My New Found Love & Hate

Usually, standing in line and waiting for your B.A.R.T. train during rush hour is not fun. It is almost always chaotic from the time you enter the station until the time you reach your destination. In the morning, I always make sure I am in no rush and try to catch the train that will get me to work early. That way if I miss it, I can catch the one that will get me there on time.

On the way home, leaving San Francisco, I can take one of two trains and they are only 7-9 minutes apart. Missing one is no big deal. I casually leave the office, casually descend the stairs, and casually board the train.

I cannot imagine anything I must drop everything and go home for. (Unless Michael Jordan or James Gandolfini were on my doorstep) Of course I'd rather be at home then in the office or waiting on B.A.R.T. (Even though I do like to be home at or around 6 to watch Fresh Prince of Bel-Air) I imagine some of the Bay Area's finest are obligated to pick up or take their kid to practice, cook dinner, or just feel their time is of the utmost importance. Watching these grown individuals race down stairs and bulldoze over people has become the brightest part of my day.

As I patiently stand in line observing the Richmond or Pittsburgh Bay Point passengers board, my eyes immediately dart toward the escalator. Part of me is silently rooting for someone racing down to just trip and start a business casual domino effect. But I usually just settle for the door closing right smack dab in their face. And then there is that look. The look they give after they have to turn around is just priceless. I think some of those people get pissed at the other waiting passengers. They start to hate them because they know that their train DEFINETLY won't come until after everyone else currently waiting has. Ha ha ha Mr. or Ms., ha ha ha.

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The journey back home from work is quite different than the one going. For starters, I can let my nose hairs run wild as opposed to worrying about them sticking out in front of my supervisor.

Everyone just wants to relax and unwind. Nobody is quite home yet but they know they are close. Nobody wants to be bothered and have all the things that are associated with the office follow them on their ride home. Especially the use of the cell phone.

Sure, text messages are okay, and so is emailing on your Blackberry. (For the record, I am not big on cell phone use. I'm from the Old School. Give me a land line and the pay phones baby). But then you got your folks who can't live without their cell. You got the people who decide to continue or even BEGIN a conversation on the train. These jokers have more nerve than your mom does when it comes to finding out whether or not you have a girlfriend. (Oh, to the lengths they will go...)

I don't like using the cell phone in what I call public places: restaurants or eating a meal at home, in cars when other people are present, while watching a movie, and both at home & the theater.

But these people on B.A.R.T., oh man. They won't even really talk about things pertaining to them or the person on the other end. It will be really obvious things or the current status of the train YOU are on.
"Yeah, we are at the West Oakland Station right now. The doors just opened."
"Yea girl, this train is so full today."
"I know, I can't believe all the people got job's either. Some of them are fakin' it"

I mean I could understand if a trial was pending, or you had to perform surgery later, or your daughter didn't have her inhaler or EpiPen. But come on!

Unless its an emergency, just wait till you get off the train. Then you can discuss the current status of your bowel movements and ponder how Elizabeth Taylor still "looks like that".

Its True What They Say, Ya Know

As I limped into the final day of my first week on the job, I looked backed on the week itself and analyzed it. From training to schmoozing to electronic filing and scanning, it was actually kind of fun.

To pinpoint the highlight of the week, I must really concentrate. Sure, spending 9hrs in San Francisco is quite lovely. Getting my own desk/cubicle that allows me to see who walks by is convenient. And the espresso/cappuccino/late machine downstairs is truly fantastic. All of these and then some have been great. I look forward to the weeks to come and learning as much as I can about Law.

However, there was one specific instance that will forever be cemented in my mind that occurred this afternoon. Interestingly enough, it involved only myself. There was no conversing with anyone, no detective work, no nothing. It actually happened accidentally.

Throughout the work day I tend to drink a lot of fluids. No, no, no, I do not carry a flask with me if that was what you were thinking. I drink some coffee, a glass or two of milk, some juice, and lots of water. Naturally, I tend to visit the room of mirrors and tile floors rather often.

Today, I was experiencing more difficulty than is customary with my allergies. After taking my claritin at the office, (expect an entry on the essentials at work ) I found myself rather hot and constantly refiling my cup of water. On my second go around to the gentleman's room I was overcome with shock and excitement at the result of an amazing discovery.

As I recount my tale, I want to inform the female readers that they might not know exactly what I am talking about because, well, y'all sit down. Nevertheless, I shall continue.

I cannot speak for all males out there but I will say that after I am done doing my business there is a bit of a process. (#1 mind you. I will not go around re-telling my adventures that involve a newspaper or aimless text messaging and takes longer that 50 seconds. Shame on you for thinking I would write about #2 in here.) I tend to "shake, shake, shake" as KC and The Sunshine Band would say. You see, once I place the serpent back into the cotton cage, there can be a bit of, well, "drippage". And "drippage" is no good. No good at all.

On this particular afternoon I was fairly tired. First week of work + Friday ="I want to go home!". Once I was finished, I began to take the necessary precautions to prevent a small brook from going down my thigh.

I did not notice until it was too late. I was shaking vigorously, recklessly, and for way too long. My mind was elsewhere throughout the whole process. After realizing this, I was afraid to look down and assess the damage. But I had to look. I had to make an attempt to clean myself up before going back to work. As I looked South, my jaw dropped.

There was no mark. No darkness. No color differential. There was just drops that sat atop the surface. I made one sweeping motion and it all disappeared. I couldn't figure it out and then it hit me. Those pants I bought last week (check out entry entitled "Those Four Letters") weren't just Dockers, they were STAIN DEFENDERS.

