I went to play. I had more than a few shots that just didn't feel smooth, they were either too strong or they'd rim in and out of the hoop. It was frustrating at the time since I'm definitely a scorer. In the last couple of games I focused a bit more on playing good defense and grabbing as many boards as possible.

But before ending this brief recap, let me say that my best move was probably one in which I got a dish right near the hoop, on the left-hand side, with two tall guys right there (one was probably 6'5" and the other was about 6'2" with disproportionately long arms); after catching the ball, I stepped forward on my pivot foot and jumped in the air, both guys defending as if I was gonna go straight up on the left-hand side, but I angled my body to jump up right under the rim, and I reached out with my right hand to the opposite side of the rim to toss up the ball for a reverse lay-up that went right in. It was a beautiful play, and I was even complimented on it after the game.

Before I push my luck too much with this internet connection, let me close here. I'll only mention in passing that I'm heading out of town tomorrow to visit my sister in Easton, Pennsylvania, to celebrate her birthday with her. She turns 28 on the 12th of May.

Thanks for hanging in there, folks! I'll be back again as soon as I can. So until then, I'll see ya when. Regards to Jen and hi to Ken. The Flyers are gonna beat the Pens.

He feels his heels are really bleeding

A couple of weeks ago I bought a brand new pair of dress shoes: brown leather Tasso Elba shoes. When I tried them on in the store, Macy's, they felt fine. I even had the salesman feel where my big toe was in the shoes to confirm that the size seemed right.

Well, the first day that I wore the shoes to work I realized not far into my 15 minute walk to work that the shoes didn't feel right. About halfway through my pedestrian commute, I began experiencing severe pain in my heels, but more particularly on my right heel. As soon as I arrived at work and took off my shoes, I realized that I was bleeding from my right heel and a good amount of skin had already been lost due to the heavy friction. But since I had bled through my sock and bled on to the shoe, I resigned myself to the fact that I would not be able to return or exchange the shoes at Macy's, bloodstained as they were.

For the past couple of weeks I had decided to wear the shoes every other day while wearing my old, beat-up and worn-in shoes on the alternate days. And although I was wearing bandages on each of my heels so that I wouldn't bleed, the shoes (again: more specifically the right shoe) still felt uncomfortably tight.

So I made the decision right before this week began to go full-force; I decided that I was going to wear these damn shoes every day until they get totally broken in. I will continue to wear the bandages on my heels until they run out; so I have about another week of heel protection. The shoes are now, relatively speaking, more broken in than before, but the key emphasis is on the phrase "relatively speaking." I figure, though, that leather can stretch, and I'm determined to continue breaking them in.

The first couple of days that I wore the new shoes, I was made fun of because I couldn't walk normally. My friend Michael said that I was walking like a stick figure: very gingerly and with unbending knees. In fact, it was taking me fully twice as long to walk to work than normal: from 15 to almost 30 minutes walking. Even now, I still have to walk a bit slower than I would like to; but maybe that'll give me a chance to enjoy the scenery, right?

I've gotten compliments on the new shoes, and the old shoes had completely worn down the outer edge of the sole, to the point of some holes in the bottom of the shoe, my point being that I'm committed to keeping the new ones and trashing the old ones. But the breaking in process goes on. You can call me the shoe-whisperer.

Chilly, chilly in Philly

It's a chilly night in Philly tonight. The weather forecast predicts that there may even be some frost in the northern suburbs overnight tonight. This cool spell is in contrast to the warm, sunny weather -- reminiscent of southern California or Guanacaste, Costa Rica -- that we had every day for about two weeks straight to start the month of April. But I don't mind this cool weather, because it's nice to sleep in, and I'm quite sure it won't last for long; that is to say, I'm sure the warm spring weather will return very soon.

