Working Hard Or Hardly Working? Haha! Ow.

Yesterday I spent 8 hours spreading mulch and rock around my garden/yard. As a result, I am rather sore today. Even typing hurts. So I'm going to not type very much! Yes, I am a master of logic. And time-travel. But that's irrelevant.

Speaking of bad writing and paltry-at-best allusions, NBC is cancelling Heroes! Oh no! Well actually, I don't care a whole lot. Some TV shows should just know when their time is done and fade away peacefully (coughLostcough). Heroes should have broadcast the first season, taken a year off to contemplate the second, written it as a brilliant epic that tied up all the loose ends, and directly proceeded to call it quits while they still had their dignity and viewing audience comprised of more than the writer's mothers and trolls watching solely to point out the plot holes on message boards after the show (ex: If Hiro traveled back in time, it should have had more significant consequences, Gay-Noob!).

Speaking of trolls pointing out plot holes, I strongly feel that the show would have had been much better (aka not cancelled) if they had just let characters stay dead. I know Claire's blood can cure pretty much everything (except Hiro's tumor, which doesn't make a lick of sense) but that doesn't mean you SHOULD cure everybody. Sometimes people just need to die. Besides, infusing a dead body with healing properties would just leave you with an extremely healthy corpse. Just saying.

If you look to the top of this page, directly under the title, you'll see I have created a new tab entitled "Justin's Thoughtage". I realized that I think...a lot. Some of these thoughts are inspiring, others amusing, and most completely batshit. I will be largely forgoing the first two in favor of the latter. Check it out and take a peek inside the #$*%ed up mind of yours truly.

Have a great Sunday!

-- Justin

Young Money, Poet Laureate

First off, I have a confession to make.

"Hello, my name is Justin. I listen to 104.7, KDUK"

Oh, don't act all surprised. The warning signs were all there. How many times do I have to hum "Replay" by IYAZ under my breath until someone realizes I need help?

For those who have no idea what I'm talking about, 104.7 is a primarily mainstream pop radio station run out of Eugene, one of the four channels the crappy radio on my 1996 Toyota Sienna can pick up. It plays terrible music. And I mean absolutely awful music. But sometimes I simply cannot help myself. My murky descent into the syrupy-sweet darkness of popular music can happen anywhere, at any time--provided I'm driving my white mom-van, don't have another person in the car with me and my MP3 is recharging. I'm not addicted. I can stop anytime I want. Honest! Stop looking at me like that!

More on topic, I was listening to KDUK this morning and came across a tune which truly exemplifies the quality of popular music today. The song, "Bedrock" by Young Money, is so profound that I feel I must share its eloquent lyrics.

She Got That Good Good,
She Michael Jackson Bad,
I'm Attracted To Her, For Her Attractive Ass,
And Now We Murderers, Because We Kill Time,
I Knock Her Lights Out, And She Still Shine,
I Hate To See Her Go, But I Love To Watch Her Leave

I'm loving the opening reference. Yes, Young Money, Micheal Jackson does have a song entitled "Bad", but I'm not sure how that's relevant. From this stanza, which is solely devoted to describing a woman, the only characteristics of her that Young Money seems interested in informing his audience about is that she: a) Has an attractive posterior, b) Doesn't use her time productively, and c) Glows if punched.

But I Keep Her Running Back And Forth Like A Soccer Team,
Cold As A Winter Day,
Hot As A Summer's Eve,
Young Money Thieves,
Steal Your Love With Ease.

Mr. Money, make up your mind already. Is she good, good, or bad, bad? Is she cold, cold or hot, hot? It's almost like you don't actually have a cohesive idea of who you're describing, or that you're assuming most people won't listen to the lyrics. Haha! Oh, me and my lack of sarcasm.

I Like The Way You Walk, And If You Walking My Way,
I'm That Red Bull, Now Let's Fly Away,
Let's Buy A Place, With All Kind Of Space,
I Let You Be The Judge, N-N And I’m The Case,
I’m Gudda Gudda,
I Put Her Under,
I See Me With Her, No Stevie Wonder,
She Don't Even Wonder, Cauz She Know She Bad,
And I Got Her N*****,
Grocery Bag.

