Don't Fake The Funk

Cliff-hanger

Glenn:	If your sister Joli and I were hanging from a cliff and you could only save one of us, who would you save?
Beth:	I think I'd have a better chance pulling Joli to safety than you.

Obviously, that's Beth's way of telling me to lay off the Entenmann's cheese cake.

Next Girlfriend Names

Beth:	What would happen if I was suddenly taken away from you?
Glenn:	Ah, I'd be fine.
Beth:	You're not supposed to say that. You're ruining the moment.
Glenn:	Uh, well, I mean... I'd be devastated.
Beth:	Uh huh.
Glenn:	And I'd never recover.
Beth:	Hmph.
Glenn:	My next girlfriend would have to be named "Beth."
Beth:	Or "Bath."
Glenn:	Huh?
Beth:	You know. Beth and Bath like Gina and Jeanie!

note: "Gina" and "Jeanie" are both actual ex-girlfriend names.

Fatitude

I made up a new word: Fatitude, which means "the aptitude for fat." I have fatitude.

This is why: Yesterday, I was at Beth's house watching dvds when she asked me if I wanted some cheesecake. I was a bit hungry so I nodded that I would. The cheesecake was in an Entenmann's box, and it wasn't open yet. So Beth ripped off the tab marked "OPEN HERE" -- she's good with instructions -- but the box itself wouldn't open. Without even looking I said, "There are perforations on the sides of the box, baby. You have to rip them, too."

That's where it dawned on me: I am amazingly skilled at opening Entenmann's cake boxes. I have an aptitude for getting to fattening things. I put the thought aside for a moment, after all a beautiful woman was just about to start feeding me a slice of cheesecake.

But today, I got home from the gym and lo! Upon the pristine tiled counter in the kitchen sat... an unopened box of Entenmann's cheese danish cake. With frosting. And again, the box was no match for my aptitude for acquiring fattening foods.

What else can I do? I can open a can of Pringles in one motion. Normally, you pull the lid off, and then peel the foil freshness seal. I can do both at the same time. I can quickly lift the cover off a carton of Breyer's ice cream (any flavor) with two non-thumb fingers. I can break open pistachios with one hand. I can pour maple syrup in such a way that it never runs off waffles or pancakes. I know how to bake cookies.

Wow, this could very well be an until-now undiscovered super-power.

Newborn Baby Wha..?

GG:	So did your brother and his wife name the baby yet?
CC:	Yeah, Samantha Nicole.
LD:	Is the baby a boy or girl?
NL:	...?!

What Is It About Basketball?

Victor Kiamzon asked me that today.

Posed thusly, that question caused my mind to think of so many different aspects of basketball and why I love it so much. There's the physical aspect of it where you give your whole body and your abilities in order to win. There's the mental part of it where you have to out-think your opponent just like chess. There's the teamwork, the camaraderie, the competitiveness. So many different things, somehow connected to the game of basketball. Too many different things, really. Basketball is much simpler than that.

And then it hit me.

Basketball is Honesty. Complete and utter honesty. You cannot lie in basketball. You cannot hide. You can cheat, and it doesn't matter if you get caught or not -- you hold yourself accountable to everything you do on the court. Basketball is Karma's barometer. Play hard, and play right, and you win. You always win.

Basketball will Never Let You Down. Basketball won't steal your pin number and clean out your bank account, or forget to take out the garbage. Basketball will never neglect you. You can neglect basketball, and you will be punished. Your skills will rust and you will be humiliated. You'll never find out that your basketball spent a holiday weekend in Las Vegas with another guy.

There will be good days, and there will be bad days. But no matter what, Basketball stays the same. It will always be there, even when you are not. That's the reason why they nicknamed a basketball "the rock."

No wonder my boy Robbie calls basketball my security blanket. Ain't that the truth. Basketball is more than just my security blanket, though. Basketball is my prayer time, my meditation period. It's no surprise that I feel the same elation, and uplifting of spirit when I play basketball as when I am praising and worshipping God. God has given me basketball and the ability to play to show me how to believe all things, even miracles, are possible.

Even miracles? Yeah. I played college basketball. That's a freakin' miracle.

Basketball is what I run to when my mind needs to be clear. Hell, it's better than smoking, right? I think Shao Lin monks had the idea. Great physical effort (i.e., kung fu) allows one to reach a heightened level of enlightenment. Only with complete exhaustion from a worthy excursion can the unity of mind and body be complete.

Man, I wish I was 6'8".