This afternoon I was surprised to see a camera crew filming and taking photographs at my work. For a minute the camera was pointed directly at me; I couldn't help smiling devilishly. And I think it was a good day for it because I combed my hair in a very Republican fashion today: combed down from right to left with a soft (not hard) part on the right-hand side. It was very much in the style of George Clooney or Brad Pitt from Ocean's Eleven. So, you ask, was this my debut as a movie star? Unlikely. I think it was probably just the partners from the head law firm running the project documenting the size and conditions of our work site. But hey, who knows, maybe I'll have my 15 minutes of fame in a movie theater near you later this summer. I'll keep you posted on that one.

Finally tonight, for pure recording purposes, I bench pressed my body weight (185 pounds) 12 times earlier this evening. It felt pretty good.

Well, once again I have to get ready for bed early tonight. Remind me to tell you later about my new dress shoes that I've been wearing to work, and the pain and suffering attached to the process of breaking them in; more on that tomorrow. Until then, I hope you have a great hump day tomorrow! From chilly Philly, your silly Philly friend.

Abbreviate

I've gotta keep it short tonight, because my goal this week is to really focus on getting to bed early so that, hopefully, I can actually get into work at a decent hour each day this week. As of late, my focus has shifted from weekends to weekdays, from an outward-looking perspective to an inward-looking perspective, from them to me, from seeking happiness by looking for a girl to seeking happiness by advancing my own career.

Yesterday afternoon I spent a couple of hours with Rebekka, one of Roland's friends from Germany. She had a 6-hour layover at Philadelphia International Airport (PHL), so we made and followed through on plans to meet for some of that time. We met at 30th Street Station, where she had taken the Septa R1 from the airport. From there, we took the Market-Frankford EL to 5th and Market, where we got out and walked to the National Constitution Center. Although this was technically my second time there, it was my first time to pay admission and walk through the NCC. And I've gotta say: I highly recommend that you check the place out. The introductory movie/live performance, called "Freedom Rising", was really moving and very inspiring. The other highlight was Signers' Hall, a lifesize re-creation -- in the form of bronze statues -- of the signers of the U.S. Constitution.

Anyway, I hope you had a great Monday, and may you have an even better Tuesday! From a cool, rainy, and cloudy Philadelphia: the birthplace of the United States of America.

Duty and Responsibility to Serve

With the privilege of living a comfortable, secure life in a developed and peaceful nation comes the duty and responsibility to serve one's community, whether it be the local or the global. This duty and responsibility necessarily entails the knowledge and sensitivity to do the serving -- and this in turn demands that one continue, throughout life, to self-educate in both theory (through books) and praxis (through proactive experience) in order to continually gain and promote this knowledge and sensitivity.

Ballin'

For the second Saturday in a row, I went down to the Schuylkill River Park to play basketball. It was really good to get out and move around. I played for about two hours, about three half-court games and, at the end, one full-court game. Full-court definitely suits me well because I can use my speed and athleticism more to my advantage than I would in a half-court game. In all three of the half-court games, I had to play defense against Eric, who I'm guessing is about 6'2". This forced me to play, defensively, a forward's game: down on the block and in the paint. I don't have a problem defending down low, but I play more like a guard, so I definitely prefer to play like a two-guard on both offense and defense. In the end, though, it was another great afternoon of solid cardiovascular exercise. I certainly hope to continue the pattern of playing hoops on Saturdays.

As I've been typing all of this I've been listening to a Jamiroquai greatest hits cd that I picked-up a couple weeks ago, but only just tonight have I finally imported it into my iTunes. I really like this type of music: a fusion of funk, disco, and acid jazz. It's similar to two of my favorite groups: Los Amigos Invisibles and Tortured Soul. Here in Philly I've seen Amigos Invisibles twice live: once at the TLA back during my first year of law school with my then-girlfriend, Cherise, and again just this past autumn at World Cafe Live with my friend Park and his then-girlfriend. I came across Tortured Soul in the summer of 2006 when I happened to walk through Rittenhouse Square while they were performing for a Philadelphia Weekly summer concert series performance. They had the whole park movin' and groovin'; I loved the music.