Those things actually worked. I never really believed the commercials. I mean come on who does? They have some Joe Schmo sitting down playing with a baby who is holding a glass of red wine and then the wine spills on him. And the wine just rolls right off. How do you just invent a material that is resistant to stain? It just doesn't seem possible. But, my dear readers, it is legit.

Now, I might just bypass the urinal completely and just go in my pants. I could just put a paper cup at the end of my pant leg and will never have to leave my chair. Bad idea?

I suggest to all the males reading to go and buy a pair of stain defenders. As far as the females, I don't know if they make them for you or not. See if they have them for women because I still haven't figure you out and you never know.

A Request from Mr. Spectacular

Dear Readers,

If you are able to, and would be so kind, please leave your comments following any of the blogs you have read. Even if a critique, a suggestion, or merely praise, I welcome and invite you to do so. I do hope you are enjoying reading my blog as I thoroughly enjoying writing it. I truly appreciate it and look forward to reading them.

Sincerely, and With Love,

Mr. Ari B. King

P.S. Many thanks to all the readers who have written comments already.

Training Day

(Note: For those who haven't read 'The Night Before', I suggest you do so now. This entry follows that one and will be that much better if you do so)

Emerging from the Embarcadero station, I was determined to not to get lost on my first day at work. As I glanced slowly around at the street signs, I easily spotted my building: 425 Market St. I felt a little out of place walking in the crowd. Not because I knew this was not everyone else's first day bur rather due to the fact that I didn't have a Blackberry nor was balding (knock knock). Nobody seemed to know that I was a rookie so I walked up to the security desk and stated my business.

I was told to head upstairs to the 33rd floor. Once at the reception desk I was informed the orientation would begin in 10 minutes and I could wait in the conference room. As I walked in a young gentleman was already seated at one of the chairs. We each gave a standard "Hey" and pretended the other didn't exist. I got up after a minute of awkward yet comical silence to look more closely at the snack and refreshments table. After deciding to not eat or drink anything with flavor, for fear of having the breath smell or something getting stuck in my teeth (oh come on, its the first day, you can't blame me), I settled on ice water. Not wanting to sit across silently from this guy, I put in my ice cubes as slow as possible to give myself more time with my back to him.

After realizing The Messiah could have returned, had a Mocha Frappuccino AND played Jumanji in the local park faster than the speed I was getting my ice water, I sat back down. Finally, one of us broke the silence and we introduced ourselves. However, the table before me was deceptively wide. As we reached across the table to shake hands, we ended up shaking just fingers due to the underestimation of the distance by both parties. It was great.

Shortly thereafter, the rest of the interns arrived as did the man who hired us and the narrator of the power point presentation. Once the presentation went underway I found myself very attentive. I also noticed that I was in the single worst seat to see the screen. I was at the end, the seat closet to screen which unfortunately was only about 2 feet away from it. I did not want to turn my chair to directly face the screen so as to turn my back on everyone else; I was forced to constantly turn my head between the screen and the orientation binder they gave me. It must of looked like I was shaking my head over and over again live a bratty 7 year old who refuses to eat brussel sprouts. (Still a 'yuck' for this dapper dude).

After 20 minutes my mind began to wander. Luckily for me my seat was facing the window and the rest of downtown San Francisco. Like anyone else would do, I began imaging myself as Spider-Man. Going from building to building using my web. Getting that adrenaline rush. (Hoping that although there is no visible nose or mouth slits in my suit I would still maintain consciousness) Feeling the breeze of the wind as that read and blue outfit ride up my crotch like that horrible pair of underwear you refuse to throw away and use in emergency cases only. But I was brought back by the conclusion of the presentation and beginning of filling out tax papers.

I'll be honest, I didn't know what the hell I was doing when it came to these papers. I periodically tried to steal looks at the other interns paper's only to have re-adjust my watch or do an uncomfortable neck stretch. I finally just turned it in thinking I was alright. (I would later have to ask for another W-4 the following day after my dear mother chewed me out)

The rest of the day was highlighted by enjoying my lunch break in the beautiful San Francisco outdoors with a couple slices of pizza while people watching. Oh, and the new hire Asian guy who couldn't stop telling jokes during the building and security tour.

I don't fault the guy at all for trying to be funny. Hell, you know I'm all about that. No, the best part about it was that he was making jokes about first aid kits and proper earthquake drills. Not to mention he spoke so soft that he had to, on every occasion but one, repeat the joke. Luckily for me I was standing behind this guy throughout the whole tour and was able to successfully cover up my smile or laughter while scratching every part of my face.

The rest of the day carried on like a traditional first: meet and greets of new people, anxious looks around you for fear of looking stupid(er) or caught not doing something, and the constant glance at the clock.

As 5:30 rolled around I gathered all my binders and packets so I could look them over before bed (uh-huh, sure) and took the BART home.

BOOK IT LADIES & GENTLEMAN! My first day on the Job.

I am officially no longer a Gangster.

I am now a Corporate Gangster.

(Oh stop. You're making me blush)

The Night Before

Yesterday, June 18th, 2007, was my first day on the job. Well, not exactly. Yesterday, as well as today, were 'Orientation'. Ya know, learning the ropes. We had tech training, received paperwork, awkwardly yet comically met other interns, got a tour of the building and where files are kept, met supervisors, learned what is expected of us, received paper work, filled out the W-4 and I-9, showed where the copy room is, watched the 'New Hire' video, and received paper work. Did I already mention that?

In order to properly understand my first two days at at The Firm, I must take you back to Sunday night; The night before.

