Friday, November 7, 2008
A Brighter Day Will Come.
“America, tonight if you feel the same energy that I do, if you feel the same urgency that I do, if you feel the same passion that I do, if you feel the same hopefulness that I do. If we do what we must do then I have no doubt that all across the country the people will rise up in November and this country will reclaim its promise and out of this long political darkness a brighter day will come.” - Barack Obama
My sisters love making fun of me. Whether it’s for getting pissed off, storming down the stairs and eating shit while they watch my long hair shake about as my ass bounces down the stairs and I try to grab the rail to mitigate my fall OR my girlfriend bought metrosexual 80’s polo shirt OR my eclectic and at times cheesy taste in music, they relish the opportunity to deflate my physically and figuratively big head.
Those brother deprecating times came mostly when we were living together (Geez, seems like so long ago) and I would play music in our living room. I’d play everything from Tori Amos that Cloddy would cling on to and eventually identify with to Bob Dylan that no one but I liked to The Beatles and Café Tacuba and Bob Marley that we all loved to Tupac that Mayra embraced and so on. There were quite a few tracks that received mixed reviews, mostly Mayra saying something like, “Fuck Louie, play something else.”
One of those songs was Sam Cooke’s “A Change Gonna Come.” It’s not so much that Mayra hated it but she’d complain about the opening line, “I was born by the river in a little tent…” that in her adolescent stage seemed like a silly statement in a teenage life that could care less about rivers and tents and silky smooth voices that weren’t reporting on pop culture. I think we’ve all been there.
Tuesday Night…
The magnitude of what happened on Tuesday hasn’t completely sunk in; not even close. The lingering fear of a potentially stolen election coupled with a perceived L.A. born Bradley effect can wreak havoc on a psyche even after the fact. To the biggest cliché in the world: If something seems too good to be true, it probably is. Well, the final results are in and yes, they’re as true as the dimples on Noah’s cheeks.
I will not soon forget the moment CNN projected the historical result. I was sitting in front of my nephew, watching him watch me and holding his little hand as he stuck his tongue out, kicked and oooh’d. The theoretical and ideological oscillations of this country were reduced to Wolf Blizter saying, “CNN can now project that Barack Obama, 47 years old, will become the president elect of the United States.” Jaws dropped, knots emerged in throats and eyes watered. Well, that was just me and Noah. Holding his hand as history was announced was Pablo Neruda and Miguel Pinero put together. I grabbed his little hands and raised ‘em up. He flashed a smile, a laugh and kept on kicking. Truth is, we had some friends over but for that moment, through McCain’s concession and Obama’s victory speech I was at one with the result while often peering over at Noah and his now even brighter days.
January 20, 2009
I look forward to having a President I consider to be significantly smarter than me as opposed to a dip shit I wouldn’t even want to engage in a “How’s it going” conversation. I’m ecstatic that our new President elect considers himself at the foot of the mountain and not at the top. For the first time in my life, I’m proud of my country; at least the 65 million plus voters that ink blotted, tapped or hole punched the circle/square next to the name Barack Obama.
“It’s been a long, a long time coming but I know a change gonna come.”
Sam Cooke, the civil rights movement mantra that you started in May of 1963 in Durham, North Carolina is here. No one will deny we still have our problems but rest assured a new day is upon us. Today, it’s a little less hard living.
The theory that anyone in this country can become president has always been a pile of bullshit to me. Today, it is very real. 65 million plus can finally hold a mirror up to our country and not be utterly ashamed at the reflection. Again, we still have a ways to go but this is was a giant leap in the right direction that I will be teary eyed proud of for the rest of my days.
Labels: 2008 Election, fam, Obama
Monday, November 3, 2008
Tomorrow...
“There has never been anything false about hope.”
I imagined writing a pre-election blog that would be articulate, a little inspiring and slightly profound. Well, Election Day is tomorrow and I can’t even begin to tell you how anxious, nervous, excited, etc. I am, much less write a full piece that fully articulates how I feel about everything that’s happened in the last year and a half or so. Instead, you get this. Sorry.
I’ve been waking up every morning this last week and have been announcing to myself and Fatima, 6 days, 5 days, 4 days and so on. Tomorrow has been on my mind since I saw the youtube video of Hillary Clinton announcing her bid for the Presidency. At the time I thought she was a shoe-in. My favorite candidate at the time was Dennis Kucinich but being a keeper of real I knew he was a long shot in a very Ralph Nader kind of way. You know, he makes so much sense it’s considered radical. Anyway, let’s fast forward to February of 2007.
When the Democratic Primary reared its head to California I was slated to be out of the state so I requested an absentee ballot. I remember sitting on my couch in my old apartment trying to decide between Hillary and Obama and deciding I couldn’t decide. I liked them both. I was excited about both candidates. I thought of Bill Clinton in the White House and was reminded of a thriving economy and messy blow jobs in the Lincoln bedroom; can’t have one without the other. Anyway, I called Fatima and laid my worry. Her emphatic VOTE FOR OBAMA had me at VOTE and so I did. Soon as I did I felt great about it too.