So tonight I decided to stay in for the night. As crazy as it sounds, it's taken me a whole week to recover from last weekend's non-stop action. I did go out for a little while last night, though, just to get out of the apartment. Claire and I went to my new favorite neighborhood bar, Ten Stone, for a couple rounds. I drank three Sawtooth beers on draught and she drank a couple gin & tonics. It was cool because I was able to watch some of the Spurs-Suns game on one of their really nice tv's. I was also happy to see that my favorite waitress was working, although she was in the back almost the entire time. Anyway, Claire and I had a nice conversation talking about her job prospects and objectives, among other topics as well.

I didn't get home too late last night, and since I felt that I needed to let some of the alcohol wear off before going to bed, I took the time to finish the last 10 pages of my book, The 42nd Parallel by John Dos Passos. So earlier today, while drinking my habitual late afternoon coffee, I began my next book: Dying To Cross: The Worst Immigrant Tragedy in American History by Jorge Ramos. I'm about 30 pages into it. But it's only 173 pages long, so I'll definitely finish it up by the end of the day Monday.

Alright, folks, that's about all for now. Before signing off, though, I'd like to apprise you of a plan that I have in mind: I'd like to begin transcribing entries from my old hand-written diary into this 'ere blog that you've been so kind to read. In this way, I can record my old trips and experiences on to the world wide web, and in the process, also provide you with another source of entertainment and background characterization of yours truly. So at some point soon, you should check for a tab on the left-hand side that indicates entries from the year 2002.

Peace out from tha Illadelph! Until next time, keep it alive in the 2-1-5-!!!

Just wond'rin'

Ya know, I was thinking to myself just now: what the hell am I going to write about tonight? And it got me to thinking: who the hell is reading this anyway? A rule of thumb for a writer (or also, in terms closer to me, for a lawyer) is to know your audience and to target them specifically with your form and content of communication. Well, here I'm just not too sure. If you catch a fancy to let me know that you're reading this, then give me a holler. But if you don't, then I guess we'll just have to continue our clandestine reader-writer relationship, hidden from all including the writer himself.

After I got home from work today, I ran over to the neighborhood gym for a quick work-out: back and legs. For my back I did lat pulldowns, upright rows, and reverse flies. For my legs I did leg curls and dumbell lunges. So ladies, did I mention that I live in that direction <flexing my arm while pointing in the direction of my pad>?

Enough of that, right? Well anyway, after my work-out I ran home, got changed, then ran out again to head to Continental Midtown, to meet a group of friends gathering in honor of our friend Jeff's 27th birthday, which he celebrated today. As I was about to pass through Rittenhouse Square on my way there, I saw a girl who I went to law school with, who I've randomly seen quite a bit of lately. I waved at her and said, "hello.....again" and she replied by asking "are you following me these days?" and I replied with something like "maybe, it sure seems that way." A typically lame yet practical conversation while passing someone in that situation. But I have to admit that it has been strange seeing her so much. I guess that happens occasionally in the city though.

For my fourth paragraph tonight, I'm gonna go through a story that I was reminded of -- and told everyone -- earlier this evening. While we were sitting around the brown round table, discussing whatever came to people's minds, Julie brought up a story about a friend in college who was a big eater and about the time when this guy passed out and they stuck a piece of food in his hand and underneath his nose to rouse him. Well, her story reminded me of a time in college when my good friend Lorge drank too much and passed out on the couch at our apartment at Ice House. To get him good, my roommate Puma and I came up with the idea to spray-paint his knees and bellybutton with this deep dark blue paint. It was over a week of taking showers two and three times a day that the paint finally even began to wear off. For a week Lorge looked like a smurf in his knees and bellybutton. I still have photos of that prank; man that was funny.

Comemoscas

There's a girl at my work who always walks around with her mouth open. It makes her appear really slow and dim-witted.

Earlier today I was daydreaming about what it would be like to throw a piece of popcorn into her mouth as she walked by, or maybe how funny it would be to flick a booger into her mouth before she even realized what was happening. I mean, really, when you walk around with your mouth wide open, you're just asking for it.