Sunday, 9:30 PM. As I finish looking over the day's Sports page, I tell my ma that I am going to be in bed at 11:15 and go to sleep at 11:30. After all, I have to wake up at 7 to go to work. Prior to this past Monday I had been living the typical summer life for a college student. Go to sleep at 3 after watching TV aimlessly, wake up at noon or later, never fully get dressed unless it is of utmost importance, and tell my ma that "I deserve this lifestyle" for going to school for 9 months. Now of course you can throw some other things in there for you weirdos such as doing research about wheter or not we actually landed on the moon or expanding one's ant farm (wow, member those? Damn right you do). But I told myself this Sunday night was going to be different.

I was back to the night before my first day in high school. I picked my outfit for the next day and placed it oh-so-carefully on a chair. I put out the boxer briefs, the socks, the dress shirt, the slacks,the undershirt, the belt, and the shoes. I lined everything up as if an invisible man with no bones in his body was seated in my chair. I felt I wouldn't have time to get anything out of the closet or drawer. I had to lay everything out. I got into bed and shut off the light at 11:27. I'd get about 7 1/2 hrs and be set for work. I had as much luck falling asleep as you do when you tell a friend that you can sleep on the floor and "it won't be that bad". 41 minutes later, after rolling around extensively, I turned on my light and pulled out Harry Potter 6 and read.

I had my alarm set for 7:07 but I awoke at 7:01. Too anxious to be tired, I hoped outta bed and went to run the shower. As the hot water was going, I went over to my Ipod and went to the best wake-me-up-feel-good-don't-look-at-his-face-but-just-listen-to-his-music guy I know: Michael Jackson. Debating between 2 of his many classics I elected to go with my personal favorite: Billie Jean. I hopped in the shower feeling good and belting out "Not my lover!"

Coming out of the shower I was full of energy. The shower just woke me up, (but like the effect most morning showers I take, I would come crashing down later in the day harder than the Baha Men's career), I had MJ blasting, and a bowl of Frosted Flakes and a glass of orange juice awaited.

I ate too fast and bolted out the house at 7:48 to catch a 8:08 B.A.R.T. train. I had bought my ticket the previous day to avoid any lines and was patiently waiting for my ride. I boarded, and after 4 stops, and 22 minutes, I exited the station to enter my new life...

Those Four Letters

Heading into my last weekend before work, I wanted to buy some new clothes so I could fit in with my "business casual" associates. Sure, I have a some dress pants and nice slacks that I wore to a steady dose of Bar Mitzvahs but I needed to go down a different path this time. I needed to get some nice dockers, beige and/or navy blue. I got the shirts on lock so I'm good there. But let's be honest, I'll be looking fly no matter what. (Ladies, y'all know what I'm talking bout...yeeaaaaaaaahhhhhhh)

I began this glorious Saturday by going to my scheduled photo shoot. I am not kidding. I seriously had a photo shoot this morning. In Walnut Creek, CA. See, prior to getting this job at the Firm (Paul, you're the man), I was desperate. I was on craigslist.com day and night looking for a job. I went into the section where people can participate in surveys or tests and be compensated for it. I saw that this company wanted people to appear in commercials for their product and if chosen, they would be paid. So, I signed up.

My ma had the idea to go looking for pants afterward in the local mall so she came with. I wore your standard blue jeans and a polo shirt. (Had to appear like I wasn't trying to hard but I still had my s*it together) It was in a nice brick building on a corner. I turned in my application to John and let the cameraman do his thing. Bada Boom Bada Bang and we were outta there.

We figured we would go to Macy's and see if we could find some relatively cheap pants there. Little did I know that we would be finding a great bargain. We walked into the men's department at 11:15 and the place was already packed. Seemed as if Contra Costa County's finest had been planning to come here for awhile. The sign that greeted the costumers said it all: "SALE".

Now, I'm not sure about you but from my own experience, both from observing others and acting on my own accord, we, as humans, love to hear this word.

Of course in this instance it happened to work out for us because we came here looking for something in particular. However, for those who don't have anything in mind, it proves to be a bit more damaging.

I got two pairs of pants. One standard beige dockers and one pair of linen pants. I won't inform you on how much we paid for them because I find it tasteless to go posting prices on the internet. If you really want to know, you can ask me. Don't get it wrong though. Both my ma and I are superb shoppers when it comes to price. Not only did we use the hell out of this Father's Day Sale, but my mom also had an additional discount. Don't worry about us, worry about yourselves.

The main thing I noticed or overheard throughout my Macy's journey was how people justified getting their clothes. Sure, some people actually needed an item or had something in mind, but most were just buying something because it was on sale. This is where Mr. King shakes his head.

This tends to also happen at the grocery store where your mom or pops will have bought something you usually don't get or get 5 of something you usually do. "Honey, why did you buy so much mayonnaise?" "Because it was on sale"

When it comes to retail, especially with women, it gets a little absurd. But all people in general will buy items they just don't need but because they saw that beloved "SALE" sign. Folks will buy jackets and equipment not necessary even for Sherpa's in Nepal but because it was on sale, they "had to".

That is the other general phrase I heard a lot of today. When there is a sale people feel they are doing a disservice to themselves, their family & friends, and even their country if they don't buy this sale item. I don't get it. The color or style of the item sometimes doesn't even strike the person as pretty or nice but because its on sale, they got it.

I don't have a wife or girlfriend, (although the application deadline has been extended through the end of July), but I imagine that this is going to become tough for me as I get older. Not necessarily because I will have restrain myself from buying sale items but because my female counterpart might. I could be wrong but I'm probably right. I encourage any and everyone to just try to control themselves when they see the "SALE" sign. Think about it before you buy it.

