you're too caught up.

Surefire way to make you realize that you're too busy and life is cannibalizing itself:

Listen to Christopher Cross's "Sailing" while doing readings/exam prep/research



I teared up, no joke.

dichotomy of empathy

On one hand, there is sports, history, or whatever triumphs man has accomplished.

On the other, faith and what the Supreme Being has accomplished through us.

Sometimes it is so confusing to be a person stuck in a "you can do it" world. Your core shouts and screams God, and yet the world is surrounded by anecdotes that exemplifies the "triumph of the human spirit". I just finished watching underdog Melanie Oudin defeat Maria Sharapova in the US Open. You know the drill: Down by a set, she rallies back to defeat her in straight sets to defeat the larger-than-life icon. Game ends, she drops her racket, face flushes red, eyes tear up.

In response, we tear up. Something we call "tears of joy". Perhaps sometimes that is the only thing left that makes us feel human in a crowded world like this. People resonate to different things. Some manifest their human instinct of empathy by reading novels, watching movies, climbing mountains, solving difficult problems. I am a guilty sports fan. No matter what you can associate with, there is a common thread running across all these: the resolution of the plot, the overcoming the natural forces of the world, the come-from-behind victory: the triumph of the human spirit.

And yet, through my life of faith in God, through its fluctuations, I have learned that it is impossible to grow and mature in Christ if one looks merely within oneself. If my motive is always to see myself lifted up, and prayer is just a means for me to get by my own trials and to secure my own success, then I am no better than a leech. Truly, faith in God is an acceptance of His blessings and mandates alike. It is allowing God to use you for selfless endeavors. Whatever triumphs I have is not of the human spirit, it is because the Holy Spirit fills the empty vessel that is me.

So, having said all that, going back to the idea of empathy. I wonder if empathy can be beyond an experience. If there are various spirits through which success can be achieved, then it would comfort me to know that I rejoice over things that advance the Kingdom of God. However, sometimes I feel like empathy is such a primal instinct that it takes more than just a tear and a smile to know right from wrong, good from bad. In an era where every single action can be spun into different partisan representations, it can be blinding to allow feelings and emotions to guide our lives of faith.

All I hope for is that I am led by what I want, and not be blinded and be led by what I feel. Or even what I feel I want.

I will humbly say that I am not there yet, but I believe that getting there is just a matter of blocking out distractions of the human world. One day I will be able to tear up upon seeing another comeback story and, instead of saying "that was all me", I will be able to sigh and say "Praise God".

i really want this shirt

... if only I lived in a world where ideologies are judged based on their merits and demerits, not on what cultures have devolved them into.

Not that I'm socialist - I'm just sayin'.

For diehards, Cotton Factory has it.

back with a vengeance

Alright so I'm not quite walking yet, but the bruises are almost de-colored and I am perhaps a week away from my first few steps again (my ankles are weak as a baby's)

In any case, here's what has been bothering me while I peruse the world, in the eyes of a foodie:

1.) Paula Deen's Lady's Brunch Burger


They should make it law to place nutritional information even on online recipes. Watch the video on the website if you want! this is just sick. Parsley-laced burger, eggs, bacon, and to top it off, some sweet sugar glazed Krispy Kreme-ish doughnuts.

Insane.

And, love the southern accent. This one's for David.

(Update: watch the video; ladies, watch and learn (towards the end) - this is all men really want from you, just eat your heart out and we'll be really happy :) )

2.) If you can't get enough of that, this website's for you.

Enjoy!

Post-surgery: Day 3

So I forgot to keep score yesterday.

Two straight days of one painkiller each day. Not bad. Took off the dressing yesterday and the dude was bruised like Rocky came over with Mr. T and gangbanged my ankle. The stitches were sexy, though.

However, I lost to my ankle yesterday because I accidentally beared weight on it. Long story short, I was too excited when the Jap food delivery came that I thought everything was ok, and I jumped out of bed with both feet. Not pleasant.

Score so far: Me 2, Ankle 2. Yesterday he won, today's my day, so far.

This is horrible, can't even get to do productive things. When I get back on my feet, get ready for Albert 2.0

Post-surgery: Day 1

This morning, I was determined to type this up, feeling like I have won in my battle against the post-surgery "pains". Well, if I typed this up this morning, it would have been a whole different story.

Foreshadowing: I just took a pill of Oxycodone. (Which means if there are any incoherencies in the narration below, I will remedy them upon your pointing them out to me or when I am back to sanity. For the meantime, I am playing Remember the Time by MJ in the background. Psychadelic indeed.)

