“You speak pretty good for an Asian,”
is what I heard surrounded by las montañas in Montana,
the air more frigid than the glare of a jilted lover,
the snowy peaks sharp and steep like hoods.
“You speak pretty good,”
is what he actually said.
I added the extra prepositional phrase (that he implied),
but I still didn’t know where the restrooms were.
I wanted to say to him
with the vitriol of a burning cross,
that blacks and latinos,
and jews and assorted asians, for that matter,
are not the only minorities.
There are homosexuals, and the sterile,
the biology majors,
the policewomen,
the entomologists,
the yoga teachers and zookeepers
and chimney sweepers.
How many of those do you know?
We are all minorities in some form.
And that is why we congregate;
We want to be left alone,
but we don’t want to be alone
against-
the majority who doubt our abilities,
our ability to work,
to drive and to jump,
to speak.
But I will not be silenced by a stereotype.
I will speak, and I will speak well,
and I will speak loudly and use big words,
like gregarious and gesticulate
because they sound pretty good to me,
and are relevant when I speak.
So when you say to me,
“You speak pretty good [for and Asian],”
It is neither socially,
nor politically
nor grammatically
correct,
but I’ll let it slide -
since it’s technically correct,
ain’t it?
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Friday, February 25, 2011
Dr. Dre - I Need A Doctor (Explicit) ft. Eminem, Skylar Grey
Hm, Dre's new song has some serious undertones of gayness to it.
"All I see is Slim
Fuck all you fairweather friends
All I need is him."
It's obviously not a big deal, but I mean, "All I need is him" sounds pretty intimate, even for BFFs.
And if you're unsure if Dre's gay or not, I also have his new lyrics, fresh off the track:
"My name is Dr. Dre,
I'm a G, as in gay.
Lookin' out for me to get equal rights one day."
Good shit, Dre. Good shit.
Monday, December 20, 2010
Vegas in Parts 1
I haven’t actually been able to describe my daily goings on in a long time. It takes a certain determination, a certain drive to blog about yourself on a regular basis. In high school, or younger, that drive stems from the emotions of growing up, angst channeled into words, digitalized for the world to see (but in reality it’s just your 4-5 friends).
But I just went to Las Vegas.
So here it goes.
I took the bus from San Jose to Westminster Thursday morning. I got picked up by Brian when I got there, and we hung out for an hour or two before I had to get dropped off at Naman’s, where’d I’d be spending the night. I noticed a few things about Orange County as the bus pulled into its Bolsa Avenue stop (Xe Do Hoang is kinda awesome).
Primarily, the traffic is monstrously more coagulated than in San Jose. I make this observation every time I come down to sunny southern California (the land of fame and excess. Am I gonna fit in?), but it still boggles my mind how many people, and as an extension, cars are here. I have said often that the only thing stopping me from settling down in SoCal is the crowdedness of the place. It’s crowded from coast to Inland Empire, from Pomona to San Diego, and that’s just not my scene.
The second thing I noticed was that in fewer than 24 hours, I would be in Vegas, but for now, I’d have to settle for Orange, California.
Eventually, Naman and I went shopping. Apparently we needed slacks, and I needed to buy dress shoes. Dressy shoes are key to get into classy clubs. Lesson learned. We also went to Costco in order to pick up a few things, namely alcohol and…alcohol.
“We have tow handles of Captain Morgan so far, Jen,” Naman said to our group’s de facto planner. “I know you like Crown, so should we get it? Also, we want beer. It’s a 36 pack and it’s Costco so…yeah, cheap beer?”
“I don’t think you’re gonna want beer,” she told us. “You’re going to want to drink fast and get to the clubs.”
Naman and I looked at each other. No beer? As far as college students are concerned, that’s blasphemy, but we acquiesced. We also got that handle of Crown Royal because more alcohol is always (not really, don’t think like that) a good thing. So off we went back to Naman’s house, to watch the Denver Nuggets game before heading to sleep. To be honest, I couldn’t have asked for a better pre-Vegas lull. Good basketball and a full night’s rest before we jumped into the neon-lit abyss in the desert.
But I just went to Las Vegas.
So here it goes.