Just ask yourself this one question: are you getting the item more because you like it or

Ocean's 13 & The Grand Lake

First things first: I want my money back for Ocean's 12. That movie was easily one of the top 13 worst movies I've seen. I want money back for the ticket I bought, the gas I used driving to the theater, and the emotional damage done to me after being caught completely off guard by horribleness.

Went to the movies yesterday with my ma. It was real hot out so we decided to cool off by attending a matinée. Went to the Grand Lake Theater in Oakland. I encourage everyone to see a movie at this theater. The main theater downstairs is fantastic. The decor is very beautiful with a retro theatrical feel. In addition, a curtain rises as the movie begins. There is also a live Organ player on weekends. Not to mention the FREE popcorn to every customer seeing a movie Monday-Thursday, day or night, in the month of June.

As far as the third installment: better, but not that great. I think the 'Ocean's' series as whole is overrated. I enjoyed Ocean's 11 and although this one wasn't fantastic, it gets ranked #2. (Primarily by default. Hell, I would have given the nod to Little Man or The Lion King 1 1/2 before Ocean's 12) While watching this movie I noticed several aspects that made the film both good and bad.

Let's start at the top shall we? There is no other way to put it: Brad Pitt and George Clooney (jury still out on Matt Damon) are some cool cats. I am not gay (not that there is anything wrong with that) but they just got something going on in these movies. Their wardrobe, (suits rarely accompanied with a tie, give a casual yet suave and sophisticated look), poise, and demeanor are all very cool. I wasn't really feeling all the jokes in the movie but most of the others in the theater were. Not necessarily because they were funny but rather because it was Pitt and Clooney making them. I feel as if the other viewers knew the jokes were only sometimes comical but always laughed anyway because it was Pitt or Clooney delivering them.

This movie revolves around the similar premise of those that came before it: the gang gets together and robs someone. And in the process there are jokes, great disguises, and clever scenes and lines.

To be honest, I think part of me resents this movie because the producers and writers realize they can have a very predictable and simple plot and still make millions because of the cast. They can just get all these people together and figure the rest out later. However, I will admit that the cast is great especially those that aren't the 'stars' such as Casey Affleck and Scott Caan. Then you add Al Pacino AND get rid of Julia Roberts? Lovely.

13 provides little to no surprises and at times, is rather slow. There are no significant action or suspense moments but maybe that is the movie's M.O. Of course there are little funny things here or there but the movie is just based on wit and outsmarting someone else.

I am curtailing this entry because I have come the realization that I am not that big of a fan of these movies because I am jealous. Jealous that all these guys get paid for robbing hotels, wearing great outfits, filming in Vegas, and being cool, some super cool.

Who am I too judge these people on something that I would love to do. I'd take their job in a heartbeat.

Wouldn't you?

I Blame Myself Pt. 2

Note: If you have not read 'I Blame Myself Pt. I', I suggest you do so now. Otherwise, this entry will not be as good for you

Into Wal-Mart I walked. I was greeted with a "Hello, welcome to Wal-Mart" from a woman who looked well into her 70's. Unfortunately, the first thing to pop into my mind was: 'Damn, you are being exploited as we speak' Sad but true. I quickly responded with a 'Hi'.

My mom had told me that she was in the cereal isle right before I came into the store. Last time I checked, my mom told me she was coming to just get one item. That one item later turned out to be a scale but in the process of getting it, she managed to nearly fill her cart with "things for me". You ever been with your mom or dad and they tell you they are only going to get a few things but end up getting 1/4 of the store? Then, on top of all that, they say most of the items "are for you anyway". They spin it around on you and how much you eat. But half of the stuff in the cart is special adult diet food. You know, the reduced fat cookies, or the Progresso soup with half the calories.

As I entered the cereal isle, I saw my mom conversing with an Asian woman with a box of 'Kashi' cereal in her hand. I had no desire to enter this conversation nor did I want to be like Lurch and stand there so I just kept walking. I called my mom on her phone and said I was currently in Wal-Mart and going to look for a messenger bag.

Wal-Mart does not necessarily scream out 'orderly' or 'in control' so I decided to just start at one end of the store and just make my way across. I started in the Electronics department and as I made my way into the Women's section, I noticed some backpacks. OK, most of these backpacks had Dora The Explorer or SpongeBob on them, but I thought some other types of carrying bags would be near by. As I am looking, I notice a contingent of women around me and as I turn to look at them, I see that I am in the heart of panties land.

As I clearly had no daughter, mother, or sister with me, I came off a little suspect to these women. I didn't want to quickly leave for fear of looking real weird and as if I had just been caught or something, so I decided to walk around acting like I was shopping. I didn't know how to respond to all the women and girls looking at me so I just smiled. After getting two disdainful looks from two women, I got out of there after realizing that a 20 year old male who was perusing in the bra section, and smiling at every woman, was not a good idea.

At this point, I was regretting three things: 1) that I even entered Wal-Mart, 2) that I was in the women's underwear section and 3) that I didn't take any Claritin or Benadryl before I left the house.

Walking down the center isle that runs parallel to the cash registers I was constantly turning my head from left to right looking for some sign of a messenger bag. Of course the categories they have on the hanging signs rarely provide any clarification to the costumer. I was looking for a bar of soap one time and went down the "Hygiene" isle. I came across more Vagisil and Yeast Infection Remedies that could supply half the women in Reno, NV. Why can't they just have a sign that reads: "Things to wash your ass"? That sure would do the trick for me.

