Pics from Mix, The Zoo, & Getting Served!

First off, I finally have a few pics to put on this bad boy. The girl in the white shirt screaming at that lovely panda would be my friend Victoria, and the guy wearing the white shirt that says Billabong on it would be my amigo Justin, and Fat Joe could be recognized by Stevie Wonder. I do apologize for being blessed in these pics with eyes as red as Ron Howard's hair. Now, I have a story to tell about getting served. It was bound to happen and on Saturday I had a serving that was reminiscent of Omarion's dance team (this would be, of course, in reference to the epic film "You Got Served", which is the most hilarious movie I have ever seen...ever) getting served in a dance-off battle for neighborhood supremacy. After getting beaten down in the battle of the fittest, the other dance team lets them know "That You Got Served!" http://www.sonypictures.com/homevideo/yougotserved/ This was probably how the caveman and barbarians determined the outcomes of their vicious battles as well.

So I went out to play ball on Saturday with two comrades from work, who took me out to Tsinghua Science Park where we were supposed to meet up with like fifteen other dudes. As soon as we got there it started to rain, and then thunder, and then rain and thunder. This was serving number one. Determined to play hoops no matter what we continued our quest to the gymnasium, where we were told that this gym was closed to us because of Olympic hoopla. Serving dos. We were instructed to go to the campus's other gym, and when we finally got there, we found out that the gym was booked all day long. A third helping of getting served was thrown our way, but this time we fought back with a break dance that Omarion himself would applaud. We saw that these older men that looked like crustaceans from the Mesozoic Era with jerseys on were methodically entering the gym. One of them, whose front teeth were so far apart that you could kick a fifty yard field goal through the uprights, looked like a stand-up dude who might speak some English (and he did), and I explained our tragic plight to him and how all we wanted to do was play ball, and this kind-hearted dinosaur waved us in.

When in the gym, I was licking my chops thinking about how many points, rebounds, dimes, and swats I would be collecting in the coming hours. I felt bad for the crustaceans, but this was my court. And then it happened... the two biggest Chinese people I have ever seen in person stormed through the gates into the gym I had previously claimed. Both were at least six-foot six, and they were not nearly as old as the other guys. One was in his thirties, the other probably forty. Twenty minutes later I was guarding the younger mammoth (who I later found out was a former professional basketball player), and he just flat out ate my lunch. He put the ball in my face, and when I pawed at it, would lift it up like a crane, and drain jumpers in my grill. The worst part is, the guy was a total jerk. The kinda guy that as you're walking down the street and say, "Hey, how's it going?" He barks back, "Do I know you?" So, no he did not take it easy on me, and it was as if he was trying to send me the message, "this is my gym and never come back!" I mean, he would let me drive by him, and as I was about to lay it up he would come out of nowhere and blast my shot into the top row and then point his finger in my face. In the four games we played he easily outscored me at a 4:1 clip, and he was constantly pointing at me, for some strange reason. After we finally finished, and I was a beaten man, I went to shake his hand and he gave me the Heisman. This would be serving four, five, and six.

My body today is beaten like a drum today. Not only was I taken to the woodshed by an ex-pro, but I used every ounce of energy in my body because I really did not want to get embarrassed in the prescence of co-workers: I dove for lose balls on the ground; ran up an down the court like a chicken with its head cut-off; and gave everything I had for a gain of absolute zero. So, after having dinner with the Filipino hotel singer at the Westin, later that evening (who I met in a random way that I might explain somewhere down the road), I decided to watch the Indiana Jones movie instead of going out with my friends to a fiesta. This would be serving number seven. Harrison Ford, I just don't know what to say. Hans Solo and Indiana Jones were two icons that I have admired and respected for years, but you just send fedoras and whips back to the stone age. Please retire. I will even make a deal with you. I will not go back to that gym and get embarrassed again for America, if you promised not to make another Indiana Jones. Deal?

Well that's all folks. As I types this post some fifteen hours away my brethren are enjoying Cheech and Larry's Flip Cup Extravaganza. Flip one for me fellas.

served but not surrendering,

Matthew