I took the bus from San Jose to Westminster Thursday morning. I got picked up by Brian when I got there, and we hung out for an hour or two before I had to get dropped off at Naman’s, where’d I’d be spending the night. I noticed a few things about Orange County as the bus pulled into its Bolsa Avenue stop (Xe Do Hoang is kinda awesome).
Primarily, the traffic is monstrously more coagulated than in San Jose. I make this observation every time I come down to sunny southern California (the land of fame and excess. Am I gonna fit in?), but it still boggles my mind how many people, and as an extension, cars are here. I have said often that the only thing stopping me from settling down in SoCal is the crowdedness of the place. It’s crowded from coast to Inland Empire, from Pomona to San Diego, and that’s just not my scene.
The second thing I noticed was that in fewer than 24 hours, I would be in Vegas, but for now, I’d have to settle for Orange, California.
Eventually, Naman and I went shopping. Apparently we needed slacks, and I needed to buy dress shoes. Dressy shoes are key to get into classy clubs. Lesson learned. We also went to Costco in order to pick up a few things, namely alcohol and…alcohol.
“We have tow handles of Captain Morgan so far, Jen,” Naman said to our group’s de facto planner. “I know you like Crown, so should we get it? Also, we want beer. It’s a 36 pack and it’s Costco so…yeah, cheap beer?”
“I don’t think you’re gonna want beer,” she told us. “You’re going to want to drink fast and get to the clubs.”
Naman and I looked at each other. No beer? As far as college students are concerned, that’s blasphemy, but we acquiesced. We also got that handle of Crown Royal because more alcohol is always (not really, don’t think like that) a good thing. So off we went back to Naman’s house, to watch the Denver Nuggets game before heading to sleep. To be honest, I couldn’t have asked for a better pre-Vegas lull. Good basketball and a full night’s rest before we jumped into the neon-lit abyss in the desert.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Flurry
Snowflakes are all different, he was told, unique. So here he was, in traffic, looking at the snow falling lightly on his car window. Dad was driving, and mom was asleep, her seat reclined more than slightly. Her blanket was fleece, a present she had received only a few months ago on her birthday. Of course, not many adult women would appreciate a Pokemon fleece blanket with "I choose you!" strewn across obnoxiously, but for a mother, any gift from her son was worth more than humiliation.
The heater was noisily blowing from this rackety, old car, but he was used to it now. Dad bought this car before he was born, so he grew up with it, like an old dog. You don't get rid of dogs because of their oldness. Like snowflakes, no two dogs are the same, he thought. He never had a dog, but that didn't mean he didn't love animals.
"How come we don't have a dog, daddy?" he asked. His father honked his horn curtly for the car in front of them to move with the already slothlike traffic.
"I don't think you would be able to take care of it," was daddy's reply. "Plus, your mom hates animals."
"Then why do I like you?" his mom replied without skipping a beat, eyes still closed.
"Would you like to drive?"
"Yes, but my exhaustion is holding me back. It's a good thing you're doing expert driving, though, especially when we're whizzing through at fifteen miles an hour."
"I bet if people in front of us knew you were tailing them, they'd drive away much faster."
"But if I were driving, we'd keep up," she replied, opening one eye.
"When you drive, I don't have the luxury of sleep."
She laughed. "Well, when you drive..."
He stopped listening to his parents talk. He didn't understand most of it anyways, and quite frankly, the snowflakes on his window were a lot more interesting. When he looked at them closely, nose pressed on the cold glass, he could see the intricate designs. They looked like mini versions of the ones he had to cut up in class.
"Mommy," he asked, "When God makes snowflakes, does he make each of them one at a time? 'Cause they're all different, right? So how does he know he didn't copy one on accident?"
There was a pause before his mom answered. She sat up and turned around to look at her young son. She left the seat down, though, so he could see her.
"Well, sweetie, God doesn't make mistakes. He remembers everything, even snowflakes that he made billions of years ago, so no two snowflakes are the same. It's like people, honey. No two people are the same."
"What about twins?"
"Twins look the same, but you know they have different names, and they have different things they like, right? Like you and your sister."
"Why can't snowflakes look the same, but be different?"
"Maybe they are, honey. If they are, God wanted them to be like that."