I didn't see any isle that stuck out to me but I backtracked to the "Luggage" isle thinking that I would have some luck there.

I'm looking through all the different bags for luggage when I hear an "excuse me" behind me. I turn around and see a woman who looks in her 40's standing there with her little kid.
"Do you know where I can find Transformers figures?" she asks.
"What?" I respond.
"Do you work here?"
"NO."
Here I was looking in the luggage section and this woman comes up to me asking where the transformers are. First off, this woman should have been in the TOY section. Next, why in the hell did she think I worked there? Maybe she got confused with what I was wearing and how it is similar to the Wal-Mart employees. I had PLAID SHORTS and a GREY T-SHIRT . Oh wait, the standard Wal-Mart attire is slacks and their trademark BLUE VEST.

I watched this woman walk away and while doing so I called my mom and told her I would be waiting for her in the car.

I Blame Myself Pt. I

After applying to The Harbor Bay Club (f*ck you), Knight's Catering Co. (f*ck you, too), and The Alameda Golf Course (big time f*ck you), I finally managed to obtain a job: an internship at a Law Firm in San Francisco. I'll be starting next week and I am real excited.

Last night I found out that the attire is 'business casual' so I am not too worried about what is in my closet. Aside from worrying about parking my car in the BART parking lot everyday and what exactly my position as an intern entails, I am pondering what type of bag or pack I am going to bring to work.

Let's be honest, a backpack is out of the question. (although I would be interested in revolutionizing the corporate world on some level) So, as a male, I am left with either a briefcase or a messenger bag. I don't want to over do it or seem as if I'm trying to hard so I think I will pass on the briefcase. A messenger bag it is.

Naturally, I looked at all my gift cards trying to find one I could use in this particular instance. I had gift cards for Tower Records (R.I.P.), Barnes & Noble, and The Sports Authority (formerly Sportsmart. Does anyone, including the company themselves, know why they changed their name to the f*cking Sports Authority?) I convinced myself that The Sports Authority was bound to have a messenger bag but I think its because I had a gift card there. Has anyone ever done this? Convince yourself that the store you have a gift card for has something that you KNOW they don't really have? Like you have a gift card to T.G.I. Friday's and you convince yourself there is an outside chance they have Birthday cards.

After I told my mom I was headed to get a messenger bag, she said she would go with me because she had to get one thing at Wal-Mart. One thing my ass.

Both stores were in the same complex so I went on my way and she on hers. I quickly learned that The Sports Authority (I really hate that name) does not carry what I was looking for and my mom convinced me to just meet her in Wal-Mart. At this point I was mad they didn't have what I was looking for, having a little allergy attack, and was entering a world of complete chaos...

The Sopranos Pt. 2

This, unlike the previous entry, is going to be a spoiler. So, if you DO NOT want The Sopranos ruined for you, stop reading. Now.

For those who want a detailed deconstruction of The Sopranos, they should check out Tim Goodman on sfgate.com

Fantastic? Horrible? Cheesy? Brilliant? How does one go about describing (their feelings) in regards to the ending? Well, when the scene abruptly cut to black without sound I immediately looked to the two guys with whom I was watching with for answers. I first glanced to the owner of the house (and TV). He had already picked up the remote faster than Doc Holiday drew his guns in Tombstone. He thought there was something wrong with the cable but then the credits began to air and we were all in shock.

For me, the shock was not necessarily from how it ended but that it ended. I refused the whole episode to check my watch. I didn't want to know, at any point, how much time was left in the episode and I was, and still am, thoroughly disappointed that the show is over.

I personally thought the whole episode was amazing. I would have preferred for it to be two or three hours but that is strictly for selfish reasons. I was curious to see how they could get through it all in just the one hour. But oh Mr. Chase.

Two parts particularly stood out: Phil Leotardo's murder, and the very last scene. Now, going into tonight's episode, I was wanting New Jersey prevail over New York, with Tony living and Phil dying. And when Phil was at the gas station with his daughter and grandchildren, I knew at least half of my wish would come true. He stepped out of the passenger seat and as soon as he closed the door... BAM! Right in the back of the f*cking head! He immediately crumbled to the ground. His daughter, horrified, began screaming and got out of the car with it still in Drive. The car began to roll slowly and within 5 second, the front right tire went DIRECTLY over Phil's head. (Sorry buddy, no open casket for you)

At this point in the night, I had my hands raised in the air like I had just knocked out my opponent and I was now the World Heavyweight Champion. Here I was, rooting for this man to be murdered, and now that he was, I was happy. Part of me feels bad for thinking this way but I had to choose a side (we always have to) and my mind was made up. Tony Soprano and the Jersey crew till the end.

Ah the ending. How tense was that last 5 minutes?. Tony by himself sitting in the restaurant. Carmela walking in. They discuss Carlo, a member of Tony's crew, and how he has been flipped. Then in walks AJ right behind a guy who looks like he is going to whack Tony. Meadow being unable to parallel-park. The two Black guys walk in, they are maybe going to hit Tony. Cut to black. The End.

The more I think about this ending, the more I love it. Some were expecting a huge bloodbath with Tony and/or Tony dying. Or Janice to kill Tony, or AJ. Or Tony to squeal to the Feds and be put in Witness protection. There were countless ways to end the show. But would any of them really satisfied? Could any ending really be fitting to such a show? There are bound to be several critiques over the ending and its abruptness and lack of closure. But the conflict at hand was solved: Jersey defeats New York. Phil dies, Tony is left standing. That is the story line we were all following.

