Marijuana – Not for my own consumption but for those who need it or simply want it. How many people do you think overdose on Mary Jane every year? The same amount of intelligent people who enjoy the Twilight series. Let’s legalize it Cali, Yes on Prop 19!
Dan and Rory – Southern hospitality NYC style. I’ve been to NYC twice: strolled through Central Park, went to a Yanks v. Bosox game at old Yankee Stadium, consumed the art at MoMa yet my fondest memories of NYC are of time spent in the Lower East Side with these guys.
Myself – Like a flexible guy giving himself a BJ.
Summertime – Sunshine, sleeping in my chonies, outdoorsy shit, impromptu road trips, wearing shorts at night, bike rides to bars > (are greater than) the occasional bouts with bat wings, swamp ass and ball soup.
Spinning – Hey, at least it’s not yoga.
The hole in the wall Indian food spot at USC University Village food court – As you can see, I don’t even know what it’s called and to be perfectly honest, I don’t know how authentic it is but it is absolutely delicious. It is one of my favorite lunch spots and the fact that I’m moving locations for work and may not frequent this place breaks my cold heart.
The World Cup – Mexico and The U.S.A. may be out but my interest in the beautiful game and its grandest stage has never waned.
MGMT – They are main stream popular but rooted in independent art. I love everything they put out. If there is one band I’d want my grand kids, if I ever bust a nut and have kids in the first place, to consume to understand the caliber of music our world has produced in recent years, it’s MGMT.
High Quality Beers & Coffee – Like I told my cousin Vane one time, “Look if you’re going to come home late from the prom, don’t come home at 3AM, come home at 6AM. Make shit worth your while you know.” Same logic applies to mood altering beverages. Put that bottle of piss down and grab yourself a Stone IPA my friend.
My Blackberry – Yea, I’m that annoying person who mid-conversation occasionally looks down at his phone and pretends he’s stills listening to you while texting a “EWW ” to his friend on BBM because she just admitted she’s taking a poop.
Hate
Traffic – This is a no-brainer right? I don’t know how many times I’ve been sitting in bumper to bumper stand still traffic, looked down at the pavement, looked back up at the car in front of me, fantasize about stepping on the gas at full throttle and taking out as many cars as possible. Then I think about the cost involved and go back to just wanting to put a bullet in my head.
Sex and the City – I don’t think the “Is there a GOD?” debate is the world’s greatest unanswered mystery. I think it’s how intelligent and respectable women are fascinated by the most superficial and pompous jackass characters in the history of humanity. Yea, I said it.
Multi-tasking – I’ll admit, I just can’t do it, I really can’t. Call me a one track mind but I’d rather do one thing properly than three things half-assed. I’m a man, what do you expect?
Myspace – Want to know what a social networking cemetery looks like? Log on.
The misuse of there, their and they’re – I know high school/college was a long time ago for some of us but C’MON, you’re killing me with postings like, “Aiight playa, see you their,” or “I’m hungry but they’re isn’t anything to eat!” or “Ugh, I hate my loud ass neighbors, there soo stoopid.” Guess who’s stupider than the neighbors?
When I saw the final score of the Lakers game Tuesday night, I nearly gizzed all over myself just thinking about what was coming Thursday. Two words: sports orgy.
I vowed not to watch Game 6 of the 2010 NBA Finals between my Lakers and the hated Celtics. Why? Well, because while I was watching Game 3 last week I was so fucken nervous/angry/distraught by the early (keyword: early) onslaught by the Celtics and worse, the gloating by their, to put it lightly, fucking fans I started getting sick to my stomach and decided to turn the television off. The end result? Lakers win. Seriously, I’m 32 I don’t need this level of stress. I don’t even have kids yet! Not to mention – well I’m mentioning it now – the images from the 2008 NBA Finals of Paul Pierce crying like the little [add whatever adjective you like here] that he is, getting rolled off on a wheelchair then coming back and killing the Lakers and eventually winning the series while their fans rejoiced like a bunch of idiots, haunts me in my nightmares to this very day. I do not need another Paul Pierce memory bouncing around in my skull. I think I take sports too serious sometimes.