This girl reminded me of a character from a book I read about five years ago. Back at that time I embarked on a solo backpacking journey up the Pacific coast of Costa Rica and Nicaragua. Before leaving on my trek, I went to a bookstore in San Jose to pick-up a couple books, anticipating the need for nighttime entertainment in the many sleepy towns along the way. One of the books that I picked-up was "Lituma en los Andes", written in Spanish, by Mario Vargas Llosa. About twelve pages into the second chapter, the author describes one of the characters in this way:

"Desde nino a Pedrito Tinoco le habian dicho alunado, opa, ido, bobo, y, como siempre andaba con la boca abierta, comemoscas."

"From the time he was a boy, they had called Pedrito Tinoco half-wit, moron, dummy, simpleton, and since his mouth always hung open, they called him flycatcher, too."

Quite coincidentally, after I had returned stateside after four months in Central America, my father gave me a book he had just finished reading. It was called "Death in the Andes" by Mario Vargas Llosa; yup, you guessed it, the English translation of the book I had read during my pilgrimage up la costa pacifica. Reading the English version, I once again revisited this memorable character: Comemoscas. Just as I do now, day in and day out, at my job, every single time I see this dumb-looking girl with her mouth wide open all the time. <flick!>

An Unlikely Assortment

Clinton seems to have won Pennsylvania. So the Clinton-Obama battle continues for who knows how much longer. More and more I have the feeling that McCain is gonna win the presidency.

Earlier this afternoon, while walking up Locust Street, having just left Rittenhouse Square and heading home, I saw a girl riding a bicycle whom I recognized. It was a girl who I had gone on a couple dates with back in late October of last year. Of course she acted like she hadn't seen me: typical cowardice. We'd had a great couple of dates, but then she freaked out and sent me an email saying: "I think you are an amazing person. Unfortunately, I don't think I'm amazing for you." That is a direct quotation. Despite my reply to her ("as respectfully as I can say this, please don't tell me what I find amazing."), urging her to reconsider, she made it pretty clear that the wall was up and any further communication would be a waste of time. I swallowed my pride and accepted the inevitable, wondering for a while what the fuck had happened. Over time, I also accepted the hard lessons learned: that I have to slow down and keep my emotions in check next time -- even and especially when -- I meet a great girl, that I have to hide my cards a bit in spite of my innate instinct to always be upfront and honest, and that getting a girl from law school is a long shot due to the lawyer's tendency to choose a guy based on his employer, resume, and/or parents' name (i.e., the typical competitiveness that is bred in law school). Anyway, bringing this back to today's chance observation, seeing this girl definitely brought up a feeling of resentment. And, once again, a reminder of the hard lessons learned the hard way.

Later this evening, while waiting for my clothes in the dryer at the laundromat, I walked down to the Schuylkill River. The sun was setting and there was a warm, auburn hue to the clouds. I sat down on a bench overlooking the water and read some of my book, The 42nd Parallel, book one of the U.S.A. trilogy, by John Dos Passos. The surface of the river was shining and rippling and the air was comfortably cool. Behind me a long train sluggishly crawled by on the tracks immediately alongside the riverside park, pulling away, boxcar after boxcar, clanging and clanking until fading off toward the south, to the train depot.

The Philadelphia Flyers won game 7 against the Washington Capitals, thereby winning the series. Game 1 against the Montreal Canadiens is this Thursday. Go Flyers!

Dissection of a Candidate's Claim

On one of these political commercials, a local Philadelphia candidate (I believe it's John Dougherty) says, "I won't give up until crime is down."

Here's my response: So if I'm hearing you correctly, if crime goes down, then right then and there, you'll just give up, right? It won't matter what other issues are confronting the city at that time, you'll stop getting out of bed in the morning once crime goes down.

Which leads to the next logical conclusion: this guy doesn't really expect crime to go down, because if he truly did, then his campaign would reflect his striving -- once crime goes down -- for an unfulfilling job, and this defies logic and human nature.