Sure we want to know what is going to come of Carlo flipping and whether or not Tony is going to prison. Some are speculating that somebody might have shot him right as the scene ended. Others think it has been left ambiguous because a movie is in the future. AJ or Janice could still kill him. Tony could go to the Feds with hopes of reducing his prison sentence (think Johnny Sac)

Who really knows? Not me, and I think it's beautiful.

So this is my farewell to The Sopranos. The greatest television show of all time. I will miss thee dearly. Thanks for the numerous memories.

The Sopranos Pt. I

Now let me start by saying the following will not contain any spoiler information. If you are not fully caught up with the show, have no fear, I will not ruin anything for you.

I feel compelled to write something about The Sopranos because tonight is the last episode of the entire series.. The show made its debut in 1999 but I didn't start watching until the summer of 2006. My mom began watching them on DVD and she got me into it and I never looked back. When the summer ended and I left for my sophomore year, I had only finished watching the first two seasons. Once I got to school, I was able to check the DVD's out of my library but they only had up to season 4. I immediately joined netflix and literally put everything else on hold until I was caught up. At this point The Sopranos was my favorite show hands down. (Sorry to Will Smith and Fresh Prince, you're #2)

When the final 9 episodes aired, I borrowed a car every Sunday and drove 15 minutes off campus to watch the show at a friend's apartment. (Thanks a lot Shep). Recently, while at home and without HBO, I have watched it with the parent(s) of my friend's from high school. Without the friend. The friend's aren't into the show 'or don't have time' but fortunately for me, their parents do. And I was willing to watch the show anywhere with anyone and I have been lucky enough that they have welcomed me. (Thanks Bill & Candy and Paul)

The Sopranos isn't just for the young male or those into mobster films. There are countless aspects of the show that appeal to all kinds of people. Of course violent, the show is also very comical. Various family issues and dynamics are tackled along with therapy sessions, excessive amounts of food, a superb wardrobe, and lines that usually consist of at least one swear word. All of this is a result of the writing which, to say the least, is spectacular. I could carry on about the writing and its impact on the show, and television as whole, but I could not even begin to do it justice.

This show has gained a following throughout the world and now that it is coming to an end, several people are speculating how it will end and writing about it everywhere. From the San Francisco Chronicle, to CNN.com and MSN.com, everyone, loyal fan or not, is intrigued by its ending. I don't know how I made it from last week's episode until tonight but I did. And I cannot wait until 9P.M. this evening.

OK...Deep Breath...

The Wave

Oh the Bay Bridge. It is such a beautiful ride coming from Oakland into San Francisco. From the East Bay into S.F. you get to see the vast amounts of water, sailboats, and the Downtown area. Even if stuck in traffic, there are some positive aspects to it. Sadly, the same could not be said for the trip from S.F. to Oakland. Leaving S.F. provides the drivers with a minimal view and lots of construction work on the sides. I had to go to the San Francisco Italian Consulate to apply for my Visa and the office was only open from 1-3:30. I arrived at 2:30 thinking that nobody else would be there. As soon as I turned onto Webster St., I felt like I was back in line at AMC for Star Wars: Episode I. I didn't get to turn in my paper work until 4:45 (they took everyone still in line even if past 3:30) and by that time I was mentally preparing myself for rush hour traffic. I would have stayed in S.F. but I wanted to get home and watch the NBA Finals (HUGE MISTAKE).

I got on the Bay Bridge at 5:22. In the heart of Rush Hour. It was bumper to bumper getting home. I hadn't eaten lunch and was in a rather bad mood after the Visa process. While on the bridge it was clear that everyone was eager to get home. Everyone changing lanes, thinking that one is faster than the other. They go back and forth trying to get a leg up on everyone. There was this one car (there is always is that one guy) who refused to stay put. It's like going to a baseball game with a friend who doesn't really like the sport: they going 'wandering' or 'on an adventure' within the park but it turns out that everything is just the same but from different angles. ( Can anyone say Max Gibson?) I decided that this guy who was constantly changing lanes was on a mission to get home (or the early bird special at the strip club, who knows) and I was going to let him do his thing.

The guy went in and out of my lane three times and each time he refused to acknowledge my generosity. He didn't give me... The Wave. Y'all know what I'm talking bout. The nonchalant right hand thrown into the air after somebody else lets you in their lane or allows you to go before them. It's so easy and it does go a long way. Sure, I'm not overcome with happiness after receiving The Wave but damn, just like a husband coming home from a hard day's work looking for some sweet lovin', I am livid when I don't get it.

It really gets me riled up when everyone is waiting on the far right of the freeway to exit and there is that one prick who decides to cut everyone and get over at the last second. First off, one shouldn't be doing that and if they do, they should give The Wave and then some. Maybe they should have some candy or thank you notes to throw into people's window or something. I understand that sometimes people are lost and don't realize they should get off but most of the time it is some businessman jackass with a bluetooth headset and a pair of Tom Cruise 'Mission Impossible' sunglasses.

Look, all I am asking of all the drivers out there is this: if somebody allows you to go in front of them or lets you change lanes, just give them The Wave. It can go a long way. Trust me.

It's Official

Those god damn parking meters. I hate those things. They provide nothing good to anyone. Hating the parking meters makes me hate the meter maids. And I won't even begin to get started on that tiny little Fisher Price car they drive. However, my hatred and desire to not let 'Them' win (by giving me a parking ticket), led me to a realization. A very, very serious realization.