He stopped to think about it for a second, and decided that he was satisfied with that answer. Mom lifted the bar on the right side of the seat to let it go back to its normal position. Now sitting up with her fleece blanket on her lap, she opened the book she was reading before she fell asleep.
"Mommy, I have to go pee-pee," said a voice in the back left seat a few minutes later, behind his dad. He was so engrossed in his snowflakes that he had forgotten that his sister was there.
He had to go, too, he realized. He went just before they left, but he had forgotten that he needed to go again.
"Me too," he piped in.
"Didn't you guys go before we left?" dad asked as he glanced in the rearview mirror.
"Yeah, but we have to go again," his sister said.
"Can you hold it in for a few more minutes, honey?" his mom asked her. "Once we get out of these mountains we'll get dinner and you can go then, okay?"
He and his sister looked at each other.
"Yeah, we'll wait."
His mom chortled and turned around, muttering, "Like peas in a pod."
He didn't get it, but he thought that it had something to do with him and his sister. His dad usually said a lot of things he didn't understand, but his mom didn't do it a lot. She was usually very straightforward and understanding with them. They were never scared of her unless they did something bad. Sometimes, though, his dad was scary even though they didn't do anything. Mom said that it was because work was hard for him, and it wasn't their fault. Once mom made dad say sorry to them, but he didn't need to. They knew that he loved them.
He went back to his window and pressed his warm nose against the cold window.
"Daddy?" his sister asked, now that she was awake, "How come we can't have a dog?"
His dad just laughed.
"Because you guys can't take care of a dog. You can barely pee at the right times, let alone know when a dog needs to pee."
"But if we promised to take care of it, can we get one?" she pleaded.
"No, Winona. You're not getting any pets."
"But what if we promised?" he asked, trying to help out his sister's cause, which was very obviously his cause too.
"Daddy said no, already," mom said to them sternly. "Plus, I don't like animals."
"That's why you have low self-esteem?" his father asked.
"Just drive."
They both laughed.
After another twenty minutes without talking, the only noises coming from the heater and the ruffling of the pages from mom's book, they stopped for dinner. They parked in front of a McDonald's, and got out.
"I'll take them to the bathroom, Vern. You go ahead and order."
"What do you guys want?" dad asked as they were walking toward the door.
"Can I get the toy?" his sister asked. "It's Fatcat!"
"Winston, do you want one too?" his mom asked.
"I'm okay," Winston replied. "We can share."
"You're such a good boy," his dad said.
"I don't want one anymore!" Winona said as they walked in.
Winston smiled. "Okay, I'll have it!"
"Are you gonna share?" she asked.
"Maybe."
"Fine. Can we both have it, daddy?"
Their parents were talking about something they didn't understand before she interrupted.
"Sure," he replied, making his way toward the register.
Mom grabbed their hands. "Let's go to the bathroom, now, babies."
"I don't need to go anymore," Winston said.
"We're not babies!" Winona said at the same time. "We're almost eight years old!"
"Wait, one thing at a time now," mom said. They had stopped walking and were almost at the doors where they had just entered.
"You just said you needed to go! How about you, Winona. Do you need to go?"
Winona looked up into her head, clearly thinking as hard as she could.
"Um..."
"Well, do you?" mom asked.
"No, not really."
"Why did you guys say you needed to go when yo-"
She was interrupted by the doors opening loudly with bells jingling. She jumped up a little, startled. That's funny, Winston thought, I don't remember the bells before. But before he could say anything, he caught eye of the man who just walked in.
The man was tall, taller than his dad, and fat. He had a white beard and red suspenders. If he wore red pants, he would look just like Santa.
"You look like Santa!" Winona said as Winston thought that.
"Winona!" mom scolded. She was still holding their hands, but she was also still very commanding when she had to be.
"I'm very, very sorry, sir. My daughter is very outspoken, even when she shouldn't be."
The man laughed a deep, rich laugh, matched only by his voice.
"It's okay, little Winona. I get that a lot. It's my beard, I think." He laughed again, and the only thing the twins and their mom could do was laugh nervously along before he continued toward the register. Dad passed him on the way toward his family and glanced quickly.
"Is it me, or does that guy look like Santa?" he said to his family, still standing near the entrance.
"That's what I said!" exclaimed Winona.
