Good On You, Phil Jackson

So, if you live under a rock and recently emerged or you don't work with a gaggle of boys, the Lakers won the NBA Championships last night against the Orlando Magic.

First of all, a team called the "Magic" will never be able to deliver. That's like naming a puppy "Killer" and wondering why it doesn't protect you from anything, it rolls over when a burglar comes in, and it wags its tail at the mailman.

So there's that.

And then there's the rapist (a.k.a. Kobe Bryant), who I won't even link to, the MVP this year.

Between the predictability (I thought the Lakers would win it easily in 4, didn't think it would even get to Game 5) and the yawning (Kobe has the ball again?), I wasn't all that sorry that I missed every game. Work beckons, after all, and I don't want to spend my precious few hours at home watching a bunch of overpaid and under-deodorized men running around in tank tops and shorts. Not my idea of leisurely relaxation time.

I realize I sound disproportionately angry, and it's mostly because I'm tired and cranky.

Hopefully, as things start to slow down, I will lose the crank and up the cheer. That whole thing about my birthday has really begun grating on my nerves. The more I think about, the more irritated I get.

I have very typically Korean anger- slow to burn, rages like a wildfire once released, and difficult to reign in at the very best of times. At the worst of times, I have fits of passive-aggressiveness that I intellectually can see as being insanely harsh, but am unable to control.

Going through a phase. I think it's the "work seven days a week" phase, and I'm trying to snap out of it already.

Although it's 10:30 at night on a Monday and I'm still at work, waiting for crap to get done. Not a good start to the week, I would say...