We've all got a ticket before. And we all remember that first moment we turned the corner and saw that little piece of paper on our windshield. Sometimes we put in no change at all and take the gamble. "They probably won't come by anyway." Or we put in the bear minimum of change offered; usually a nickel. That way we can tell others, after we receive the ticket, that we put change in the meter and "still got a ticket!". The worst is when you put as much money in the meter as it would allow and you still get a ticket. You begin to blame the meter and the city. "Why the f*ck do they only allow 2 hr? What kind of city is this?" Well, if they allowed three or four, you would be pitching a tent inside Trader Joe's and nobody else would be able to use your spot.

But how great is it when you go to put money in the meter and there is already time on there? (Gotta be one of the top 17 feelings out there) The person before you left early and now you are just overcome with joy. It can be 27 minutes or even 4. Either way, we are excited. We feel like we have been alloted time that otherwise wouldn't have existed. Sadly, some people don't really understand that this does not give you more time in the day but rather allows you to pay less.

As I said before, I was determined not to get a ticket. i parked my car at 2:10 for a 2:15 appointment. I was told that my appointment should be about 45 minutes at the doctor's office but I put in as much money as allowed. I went for the full 2hrs. I was golden until 4:10 but I got out of the office early (the doc was real good). I got back to my car at 2:55. What the hell am I suppose to do now? Well, the logical answer would be to just leave. But then the next person to pull in would get to park off my money! I didn't want to give them that silly grin that would overtake their face once they saw how much time the previous patient (ME) had given them. So I decided to stay.

Stay and do what you might ask. Well, absolutely nothing. I had no book nor radio. My car was recently broken into and they stole the radio and the $8.95 sunglasses I got from Rite Aid. So I sat there. Not wanting to 'waste' my money. Not wanting somebody to benefit from my money. Yep, sat in my car with the windows rolled down. Straight chillin. For 1hr and 15 minutes. Listened to my thoughts. Came up with different scenarios and would ask myself certain questions like "would my life be different if my name was Emanuel?" and "What ever happened to Richard Simmons?" Then the meter flashed red.

Once I started my engine to go home, it became official: I'm Jewish

I Have a Dream

While perusing through ESPN.com this afternoon, I was overcome with a desire to find out some of the most lucrative contracts in sports. I focused on the MLB because unlike, the NBA and NFL, there is no salary cap, and as a result, the contracts are larger.

Two players came to mind: Barry Zito and Alex Rodriguez. Zito is currently a pitcher with the San Francisco Giants while Rodriguez is the third baseman for the New York Yankees. In this past off-season Zito signed a seven-year, $126M contract. The largest ever for a pitcher. Alex Rodriguez, back in 2000, signed a ten-year, $252M contract. Let me repeat, TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY-TWO MILLION DOLLARS. Granted, Rodriguez might go down as one of, if not the greatest baseball players to ever live based on his accomplishments and stats. But sheesh, that is a lot of dough.

In 1947, the average salary for a baseball player was $11,000. Compare that to the average salary in 2007 of $2.94M. The amount of money that is being distributed to professional athletes is truly mind boggling.

Now, I do not protest professional sports nor do I claim that I am not interested in them. Quite the contrary. I consider myself a loyal and devoted professional sports fan who attends or watches sporting events regularly. And some of the things these men and women are able to do is truly fascinating and they should be monetarily rewarded. After all, it is their job. (And let's be frank, we all are after that dollar dollar bill anyway)

But I have a suggestion. A vision if you will. What if there existed a certain money limit that, after athletes signed, would obligate them to donate a fraction of it to charity or some type of good cause. If the bar was $75M or higher and the amount donated was .01 of the original contract amount. So a $75M contract would result in a $750,000 donation. A $100M contract a 1M donation. I know people do not like to be forced into things or told what to do (especially with their money) but this could be something special. I think the charity or those on the receiving end will be grateful, the athlete could feel good about himself(hopefully), and the public will feel good about it.

Off to Capitol Hill... Who's with me?

Dr. Phil and Co.

As I sat at home this afternoon flipping through channels, I couldn't help but notice a trend on television: most shows were aimed toward the nosy. I do not have a lot of channels (10 to be exact) and as a result, I do not watch a lot of TV. This afternoon I was particularly bored and was hoping something could entertain me. Although I had no such luck, I was hit with a realization.

Americans love seeing other people's information put on display. I am not talking about newspapers or even some magazines but rather the Judge shows and Dr. Phil.

On three of my ten channels at 12:30 this afternoon were judge shows. It was the same premise on each show: two people who know each other, one claims the other owes them money because of some moronic act, and wa-la, they are on TV. One thing really pops into my mind when watching these shows, who really watches them and why?

Part of me can understand the fixation with celebrity shows such as Access Hollywood or Extra. We are curious to see if our favorite celebrities have similar hobbies or go to certain places. We want to see their lavish lifestyle and for a split moment, we imagine our lives being the same... "Oh, what if.." But these judge shows are just ordinary, weird people. . We lie back on the couch and see the woman who reminds us of a co-worker or peer. We can see them argue with their former best friend over who was the rightful owner of the halter top with the words 'Baby's Mama' on it. We can make fun of the guy who attempted to 'dress up' for court by wearing a mechanics short-sleeve button down shirt with the name Hank on it (Always unclear whether that is his actual name. Shoot, still unclear if he is the actual owner of that shirt). The show centers around the two parties bickering with the judge periodically commenting to display his authority. It's just bad.