Weekend Recapitulation

Friday. Paul came into town from New York. We went to dinner at The Striped Bass. I ate the black sea bass, with crispy yucca, lemon-garlic vinaigrette, and pickled vegetables. The food was good. We went to Alfa for drinks. We drank a couple rounds of beers. There were several good-looking girls there. We went to Vango. We stayed on the main floor for a little while. We went up to the roofdeck, a.k.a., skybar. The view of the surrounding Center City skyscrapers was amazing. We tried to go to G-Lounge. But because I was wearing sneakers, hip though they are, we were not let in. We went to The Walnut Room. We drank a couple rounds of beers. I ended up meeting a very good-looking girl right before we left.

Saturday. Evan drove up from Baltimore. We caught up while I ate breakfast: vanilla clusters with almonds cereal. We walked down to the courts at the Schuylkill River Park, just down at the end of Spruce Street. We shot around for a while. Eventually, several of my co-workers came: James, his brother Pat, and Jeff. Paul came later. And my friend Mike ended up coming too. Eric, another co-worker, showed up at the very end. I ran full-court for over two hours. I had a few flashes of my former brilliance. Despite some obvious rustiness, I'd say that overall I was impressed that I was able to hold up and run for so long. Evan, Paul, and I returned to my place to take turns showering up. We drove down to Citizens Bank Park to meet our friend Bill for the Phillies-Mets game. After having been out in the sun for two hours, playing full-court basketball, I was totally exhausted. I barely made conversation at the baseball game due to my lack of energy. We had amazing seats: just 20 rows directly, and I mean directly, behind home plate. Thanks for the tickets Bill! Unfortunately the Phillies lost by a score of 4-2. It was annoying how there were so many Mets fans cheering at the game. At some point someone was thrown out of the game for apparently starting a fight. Paul left immediately after the game to drive back to Hoboken. Bill drove Evan and I back to Rittenhouse. The three of us had dinner at Ten Stone. Then Bill left. Over the course of the rest of the night, Evan and I ended up bar-hopping: The Black Sheep, then Misconduct Tavern, then Loie, then Pulse. Although I had been running on empty since the baseball game, I somehow managed to stay out until 4 in the morning. After we left Pulse at 3:15am, we went to Tower Style Pizza for some late-night slices. We were back at my place and I finally crashed at 4:15am.

Sunday. I woke up at 12 noon. I cleaned up a bit around the apartment. I spent a good part of the afternoon just dozing on the couch while watching auto racing then the Lakers-Nuggets game on the television. Later I got up and out to do one load of laundry and food-shopping at Trader Joe's. While walking to the laundromat, I ran into the now-unemployed and homeless former attendant at my last laundromat, which recently closed down so that the owner could convert the property into a nail salon. I offered to take Al to the market with me so I could buy him a drink and some food. He took me up on my offer. I told him to pick out whatever he'd like and I'd buy it. He chose milk and ice cream. We walked back toward my place. He waited while I went upstairs to unload the groceries. We returned to the laundromat so I could transfer the clothes from the washer to the dryer. We walked out. I went to visit my friend Claire. Al went to sit down in Fitler Square. Claire and I hung out for a little while. I had to pick up a movie, "I Am Legend", from her that she wanted me to return on her behalf to our co-worker Ken, with whom she no longer works due to a general lay-off at our project just over a week ago. I also had to pick up a couple of cd's that I had lent her: "un dia normal" by Juanes and "The Venezuelan Zinga Son, Vol. 1" by Los Amigos Invisibles.

The weekend has now been recapitulated. Consider yourself updated. Guan and have a good week now, ya heard?

Solitaire

I just got back in from going out tonight. It was really good to catch-up with Paul. But I'm left with a feeling of emptiness after the conversation we had over dinner and the ensuing course of events over the rest of the night. As an aside, I'm surprised that I'm able to express myself thus far due to having drank several beers tonight.

I feel empty because I'm alone right now. I'm typing into my computer at 2 in the morning, while listening to the album "Things Fall Apart" by The Roots. Perhaps the title of that album is appropriate. Tonight, as I have felt for a while now, I was in no mood to talk to mediocre girls. My tolerance is especially low. I mean, what's the fucking point? Sure, I've talked to plenty of good-looking girls. But where is the substance? Where is the girl who I can truly call my equal? Where the fuck are they?