Now, I won’t tell you why I’m voting for Obama because if you have a shred of common sense (Palin, are you effin’ serious?) OR decency (McCain voted with Bush 90% of the time) I’m just preaching to the choir. Plus, I can go on for pages and no one wants that.
As you all probably know, I’m a huge sports fan. I love baseball, boxing, futbol, football and on and on. In a way this election is the culmination of all the great match ups in said sports, past, present and future. Of course, with consequences of ridiculously grand proportions. This is like Mexico in the World Cup, the Dodgers in the World Series, the Lakers in the Finals and the Raiders in the Super Bowl. Add those up, times it by 1,000,000 and that’s how badly I want Barack Obama to win. Scratch that, that’s how badly WE NEED him to win tomorrow.
For one, if McCain wins, the future of my nephew becomes uncertain vis-à-vis job opportunity for my sister in a fucked up economy, funding in education, more tax breaks for the rich and less for everyone else and so on. Two, the future of my organization becomes very uncertain in an already uncertain world.
I remember what it felt like in 2004 to sit around and watch the results trickle in and realize that George W. Bush was about to win. I remember how I felt like the world had came crashing down on me. What’s worse, four years later, it actually came crashing down on all of us.
When I saw Barack Obama’s Yes, We Can video I thought of George W., I thought of the past 8 years of disastrous policy and ignorance. I thought of what the possibility of an Obama presidency could do for this country. I replayed Obama’s words in my noggin’ “…that we are one people, that we are one nation.” I thought of Bob Marley and John Lennon.
Last week, my girl’s mom asked me to give her the lowdown on the current California Propositions on tomorrow’s ballot. I’ve done the research as Tom Cruise would say. In case you’ve yet to make up your mind or have no idea what these Propositions say or don’t say I’ve included my email to her in this posting. Keep in mind, these are my opinions and mine alone. They come from reading various publications and blogs, deciphering the information and researching some more. Anyway, take ‘em as they are.
Prop 1A – YES
This measure will provide funds for the completion, as building has already begun, on a commuter rail that will stretch from Sacramento to San Diego. It will be a zero emissions rail (good for the environment) and passenger funded after the fact. So, it pays for itself.
Prop 2 – YES
This prop requires farms to allow animals, we consume, to have enough space in their cages to flap their wings, move their legs and so on before we kill them and eat them for dinner. It’s the least we can do right?
Prop 3 – YES
Creates a grant to fund more children’s hospitals. A no-brainer.
Prop 4 – NO
Mandates a 48 hour waiting period for parental notification for abortions by a minor. I hope you vote NO, but if you do vote yes, you should know that this measure will be put into California Constitution. It’s the tattoo equivalent. Goes on easy but it’s a pain in the ass and nearly impossible to remove.
Prop 5 – YES
Allocates about half a million $$’s to expand treatment programs (as opposed to mandatory jail time) for those convicted of minor drug offenses. It’s not only common sense but that allocated half a mil will be overshadowed by the amount of money saved by NOT sending someone to jail for possession of marijuana.
Prop 6 – NO
In sum, it gives slightly under $1 million a year to police in an effort to target gangs resulting in an upswing in racial profiling. It also requires minors (as young as 14) to be tried as adults for certain offenses. The measure obviously doesn’t read as such but that’s the intent.
Prop 7 – YES
Requires gov’t owned utilities to go Green. There’s already a mandate but this will speed up the process and make the standards better. Meaning by 2025, gov’t owned utilities will be required to get 50% of their energy from renewable resources.
Prop 8 – NO
I’m sure you’ve already seen the commercials and made up your mind.
Prop 9 – NO
This is the one I know about the least. I can’t seem to wrap my little brain around it. I’ve read mostly negative opinions and ALL the major newspapers (L.A. Times, San Francisco Chronicle, NY Times, La Opinion, etc. etc.), are calling it costly and unnecessary. In sum, it duplicates, I say complicates victims rights in dealings with the accused.
Prop 10 – NO
This Texas tycoon, Boone Pickens paid millions of dollars to put this on the ballot. Why? Well because he has a vested interest in natural gas fueling stations. Natural gas is definitely an alternative fuel but it’s only slightly less pollutant than gas. Its way too much money, $10 Billion, and there’s very little benefit to the environment and consumers.
Prop 11 – NO
This allows Republicans to redistrict boundaries in an effort to garner more power via constituents. If I were Republican I’d vote for it, since I’m not. I say no.
Prop 12 – YES
Creates a $9 million bond for Veterans. This will make it easier for a veteran to purchase a house or a farm. Weird, a farm. Either way, stuff for vets is always good.