Surgery was smooth, I was given sedatives and spinal anaesthesia, which is actually less scary than I thought it would be (or it sounds). I woke up I think 15-20 mins into the hour-long procedure and never fell back to sleep, but I was numb from the waist down so that was ok. Some snippets of what I overheard from my half-awake, groggy state:

(1) "See, there's the bone" - doc

(2) Blood pressure being taken periodically, me turning my head to check my own BP. I thought that was awesome.

(3) Some kind of respirator on me

(4) When the thing was over, I talked to my doc with whatever coherency was left in me: Now I may have dreamed this, but I thought he dangled a small clear cup containing the piece of bone that was removed submerged in water. I cannot verify this, but I thought that was also cool that I got to remember this.

(5) I think they were also taking pictures of the surgery, which they will show me at my post-op appointment on Sept. 1. (Sorry for the squeamish, if you made it to this point you are a true friend.)

So, recovery room after an hour of ankle arthroscopy, bone removal, debridement, (the bone graft was not done because the cyst was apparently too hidden)

They made sure my bladder was working, and i was out by 9:45pm. Amazing, just like LASIK: Operating room at 4pm (I'm sure because I was watching "Closing Bell" with Maria Bartiromo when the anaesthesiologist came in), out on the streets with a reconfigured ankle hours later.

So I went to sleep last night, not too bad.

Woke up, not too bad. Kept my ankle elevated and all that - iced my ankle 3 times, all that RICE stuff.

And then the afternoon came, and the dude throbbed like Popeye's forearms.

So all that being said, not bad for a first day. World, you keep count for me: 1 Oxycodone at 7pm. Don't want to overdose on this thing.

Another sign that I am groggy now: Pandora just played Lionel Richie's "All Night Long" and I didn't even flinch. Next song is Prince's "Kiss". Not too bad, I like this selection.

I'm gonne leave today with the one thing that's been running through my mind the past few days:

Please, don't mistake narrow-mindedness for simplicity. The world needs more simple people, and it has too many narrow-minded people; just ask the ozone layer.

Today's result

Bert: 1, Ankle: 1 (Draw)

pre-surgery requests

hey world. I was informed by my doctor that the procedure that I will undergo is 99.9% risk-free. As an actuary, it is normal for me to point out the "black swan effect" inherent in that: 99.9% means there is a 0.1% risk of infection. (dun dun dunnn)

According to the RP-2000 by the Society of Actuaries, there is a 0.000366 chance that I will survive this year, which is a much lower probability than what my doctor gave me (as what I would presume is a rounded number given to appease insurance-covered foreign students who are better off chewing on traditional medicine, i.e, shredded lizards tail rubbed on the extremities of the left ankle)

in short, this surgery raises my mortality risk considerably.

gasp.

With that in mind, let me speak my mind one more time, before my ankle has to be iced and elevated above heart level over a few days.

1.) The man who is guilty of groping Minnie Mouse should be sentenced to 100 days of service, but not just any kind of service. He is to:
(A) Pay off his debts to society by buying Wimpy a hamburger everyday, which Wimpy will not need to pay back on Tuesdays.
(B) Become Fred Flintstone's personal chef (bronto burgers everyday. good luck on that), AND
(C) In a reality show type performance measure, he will have to devise a 100-day fitness/diet regimen to bulk up Olive Oyl. For goodness' sake she needs to eat things beyond Popeye's leftover Spinach.

2.) My dad should be awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for raising me and my family. Now I know what he has had to go through the past 24 years. Nothing easy - he is a real-world martyr.

3.) I have always wanted to be in the frontpage of a tabloid for something completely outrageous and ridiculously untrue. Like: "Chua smuggles bucket of extra crispy chicken in his underwear: is he evading taxes???" Something like that.

4.) If I were President, I would unite the world under one currency: coconuts. Then the Philippines would be one of the world's greatest economies (Sorry, Antartica; in the meantime, you're welcome, homeland).

and finally

5.) What happens to all the graphic tees in my closet once I sign up for a full-time job? It's not like I can wear a shirt with a monkey on it on a Saturday afternoon, and of course not at church. And what about those jeans? WHAT NOW? That's why children are so expensive to raise: they change sizes considerably, and they buy stuff that they HAVE to HAVE, and that they eventually have ZERO use for (BAH forget about sentimentality, everybody knows that you have a chest of memories gathering dust and mites in the attic. Everybody has one. The concept of a chest is a memoir by itself.)

