Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Coffee & Jazz (remix)
In an effort to consolidate all of my “work” (wacha-wacha, he said ‘my work.’ Ay si, muy chignon. What a big shot), I’ve decided to edit and repost old pieces from my two former blogs; www.humbertave.blogspot.com & www.iwritela.blogspot.com. Since some pieces are close to four years old, I’ve tried to put them in context. Happy reading.
This piece is titled Coffee & Jazz. I wrote it on November 5, 2004 while sipping on some New Mexican Pinon Coffee and listening to Miles Davis’ Kind of Blue (hence the name), shortly after the re-election of George W. Piece-of-shit-dumb-mother-fucker I was so incredibly disappointed and angry that I couldn’t help but create a blog and vent my explosive frustrations. I mean, I thought in my heart of hearts that there was NO WAY George W. would get reelected, no way. Boy, how I gave this country so much credit.
Having had a couple of days to reflect on what had just happened, this piece was my way of coming to terms with the decent of American dominance, as our decline was inevitable under dickhead’s regime, yes I called it regime. Close to four years later, it’s sad how my words braced for the worst and got just that. How scary and doubly poetic that my Pablo Neruda reference is coming to light faster than ever imagined. Snowfall in Baldwin Park? Tornados in Riverside? What’s next? I shudder to think. Climate change is real y’all.
Like Operation Ivy said:
“We say stand together!
Not to fight, just to exist
Take warning!”
This piece is titled Coffee & Jazz. I wrote it on November 5, 2004 while sipping on some New Mexican Pinon Coffee and listening to Miles Davis’ Kind of Blue (hence the name), shortly after the re-election of George W. Piece-of-shit-dumb-mother-fucker I was so incredibly disappointed and angry that I couldn’t help but create a blog and vent my explosive frustrations. I mean, I thought in my heart of hearts that there was NO WAY George W. would get reelected, no way. Boy, how I gave this country so much credit.
Having had a couple of days to reflect on what had just happened, this piece was my way of coming to terms with the decent of American dominance, as our decline was inevitable under dickhead’s regime, yes I called it regime. Close to four years later, it’s sad how my words braced for the worst and got just that. How scary and doubly poetic that my Pablo Neruda reference is coming to light faster than ever imagined. Snowfall in Baldwin Park? Tornados in Riverside? What’s next? I shudder to think. Climate change is real y’all.
Like Operation Ivy said:
“We say stand together!
Not to fight, just to exist
Take warning!”
Coffee & Jazz
No worries! I figured it out. I know where we go from here. The decent of the U.S. can be dealt with in the same way typical Americans deal with poverty, racism, police brutality, pretty much all things unjust. The answer: Look the other way and consume. Just close your eyes. Really, try it. Notice how everything just disappears? Consider yourselves lucky… I discovered the formula and am able to distribute it at no cost.So I’ll just sit here, drink my coffee, listen to Miles, watch TV, consume, and live happily ever after. Foreign policy will be just that, foreign to me. I’m starting to like this whole apathy thing. It’s very… what’s the word… refreshing.
Wait a minute, I’m going to have to step outside and interact with the rest of the world… that poses a problem. I’m going to have to pay taxes right? I didn’t even realize I’ll have to continue to breathe this filthy Los Angeles air/smog. I hope my body can sustain these toxicity levels the same way cockroaches sustain everything but a shoe to the back. That’s why stem cell research is THAT important, we’re going to need the research once our lungs devolve and develop new diseases because of the overwhelming disregard to our environment.
This election was all about Iraq, terror, swift boats? What the fuck… More important than all three combined is the need to keep our environment clean, safe, and in a livable condition. I’m 1,000 times more likely to die from cancer, than from a terrorist attack. Al-qaida is nowhere near as scary as the car fumes spewing from Suburbans barreling down the 101 during rush hour. Don’t believe me? Roll down your window, take a deep breath and pray you regain consciousness before you need to hit the brakes.
To answer one of Pablo Neruda’s unanswerable questions… “Cannot a kiss of spring also kill you?” I think he was alluding to what is now obvious. Yes, in a few years, a kiss of spring will kill us. Technology and environmental progressive policy have taken a back seat to corporate policy and religious ideals. It’s only a matter of time before this planet explodes… look on the bright side, think of all the pretty colors that will be on display. It will be like the Rose Bowl’s Fourth of July celebration on steroids.
I guess this whole apathy doesn’t quite work for me… Closing my eyes while driving in traffic isn’t going to get rid of the bumper to bumper traffic that’s killing me little by little the same way Marlboro reds kill nicotine freaks… Apathy only adds to the problem, but you already knew that. Right? The real solution lies in an uprising through education of the masses! But it is profitable? Not in the least.