Measure R – YES
Two words: Traffic relief. It’s basically money for roads, to repair potholes, synchronize traffic signals, etc. This will also allocate money to the Metro trains we all love.
That’s it. If you’ve read this far a congratulations is in order. So, congrats.
I imagined writing a pre-election blog that would be articulate, a little inspiring and slightly profound. Well, Election Day is tomorrow and I can’t even begin to tell you how anxious, nervous, excited, etc. I am, much less write a full piece that fully articulates how I feel about everything that’s happened in the last year and a half or so. Instead, you get this. Sorry.
I’ve been waking up every morning this last week and have been announcing to myself and Fatima, 6 days, 5 days, 4 days and so on. Tomorrow has been on my mind since I saw the youtube video of Hillary Clinton announcing her bid for the Presidency. At the time I thought she was a shoe-in. My favorite candidate at the time was Dennis Kucinich but being a keeper of real I knew he was a long shot in a very Ralph Nader kind of way. You know, he makes so much sense it’s considered radical. Anyway, let’s fast forward to February of 2007.
When the Democratic Primary reared its head to California I was slated to be out of the state so I requested an absentee ballot. I remember sitting on my couch in my old apartment trying to decide between Hillary and Obama and deciding I couldn’t decide. I liked them both. I was excited about both candidates. I thought of Bill Clinton in the White House and was reminded of a thriving economy and messy blow jobs in the Lincoln bedroom; can’t have one without the other. Anyway, I called Fatima and laid my worry. Her emphatic VOTE FOR OBAMA had me at VOTE and so I did. Soon as I did I felt great about it too.
Now, I won’t tell you why I’m voting for Obama because if you have a shred of common sense (Palin, are you effin’ serious?) OR decency (McCain voted with Bush 90% of the time) I’m just preaching to the choir. Plus, I can go on for pages and no one wants that.
As you all probably know, I’m a huge sports fan. I love baseball, boxing, futbol, football and on and on. In a way this election is the culmination of all the great match ups in said sports, past, present and future. Of course, with consequences of ridiculously grand proportions. This is like Mexico in the World Cup, the Dodgers in the World Series, the Lakers in the Finals and the Raiders in the Super Bowl. Add those up, times it by 1,000,000 and that’s how badly I want Barack Obama to win. Scratch that, that’s how badly WE NEED him to win tomorrow.
For one, if McCain wins, the future of my nephew becomes uncertain vis-à-vis job opportunity for my sister in a fucked up economy, funding in education, more tax breaks for the rich and less for everyone else and so on. Two, the future of my organization becomes very uncertain in an already uncertain world.
I remember what it felt like in 2004 to sit around and watch the results trickle in and realize that George W. Bush was about to win. I remember how I felt like the world had came crashing down on me. What’s worse, four years later, it actually came crashing down on all of us.
When I saw Barack Obama’s Yes, We Can video I thought of George W., I thought of the past 8 years of disastrous policy and ignorance. I thought of what the possibility of an Obama presidency could do for this country. I replayed Obama’s words in my noggin’ “…that we are one people, that we are one nation.” I thought of Bob Marley and John Lennon.
Last week, my girl’s mom asked me to give her the lowdown on the current California Propositions on tomorrow’s ballot. I’ve done the research as Tom Cruise would say. In case you’ve yet to make up your mind or have no idea what these Propositions say or don’t say I’ve included my email to her in this posting. Keep in mind, these are my opinions and mine alone. They come from reading various publications and blogs, deciphering the information and researching some more. Anyway, take ‘em as they are.
Prop 1A – YES
This measure will provide funds for the completion, as building has already begun, on a commuter rail that will stretch from Sacramento to San Diego. It will be a zero emissions rail (good for the environment) and passenger funded after the fact. So, it pays for itself.
Prop 2 – YES
This prop requires farms to allow animals, we consume, to have enough space in their cages to flap their wings, move their legs and so on before we kill them and eat them for dinner. It’s the least we can do right?
Prop 3 – YES
Creates a grant to fund more children’s hospitals. A no-brainer.
Prop 4 – NO
Mandates a 48 hour waiting period for parental notification for abortions by a minor. I hope you vote NO, but if you do vote yes, you should know that this measure will be put into California Constitution. It’s the tattoo equivalent. Goes on easy but it’s a pain in the ass and nearly impossible to remove.
Prop 5 – YES
Allocates about half a million $$’s to expand treatment programs (as opposed to mandatory jail time) for those convicted of minor drug offenses. It’s not only common sense but that allocated half a mil will be overshadowed by the amount of money saved by NOT sending someone to jail for possession of marijuana.
Prop 6 – NO
In sum, it gives slightly under $1 million a year to police in an effort to target gangs resulting in an upswing in racial profiling. It also requires minors (as young as 14) to be tried as adults for certain offenses. The measure obviously doesn’t read as such but that’s the intent.