That's why all I keep is my birth certificate. I wanna keep my life simple: the next important piece of personal document, I will not live to see.

These are the kinds of things that go into my head before I go to sleep.

Ah, 12:03am. The pre-surgery fast has begun.

idea for my epitaph

"...and when I leave, come together like butt cheeks"

- Grits N Gravy, Chappelle's Show.

That's pretty much the kind of impact I want to leave on this world.

asian geeks shall rule the world

World, beware. We are taking over the software companies. We just got named to be the main engineer behind the new Microsoft Bing engine;

We are the US Secretary of Energy. We found Yahoo (and got kicked out by the Board; obviously we are still working on our managerial skills. Once we finish downloading the patch for that, beware.)

We directed Brokeback Mountain. what what.



Now we can also create fun and quite impressive beats from the comforts of our domicile. (Props to Jane Lui of Youtube fame for this awesome rendition of one of my all time karaoke favorites)

All hail "Made in China" recording equipment.

If you are an Asian geek, pat yourself in the back. One day those tattoo-laden rascals will fall at your feet.

infomercial ingenuity

Sometimes I wonder if innovation is just a catchphrase - if we have already hit the ceiling as a human race.

Fine, there's still Mars and all that. But infomercials like this make me think we have discovered all there is to discover, and entrepreneurship is nothing but the art of slapping together 2 concepts that work independently and could potentially sell together.

why didn't I think of that? such genius.

reaction to MJ's passing

Alright, so I suppose you have read 65536 reactions by now, but hear me out.

I grew up as a kid only on two things - the Carpenters and Michael Jackson. My family tried to feed me ABBA songs but they didn't quite click. Every week, I will just take the stage in our weekly family karaoke night and sing "Fernando" once to make them happy...

Can you hear the drums Fernandoooooo....

And I'd get something from 94 to 98. Mind you this was 6,7, or 8 years old. I had no interest in Fernando whatsoever. All I cared about back then was Yan Yans and Hello Pandas. That's all I wanted.

But my clearest memory of my childhood back in grandmas house were built with these: the Carpenters, an old boom box owned by my uncle (which now I realize was a fluke since it never left the house), and an old tape of "Dangerous" that was always right by the nightstand where I slept. Was never quite a fan back then, but the album would play and all I remembered was "Black or White," the first track. I would probably hear a bit of 'Remember the Time,' and then I would be out to play.

By the time I get back, I'm all sweaty and trying to seek attention from everybody else, "Heal the World" might be on; or perhaps "Gone Too Soon" to close the album. Or probably the song before that which I always liked but never really knew the title.

It was that vivid a memory.

*

When I heard of MJ's passing the other day, I wasn't quite sure how to react. I would be a liar to say he was a big part of my childhood - the Carpenters were, and Karen passed away before I was born. For us in Generation Y, Michael Jackson was like the experience of going to school - he's always been there, but there were times we didn't quite like it, especially when we were young. And then there were times when it was so amazing you couldn't get enough of it.

Unfortunately, now that the ride is over, you feel empty inside. For 20 years, you have functioned, performed, got around as a student, and now the strange symbol shows up in between meaningful paragraphs. We are forced to "move on," whatever that means.

*

I remember not being able to listen to MJ's music at times because people told me he was weird. (I tried to list a few things I could remember here but I took it out -- can't do it.) But I guess the biggest lesson I learned from staying in New York is that nothing is weird - they make you feel uncomfortable because they're different from you. They rub you the wrong way, they don't behave like you do. Weird is nothing but a ruse created by the person himself that points a finger at objects out of his comfort zone, avoiding others from seeing the anomalous things in our own life.

That's why I always loved self-deprecating jokes. The way we are wired, that's as honest as you can get with yourself while still having fun.

Michael Jackson wrote songs about love. There is nothing anomalous, weird, or outlandish about that. At the end of the day, he knew more about love than most people in this world. He understood that hate thrives because love is not in the midst of it. He understood that weird is the price you pay for putting love in the middle of things that would ruffle people's feathers.

*

The afternoon he passed away, I was too busy with work that I almost did not catch it until I got home. And then I froze for a couple of minutes, whispered a soft prayer for his soul, and then went to bed. The next morning, the whole office was ringing with MJ songs being played in cubicles. This was in a multi-billion, Forbes 100, global company. For a while, I thought I was back in my chair in 1992, hearing Dangerous for the first time.