Game 7 is Thursday and I seriously feel like GOD has created a mini-heaven on earth but potential hell for me. Not just because that game will be the equivalent of the Super Bowl of basketball and break all kinds of NBA Finals ratings records but because it’s between two of the most storied franchises in all of sports, one of which is the team that I have been cheering for since I was a little shit riding around in my BMX, taunting my sisters, not giving a fuck about anything other than little league baseball and my favorite sports teams winning championships. Yes, even the Dodgers and Raiders. In sum, don’t be surprised if Jesus returns and is sitting court side next to Jack on Thursday. Stay tuned.
I’m not finished though.
The Mexican National team will play France in the World Cup on the same blessed/cursed day. The World Cup is held every four years, so think about the likelihood of this happening on the same day. It’s fucken nuts. Before John Wooden died he answered a question about the secret to a long life, by stating, “Don’t let the peaks get too high and the valleys too low.” I couldn’t help but think of that quote and how the silly world of sport creates peaks and valleys for fans like me. I mean, they’re just sports right? Why must the outcome of a bouncing ball carry so much weight in the hearts and minds of the fan? I have no idea but I will think about John Wooden on Thursday because to be perfectly honest, a Laker and Mexico win will be the equivalent of having your birthday, the day you lost your virginity, the day you discovered Bob Marley and your first night in Europe rolled into one. Quite the peak right? On the flip side, if both teams lose and Paul Pierce and Co. get the privilege of celebrating another championship in my city, five miles down the 110 Freeway from me and Mexico loses to the French, it may be on par with my girl telling me she’s moving to her mom’s for a couple of weeks to think about our relationship. I’m from Monte but I’d rather take an ass beating than reach that valley and have my heart broken like that. Patch, Smy… “we got it, we got it, we got it…”
As some of you know, I went to the Coachella Music Festival a couple of weeks ago, followed by a trip up to Vancouver, B.C. (bring cash), Canada. One would think, “Wow, that sounds pretty freakin’ cool, it must have been a perfect vacation.” But as is the case in life, nothing is perfect yet there’s always a silver lining in a pool of shit. Hence, a new love/hate list inspired by recent experiences and events.
Love
Robin – I’d be hard pressed to think of someone who exudes more warmth, love, character and laughter. She’s almost as dope yet equally giving as my chica. Really though.
Thongs – GOD bless the first woman who saw this stringy underwear and thought to herself, “This part goes in my ass crack? Hmm, sounds good to me.” That woman should have a Pulitzer Prize. Thongs and the internet: our era’s greatest contributions to humanity. Also, they second as great indoor hats.
Swimming – I swim like a duck. All is calm above water but I’m doggy paddling like a mutha fucker under. Still, I love every second of it.
Miike Snow (Yes, that’s how it’s spelled) – What is it about these amazing Swedish bands? I was recently having a rough week, evaluating the level of happiness in my life, making sure I’m staying true to what the soul and heart demand but couldn’t figure things out. On my way home from work the song “Animal” came on and it was one of those moments when one realizes certain situations are never coincidence. I hate to bore you with how and why I relate to this song, but it reminded me of who I am and why. It inspired me and gave me comfort in the state of creation and suspension that is my mind. “I change shapes just to hide in this place but I’m still, I’m still an animal… nobody knows it but me when I slip, yea I slip, I’m still an animal.”
Used book stores – Book Alley in Pasadena, I’m talkin’ ‘bout you.
Lakers play-off games – The heart of L.A. isn’t downtown or Hollywood. It’s not even the Pacific Ocean beaches or our mostly dope ass neighborhoods. The collective heart of L.A. is a purple and gold jersey.