The pseudo-Santa turned around as he heard that and laughed his potbellied laugh again before he ordered his food.
"What did I say about yelling, Winona!" mom scolded again as they made their way to a booth.
"Nothing, mommy. You just said my name!"
"I meant last time. Remember? I said that if you yelled in public, people would think you're not a good girl. They'll think you scream at everything, like an ani-"
"Like a dog?" Winston asked.
She turned around to look at him. "Yes, Winston. Like a dog, except it's okay for dogs to do it, but not for little boys and girls."
Dad got up and got the food then, setting it on the table.
"Are we talking about dogs again?" he asked as he split up the food. "What did I say before? We're not getting a dog. Got it?"
The twins just nodded and began to eat their food.
---------------
To be continued...
The heater was noisily blowing from this rackety, old car, but he was used to it now. Dad bought this car before he was born, so he grew up with it, like an old dog. You don't get rid of dogs because of their oldness. Like snowflakes, no two dogs are the same, he thought. He never had a dog, but that didn't mean he didn't love animals.
"How come we don't have a dog, daddy?" he asked. His father honked his horn curtly for the car in front of them to move with the already slothlike traffic.
"I don't think you would be able to take care of it," was daddy's reply. "Plus, your mom hates animals."
"Then why do I like you?" his mom replied without skipping a beat, eyes still closed.
"Would you like to drive?"
"Yes, but my exhaustion is holding me back. It's a good thing you're doing expert driving, though, especially when we're whizzing through at fifteen miles an hour."
"I bet if people in front of us knew you were tailing them, they'd drive away much faster."
"But if I were driving, we'd keep up," she replied, opening one eye.
"When you drive, I don't have the luxury of sleep."
She laughed. "Well, when you drive..."
He stopped listening to his parents talk. He didn't understand most of it anyways, and quite frankly, the snowflakes on his window were a lot more interesting. When he looked at them closely, nose pressed on the cold glass, he could see the intricate designs. They looked like mini versions of the ones he had to cut up in class.
"Mommy," he asked, "When God makes snowflakes, does he make each of them one at a time? 'Cause they're all different, right? So how does he know he didn't copy one on accident?"
There was a pause before his mom answered. She sat up and turned around to look at her young son. She left the seat down, though, so he could see her.
"Well, sweetie, God doesn't make mistakes. He remembers everything, even snowflakes that he made billions of years ago, so no two snowflakes are the same. It's like people, honey. No two people are the same."
"What about twins?"
"Twins look the same, but you know they have different names, and they have different things they like, right? Like you and your sister."
"Why can't snowflakes look the same, but be different?"
"Maybe they are, honey. If they are, God wanted them to be like that."
He stopped to think about it for a second, and decided that he was satisfied with that answer. Mom lifted the bar on the right side of the seat to let it go back to its normal position. Now sitting up with her fleece blanket on her lap, she opened the book she was reading before she fell asleep.
"Mommy, I have to go pee-pee," said a voice in the back left seat a few minutes later, behind his dad. He was so engrossed in his snowflakes that he had forgotten that his sister was there.
He had to go, too, he realized. He went just before they left, but he had forgotten that he needed to go again.
"Me too," he piped in.
"Didn't you guys go before we left?" dad asked as he glanced in the rearview mirror.
"Yeah, but we have to go again," his sister said.
"Can you hold it in for a few more minutes, honey?" his mom asked her. "Once we get out of these mountains we'll get dinner and you can go then, okay?"
He and his sister looked at each other.
"Yeah, we'll wait."
His mom chortled and turned around, muttering, "Like peas in a pod."
He didn't get it, but he thought that it had something to do with him and his sister. His dad usually said a lot of things he didn't understand, but his mom didn't do it a lot. She was usually very straightforward and understanding with them. They were never scared of her unless they did something bad. Sometimes, though, his dad was scary even though they didn't do anything. Mom said that it was because work was hard for him, and it wasn't their fault. Once mom made dad say sorry to them, but he didn't need to. They knew that he loved them.
He went back to his window and pressed his warm nose against the cold window.
"Daddy?" his sister asked, now that she was awake, "How come we can't have a dog?"
His dad just laughed.
"Because you guys can't take care of a dog. You can barely pee at the right times, let alone know when a dog needs to pee."