And that's the reality of it. We all like nostalgia, because it is our coping mechanism for our inability to adapt the old adage "don't take things for granted". It is our most sincere channel of outward affection, and it is painful because this wave of commitment, frankly, is hard to sustain.

*

Don't worry, I will not end by mentioning "Gone too Soon," as you probably would have heard that a thousand times already. Yes, he was taken too early from us, but I really hope this wakes us up more than it brings us down. Michael's message was clear - love what you do, love people, love the world. It is pitiful because as a generation we choose to put love in a box and treat it only the way we choose.

Paul mentioned in 1Cor 13:13 that love is the greatest among faith, hope and love. Love is not just about a boy and a girl, not just about roses and not even just about friendship. Love is the reason we were created, the only key to unlock people from their bondages, the only source of joy in the darkest hour.

And so here I am taking my last heavy breaths, as nostalgia is slipping away and I struggle to pull it over. And my playlist kicks into the same MJ song from Dangerous that had a gospel tune to it - the song which I liked but never knew the title - the hidden soundtrack to my childhood.

The song is Will You be There, which perhaps I am the only one who never bothered to look up the title. Not while he was alive. And just as I yearn to appreciate him now that he's gone, I only remember the title to this song now, learn to appreciate the love behind his music now.

Michael is part of my childhood, and his passing, although surreal still, makes me sad because his message was so simple and we treated them as pop songs. We followed the charts, the records, the melody, but not quite the man behind the message.

I will miss Michael, and I pray rest for his soul.

*

(Sidenote: This is going to be very blunt, but it's ok, nobody reads my blog nowadays anyway. There was somebody on FB whose status (whom most of you probably would know) said "so he's dead, get over it" and followed up by saying he doesn't really care. First, that was downright disrespectful, and you're lucky I wasn't there because I would have slapped you upside the head. Seriously. Also, I think that just shows how messed up we are as a generation, and I am truly ashamed of that. Shame on you.)

expired names...

This has to be blogged.

I'm not sure if anybody has noticed, but somewhere, perhaps in a metaphysical world, there exists a name graveyard. Let us brandish our swords of elitism - somewhere in the metaphysical, there exists a graveyard for names that Americans have just stopped using - expired names.

And as much as I love Asians for the whole notion of taking what's un-sexy and turning it into gold (e.g, manufacturing, outsourcing of jobs Americans can't fathom having, the "geek" look, neoprints, etc.), we cannot deny that we (Asian people, that is) have a penchant for going into the aforementioned graveyard to dig up names for our children.

COME ON! IT'S NOT LIKE YOU HAVE TO PAY MONEY TO GIVE YOUR KID A GOOD NAME!

So, I will be the proverbial guinea pig. Albert is defined as "bright and noble," at least in the big book of baby names or something. Very vague, very easy to slap on to anything. Come to think of it, I could blame my name if I find myself shelving books at Barnes and Noble someday. But who calls their kids Albert nowadays? It's as if every single Albert I meet nowadays are only in 3 forms: grandfathers, historical figures, and... fellow Asians.

I have yet to meet a fellow Albert who rocks my socks off. Yet to meet an Albert who makes the girls weak in the knees, yet to meet an Albert who is excited to be an Albert. Don't get me wrong, I owe my name a great deal - imagine if I changed my name, all these certificates and contracts would be useless! I'm just saying sometimes it's fun to whip on the "Gerard" costume from time to time.

Ah, but it's spelled with one "r". Another one from the grave.

Also located in the name graveyard: Victor (even higher than Albert on the list), Henry, Frank, Edwin, and... maybe Vicky? which brings me to another point:

The concept seems to work only on males. Girls' names are not as maligned as the guys'. Fine, so Vicky might have fallen into one of these lists, but I heard rumblings of a comeback for Vicky. It's like call center jobs -- Americans won't think of doing them, until they see 25-year old Albert next door earning an honest paycheck picking up phones for Pfizer. Now, unemployment's rampant, so they want in on call center jobs as well.

Another point with gender disparity: Jordan is such a horrible guys' name now. For every kid named Jordan nowadays, there is a frustrated Asian father who never grew past 5'10 and never got to touch the rim of the basket. Thus, they transfer their hopes and dreams to their male offspring who, of course, can only beat Jordan in a rice-eating competition. HOWEVER, Jordan is making the rounds as a trendy female name now, and it's faring pretty well.