Vancouver – Sign # 1 that you are in an amazing city/country: The moment one walks onto the street from the train and are greeted not with exhaust fumes or the smell of rat piss a la NYC but with the pungent albeit delicious smell of B.C. Bud. Sign #2: Said weed is on sale in front of an art gallery while the police watch from across the street and do absolutely nothing. Mind you it’s 4/20 but still, that’s pretty bad ass in my book.
In-ear ear buds – When was the last time you listened to your iPod with the volume bar half blue and half white?
Funny or Die on HBO – Makes me realize that Fatima’s and my quirky ideas for a sketch comedy show can actually work.
My dad – I know this would seem to be obvious but if one thing life has taught me is that not everyone is fortunate enough to have parents that love the fucking shit out of them. Lucky for me and my sisters, we are that fortunate. He makes for quite the eccentric hero. If that weren’t enough, he is the most charismatic dude I’ve ever been witness to, he is funny as all hell, he is individualistic without apology and I am honored to be his son and thankful to still have him in my life.
Hate
Arizona law makers – Not all of them, just the assholes who wrote, voted for and approved SB 1070.
People who do not say “excuse me” when they walk in front of you, step on your toes and bump the person originally in front of you – Explanation not needed.
ETO – It’s our database software at work but the acronym should be POS (piece of shit).
L.A. public transportation – Yes, it’s improving but a nine mile train ride to work shouldn’t take 1 hour. Villaraigosa, don’t fuck this up for us!
The fact that there were no Asian people at the May Day rally – Seriously guys? I grew up in the S.G.V., we both know the deal.
Floyd Mayweather – It has nothing to do with his talking. I actually like that he believes in himself, considers himself the greatest fighter ever, is the cockiest man in any combat sport because it takes an incredible amount of courage and determination to be a prize fighter and excel at it. As a boxing fan, I have mad respect for him. He is just so atrociously boring to watch. It’s twenty times more entertaining to watch my nephew wiggle and dance like a deranged madman to Yo Gabba Gabba than to watch a Mayweather fight.
Assimilation – Yea, I get it, there are benefits to it but damn it sure takes the soul out of a city.
Hockey – Sorry MJ, I still don’t get the appeal and I don’t think I ever will. Wait, unless the next Crosby is Mexican.
Huge crowds – I’m claustrophobic and easily annoyed by dumb asses. How I got through Coachella without killing anyone only baby Jesus knows. Wait, this has a little more pop in Spanish. Allow me to translate: Grandes grupos de gente – Soy claustrofobico y me encabrono facilmente con pendejos/as. No mate nadie en Coachella porque Dios es muy grande.
Thinking about stuff I hate – It’s harder to find things that I hate than I love. I’m a glass half full kind of mutha fucker and I want to keep it that way. I’ll probably cut the hate list in half next time. If there is a next time (you know, si Dios nos da vida).
I’m home, tired and trying to reconcile the feelings, experience and musical magic of the last few days. I now understand the draw for the 10′s of thousands (closer to 100,000) of people from all over the world who have the means to travel to Indio, California to experience a festival like no other. When I saw the line-up for Coachella this year I just wanted to go to Day 2 (Saturday), then I discovered the band Little Dragon, saw I had just missed their stop in Los Angeles and vowed to see them on Day 1 (Friday). I bought a 3-Day pass for Fatima and myself and began a countdown to a weekend I would soon obsess over. The thought of three days in the desert scared the shit out of me as I don’t deal well with large, dirty & sweaty crowds. My sisters thought I wouldn’t last a day but I lasted two. I sold my wristband to some girl from OC on Day 3 (Sunday) and called it a show. I actually didn’t care too much for most of the artists on Sunday aside from Thom Yorke and Julian Casablancas but they didn’t care enough to bring the rest of their band members so I think we’re even. Prior to start of the festival, Fatima sold her ticket on ebay for a substantial profit being that she wasn’t nearly as excited about Coachella as I was. I figured going by myself would be another experience in itself and made like my favorite Star Wars character, Hans Solo.