Fortunately, one has to wait only a few hours until America's favorite doctor airs. Good ol' Dr. Phil. First things first, what self-respecting doctor goes by his first name only? Is he trying to be a Madonna or Cher with a twist? Come on, man. Now, when I began to watch this show I wondered what kind of people want their personal business on TV? I understand some aren't as shy and reserved as others, but this is a little extreme. Also, what happens after the show? I cannot help but assume that Dr. Phil does not see all of his patients again unless he has a time-turner(see Harry Potter and Prisoner of Azkaban for details) I mean are we to assume that Dr. Phil cures these people in a one hour sit down sessions? I don't care if you broke your wrist or if you have a fetish for pigeon-toed French women with lazy eyes. EVERYONE needs a follow up appointment. This show does not add up to me on numerous levels. I don't understand why people want to watch this show either. Where is the entertainment is watching strangers discuss and go over their depression and life problems with a balder man worse than George Costanza who owns a thicker mustache than Magnum PI. Hell, you give me a fat paycheck and I'll buy some stools from IKEA and set up shop in my living room, then you tell me your problems and I will just throw some words at you and before anyone realizes I have no idea what I'm doing, I'll cut to commercial break.

I write about these shows because I feel that it is a waste of time. I have some suggestions next time you find yourself watching one of the aforementioned shows. Call an old friend, learn a new recipe, or even do some community service. (OK, scratch that last one. We both know that isn't going to happen. We say we'll do it, never get around to it. You know the routine)

Come on everyone, we are better than this.

Wait a minute, on second thought...

A Night To Remember

Now that I am done with my school year, I have been able to relax and not have to worry about exams and papers. Living in Oakland, I am rather close to a number of big colleges: UC Berkeley, Stanford, and Santa Clara to name a few. Although I am only about an hour away from UC Davis, I had never been but always wanted to visit. Well, yesterday, my wish was granted.

The evening began with my friend saying he had ordered a pizza and wanted me to come over and kick back and watch the Pistons vs. Lebron, excuse me, the Cavaliers. I headed over to his lovely abode in Berkeley not expecting to go anywhere. Upon arrival, he informed me that we might be going to UC Davis afterward. Whatever, I just wanted to watch basketball and eat pizza. I'll figure it out later. Following the game, I was on the fence about driving an hour to go to a place I had never been. But oh, the power of persuasion. Especially from a fast talking, super persuasive chap from Harvard named William. Before we actually got on the road, however, we had to make to stops to pick up two friends of his. They were of the female species, so no complaints from this guy. By the time we got on the real road, it was 10:07. Initially, the other three were real excited. Music was bumping, the excessive amounts of perfume and cologne were meshing well (although I gave my window a slight roll down), and I was comfortably full from the pizza earlier consumed. 15 minutes into the car road, I was ready for bed. I knew the other three weren't nearly as unenthusiastic as me so I had to play along. I would drop the occasional "Oh this is about to be super fun!" or "Good thing none of us have actual lives or families yet and can afford to take off in the middle of the night in hopes of getting ridiculously wasted and not being able to pronounce our own last name or remembering whether you currently own a frog named Stuart or not."

We arrived at our destination around 11:15 and as soon as I stepped out of the car I felt like Ron Burgundy after he jumped into the bear pit in Anchorman: "I immediately regret this decision." I could tell it was going to be a lackluster night and my heart wasn't in it from the get-go. But I couldn't be downer. I decided I wasn't going to participate in any extracurricular activities for the night but I kept insisting that 'I was still down to have SO much fun!' We were told that there 'wasn't much going on' that night. (Disclaimer: the 'not much going on tonight' is the oh-so-classic phrase for a college student to drop while hosting friends from other schools. They establish that the night could be a bust from the get so if it does turn out bad, they get credit for warning everyone and receive little to no criticism. As soon as you start to criticize him or the school, someone will jump in: "Hey bro, lighten up, he did warn us". Now, if the night turns out well, then he still gets credit for showing everyone a good time and since people weren't expecting much, its a surprise. Its a win-win for the host.) Some people took some shots of gin (i associate with classy individuals only) and we were on our way.

The campus is real big and spread out so we took a taxi to the party. I was real shocked by this because my school is so small and everyone walks everywhere. I was told that most of the time guys just bike to parties. Three things came to mind after hearing this: 1. Are you f*cking kidding me? 2. Can you get a D.U.I. on a bike? 3. What if you want to take a girl home at the end of the night? Do you have a 1950's style basket in the front she can ride in? Do you have her walk while you ride the bike slowly and awkwardly next to her trying not to gain too much speed while trying not to look like a jackass? But I digress. As soon as I stepped into the party I was hit by a heat wall comparable to that of Las Vegas after one steps onto the strip from a air conditioned hotel lobby. It was miserable. This night was turning into a disaster quicker than Rosie O'Donnell on The View. I figured I would set up camp near the refrigerator so I could occasionally open the freezer to cool myself off. After I opened it for a second time, I noticed something that could potentially save the night:Otterpops.

Shortly after I noticed this treasure, a police officer showed and began to break up the party. After he asked to see who lived at the apartment, I knew this would be my chance. Once the owner of the apartment came to speak to him, I would strike. As soon as they started talking, I went for it. I opened the freezer and began to have second thoughts but like Odysseus and his men at the island of the Sirens, I couldn't stop, I had to keep going. I reached for 'em and took 'em! VICTORY! My comrades and I left the party and this guy was a happy camper. I distributed the O-Pops (that's what we call them in the 'hood) to my friends and while doing so, I noticed that not only did I get the Pops, I also snagged an orange creme bar. Chalk that up as a W.

We eventually made our way back to my friends spot and we all went to bed. I was too excited to hit the hay. I was coming off one of the biggest heists UC Davis had ever seen. So as my peers dozed off, I grabbed the remote and celebrated in the only way I could. With style.I took my half melted orange creme bar and watched The Mummy on TNT.