So this is my public service announcement to all of you, my friends. In the next 5 to 10 years, you WILL be part of the ritualistic process of naming a child. 50% of you, roughly, will be naming a baby boy. Here are some advice:

1.) IF you're thinking of using the -son suffix, attach it to your name, wear a tag with that name on yourself, HELVETICA SIZE 58, and walk around the plaza with an undeserved sense of pride. Trust me, you will go home and rethink your decision, and maybe thank me someday. As much as Albert is not really the sexiest name, It would be 50 times more painful to be called Albertson.

2.) No sports names, please. If Kobe becomes the new Jordan, then I don't want to be a part of it. Trust me, somewhere in this world there exists an Asian kid named Tiger, or Roger, or even Lebron just because of a sports-crazed beer-bellied father who thought the world would need another Lebron.

3.) Use evergreen names. Yes, there also exists a list of names that are perpetually safe for consumption. For some reason, names from the Bible are timeless. So calling your kid Daniel or Joshua won't win a sexy award, but they won't have tomatoes thrown at them either. Of course, we are all adults, and we should know where to draw the line. A kid would be stressed to explain "Jehoshaphat" or "Nebuchadnezzar" at their next show and tell.

Let this be my legacy to the world. I want to hear your thoughts.

comeback tour

This post is a comeback tour of sorts. A farewell performance from my old blog. Of sorts.

Well, it's only 5 days til the end of the semester, and I get to say bye bye to my current roomie (oddly enough, that would probably be the 50th and 51st words i mutter to him this entire year. I kid you not.)

Just when it's time to finish up with exams and start packing and move on to a better life...

The guy gets his social life going.

I'm not saying there's anything wrong with that. But look, it's like hanging out with Stevie Wonder and then suddenly he says "oh, your eyes are brown..."; or taking a guilty peek at the current roster of Pokemon and seeing there are now 15,678 Pokemon (it will happen someday), reminiscing the time when there were only 150 -- enough to rap them all in one 3 minute song.

It's like Asians suddenly dominating the NBA -- like Singaporeans dominating the runways in Paris and Milan, while hot Brazilians take turns wrestling in green fluid in that S Factor show (no offense, ladies);

Bottom line: it's bizzare.

Nowadays I come home and this guy is on his earpiece - more glued onto it than an Indian call center guy. He makes dinners for two once a week for some girl I have never seen before. The guy who once thrived on Youtube and Hulu now lives on Skype and MSN.

And yet he manages to stay glued onto his seat the entire day. Miracles of the human spirit.

I am happy for him - that finally, that huge lump of saffron in his throat has been dislodged, allowing him to peruse the world of social animals.

But whoa -- that laugh. I have never heard him laugh. It's just so awkward that I cringe everytime he does it. I know it's counter-intuitive, but it is really painful.

It's as if the introverted guy who sits in one corner of the class with his Nintendo DS and neon-colored earphones suddenly breaks out of his shell and runs around the park naked.

It also doesn't help that it's exams, and everytime he laughs, the last chapter of Corporate Law falls out of my nervous system, gets digested and egested.

That wasn't so bad wasn't it?

exam stress

In the midst of going crazy about Simon and Garfunkel as well as the gradual maturation of my passion for statistics, the incessant juxtaposition of young, old, and retarded bert has conjured up the following image in my mind:



That's Paul Simon, Prof. Simonoff who is one of my favorite profs at NYU, and Mario. The three great moustaches that have influenced my life.

One day I will put my pen to good use and write about the wonders that your passion for upper lip hair did for my life. I wish I could say I knew how it felt to have bits of cookie crumbs or some frosted flakes stuck in your upper lip, but I am not worthy of such an honor. So I will humbly be content in tediously wiping away my dirty lips after every bite of knowledge.

I am content.

the boxer

In the clearing stands a boxer, and a fighter by his trade
And he carries the reminders of every glove that laid him down or cut him
til he cried out in his anger and his shame
I am leaving, I am leaving, but the fighter still remains
Yes he still remains

-Simon and Garfunkel, "The Boxer"


SIMON & GARFUNKEL - The Boxer - 1975 - Live - MyVideo

Timeless masterpiece. One of the few things that keep me afloat nowadays. If you have time, listen to the whole song. And please listen and read the lyrics. This is beyond a beautiful bluegrass rendition.

May this song encourage everybody who's going through a tough time.

Keep swingin'

pet peeves - edition 1

Hey all, I have been extremely busy the past few months, so I never had the time to actually update this thing. Since I am extremely cranky nowadays, I will use this to do what I've always loved to do: rant. And at the same time, get you guys to know more about what makes me tick.