Day 1
Fatima and Robin dropped me off at the back entrance to Coachella, Lot 2 to be exact. I was greeted with a line that was about a thousand people deep and not moving. I busted out the sun screen, made a couple of friends and waited, waited and waited. The natives were getting restless and Calle 13′s set time loomed so I joined in on restlessness. They’d just started playing and I was still in line with about two hundred peeps in front of me. A shit faced aristocrat wearing a Dodgers hat noticed my Dodgers t-shirt and struck up a conversation that made the next fifteen minutes feel like two. I was in, I bee lined it to the main stage and caught about half of Calle 13′s performance. They were great, not spectacular but I enjoyed their jovial spirit. I then bought a couple of bottles of water, threw one back, stored one in my bag, walked around a bit, grabbed a beer in the garden and headed over to the Mojave tent and waited to see Ra Ra Riot. They were good but halfway through the set I realized how many teenagers were there. I started to get annoyed and thought I’d head over to the main stage and grab a sweet spot to see The Specials. As I waited for The Specials’ set to start I realized it kind of sucked being there solo. Coachella is like sex; yes, you can do it alone but it’s a lot more fun with at least one more person. The Specials hit the stage and boy was I impressed. These dudes are in their fifties and put out more energy than a six year old on coke. Speaking of six year olds, there was a kid sitting on his dad’s shoulders singing along to every Specials song. This performance really got the festival started for me. As I was walking back to the beer garden I ran into Favi, an acquaintance who I feel comfortable calling a friend at this point. She had ventured on her own to see The Specials and was trying to find her friends. We headed over to the Outdoor Stage and half watched the Passion Pit performance. The sun was starting to set and the festival was taking a turn towards chaos. I mean, you could just feel it. Also, what is it about white people and large open spaces? They just start to dancing like jackasses? Is this in the DNA? Anyway, the setting sun created such a visually stunning atmosphere for Passion Pit. They were pretty fantastic but it was way too crowded to get close to the stage. I was pumped to see them but was disappointed by the enormous crowd. Eh, a glimpse was enough. Alas, Favi found her friend and we soon found ourselves eating shitty hamburgers. We split up and I was on my way to the Gobi tent to see none other than Little Dragon. It was such a meaningful performance for me. They were my 2nd reason for going to Coachella and they delivered. I can’t find the right adjectives, metaphor or analogy for their performance but this is why people come to Coachella, for moments like this. I left a new person and headed over to the main stage for Jay-Z and caught a glimpse of Vampire Weekend: queue up the white people hippy dance in open grass fields. Hilarious. Jay-Z was late and I didn’t stay until the end but what I did see was crazy. He opened to “Run This Town” and when Rihanna’s voice appropriately rang, “Feel it coming in the air and the screams from everywhere,” I think anyone within an earshot got a serious hit of goosebumps; I know I did. Jay-Z is no joke. That boy is blessed, as am I.