Prop 7 – YES
Requires gov’t owned utilities to go Green. There’s already a mandate but this will speed up the process and make the standards better. Meaning by 2025, gov’t owned utilities will be required to get 50% of their energy from renewable resources.
Prop 8 – NO
I’m sure you’ve already seen the commercials and made up your mind.
Prop 9 – NO
This is the one I know about the least. I can’t seem to wrap my little brain around it. I’ve read mostly negative opinions and ALL the major newspapers (L.A. Times, San Francisco Chronicle, NY Times, La Opinion, etc. etc.), are calling it costly and unnecessary. In sum, it duplicates, I say complicates victims rights in dealings with the accused.
Prop 10 – NO
This Texas tycoon, Boone Pickens paid millions of dollars to put this on the ballot. Why? Well because he has a vested interest in natural gas fueling stations. Natural gas is definitely an alternative fuel but it’s only slightly less pollutant than gas. Its way too much money, $10 Billion, and there’s very little benefit to the environment and consumers.
Prop 11 – NO
This allows Republicans to redistrict boundaries in an effort to garner more power via constituents. If I were Republican I’d vote for it, since I’m not. I say no.
Prop 12 – YES
Creates a $9 million bond for Veterans. This will make it easier for a veteran to purchase a house or a farm. Weird, a farm. Either way, stuff for vets is always good.
Measure R – YES
Two words: Traffic relief. It’s basically money for roads, to repair potholes, synchronize traffic signals, etc. This will also allocate money to the Metro trains we all love.
That’s it. If you’ve read this far a congratulations is in order. So, congrats.
Labels: 2008 Election, Obama
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Writing with immortals...
“The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes "Awww!” – Jack Kerouac
The other day I was watching Hank Aaron and Willie Mays talk about their time in baseball between the 1950’s and 1970’s. They waxed about how they knew what the other was doing in the sport despite one playing in New York City and the other in Milwaukee . They rarely spoke to each other but read newspapers on the daily. When Bob Costas asked them if one knew what the other was doing my initial reaction was, “No shit stupid, ESPN, the internet, duh!” A split second later I realized what a dumbass I was for thinking that. Information overload was a thing of the unimaginable future. Immortality by way of something-something-something.com wasn’t even a pipe dream.
The other day I went to my old site humbertave.blogspot.com to reread and revisit those pieces and that time in my life. I read half a piece before I saw the link on the right side of my page, it says CeeP. I clicked on it in the hopes of finding something brilliant, fresh, uber-intelligent and just down right funny. I found something I hadn’t expected.
I met CeeP (pronounced C.P. but we pronounced it seap) sometime in 2005. I’d heard about him from my cousin and friend MJ. I’d been dabbling in writing and hungered for pen/keyboard driven kindred spirits. I had one at the time and figured doubling my encyclopedic intake would help with my key stroking endeavors but I’d settle for someone to share oat sodas and world reducing conversation with.
I love writing and writing loves me.
CeeP was a bad vodka drinking, mountain bike riding, Bad Brains loving, menthol smoking, race card with razor sharp edges pulling, Republican adhoring, bright smiling, Bob Marley quoting, hurricane writing mother fucker. He looked like John Coffee from The Green Mile but thought and wrote like a renegade version of Gore Vidal if Gore Vidal was a black man from the South. And he wrote. He wrote like you and I breathe; effortlessly and continuously.
“Bitch, if you want to be a writer, BE A WRITER!”
CeeP was the kind of guy that you could break down the world to it’s historically bloody core with and weren’t afraid to intellectually venture into the deepest and undeveloped confines of your mind. We traveled through Howard Zinn’s history many times. He continuously called me out on my writing or lack thereof. I loved reading his stories. He wrote about music and the movie industry. He was paid to write which is far more than I’ve been able to accomplish. But his best writing was that which came from the heart; the stream of consciousness that flowed out of him like love from a Bob Marley song. Now I’m not claiming to be an expert in anything other than my own life, much less literature in the internet/blog age but CeeP, Chris, was the best writer I knew and knew of. I read the quote below before I had even met the man and thought to myself, “What the fuck is this doing on a blog and not in a book on my pile of books?!” It was heartfelt (but not always), spoke of the human experience in a profound way, introspective to the nines and made me laugh. I could have easily cried at the absolute truth of it all. It’s an excerpt but you can judge for yourself (edits be damned):
“In spite of the gallons of alcohol I consumed, the revisiting of past dalliances had had a sobering effect on me and the stark contrast it unveiled shot across the skies of my mind as brilliantly as a comet during an solar eclipse. I knew right then and there what I wanted out of life; I'd spent so much time seeking validation in others that I'd lost touch with what really satisfied my soul, as Marley might've put it -- the process of writing; the research and joys of discovery buried deep within layers of letters, chronicling my thoughts through characters and reflections to maybe help those who come behind. To share them with like minded individuals, learn something, possibly; find some answers to my own personal enigmas, perhaps. Those momentary grasps on the truth that come maybe a handful of times in a fully lived life, maybe but whatever the case, it was always about the writing. It always was, I was just too chickenshit to embrace it. To get as much of it all down and winnow through the byzantine algorithm that is life -- that moment of clarity evidenced things that I knew already. I'd known it since I was a kid but hell, sometimes selective ignorace is bliss. I could not look away from the future of realization any longer.”