"But if we promised to take care of it, can we get one?" she pleaded.
"No, Winona. You're not getting any pets."
"But what if we promised?" he asked, trying to help out his sister's cause, which was very obviously his cause too.
"Daddy said no, already," mom said to them sternly. "Plus, I don't like animals."
"That's why you have low self-esteem?" his father asked.
"Just drive."
They both laughed.
After another twenty minutes without talking, the only noises coming from the heater and the ruffling of the pages from mom's book, they stopped for dinner. They parked in front of a McDonald's, and got out.
"I'll take them to the bathroom, Vern. You go ahead and order."
"What do you guys want?" dad asked as they were walking toward the door.
"Can I get the toy?" his sister asked. "It's Fatcat!"
"Winston, do you want one too?" his mom asked.
"I'm okay," Winston replied. "We can share."
"You're such a good boy," his dad said.
"I don't want one anymore!" Winona said as they walked in.
Winston smiled. "Okay, I'll have it!"
"Are you gonna share?" she asked.
"Maybe."
"Fine. Can we both have it, daddy?"
Their parents were talking about something they didn't understand before she interrupted.
"Sure," he replied, making his way toward the register.
Mom grabbed their hands. "Let's go to the bathroom, now, babies."
"I don't need to go anymore," Winston said.
"We're not babies!" Winona said at the same time. "We're almost eight years old!"
"Wait, one thing at a time now," mom said. They had stopped walking and were almost at the doors where they had just entered.
"You just said you needed to go! How about you, Winona. Do you need to go?"
Winona looked up into her head, clearly thinking as hard as she could.
"Um..."
"Well, do you?" mom asked.
"No, not really."
"Why did you guys say you needed to go when yo-"
She was interrupted by the doors opening loudly with bells jingling. She jumped up a little, startled. That's funny, Winston thought, I don't remember the bells before. But before he could say anything, he caught eye of the man who just walked in.
The man was tall, taller than his dad, and fat. He had a white beard and red suspenders. If he wore red pants, he would look just like Santa.
"You look like Santa!" Winona said as Winston thought that.
"Winona!" mom scolded. She was still holding their hands, but she was also still very commanding when she had to be.
"I'm very, very sorry, sir. My daughter is very outspoken, even when she shouldn't be."
The man laughed a deep, rich laugh, matched only by his voice.
"It's okay, little Winona. I get that a lot. It's my beard, I think." He laughed again, and the only thing the twins and their mom could do was laugh nervously along before he continued toward the register. Dad passed him on the way toward his family and glanced quickly.
"Is it me, or does that guy look like Santa?" he said to his family, still standing near the entrance.
"That's what I said!" exclaimed Winona.
The pseudo-Santa turned around as he heard that and laughed his potbellied laugh again before he ordered his food.
"What did I say about yelling, Winona!" mom scolded again as they made their way to a booth.
"Nothing, mommy. You just said my name!"
"I meant last time. Remember? I said that if you yelled in public, people would think you're not a good girl. They'll think you scream at everything, like an ani-"
"Like a dog?" Winston asked.
She turned around to look at him. "Yes, Winston. Like a dog, except it's okay for dogs to do it, but not for little boys and girls."
Dad got up and got the food then, setting it on the table.
"Are we talking about dogs again?" he asked as he split up the food. "What did I say before? We're not getting a dog. Got it?"
The twins just nodded and began to eat their food.
---------------
To be continued...
Thursday, October 28, 2010
NBA
After reading the predictions from the staff of HoopsHype.com,I decided to make my own predictions, so I can look back and brag, or forget forever. Here it goes:
Defensive Player of the Year: Dwight Howard
As the only player in history ever to lead the NBA in FG%, rebounds and blocked shots twice in a row, the defending defensive MVP has an advantage: we know he's the best defender already. You can't use stats to calculate MVP, since crappy teams have awesome players way too often, but for DMVP? Yeah, those stats pretty much translate to D12's defensive godliness. Of course, it's deeper than that. When Dwight's in the game, offenses fear him. Hell, when I watch a Magic game, I try not to even look in the lane, just in case. His footwork's always improving, and that shows in how quick his rotations are. He changes shots by being Dwight Howard. His shoulders are the size of my head on a bad hair day, and for shit's sake, he's won it twice in a row. No one in the history of the NBA has won it three times, but if anyone could, it'd be D12...But if he doesn't win it for some cosmically unfathomable reason, Rajon Rondo will. If Dwight Howard is #1 on D, Rajondo is #1.5. He lead a Chris Paul-less league in steals, but something tells me CP3 won't be able to keep up in that category. Consider CP3's steal-champion title stolen.