Day 2
One of the many lessons Day 1 taught me was that one requires a healthy level of stimulation to truly enjoy and tolerate the overall Coachella experience. Marijuana is perfect for this but given the fact that I don’t smoke Marijuana I opted to throw back a few beers before my arrival to the venue; Dodger game stylo. Sure, you can pay $7 for half a pint in the beer garden but who wants to do that all day? Anyway, I arrived with a nice buzz and supplemented that with a couple of half pints in the beer garden soon after I had met up with Favi. I was in a good place when Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeroes took the stage in the Outdoor Theatre. I enjoyed their performance but they are much better on record than they are live which kind of surprised me. Anyway, they were fun to watch and I’m glad I saw them but they didn’t blow me away. I headed over to the Mojave stage to see Gossip. Damn, they were hella entertaining. They had me and that tent rocking. I’d heard a lot about them leading up to the show but didn’t think they’d live up to the hype. They most certainly did. I tried to meet up with Favi which proved near impossible and caught The xx in the process, another hyped up band but this one didn’t deliver. Their sound is reminiscent of The Cure minus the stage presence of Robert Smith and not nearly half the talent. Two songs in, I was bored and sorta coming down from my buzz so I headed to the Dolab and rested a bit. A girl casually walked by and blew pink chunks twenty feet from me. I giggled, took pictures, watched more white people hippy dance in open fields of grass, giggled some more and went back to the beer garden. I bought a slice of pie, had another beer and patiently waited for Aterciopelados in the Mojave tent. In a matter of five minutes, an empty tent was sardine solid and I was about ten feet from the stage. Andrea Echeverri is a sight to see. She’s not traditionally beautiful but is gorgeous in every other way. I am in love with her soul, her music, her view of the world. This was thee highlight of Coachella. Little Dragon was amazing but Aterciopelados reminded me of why I love being Mestizo, why the experience of having conflicting blood of conquerer and the conquered can bring about a deep understanding about humanity because quite frankly, colonialism literally runs through our veins. Yet, we strive to not see flags, color, borders, etc. I love this band and I love that I saw them at Coachella. Few things in the world of music can compare to this. I’d given up hope of meeting up with Favi again and quickly made my way to see MGMT. As I was approaching the Outdoor Theatre and looking for a spot to chill I felt someone tap my arm. There was Favi with friends in tow. We chatted while MGMT did their thing. As one can imagine, there was a huge crowd for them and I actually enjoyed every bit of it. Tens of thousands of people singing along to “Time to Pretend” was a moment I will probably remember for the rest of my life. We decided on leaving Coachella after at least a few songs by Muse later that night so we headed back to the Mojave tent to catch Majer Lazer. We were there for less than five minutes before we realized Muse had taken the stage and headed over to see them. Muse was probably the biggest surprise for me. I’m not a big fan but fell in love with their live, grandiose stadium style performance. Their performance of “Starlight” was another, “Oh shit, this is fucking amazing, I feel fortunate to be here,” Coachella moment that people will talk about for years to come. That song reminded me of my family and friends and I felt compelled to call my sister Claudia hoping she could experience a snippet of what I was but she couldn’t hear a thing. Fatima had arrived and we made our way to the exit.
Like I said at the beginning of this piece, I didn’t go to Day 3 of Coachella. I sold my wristband and opted to swim and drink in the confines of Robin’s family Palm Springs home. Part of me wished I had gone to Day 3. I had already developed the tolerance and still had energy enough for another day but the artists weren’t enough for me. Besides, there was no guarantee I would see and actually stick with Favi, who was an awesome partner in crime while in the beast that is Coachella, for better or worse. I found we shared a similar experience in feeling like we’d been at the festival alone, just tagging along. I was thankful to have her there and I hopefully found a friend in her. I missed a lot of artists that I really wanted to see mostly due to set time conflicts and the like but that was okay with me. L.A. Is a mecca for live events and Coachella will always be there in April. While it does suck to be alone in a sea of strangers in the process of it all I discovered that I really like myself. I’d debrief performances in my head and think about what was happening around and think to myself, “Ha! Lucio, you are one cool dude man, I’m glad I’m you.” These are the things that happen at Coachella my friends. Yes, there are moments where annoyance is in the forefront of the mind. Dudes, jumping into one and yelling in our ears, drunk fucks stumbling about (wait, that was me), long lines, portable toilets, white people hippy dancing in grass fields (I can’t get over this one) and on and on. In reality Coachella is an amazing experience, be it the music, the drugs, the people, the atmosphere or a little of everything. In all likelihood I will return but this time with girl and/or friends/family in tow. I can’t wait.