And that’s what I’ve become; at least it’s what I strive for in my writing. To bear some absolute truth and find answers to personal enigmas. He brought out the best in me. When I felt my writing was sub-par I took it up a notch, I soaked up any and all inspiration from CeeP without ripping him off. At least I tried, yo.
He wrote a piece that centered on my behavior at a party in the Hollywood Hills that gave birth to a back and forth on race. You can read it here: Race Card Poker in the Hollywood Hills He called me out on shit if only to stimulate and have me engage in self evaluation. Am I living the truths I believe? Am I a hypocrite? What makes me happy? Who, what, where, why and the other why? Maybe he just wanted me to write.
CeeP had a huge presence on the internet. Google his name and you will find hundreds, I’m not kidding, hundreds of quotes dedicated to his memory. From Richmond to Atlanta to New York City to Los Angeles to France to Sweden and on and on. CeeP had no idea of what he meant to me, despite the time we’d been out of each other’s lives he’s always been there. Right here, right between these letters formed words his inspiration stands tall and like a rock, as he did. I feel blessed and honored to have known the man in the flesh and in this blossoming media we call the internet, no matter how short a period of time it was.
I’m not sure how long his blog, The Chronicles of Ridicule, will be up on the internet. I hope that it’s there forever. I hope I can remember him as an old man, read him and cry once more. Let’s hope the internet gives him the immortality he deserves. He’s probably somewhere in the afterlife in a pub with an empty shot glass to his left, a frothy mug in front of him and a lady in his sights.
“Remember: get into the living of this life, get involved and don't forget to write it all down somewhere.” – Christopher Alonzo Pryor
Christopher Alonzo Pryor no longer walks this earth and this piece falls short of a fitting tribute. Bob Marley’s words? Well that’s another story.
“I say fly away home to Zion , fly away home
One bright morning when my work is over,
Man will fly away home.”
See you in Zion hermano.
Labels: CeeP
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
20 Years...
Friday
I took Friday off. My mom has escaped the 909 and found green pastures in the city we called home for about 10 years. It’s where my appreciation for girls formed by way of Jessica’s mad teather ball skills, Wendy’s cute but emotionless expressions, Veronica’s adult like sexuality, Magaly’s Arabic and totally inappropriate for a 5th grader Halloween costume and Deanna’s aggressive “do you want to me my boyfriend?” approach. What’s greater, I fell in love with baseball and the Dodgers.
After several attempts at getting a rent free moving truck we opted to postpone driving the 35+ miles and not use my trusty but limited Chevy S-10 as an actual moving truck. I figured I’d bite the bullet on Saturday and rent a U-Haul. At least I’d have a Bud Light drinking moving crew to help while providing Cantinflas comical value. We’d wake up early, bust ass like the Mexicans we are and make it to Dodger Stadium in time to pound two Arrogant Bastard Ales and catch the 1st inning. What, didn’t you know the Dodgers are in the post-season? Pssshhh!
Saturday
A smashed thumb, a sweaty t-shirt, a 20 case of Bud Light and five hours later, mission accomplished. We jet set from Fontucky to West Covina to Baldwin Park to El Monte to Highland Park like the soul rich concrete jungle Angelenos we are, ate, showered and rolled out to the Ravine.
There was an electricity and atmosphere even on our way into the parking lot. Dog eat dog L.A. driving gave way to cat eat cat. Fathoms of sea couldn’t jump into the ocean of blue that is Dodger Stadium fast enough. 10 year olds from 1988 reemerged and hurried up and down the hills of Chavez with chicas/wives/lovers in tow. From the moment we got to our Loge 146, Row N, Seats 1 & 2 we dialed in to every pitch as if it were the last. We, meaning each and every inhabitant of Dodger Stadium that wasn’t working the concessions and even some that were. Without giving a play by play, there were highs and highers that caused the usually calm and collected narrator to lose all sense of self the way Disneyland makes 8-year olds go apeshit. When Jonathon Broxton threw that final pitch and Alfonso Soriano nearly checked his swing Dodger Stadium went nuts. Strangers hugged strangers, old women high-fived teenagers, gypsy’s rejoiced, etc. etc. etc. The Dodgers swept the Cubs.