In my state of mild inebriation, I'll go ahead and admit a couple things here and now. Earlier tonight, a group of four girls approached me and began to rub their hands on my chest; they were impressed with my pectoral muscles. By writing this am I showing off right now? Sure. But what does it matter? It seems apparent that I work-out for no one's benefit but my own. No one sees the fruits of my labor, physical or otherwise. The main girl who was showing me attention just annoyed the fuck out of me. She was a Persian girl, not bad-looking at all, but my gut just told me that she was a waste of time. She said that she was a psychic, and somehow predicted successfully that I have a tattoo. Great, I thought to myself, can you predict when I will actually meet a girl that I'm attracted to who will likewise be attracted to me?

It's all really pointless. The only girl who I'm really, totally in to these days is totally inaccessible, already dating someone else, and my credentials come nowhere close to his, because for me to do so would mean to delete my educational degrees, height, intelligence, and any number of other factors. This kind of thing deeply demoralizes me. It makes me believe that I'm either too good or -- what I really think is the case -- I'm not "normal" or "average" enough for any girls. And ultimately, when I reflect upon this situation, I realize that it makes me feel that I'm being arrogant and condescending, which only makes me feel shittier about myself.

Fine, I'll go to sleep now. And I'll wake up tomorrow feeling optimistic again, right. But how long can I go on deceiving myself? Am I really destined to be alone? Or, to be realistic, am I truly destined to end up with some hot girl who is as empty as a poor man's cookie jar? Should I accept my destiny as having to fuck the shit out of a hot girl, who simultaneously has no interest in a single book I read, no interest in my career as a lawyer, no interest in my heart and soul, no interest in the thoughts that constantly course through my head?

Right now, I hate every fucking girl who exists. You can all go to hell. You can all strive for mediocrity. You can all chase your dreams while ignoring the need to be with a man. And in a year or two years or five years or ten years, you can all curse yourselves for having your head up your ass for so long.

Yeah, you better believe I feel bitter at 2:11 in the morning, after going out on the town tonight. Water, water everywhere, but not a drop to drink. I feel that I'm too good and, at the same time, not good enough for anyone. And yet, I'm still too stubborn to ever fucking settle. That shit's not gonna happen, and you can take that shit to the bank.

I end this while listening to "You Got Me" by The Roots. And despite all my bitterness and frustration, I dream for the day that a girl will actually feel the words of this song, and sing it to me in her own words, from her own heart, to me, to my heart, to my soul, while looking deep into my eyes:

If you were worried 'bout where
I been, or who I saw or,
what club I went to with my homies,
baby, don't worry, you know that you got me.

Yo Samaritan!

There are only 2 days left to vote in the poll. If you haven't already done so, then be sure to do so, so that way you have done it already and it'll be done for sure.

Earlier this afternoon I stepped outside of my office building with Eric, Jeff, and Dave to meet Claire outside. She was coming by to drop-off the movie "Falling Down," which she had borrowed from Ken. While standing at the corner of 18th and Arch, an old woman walking with a cane approached us. She mentioned something about the bus having just passed by, and asked when the next bus would be coming. Since I had some difficulty hearing what she was saying, I leaned closer to her in order to answer her question. Then she told me that she was blind (I assume only partially so) and asked me if I would walk her across the street. So I offered her my arm and we walked across Arch Street together. When we reached the other side, I told her that there was some shade just a little way up the sidewalk -- responding to her comments about the strength of the sun and how it bothered her. Then I jogged back across to the group, now standing at the southern entrance of the Bell Atlantic Tower, and resumed my part in our conversation.

So did you vote in the poll yet? You really should, ya know.

Yo Samaritin, a couple Claritin & some air wit' 'em,
if you sharin' 'em wit' Claire & them.

Hello.

It's been a week since my last post. I know, I know, I've been lax in my updates. Well, the reason for this is that the past week has been largely unremarkable, with the only highlights being quite personal. Perhaps in a way my motivation to post updates goes in and out like the tide. In this way I believe it's quite cyclical.