April has easily become one of my favorite months on the Gregorian calendar and not just because I’m a devout Catholic and can’t wait for Easter to come so I can pray to the Easter bunny to bring me chocolates hidden in plastic eggs hidden in potted plants because you know, that’s what Easter’s all about. Secondary reasons for loving April come by way of it being my mom’s birthday, the start of baseball season, the 420 holiday, the Master’s (yes, golf), the NFL draft, the unofficial end of spring for L.A. proper peeps, Coachella, and many other nuggets of goodness the month of April brings. “April showers bring May flowers.” Chale, not ‘round these parts.
I felt compelled to write a list of things I currently love, such as, the month of April and hate, such as, all things Fox News. Keep in mind; these are “a people, place or thing” I currently love/hate. Keyword: currently. Who knows, if Sarah Palin decides to quit her current job and take a jab at the wonderful world of mixed martial arts she may jump lists. Without being too obvious and in no particular order:
Love
Mexican/Mexican-American Athletes – Mark Sanchez, Alfredo Angulo, Cain Velasquez, Rafael Marquez. I try to not take too much pride in the accomplishments of my fellow Mexicano because I strive to be a citizen of the world above everything else but damn, the World Cup is just around the corner and I’ve been drinking more Tecates than Stone IPA’s lately.
5:30PM on Fridays – Explanation not applicable.
Little Dragon – It’s rare when music makes you want to cry, yell, laugh, time travel, die and fly all at once. I know I talk this band up quite a bit but it’s well deserved.
The little fan that sits on my desk – Keeping me cooler than the other side of the pillow since 2007. Oh yea and curbing my claustrophobia.
Private numbers on my Caller ID – Who are these people? Who cares, I love surprises.
Octavia Butler – Not only the best writer from L.A. but one of the best ever.
Fat Asian Babies – Seriously, what’s not to love besides the shit in their diaper?
The Hide button on Facebook – Yea, I get it, you rock at Bejeweled and wasting time.
Family Guy – “…and Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii will always love youououououououou.”
Lifting Weights – You think this amazing physique comes easy? (That’s what she said)
Hate
Doing my taxes – seriously, it hurts a little.
Themed parties – Last I checked, baby Jesus designated one day a year for dress up. It’s called Halloween. I don’t think the word hate is strong enough for this one.
Hangovers – Really, the last thing I want to do is take an aspirin and inflict even further damage upon my liver.
The Oinkster Restaurant in Eagle Rock – Unless you like a little pastrami with your tendon.
Complain Bragging on Facebook/Twitter – Example post: “Oh my God I’m so pissed off, I have to get dropped off at the airport and sit on a plane to Brazil for fourteen hours to judge a blow job contest. Waaa! Life’s not fair!”
The Tea Baggers – The dumb ass doesn’t fall too far from the Republican.
The McCourts – The Donald Sterlings of baseball.
The food truck fad in L.A. – There are like a thousand old school taco trucks in L.A. that will serve you an amazing carne asada burrito, an al pastor taco with a side of radishes and a Jarrito de pina for five bucks but you want to wait in line for two hours so you can pay twelve bucks for a shitty ass Korean style “burrito” made by some forty year old dude from the valley who dropped out of culinary school after only two weeks in a truck with plasma t.v.’s showing Young Frankenstein? Seriously!?
Adults with angst – There’s a time and a place for being a whiny little bitch; it’s called high school.
Unprofessional musicians – Just because you can drink while working doesn’t mean you can show up an hour late and get shit faced drunk to the point where at least five people ask if they should call an ambulance because you’re power napping in a pool of your bass player’s vomit/urine/blood in the smoking area of the club. VBC, I’m talkin’ ’bout you.
Anyway, that’s it for now. I leave to Coachella on Friday and Vancouver on Tuesday so I’m sure new loves and hates will develop, along with a new list.