Hoop/Hoy Dreams

SV:	Man, wouldn't it be awesome if the first Pinoy in the NBA was named something like Totoy Ignacio or something really Pinoy like that?
SV:	TOTOY FOR THREEE!!!!!!!
GG:	That would be awesome. I can't wait for it. Man.
SV:	OH! WHAT A MOVE BY IGNACIO!
GG:	I wish I was 6'8" instead of 5'8".
SV:	You and me both. Well, i'm 5'7".
GG:	Just for the heck of it, I would give myself a filipino nickname.
SV:	Word. I'd rename myself PATIS.
SV:	"REJECTED BY PATIS!"
GG:	Nice.
GG:	"Reverse three-sixty layup in traffic for PATIS!"
GG:	I can imagine the commentators.
GG:	"Steve, what does Patis mean anyway?"
GG:	"Well, John, I think it's some sort of fish sauce."
GG:	"Why'd he get a nickname like that?"
GG:	Then that's where you run in, grab the mic and go, "Cuz my game is salty!!"
SV:	WORD!
SV:	And then when I bust a dope dunk, instead of doing the bull horns, I'd pretend to be eating, Pinoy style and the commentator would say "OH! PATIS IS DOING THE KAMAY!!!"
GG:	aaaahahah. Doing tha kamay!!

The New Pope Benedict XVI

Ah, this choice makes me feel at ease. As a cardinal, Ratzinger was a supporter of what his predecessor was doing. Hopefully he'll continue God's work.

But you know what's really cool? They named a breakfast dish -- eggs benedict -- after him. I love eggs benedict. This is a very good sign.

God's Gift

Beth:	Gosh, we have to talk about this sooner or later.
Glenn:	Talk about what?
Beth:	About the fact that you think you're God's gift to women.
Glenn:	That's not true. But I do think that God gave you to me as a gift.
Beth:	But why would He do that to me?

We're A Long Way From Trash Talkin' At Carlton Park, Pare

SV:	Remember that thing with my old co-worker who stole my site design?
GG:	Yeah.
SV:	I came to a conclusion and resolved it (in a way).
GG:	How?
SV:	I weighed it out in my mind and the way I see it, it ain't worth losing his friendship over.
SV:	Plus, then I thought of the Pope, and the image of him meeting with the dude that tried to kill him made me think: if he could forgive his shooter, I could surely forgive my buddy.
GG:	Amen, bro. Shit, I think you're a better Christian than I am.
SV:	Forgiveness isnt all that hard if you put things into perspective.
GG:	Still, though, forgiving doesn't mean you aren't allowed to tell your boy you were upset about the whole deal.
SV:	It wasn't worth it to me. It woulda surely changed our friendship and I know he didn't mean to hurt me. So I chose our friendship over my anger.
GG:	Damn. You are definitely a better Christian than I am.
SV:	And I feel much better
GG:	I would have forgiven him after I pummelled him into submission.
SV:	Hah!

By the way, Happy Birthday,

I'm Never Playing HORSE With These Guys

http://movies.collegehumor.com/media/movies/b-ball-e-mail.mov

Be patient, it takes a couple of minutes to download.

Foot In Mouth Disease

Beth:	The Miss USA pageant is on.
Glenn:	Yeah? Let's watch it.
Beth:	North Carolina is the prettiest.
Glenn:	Wow, they all look like porn stars.
Beth:	Mmhmm.
Glenn:	Uh, not that I... watch... porn.
Beth:	Right.

Incidentally, Beth picked North Carolina before she won. I should have asked her to do my college basketball tournament picks, too.

What Girlfriend?

I suddenly started mentioning "my girlfriend" in my most recent weblog entries without so much as an explanation.

I have a girlfriend. Her name is Lilibeth, 'Beth' for short. Didn't I tell you? Oh that's right, she got into a really bad snow-sporting accident that caused some brain trauma so she gave me a ten-day trial period at first, just to make sure the injury didn't cause her to prematurely fall for me.

The ten days are up. So far so good. I hope I didn't just jinx myself.

Some interesting comments from our friends:

"So all it took was a blow to the head?"
"Her vision is still affected, apparently."
"Honestly, G, you were whispering in her ear 'love me, love me' while she was unconscious, right?"
"True love caused by a right temporal hematoma and skull fracture."
"And all this time I thought you were gay."

Feel free to add your own wise-ass comments.

Hairy Situations

I talk about my hair on this weblog way too often for a guy. Then again, should guys really have weblogs? But anyway, I digress. It's not really about the hair. It's more about the funny stuff I notice when humans interact with each other because of hair.