Other players to consider: Rajon Rondo, Chris Paul, LeBron James, Josh Smith, Gerald Wallace
Sixth Man: Mike Miller
I hate the guy, for reasons I still don't understand, but he's in the perfect position to win this award. Miami has PG issues (Carlos Arroyo barely deserves to breathe next to the talent with which he shares the court), so look for Lebron to run the point and Miller to play significant minutes as SF. This will allow Miami its most potent lineup, and both Wade and James will be able to feed it to Miller all day. Usually players who win this award are known for shooting, e.g. Crawford, Manu, Barbosa, etc. Miller, as a player, is only good for that. That's probably why I don't like him. He has size, but can only shoot. Such a waste of a good body (that sounds weird).
Others: Jamal Crawford, Hakim Warrick, Manu, one of the Philly guards (Lou Williams/Evan Turner/Jrue Holiday)
Coach of the Year: Stan van Gundy
He runs a tight outfit, and I don't mean his turtlenecks (which, incidentally, he can't wear anymore). I don't want to say he's the most dedicated coach in the NBA, because he's probably not, but when he coaches games, he's coaching every second of it. The guy never gives up. It's admirable, and so far, overlooked for far too long. The Magic are going to make a deep playoff run yet again, and you can thank Dwight Howard or Rashard Lewis (don't) or Vince (I'm not even going to finish this) or their bench (but who developed them?), and you'd be missing the most important part of this Magic team. SVG is the master of panic, because he's also a master of winning. Don't forget that, and don't forget that no other coach coaches for the whole 48 minutes more energetically than SVG.
Others: Jerry Sloan, Phil Jackson, Erik Spoelstra, Keith Smart (haha I wish/hope)
Rookie of the Year: Blake Griffin
I don't think it will be much of a contest. Blake has otherworldly athleticism and he attacks the rim in a way that can only be described as a one-man blitzkrieg. It's probably going to get him injured, but you know what? I don't care. He is the best player playing in his rookie season. "What about John Wall?" you ask. Well, what about him? I'll admit that recently, guards have been winning more ROY awards (minus Okafer and Durant), but Wall's talents don't really separate him from other ROY guards. Maybe he'll develop into the all-star player we think he will, (Roy, CP3, DRose and Tyfreak are definitely in that category), but compared to their abilities before they played, Wall just doesn't seem like he can come close. Griffin, though, stands out like a motherfreakin' sore thumb while playing video games. He has LeBron athleticism with Garnett's tenacity. And that's the type of analogy a ROY will need.
Others: John Wall, Evan Turner, Tiago Splitter, Demarcus Cousins
Most Improved Player of the Year: JJ Hickson
LBJ's departure created a hole in the Cavs' rotation that Hickson can fill. He's going to be starting at PF, and if Jamison starts playing like his old self, Byron Scott is smart enough to start him at SF, ahead of Moon. Thus, Hickson is primed for more minutes, and thus, more "improvement."
Others: DJ Augustin, Wesley Matthews, Hakim Warrick, Mike Conley, Dorell Wright, Elton Brand (you heard it here first!) and Deandre Jordan (I like the guy, okay?)
MVP: LeBron James
I feel like the only reason why he wouldn't win would be because the media loves to hype Kevin Durant. Granted, Durantula is an MVP-calibre player, but in the wake of "The Decision," people seem to have forgotten how not-close the voting was between LeBron and KD last year. There was some talk of LBJ being the first unanimous MVP ever. That's how dominant he was. KD? Compared to the monster (regular) season LeBron had, KD's MVP campaign was cute, like sandbox cute, pogs cute, Pokemon cards cute. Sure, he's gotten better, and after the Worlds Tournament, he's become insanely popular among the media. But in the end, LBJ pretty much means MVP.