As far as the unremarkable goes, I'll simply remark that work has been practically non-existent. That is to say that I appear at work and remain physically present on the premises. But very little work has been demanded of me, or any of my other co-workers for that matter.

As far as the personal goes, well, it would no longer be personal if I wrote about it here, now would it? I'll merely offer this: has Aleida arrived?

Well, tomorrow is Thursday, which is a good day, since it's the day before Friday. And the weather should be perfectly splendid. Pura vida!

Lost without Lost

Ever since getting back from Egypt and Europe, I've been trying periodically to watch the two episodes of Lost that I missed while I was away. Of course I've had no luck. I'll log-on to abc.com, then click to watch full episodes; I'll choose the first episode that I missed, and then, hopefully enough, a commercial plays, and I always think, good, here we go. But after the commercial plays, the computer always gets stuck loading the episode. Perhaps my connection is not that good or fast. Or maybe I just have bad luck getting the things that I really want. I'm really not sure what it is. But it's annoying. And I'd really like to watch the two missed episodes before the next new episode airs on April 24th. The way things have been going though, I shouldn't expect to catch-up at all. Anyway, I'm sure this post doesn't make your day any better, but I had to write about something. And that's what's on my mind tonight. So there.

Green eggs and ham

My head is scrambled today because I went out last night with my new upstairs neighbors. We pre-gamed up in their apartment by eating some pizza and drinking a few beers. Then we went to The Mansion, at the corner of 19th and Sansom. I played a really close game of pool with the guy, Corey, as soon as we got there. After that, I drank a few gin & tonics, and mingled with the crowd. So today I'm feeling das efx. Seacrest out.

Shedding my skin

Rain dripped from the skies on to my head as I walked; it characterized what was said after I talked.

I realize tonight, what goes around comes around; I once was lost, and I'm still not found; I hear my destiny but I'm still not sound; though the king has arrived, I'm still not crowned.

I rolled the dice and it didn't suffice regardless of how nice I could be. I realize that it's no surprise that, once again, I see snake-eyes. It bites my ass, as the illusion shatters like glass, and ain't that crass?

I was deserted in the desert, then dissed and was dissed in the two-one-fifth. I miss what's yet to be; and my being is yet to be missed.

Allow me to follow my sorrow and wallow for just one night. 'Cause the sun will come again, and that's when I'll be alright, a'ight!

April showers bring May flowers

That old adage seems to be holding true, at least judging so far from all the steady rain that we've been getting. Last I checked, it's supposed to keep raining through Saturday morning. As long as high temperatures continue to hang around the high-50's or even low-60's, and we eventually get those May flowers as promised, then I'll be happy.

Another thing that's already making me happy now, though, is the fact that some of the trees are already starting to blossom:

Whoa!!! Have a wonderful Friday, y'all! (photo source)

Take me out to the ballgame

Let's bring this blog back down to a less stressful topic. I realize that the last two posts have been on serious issues. "I'm not preaching bullshit, just speaking my mind" (penultimate line in "The Update" on Ill Communication by the Beastie Boys). But as important as it is to speak one's mind sometimes, it's just as important to sometimes not take things too seriously either.

On that note, I'd like to report that I went to Phillies opening night tonight at Citizens Bank Park, down in South Philadelphia. Of course, in typical Phillies fashion, they lost their opening night game, by a score of 1-0 to the Washington Nationals. I say this because it seems that every season the Phillies get off to a really slow start, then somehow start to build up steam as the season goes on. Although that kind of season can make for some great drama and excitement towards the end of the season, it serves -- at the beginning of the season -- to feed into the stereotypical Philly pessimism and "underdog-ness."

So, in spite of the almost expected Phillies loss today, it was great to watch a game down at Citizens Bank Park. It really is a very well-designed ballpark, and by that I mean that every seat in the house -- even in the nosebleeds -- offers a great view of the field and puts you right on top of the game.