For example, I like my hair short. Really short. Completely gone, even. My girlfriend, however, likes my hair longer. (Incidentally, so does my mom but that really has nothing to do with anything. And for you wiseass Oedipal deviants, my girlfriend is not my mother. Sick bastards. Again, I digress.) These two wildly different views on the length of my hair (let me review: I like me bald; Beth likes my hair to exist), while not a cause for arguments with my love, do tend to create some issues.

Like with hair gel. I hate using hair gel, or any other styling product for that matter. I just don't like the feel of it, and I hate the way the shit reactivates when I sweat. And it's one more damn thing I gotta carry in my backpack when I go to the gym.

Man, and at barber shops and salons. Those places just get to me. Barbers and hairdressers are the only people I know that get paid more money the less work they do. At this time last year, I was bald. It's cheap to be bald, I can shave my own damn head for free. In the Philippines, I paid a dude $2 to give me a crewcut. Today I went to the barber (okay, it was a salon in Brooklyn Chinatown. Shut up, Ace.) and the dude barely trimmed the hair around my ears and I paid homeboy $15, not including his tip and the tip for the illegal Chinese alien that washed my hair.

Speaking of washing hair, the hair-washer lady washed my hair about six times. I know one of the times was for shampoo, and another was for conditioner. But what were the other four things she used? Did she see dandruff and decide to apply medicated dandruff shampoo, too? Do I have lice? What the heck? A shampoo lady on the run from INS is making me feel self-conscious about my personal hygeine. AND I PAID HER MONEY FOR IT.

When it comes down to it, I think life's a lot more convenient when you shave your head. Life is simpler, less complicated, more spiritual. Check it... the Pope was bald, the Dalai Lama ain't got no hair, Shao Lin monks neither. They know something. Two words: "Yul" and "Brenner." Coolest bald guy ever.

But despite all I just said, Beth is right: I look better with hair.

The Pope vs My Lolo

Some people that read my weblog have asked me, since I'm such a Catholic, why have I not written anything about the Pope. First of all, I don't like that tone you're taking with me. (Heh heh). Second of all, up until now I have not at all felt the urge to write about our recently deceased Pope.

I just didn't find it necessary. Whether you're Catholic or Christian or not, it's plain to see that beyond all the speeches and debates, beyond all the rhetoric, Pope John Paul II was a holy man. Regardless of what I say about him, good or bad, nothing changes this.

Now that I've thought about it a bit, there is something I want to say about the Pope: He reminds me of my Lolo. I'm sure it's partly because they were both old and bald when they passed away. But I think my Lolo was holy, too. Not only did Lolo always pray, his every action was prayer. Everything he did gave glory to the Lord. I never knew the Pope, but in times like this you can extrapolate the greatness of a man by the way he affected those around him. In that respect, Lolo and the Pope are very very similar. The Pope obviously affected many more people.

Of course, the Pope never affected any Japanese soldiers with their own grenade, so Lolo got him on that one.

--

Dad: We were this close to the Pope the last time we went to Rome.
Mom: He was so close that if I reached out I could have touched him.
Glenn: Wow.
Dad: You know when he passed by he looked at me and waved.
Glenn: Really?!
Mom (with a look): Come on. He was waving at everybody.
Glenn: I bet he said, 'Hey Orlando. Sup?'

Oldie But Goodie

Happy Birthday, Kuya!

I Take That Back

I'm wrong about my car being jealous. Think about it... My car's giving me some problems that made me get stuck at Beth's apartment overnight. Ain't no way I'm getting the chance to sleep at my girlfriend's crib three days after she (my girlfriend, not the car) decides I'm not a completely undesirable prospect. So thusly, I have changed my stance. My car wanted me to spend more time with Beth, so she (the car, not my girlfriend) came up lame to help me out.

All I have to do now is apologize to my car. But she's still not talking to me. I'm thinking a wash or some interior vacuuming would get her back into the mood. Maybe even some perfume -- uh I mean air freshener.

My Car Is A Bitch

I've come to the realization that my car is female. And she's a jealous female. You see, every time I start dating a girl seriously, she (my car, not the girl) gives me serious problems. My most recent car issues? I got a flat tire last night and for whatever reason I couldn't take the flat tire off to replace it with the donught that I have in my trunk. I think the dang tire is rusted to the axle or something. What makes it worse is that I'm in Oceanside, Long Island where nothing is open 24 hours and nothing is open on Sundays.

So I'm fighting with my car right now. We're not talking to each other. She always does this to me. Ah, I guess it's my own fault for having a relationship with two different women, even if one of them is a purple Japanese sedan.