8 wins to go
Here’s the funny part of the story. The Dodgers merely won a Division Series; they haven’t even made it to the World Series. Big woot right? Well, they accomplished something that hadn’t been accomplished around here in 20 years, 20 long frustrating years. To give you some perspective, Reagan was president and on his way the fuck out and into the twilight of his life that included dying in a soot of his own shit while having no idea who the person in front of him was. If karma plays out as it should, I hope George W. Bush and the Dodgers find the same fate. Joe Torre said it best, “We have 8 more wins to go.”
Sunday
All was back to normal on Sunday, I watched football, Saturday night’s TiVo’d MMA event and some baseball. The chica and I ended the night with the usual five minute drive to The York for a grilled cheese and a Craftsman OctoberFest brew and back home to veg before the thought of Monday morning crept in and sleep kicked in. All in all the curtains came down on a great weekend.
The National League Championship series begins on Thursday and like every Dodgers fan, I pray for the best but expect the worse. The magic of Saturday night aside I’m still realistic, more so a skeptic but I’d be lying through my teeth if I wasn’t prematurely dreaming of a World Series victory. 8 wins away. It doesn’t seem like much but it’s what separates today from 20 years. Let’s hope Kirk Gibson continues to live through that James Loney grand slam in Chicago. Let’s hope Russell Martin has a Mike Scioscia moment. Let’s hope Chad Billingsley sits alongside Orel Hershiser in the palate of Dodger history.
Let’s hope a glossy eyed kid loses his voice again.
Labels: baseball, Dodgers, Los Angeles
Friday, October 3, 2008
L.A. Dodgers
In case you're living under a rock somewhere, the Dodgers are 1 win away from making it to the National League Championship Series. The last time they were in this position I was 10 years old, so yea it's kind of a big deal. I posted this little piece in this sport forum I read/write called the sporthinkery. Just thought I'd post it here too. Enjoy...
I can't believe we're still stuck on politics and music while the baseball play-offs, er division series are in full swing. Maybe you're like me and feel weird about the Rays being there and not the Yankees. Say what you will about the Yanks, but I love watching them in the post season. Sure, the Sox are the late 90's version of the Yankees but it's no fun watching that Manny-less team. I'll take an annoying Paul O'Neil over fat ass Ortiz, I'll take Keith Olbermann's mom aiming Chuck Knoblauch over Dustin Pedroia any day of the week. You'll rarely hear this from a Dodgers fan but I miss the Yanks.
Expectations are low. If you get a chance, check out www.dodgerblues.com. Without the pathetic banter of Cubs fans of today and Red Sox fans of pre-2004 this guy captures the essence of being a Dodgers fan. We're realistic, crass, cynical, we love our team but we never ever take it too serious. Why, because it's baseball. Plus, we live in (in my opinion) the Rome of our time, Los Angeles. The Dodgers and Lakers are a part of the collective of our Angeleno identity not the be all end all of our existence. While there is something romantic and beautiful with such blind devotion, it's juvenile and I prefer to take the common sense approach. Hey, if its the bottom of the 8th inning, the Dodgers are down by 6 runs and I have a couple of girls lined up to meet my friends and me at the 35er in Pasadena you think I'm going to waste fun time watching my favorite team go down 1,2,3 in the 8th then 1...2...3 in the 9th? I'll play the odds and try my luck at the 35er in another kind of game. Granted, I live with my girl now and no longer partake in such debauchery but years ago? Forget about it.
Having said that, it's been a delight watching the Dodgers destroy the Cubs. The last time I felt this kind of jubilation I was 10 years old and the baddest lefty in Baldwin Park. My dad was my hero (still is actually) and my biggest worries revolved around getting the flat tire on my BMX Tracker fixed, doing my fractions homework, finishing my chores with enough sunlight left to play hours of "tackle the man with the football" and setting up boxing matches between my little sisters. Some things never change.
I really don't know how far the Dodgers will go. My heart tells me this team could be the one to re-write the history of sketchy 1988 replays, they've already busted the ghosts of Jose Lima that have haunted me for years. But I have my reservations. This Cubs team is not dead, they're one 3 run blast from it but their heart beat is very much alive. 27 outs alive. I remain cautiously optimistic.
Labels: Dodgers
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Homecoming
You've probably guessed it by now. I've been on a weekend shenanigan writing tip. This past weekend was as non-eventful as a John McCain bowel movement. Wait, unless you count Thursday. The partner in crime of the night, Lilia, wrote a dope and funny piece about her adventures with the narrator of these here weepy blog. Check it out... HERE! She said it best so why say it again.
Friday's post work itinerary included a couple October Fest brews with my castrated primo, a Presidential Debate that nearly bored me if it wasn't for the robot posing as someone's great grandfather with cute little T-Rex arms, a Mediterranean salmon dinner and more brew. I was gently buzzing, hella full and tired by midnight.