Others to consider: Kevin Durant, Dwight Howard, Dwyane Wade, Kobe Bryant
NBA Playoffs (East Finals): Miami and Orlando
Boston can't keep up with the Magic at their best, despite what happened last year. They only added size, but their injuries are getting way too frequent as they get older. Last year, it was okay, and they even meant to take more rest, but they're just getting too old. And they're even older this year, with the O'neals playing at center. The only way they can beat Orlando is if Rondo plays at an MVP level, because quite frankly, Orlando's bench is younger and better than Boston's, and that will be the difference maker. Oh, and Dwight Howard too. Miami gets there without incident. They may have trouble with Chicago, but eh, I'm not convinced DRose can facilitate enough to lead a team, even one with so many more options now in Boozer and Korver. Noah's going to be a force, though, so look out.
NBA Playoffs (West Finals): Lakers and Thunder
The only others we can expect to see are the Mavs and Rockets. Mavs are too old, though, and Rockets are too Yao. In case that was lost in translation, it means injury-prone. A team with Scola as the leading scorer isn't going very far, no matter how scrappy they play, and trust me, without Yao's security in the air (not his vertical, just his reach), the Rockets play a very, very scrappy game. Except Scrappy doesn't get you to the Conference Finals. Skill does.
Speaking of lack of skill, if the Mavs had all their players in their prime (Kidd, Marion, Butler and Dirty Dirk? Yikes), then they would be title contenders every year. Sadly, even Cuban can't afford those players in their prime, so they get shells of All-stars. And while they have talent, it's closer to a shell of their former talent, and shells don't get you to the Conference Finals. Kevin Durant does. And he will.
Finals: Lakers and Miami
I haven't decided who's gonna win yet, but I don't think I care. It's going to be too fun to watch/I'm hella tired of writing. =___=
Defensive Player of the Year: Dwight Howard
As the only player in history ever to lead the NBA in FG%, rebounds and blocked shots twice in a row, the defending defensive MVP has an advantage: we know he's the best defender already. You can't use stats to calculate MVP, since crappy teams have awesome players way too often, but for DMVP? Yeah, those stats pretty much translate to D12's defensive godliness. Of course, it's deeper than that. When Dwight's in the game, offenses fear him. Hell, when I watch a Magic game, I try not to even look in the lane, just in case. His footwork's always improving, and that shows in how quick his rotations are. He changes shots by being Dwight Howard. His shoulders are the size of my head on a bad hair day, and for shit's sake, he's won it twice in a row. No one in the history of the NBA has won it three times, but if anyone could, it'd be D12...But if he doesn't win it for some cosmically unfathomable reason, Rajon Rondo will. If Dwight Howard is #1 on D, Rajondo is #1.5. He lead a Chris Paul-less league in steals, but something tells me CP3 won't be able to keep up in that category. Consider CP3's steal-champion title stolen.
Other players to consider: Rajon Rondo, Chris Paul, LeBron James, Josh Smith, Gerald Wallace
Sixth Man: Mike Miller
I hate the guy, for reasons I still don't understand, but he's in the perfect position to win this award. Miami has PG issues (Carlos Arroyo barely deserves to breathe next to the talent with which he shares the court), so look for Lebron to run the point and Miller to play significant minutes as SF. This will allow Miami its most potent lineup, and both Wade and James will be able to feed it to Miller all day. Usually players who win this award are known for shooting, e.g. Crawford, Manu, Barbosa, etc. Miller, as a player, is only good for that. That's probably why I don't like him. He has size, but can only shoot. Such a waste of a good body (that sounds weird).
Others: Jamal Crawford, Hakim Warrick, Manu, one of the Philly guards (Lou Williams/Evan Turner/Jrue Holiday)
Coach of the Year: Stan van Gundy
He runs a tight outfit, and I don't mean his turtlenecks (which, incidentally, he can't wear anymore). I don't want to say he's the most dedicated coach in the NBA, because he's probably not, but when he coaches games, he's coaching every second of it. The guy never gives up. It's admirable, and so far, overlooked for far too long. The Magic are going to make a deep playoff run yet again, and you can thank Dwight Howard or Rashard Lewis (don't) or Vince (I'm not even going to finish this) or their bench (but who developed them?), and you'd be missing the most important part of this Magic team. SVG is the master of panic, because he's also a master of winning. Don't forget that, and don't forget that no other coach coaches for the whole 48 minutes more energetically than SVG.