To top things off tonight, it was dollar dog night, meaning that hot dogs only cost $1 each. And best of all, everyone got a free Phillies t-shirt for attending opening night.

English-only laws = Bad & Wrong

At work earlier today I got into a discussion with a teammate about the issue of language rights and the status of English -- and other languages, particularly Spanish -- in (North) American society. She asserted the position that immigrants should be mandated by law to learn the English language. I asserted the position that the law should never be used to codify any aspect of the dominant culture, including language, because to do so would infringe upon a person's freedom of speech, here quite literally a person's freedom of how (i.e., in what language) to speak.

The following are verbatim excerpts from my law school thesis, entitled "The Hazleton Ordinance’s English-Only Provision: An Unconstitutional Attempt to Use Language to Expel Racial Minority Immigrants." (Citations will be provided upon request).

On the myth of linguistic homogeneity:

There is a long history of linguistic diversity in the United States. In fact, the United States is not now and never has been an exclusively Anglo, English-speaking, monolingual nation. Despite this, a historical view persists – a myth of linguistic homogeneity – that allows many people to regard English as the only truly American language. The perpetuation of this popular myth is critical for the survival of the English-only movement, since this myth is the primary justification for rejecting other languages. Thus, the converse is that the demise of the English-only movement must necessarily involve, at least in part, a deconstruction of the myth of linguistic homogeneity in the United States.

On the constitutionality of English-only laws:

First, and most notably, the Constitution does not provide for an official language. Second, the U.S. Supreme Court has explicitly proclaimed that the protection of the Constitution extends to all – to those who speak other languages as well as to those born with English on the tongue.

On language and politics:

English-only laws take an ethnic trait of the dominant culture, the English language, and give that trait legal, governmental sanction, creating second-class citizenship for Americans who possess different (hence unofficial), but equally American traits. Undoubtedly, the English language is a key symbol of the ethnicity of America’s dominant core culture. English-only laws thus use the language symbol to assert and enforce the dominance of the core culture and to marginalize all other American cultures. Thus, on a symbolic level, the debate about an "official" language (and the concomitant creation of "unofficial," un-American languages) is, at its core, a debate about cultural and political dominance and power. Because politics is human relations, and language is an organic component of such relations, language is politically significant.

On language and national origin:

There is a close correlation between language and national origin, which statistics strongly reflect. A 1984 study indicates that 97 percent of persons who usually speak Spanish are of Latino origin or descent. According to the same study, approximately 77 percent of American Latinos speak Spanish. These statistics demonstrate how close a proxy language is for national origin and, thus, how close a fit language discrimination can be for discrimination because of national origin.

On language and culture:

The assertion of English-only proponents that language is a culturally neutral medium is not defensible. Language is "the quintessential cultural tool." [. . .] For many it is the only means through which members can have access to their histories and through which many of the cultural rituals can be performed.

From the paper's conclusion:

Historically, the United States – including and especially Pennsylvania – has been and continues to be linguistically diverse. The notion that the United States is or ever was linguistically homogeneous is a myth. And in over 230 years of existence, the integrity of the nation has never been threatened on account of its linguistic diversity. Legally, English-only laws unconstitutionally infringe upon First Amendment rights of members of the public to communicate with government in a known tongue. Freedom of speech protects not only the right to speak, but also the right of the public to receive information and ideas. Socio-culturally, language holds a unique place among all other cultural characteristics as it is the medium by which cultural and familial roots are transmitted and by which one’s cultural and ethnic identity is maintained.

My recommendation to the Hazleton court, after reviewing the case-law and scholarship on English-only laws:

Under a textualist analysis [of the U.S. Constitution], the First Amendment says nothing about freedom to speak English only; the freedom refers to speech, without reference to any particular language. Accordingly, this constitutional freedom is not restricted to any language; if it were, it would contradict the very idea of freedom itself.

The concluding sentence of my term paper:

The law has made the mistake in the past of providing favored status to the dominant culture – and subordinated status to a minority culture – on the basis of a socially constructed cultural trait; we must now hope that it does not make this kind of mistake again.