Ah, pop culture references! Red Bull gives you wiiings! Very clever. Not quite sure what it means to be "Gudda Gudda". I can only assume that Gudda Gudda is the Hindu God of Let's-Slip-In-Some-Random-Gibberish-And-See-If-Anyone-Notices. I'm not going to comment on the last two lines primarily because they speak for themselves. In other news, did you catch the Stevie Wonder plug? Haha! Yes, that's right Young Money, Stevie Wonder cannot see! Because he is blind! So when you are imagining being in a committed relationship with Mrs. Punch-N-Glow, he would not be able to do the same. Because he is visually handicapped.

Feel good about that one still? Didn't think so.

Oh Baby,
I Be Stuck To You,
Like Glue Baby,
Wanna Spend It All On You,
Baby,
My Room Is The G Spot,
Call Me Mr. Flintstone,
I Can Make Your Bed Rock Girl

Okay, a few issues. First off, Mr. Flintstone was a resident of the town of Bedrock in the classic cartoon The Flintstones. He didn't make the town. He worked at a rock quarry for Christ's sake. Secondly, when Young Money states that he does in fact want to "spend it all on you", he doesn't define what he means by this. What is he spending? It can't be time--he and his shawty murdered it earlier in a brutal double homicide. It can't be money--if you're pouring millions of dollars into research to produce a room that is, quite literally, a G Spot, I have to assume you're going to pretty damn well broke no matter how rich you were to start out with. And besides, all of his investments are tied up in bonds. Haha! Get it? Young Money? No? Screw you guys.

Have a great weekend, ya'll. And if you went to the Coast on Senior Skip Day and the po-po come sniffing around, don't get yourself a MIP. Contrary to popular belief, it's not a great graduation present, even when accepted ironically.

Peace!

-- Justin

Naked Scrabble!

Personal Heroes, continued...

#6 THE LONELY ISLAND

Just watch the clip, period. No words necessary.

Winning Isn't Anything

Today, I play the last tennis match of my high school career.

I step out onto the court and hear the gentle buzz of the crowd. There are three courts in Timberhill's main building, and all can be viewed from one platform, capacity of roughly 250 people. It is half-full now, mostly by players eliminated from contention earlier in the week, killing time until they can go home. As word of the upcoming matches spread, the doors open and a hodge-podge flood of parents, athletes, and friends fill the bleachers with curious spectators.

It is Friday at the Mid-Willamette Conference Boy's Tennis Districts. Ask any high-school tennis player what Fridays at districts mean, and the answer will always be the same. Championship Day.

Since I was a freshman, a part-time starter on Varsity that could only sit and watch districts unfold, I dreamed of playing on Championship Friday. And now as I walk onto that court, racket bag slung over my shoulder, the two Gatorades I had shoved into the front pocket sloshing morosely with every step, I felt proud of how far I had come. My dream had come true.

But something's wrong.

Like a single musical instrument out of tune, it's imperfection hidden within the grand sound of a vast and talented symphony, the glaring flaw of this moment fought to hide itself from my adolescent aspirations of a state berth and maybe, just maybe, a district title.

What was wrong with that moment? I had lost my first round match two days earlier. I would never play in a semi-final. I would never earn a berth in state. Just an hour and twenty eight minutes after taking to the courts Wednesday afternoon, my dream had sputtered bitterly, coughed, and died.

I was playing on Championship Friday, but for the consolation final. I was playing to be the best of those defeated in the first round.

The kid inside me, full of idealistic expectations, sulked in dissapointment. I did not, could not, do the same. I knew I had made choices that had lead to this point. Could I have practiced more and been good enough to advance past that first round match? Goodness yes. With every choice in your life comes a sacrifice. Tennis had been my passion. But it was not my only passion.

I breathe in deeply and smile. I shake my opponents hand. I meet my doubles partner's confident gaze and nod in his direction. One hand grasps the yellow-green ball, the other my loyal racket of four happy years.

Toss. A flurry of motion. And the match begins.

The outcome is uncertain. But already, I feel like a champion.

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Myself and Evan Wu lost to the #5 seed in the first round of districts, but bounced back to win 4 straight matches, including the consolation final, a 5-7, 7-5, 6-3 victory over a team from CHS.