Subject matter for a blog comes relatively easy for me. Whether I decide to actually put finger to keyboard is another thing but inspiration is never too far away. I’ve been coming back to one subject I simply can’t shake; its become a monkey on my back and the reason for it is because, to be completely honest, I have not been able to completely figure out how I feel about it. No closure may come from it, no end, no ultimate truth to hang my hat on. Just an unraveling of ideas and memories and well, stuff.
Home. That’s it, home. The place, the idea, the philosophy even.
While living in El Monte, I reminisced fondly on the old blue house in Baldwin Park where I spent the first twelve years of my life. It’s true I’m not 100% a child of El Monte, more on that later. Many times my sisters and I have started sentences with, “Do you remember the time at the blue house when… blah blah blah,” reflection would set in and silence would cut the air with a deep realization that THAT home as we knew it, was gone forever.
For better or worse, El Monte was home for a long time. It still kind of is, as is the old blue house. My immediate family is like one oscillating cell spread across the L.A. and Riverside County landscape: from Westwood all the way to Riverside. So now, as you can probably guess, we reminisce over the glorious beast that is El Monte. I lived there as a kid with my mom & sisters and as an aspiring adult more recently. The more I think of it, the more I miss it.
So where is home today? I guess for me it’s in Highland Park. I love the pulse of the city, the buzzing of the 110 freeway outside my window, the quiet of my cul-de-sac. My cravings for Tito’s, Alberto’s and Taco Nazo have been replaced by La Estrella taco truck, My Taco, The York, among a wide array of the best Mexican food in L.A. That’s right, thee best in L.A. I’ve replaced my river bed bike rides with rides up to and around the Rose Bowl and to and from nearby watering holes. Beer runs to Clarks/Sav-On/CVS now head to Foremost Liquor, Galco’s Soda Pop Stop. Cumbias and soccer games blaring at full volume on Saturday mornings are no more. I actually miss that. 90% of my neighborhood knowing all my business is no longer a concern. I don’t miss that. Hour long commutes to and from work have been replaced by twenty-five minute drives that take me around Chavez Ravine everyday. I think there are five entrances into Dodger Stadium yet I know ten different ways of getting there. In sum, I love Highland Park as much as I miss El Monte but to be quiet honest neither of those cities truly are home and neither is the old blue house.
In a very round about way what I’m trying to say is that for me home isn’t a place, a city, a house, an apartment, a thing. When I travel I get hella homesick, HELLA fucking HOMESICK. Yes, I miss my place and I miss my routine but what I miss most is my family and friends. I’m certain many a writer has written about this and it’s way cliché to say the least but it’s cliché for a reason. Home is a memory of a playground love but it’s also woman impassioned to make this planet, this country, this city, Boyle Heights a better place. Home is Noah playing basketball. Home is a thirty-two year old grown ass man greeting his father with a kiss on the cheek. Home is knowing two other souls as well as you know yourself. Home is a mother who lives in a world of little people: Lucito, Claudita, Mayrita. Home is a Dodger game with Patch and Bear. Home is one too many beers at the 35er with Smy, a late night conversation with Mariana at the Little Cave, a grilled cheese at The York with Sofia. Apparently, home involves a lot of beer.
Home isn’t some abstract idea but it undoubtedly continues to change. I’m sure when I have kids, home will require an entirely new chapter with a couple of new characters added, like a George R.R. Martin novel. What’s home to you?
I’m not sure where to begin, so I’ll just start at the beginning.
When I was a little kid I used to think it’d be cool to have an older sister. I imagined someone bigger and smarter than me who could navigate the world at large in such a way that made it all accessible to me. She could be the Christopher Columbus to my Spain. I was hella curious and experimented with the world around me in ways most little kids do. I’d play with the plants in my backyard and come up with grass/weeds/yerba buena/dirt concoctions that surely held the cure to many of the world’s ailments. I’d make stone soup, play with ladybugs and imagine E.T.-like aliens landing in my backyard, taking me to outer space and showing me things I never dreamed existed. But still, above it all I wanted a big sister.