My sis and Noah came over on Saturday. We all ate, took naps and watched t.v. into the evening. I don't think I've ever kissed a boy this much. Congrats Noah, you had me at BUUUUURRRRP. Raise that fist playa.
Word came later in the day by way of text message that the 35er would be the spot for the night. Lazy as fuck I still wanted to go. What started off as an ex-B.P. double date turned into an Extended Monte Crew Drinking Convention. The trifecta was in full effect: Mary Jane, Osito Panda and So-Fee-Ah among other Garvey Blvd driving professionals. Good times like ol' times. Flashes of 2003 came and went. Kanye and Chris Martin blasted through the speakers and we were back...
For a couple of hours in the 35er basement I was home again.
Sunday! Sunday! Sunday!
The night before, my homie Sofia's bro invited my chica and me to his place to watch football on Sunday. I gladly excepted and made the journey to West Co. but not before a stop at my chica's grandma's place for a a classic Mexican breakfast; Chilaquiles, beans, eggs and Heineken Light.
A couple of ice cold Modelo's, a nap and annoying 49er fan chants later we were headed back to L.A. By the way, I thought Raider fans were supposed to be obnoxious idiots and the shithole fans of the NFL? Well, I know of a couple of 49er fans that would make a 100 story elevator ride to the top with Joan Rivers, Donald Trump and the Republican chick from The View seem like a vacation. I thought I was watching the game with the most annoying kid from high school. Wait, I was watching the game with the most annoying kid from high school. Funny thing, the Bronco fan is my favorite of the bunch.
Eh, maybe it was eventful.
On to tonight. I don't think I've ever seen soo many Dodgers hats on people that shouldn't be wearing hats.
Go Dodgers!
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
White Tank Tops
My Friday evenings usually begin at 5:30PM with a bee line from Koreatown/Silver Lake to the big brown comfy couch at home for an hour nap and some psychological debriefing. This Friday, it began with a 6 week old but always familiar route through downtown L.A. and into the S.G.V. I’ve yet to find a barber in my neighborhood; actually I haven’t even looked for one. I’ve been going to the same barber since I was 16 (that’s 14 years for those keeping score) and have no intention of changing that. Why make the every two week trek to El Monte? I’ve got a dozen reasons. Besides, my barber has become an extended member of my friends. He doesn’t just cut my hair; he’s a sports analyst, movie critic, philosopher, comedian, political pundit, El Salvadorian ambassador, automotive expert, black market broker and psychologist/family therapist. The $9 + $3 tip = $12 price tag is a small price to pay for 15-20 minutes with such a multi-faceted human being.
I had tickets to the Dodger game on Friday. Having sprung a last minute invitation on my friend Sofia, I wasn’t sure if she was going to come through and figured I’d go see my little nephew and sister if Dodger Blue wasn’t in my immediate future. A confirmation and haircut later I jet to my sister’s place to get a quick Noah fix. “First pitch be damned” bounced off the walls in my cranium. I got home just in time to shower and dress seconds before Sofia called and said she was out front. We got to the Ravine, threw back a couple of Dos XX and made our way to our seats only to get a serious hook up from our friend Nicole. We went from Reserve Level seating to sitting three rows from the field and about twenty yards from Manny Ramirez. ‘Twas the start of a beautiful night on the last Friday of summer ’08. Somehow we ended up with club access to some bar/restaurant in the stadium I had never even seen. A few brews and a hunting vs. vegetarianism conversation later, Sofia and I found ourselves in a damn near empty parking lot. We decided to cap the night off with a stop at a bar two blocks from my place.
Now, my neighborhood is relatively safe. Trust me, there are white folks named Todd and Bea that live in my building. There was a freakin’ bunny in my yard last night, a bunny! But damn. I was feeling a bit adventurous and thought we should go to Dusty’s Sports Bar on Figueroa. As I had mentioned in my last posting, I walked by last Friday and saw a handful of questionable characters. What do I mean by that? Tattoos on a couple of bald heads and old men in flannel shirts. Get my drift? Anyway, I had consumed at least five beers at this point and was pretty damn spirited to say the least. As I’m walking to the entrance I see a group of guys standing out front just kinda hanging out. I approached the group and saw wet drops on the concrete leading up to a pool of blood as large as a small doormat. To this I said aloud, “What the fuck is that!?” I hadn’t noticed there was a guy holding his side and on a cell phone, who reluctantly said, “It’s my blood homes, I just got stabbed.”
Now I’ve lived in L.A. my entire life and have yet to see a person that was currently involved in a stabbing one way or the other. All of this guy’s cholo buddies were just standing around puffing away on their ciggies as if their bleeding friend was lining up a 2AM booty call and not on the phone with a 911 operator. I looked at an astonished Sofia and said, “Dude, want to go somewhere else?” I’m not sure if the absurdity of it all of or the osmotic desensitization caused her to say, “Let’s have ONE drink.” An hour later I was in my living room watching Family Guy as I waited for my chica to bring me some late night drunk grub; precious bodily fluids intact.