So, pet peeve #1: AIMLESSNESS

I will never get up in the morning, make omelets, walk around the apartment the whole day, watch youtube and Hulu and then go back to sleep. NEVER.

So now that I see it happen every single day, a little part of me dies every time I step into the apartment. And that is why I keep myself preoccupied the entire day, and when I get back and feel that dying feeling eating into my existence, I just yield in and pass out in bed.

Good day, all.

beef beef beef

Just got back from Argentina yesterday! It was really really amazing -- the weather, the music, the FOOD. And of course I got the best souvenir one can ever ask for: a tan!

Anyways, going there made me really appreciate being a Filipino -- say whatever you want to say, but we have the best of all worlds. They say we sing like black people, but we're also conservative like Asians, and passionate like Latinos. Plus, the last week I have been able to utilize whatever Spanish I had in my system. It honestly felt fantastic.

Also, being able to have steak and red wine 5 times over a span of 48 hours is amazing. For each meal, I had tenderloin, t-bone, rib-eye... every cut imaginable, and yet they were all good and reasonably priced, Argentina being a major exporter of beef. And the Malbec wines that are of domestic origin complimented the beef well. It got so bad that I had to pay 15USD to use the gym at the hotel, because I knew that if I didn't do it, my arteries are going to suffer.

Sadly, I'm back at work today on a Saturday because the trip put a dent on my savings plan -- my whole body's still sore from traveling, walking the entire city of Buenos Aires, as well as playing volleyball and soccer under the scorching sun in Argentina. Good times.

All in all, it was a fantastic trip. I wish I wasn't stuck at work so I can post some pictures, but I'm probably going to do that on Facebook instead, so be on the lookout. I wish every body is having the time of their lives where ever they are, living every single day like it's their last because my limbs and ribs are aching, and I feel older and older each day.

Think about that, and I'm 22 turning 23... I'm sure you're not too far away from that.

why i deserve my GPA

In an attempt to show more of what I am up to here in New York, Here is an example of what goes on in my brain during lectures (on International Business):

chicken in the stream

I will tell you the drastic story of my week-long sickness and jetlag another time. For the meantime, let me wallow in my 4:30am nonsensical mental journeys.

I was on YouTube running through songs of my youth -- the Bee Gees in particular, and I kept on clicking until I ended up with "Islands in the Stream", which was a song Barry Gibb wrote for Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers. Of course, some of you might know the tune as "Ghetto Superstar", which the Bee Gees tried to pull off in their anthology. That was pretty bad, but they are legends, so they get to do whatever they want with their intellectual property.

Anyways, so I bumped into this video of Carrie Underwood and Kenny Rogers singing the song in the Kennedy Center in Washington DC. It wasn't the greatest performance, but it was mind-boggling on various levels.

Here's the clip:



1.) I don't watch American Idol, but was Carrie just off her game that night? I would have voted for Kenny Rogers fo sho'. Which reminds me..

2.) Kids nowadays are less well-off because they don't know Kenny for the fantastic country singer that he is. Kids now associate ol' Kenny with quarter portions of honey-roasted peppered chicken, cornbread, and 2 sides (coleslaw, mac and cheese please). That's a travesty -- listen to "The Gambler". I mean, he's this old and he can still GROWL (1:26).

Now here's where I start to lose my mind:

3.) Maybe Dolly Parton is also getting a knock for being too much of a "show" rather than a talent. I guess this tribute tells us that she is actually a really sweet girl locked up in an old person's body. I don't know, maybe we should rewind and let her music and success be the judge of her legacy, and not what we hear nowadays.

4.) Love the way Dubya 43 was gettin' his groove on (1:31)

UPDATE: I just noticed Condi Rice in the back also gettin' it on! In the meantime, Laura Bush is as stiff as a stalk of asparagus on a sunny day...

Which reminds me, setting up a new blog on Jan 20 wasn't such a bad thing. If there was a single day for change, that would be it.

epitaph for whoisyourfather

whoisyourfather has served me for a good 3 years. But I have simply outgrown the name. Every time somebody mentions the name of my blog, I grimace a little inside, because it's not funny anymore.

That blog was dedicated to the years of mindless wonder, regurgitated cynicism, as well as mental GIGO

That site will still be up for future ruminations, but that would be like digging up an old treasure chest buried in your front yard. It will be dirty and covered with worms, but somehow it still makes you smile.

Farewell.