When I turned six, I got a little sister and when I turned eight I got another. I had a hard time yielding the center of attention as I think most 1st borns do. We spent a fraction of our lives in Baldwin Park and at that time my sisters were simply little girls I could practice my WWF Ultimate Warrior moves on when I wasn’t at school, helping my dad in the garage, playing baseball or riding my BMX. I did my thing and they did theirs; whatever it was. Not until our parents split up and we moved to El Monte did I become close with my sisters. As most siblings do, we had our rough patches; we fought over stupid shit, I was overprotective, I was an asshole, I was selfish. Wait, I’m still overprotective. Not until I had the maturity and clarity to realize the significance of my role in their lives did I do everything in my power to be the brother they deserved. Yes, I’m sure I still fall short sometimes but I never fall short of trying. They’ve become thee integral part of my life. If I were to identify the 10 greatest moments of my life and the 10 most difficult ones, they’d easily be in 16 of 20. Like a Marine and his rifle; without my sisters I am nothing.
For a large part of my life I thought having children, owning a home and planting deep roots anywhere was for suckers, for traditionalists that drank the kool-aid by the gallons. I always imagined moving to NYC or London and making a life for myself with creatures from the bad lands then moving on to badder lands. I longed for a version of the elusive adventures I dreamt of as a little kid. I longed for the great unknown and for the future. Not until I took an extended vacation in Mexico about five years ago did I realize I can never leave Los Angeles. My roots are too deep, intricate and beautiful. Noah and Co. are here and here is where I’ll stay. Today, I want children, I’ve started researching home buying and I’ve embraced my mile deep roots.
I still think about the big sister.
I can’t remember when but at some point during my childhood my dad told me that I have an older sister who lives in El Paso, Texas. My dad lived in the border town of Ciudad Juarez for years and before he got with my mom, moved out to L.A. proper and knocked her up with the narrator of this here story, my dad fathered a daughter in El Chuco. Suffice to say he was never a real part of her life. Again, I can’t remember when but at some point during my childhood she flew out to L.A. and I met her. I remember being nervous and shy, saying hi to her, running out to my backyard as I would sneak peaks at her while she sat at our kitchen table. I knew nothing about her other than her name. Norma. I didn’t see her for another 15 years or so until 2002 when my dad and I went back to El Paso. I met her husband and at the time, infant daughter. Norma, in a way I will never forget, said to her unknowing baby, “that’s your tio,” as I held her.
To be perfectly honest I still know very little about Norma but I do know this. I don’t want to live with regret. I live by a few very simple rules and one of those rules is to never regret anything and for the most part I stay true to that but I know if I were to die today and there was any way to reflect upon my life I’d have one single regret. That I didn’t try to make Norma a part of my life.
A few months ago I asked my dad if he had recently spoken with Norma. He said no but that he would try to call her soon. I told him that I wanted to get in contact with her. Somehow the conversation was directed somewhere else and I didn’t bring up the subject again.
My dad, sisters and I along with Fatima and a 2nd cousin of ours went to dinner last night. My dad in his usual hilarious way waxed about his recent trip to Vegas, our family and his previous trip to El Paso where he saw Norma and her daughters. She recently had another daughter and my dad talked about how holding his grandchild had struck an emotional chord with him. Hearing him say that pained me and reminded me that I need to reach out to her. I asked my dad if he had Norma’s phone number on his cell phone and asked him to give it to me. I programmed the (915) digits into my Blackberry half believing I would call her. I still haven’t done so but I will. Soon.
I just don’t know what to say. I want to tell her that despite time and space I love her. I know it’s not my place to say this but I want to say I’m sorry that my dad wasn’t a part of her life. I want her to know that I want her and her family to be a part of ours. I know these things may take time even if she’s completely receptive to the idea. I want to get to know her and I want her to get to know me and my sisters but where do I begin? Where does anything of this magnitude begin?
” to his friend on BBM because she just admitted she’s taking a poop.
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