Saturday was as boring as any ‘ol kid-pretending-to-be-an-adult work less Tuesday. My living room played host to a vegetarian burrito breakfast, a couple of naps and a pant less afteroon until the shower bug bit, the chica arrived and sushi hunger struck. Them belly full, but they sleepy.
Sundays are almost always all good. Except when you wake up early to check the latest NFL injury report, confidently update your fantasy football line-up, watch your favorite transplanted football team cock tease you worse than Laura Cipres did at your last 8th grade dance at Potrero. What’s worse, both of my relevant fantasy football teams lost; my main team losing by one unforgiving point. All I could think was, “Gee, did I just wake up to the filming of Radiohead’s music video for Let Down?”
Anyway, it’s already Wednesday. I woke up today to a surreal summer morning at the start of fall. The beautiful girls from my teenage years will wean themselves off those marvelous white tank tops, the Hollywood Bowl has downgraded its mystique, the stream of cars outside my window no longer sound like concrete waves but like desolate piano keys trying to get home one frustrated driver at a time. The Fall is here.
I had tickets to the Dodger game on Friday. Having sprung a last minute invitation on my friend Sofia, I wasn’t sure if she was going to come through and figured I’d go see my little nephew and sister if Dodger Blue wasn’t in my immediate future. A confirmation and haircut later I jet to my sister’s place to get a quick Noah fix. “First pitch be damned” bounced off the walls in my cranium. I got home just in time to shower and dress seconds before Sofia called and said she was out front. We got to the Ravine, threw back a couple of Dos XX and made our way to our seats only to get a serious hook up from our friend Nicole. We went from Reserve Level seating to sitting three rows from the field and about twenty yards from Manny Ramirez. ‘Twas the start of a beautiful night on the last Friday of summer ’08. Somehow we ended up with club access to some bar/restaurant in the stadium I had never even seen. A few brews and a hunting vs. vegetarianism conversation later, Sofia and I found ourselves in a damn near empty parking lot. We decided to cap the night off with a stop at a bar two blocks from my place.
Now, my neighborhood is relatively safe. Trust me, there are white folks named Todd and Bea that live in my building. There was a freakin’ bunny in my yard last night, a bunny! But damn. I was feeling a bit adventurous and thought we should go to Dusty’s Sports Bar on Figueroa. As I had mentioned in my last posting, I walked by last Friday and saw a handful of questionable characters. What do I mean by that? Tattoos on a couple of bald heads and old men in flannel shirts. Get my drift? Anyway, I had consumed at least five beers at this point and was pretty damn spirited to say the least. As I’m walking to the entrance I see a group of guys standing out front just kinda hanging out. I approached the group and saw wet drops on the concrete leading up to a pool of blood as large as a small doormat. To this I said aloud, “What the fuck is that!?” I hadn’t noticed there was a guy holding his side and on a cell phone, who reluctantly said, “It’s my blood homes, I just got stabbed.”
Now I’ve lived in L.A. my entire life and have yet to see a person that was currently involved in a stabbing one way or the other. All of this guy’s cholo buddies were just standing around puffing away on their ciggies as if their bleeding friend was lining up a 2AM booty call and not on the phone with a 911 operator. I looked at an astonished Sofia and said, “Dude, want to go somewhere else?” I’m not sure if the absurdity of it all of or the osmotic desensitization caused her to say, “Let’s have ONE drink.” An hour later I was in my living room watching Family Guy as I waited for my chica to bring me some late night drunk grub; precious bodily fluids intact.
Saturday was as boring as any ‘ol kid-pretending-to-be-an-adult work less Tuesday. My living room played host to a vegetarian burrito breakfast, a couple of naps and a pant less afteroon until the shower bug bit, the chica arrived and sushi hunger struck. Them belly full, but they sleepy.
Sundays are almost always all good. Except when you wake up early to check the latest NFL injury report, confidently update your fantasy football line-up, watch your favorite transplanted football team cock tease you worse than Laura Cipres did at your last 8th grade dance at Potrero. What’s worse, both of my relevant fantasy football teams lost; my main team losing by one unforgiving point. All I could think was, “Gee, did I just wake up to the filming of Radiohead’s music video for Let Down?”
Anyway, it’s already Wednesday. I woke up today to a surreal summer morning at the start of fall. The beautiful girls from my teenage years will wean themselves off those marvelous white tank tops, the Hollywood Bowl has downgraded its mystique, the stream of cars outside my window no longer sound like concrete waves but like desolate piano keys trying to get home one frustrated driver at a time. The Fall is here.
Labels: baseball, Dodgers, fall, fantasy sports, Los Angeles, nightlife
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