Others: Jerry Sloan, Phil Jackson, Erik Spoelstra, Keith Smart (haha I wish/hope)
Rookie of the Year: Blake Griffin
I don't think it will be much of a contest. Blake has otherworldly athleticism and he attacks the rim in a way that can only be described as a one-man blitzkrieg. It's probably going to get him injured, but you know what? I don't care. He is the best player playing in his rookie season. "What about John Wall?" you ask. Well, what about him? I'll admit that recently, guards have been winning more ROY awards (minus Okafer and Durant), but Wall's talents don't really separate him from other ROY guards. Maybe he'll develop into the all-star player we think he will, (Roy, CP3, DRose and Tyfreak are definitely in that category), but compared to their abilities before they played, Wall just doesn't seem like he can come close. Griffin, though, stands out like a motherfreakin' sore thumb while playing video games. He has LeBron athleticism with Garnett's tenacity. And that's the type of analogy a ROY will need.
Others: John Wall, Evan Turner, Tiago Splitter, Demarcus Cousins
Most Improved Player of the Year: JJ Hickson
LBJ's departure created a hole in the Cavs' rotation that Hickson can fill. He's going to be starting at PF, and if Jamison starts playing like his old self, Byron Scott is smart enough to start him at SF, ahead of Moon. Thus, Hickson is primed for more minutes, and thus, more "improvement."
Others: DJ Augustin, Wesley Matthews, Hakim Warrick, Mike Conley, Dorell Wright, Elton Brand (you heard it here first!) and Deandre Jordan (I like the guy, okay?)
MVP: LeBron James
I feel like the only reason why he wouldn't win would be because the media loves to hype Kevin Durant. Granted, Durantula is an MVP-calibre player, but in the wake of "The Decision," people seem to have forgotten how not-close the voting was between LeBron and KD last year. There was some talk of LBJ being the first unanimous MVP ever. That's how dominant he was. KD? Compared to the monster (regular) season LeBron had, KD's MVP campaign was cute, like sandbox cute, pogs cute, Pokemon cards cute. Sure, he's gotten better, and after the Worlds Tournament, he's become insanely popular among the media. But in the end, LBJ pretty much means MVP.
Others to consider: Kevin Durant, Dwight Howard, Dwyane Wade, Kobe Bryant
NBA Playoffs (East Finals): Miami and Orlando
Boston can't keep up with the Magic at their best, despite what happened last year. They only added size, but their injuries are getting way too frequent as they get older. Last year, it was okay, and they even meant to take more rest, but they're just getting too old. And they're even older this year, with the O'neals playing at center. The only way they can beat Orlando is if Rondo plays at an MVP level, because quite frankly, Orlando's bench is younger and better than Boston's, and that will be the difference maker. Oh, and Dwight Howard too. Miami gets there without incident. They may have trouble with Chicago, but eh, I'm not convinced DRose can facilitate enough to lead a team, even one with so many more options now in Boozer and Korver. Noah's going to be a force, though, so look out.
NBA Playoffs (West Finals): Lakers and Thunder
The only others we can expect to see are the Mavs and Rockets. Mavs are too old, though, and Rockets are too Yao. In case that was lost in translation, it means injury-prone. A team with Scola as the leading scorer isn't going very far, no matter how scrappy they play, and trust me, without Yao's security in the air (not his vertical, just his reach), the Rockets play a very, very scrappy game. Except Scrappy doesn't get you to the Conference Finals. Skill does.
Speaking of lack of skill, if the Mavs had all their players in their prime (Kidd, Marion, Butler and Dirty Dirk? Yikes), then they would be title contenders every year. Sadly, even Cuban can't afford those players in their prime, so they get shells of All-stars. And while they have talent, it's closer to a shell of their former talent, and shells don't get you to the Conference Finals. Kevin Durant does. And he will.
Finals: Lakers and Miami
I haven't decided who's gonna win yet, but I don't think I care. It's going to be too fun to watch/I'm hella tired of writing. =___=
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