Con Safos, - Lucio
Labels: blast from the past
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Banderas, Banderas
If waking up to bright sunlight shining through a blanket of stratocumulus clouds while pockets of wind carry 68 degree temperatures through large 82 degree sections of earth isn’t a clear sign of the apocalypse OR further proof of climate change, I don’t know what is. How on earth (literally) can it be sunny, cloudy, hot, cold and windy at the same time? This is Los Angeles not Kimberly, Australia and the weather should reflect as such. Those new Prius hybrids can’t get here soon enough can they?
Disclaimer: This piece is mostly about sports, basketball being the main character. I know a good portion of you don’t follow sports all that much. How do I know? Well, you’re reading a blog aren’t you? Speaks volumes kid. Anyway, I tried the best I could to make this concoction of words as attainable as possible to the non-jersey wearing, non-MLB Extra Innings subscribing, non-ESPNEWS watching, non-Bill Walton hating, non-Marv Albert Cleveland Steamer joke making readers of this here blog. Try to Enjoy.
Basketball is not my favorite spectator sport; it’s not even my 4th favorite. I’d rank my Top Five favorite spectator sports in this particular order (here I go with my lists again):
1. Baseball – Contrary to what people say, baseball is not boring. Sit in the Left Field Pavilions for a Dodgers vs. Giants game or fly to Boston for a Red Sox game (I know, that’s a bit of a stretch, but still) and you’ll know why millions upon millions of fans look forward to spring the way ten year olds look forward to Christmas every year. My little sister, her boyfriend Carlos and I spent a good chunk of our Saturday night reminiscing about little league baseball like a couple of old fogies talking about how they used to sit around the radio listening to Amos ‘n’ Andy, ah, the good ol’ days. Side Note: With all the distractions by way of technological advancements, be it the internet, iPod’s, Xbox’s, 24 hour satellite/cable programming et al can you even fathom having radio as your only source of entertainment? I can’t. On to two.
2. Football – I can’t stress SPECTATOR enough here. What I love about football, the NFL actually, is that they’ve taken Sunday, the weekly end all be all of fun days and turned into a day I actually can’t wait for. It’s kind of like having to go to an engagement party with your girlfriend only to find out the engagement party GODs have mandated all parties must include a gambling component in addition to a continuous flow of Lagunitas I.P.A. on tap. You can call that a platinum lining. Top that off with the drudgery killing Monday Night Football game; psychologists can learn a thing or two from NFL execs. Who said men were complicated beasts? We’re just beasts.
3. Boxing – Yes, despite the escalating popularity of Mixed Martial Arts fighting I still love boxing. The sweet science, as it’s been dubbed is still at the core of my sports regimen. The thing about MMA, you get to kick and wrestle, I don’t know man but that’s just not my cup o’tea. Think about it, when was the last time you saw two dudes wrestling on the ground and thought, “Wow, those guys sure look tough, I’d hate to jump in on that display of aggression?” Plus, in MMA, fighters can tap out. You know how boxers tap out of their boxing matches? By getting knocked the fuck out! Anyway, when one grows up watching Julio Cesar Chavez destroy guys bigger and faster than him all while carrying a flag symbolizing the hopes, dreams and aspirations of your parents, yourself and everyone around you, you have no conscious choice.
4. Futbol (soccer for the gabachos) – Like Victor Vargas’ affinity to Pimpdome, it’s in the sangre kid. I cannot think of a greater joy outside the joy love bears than watching the Mexican National Soccer team participate in the World Cup, let alone succeed. Can you think of anything on this planet (sports related), more unifying AND polarizing than the grandeur of the World Cup? It makes the Super Bowl look like a pencil fight between two needle dick nerds in their corduroys. Wait until the year 2010 when the Tricolor sends to the pitch, undoubtedly, the best National Team they’ve ever assembled. I’m getting goosebumps just thinking about it. Fo’ real... or is it fa' real? I dunno.
5. Basketball – Again, I revert back to the SPECTACTOR description of this list mainly because I love playing basketball, more so than any other sport, even baseball. Baseball is like geometry, once you’re away from it for a long period of time it’s hard to be as good as you once were; not that I was any good at geometry or anything. But I digress...
Back to basketball. As most of you are Angelenoes, I’m sure you’re aware that the Lakers are in the playoffs and are actually kicking ass AND actually have a legitimate shot at winning the championship. I’m not here to spew negative about Kobe’s person, not the player. I could mention how the PETA activist in me hates his fur coat wearing ways, how the fraternizer in me hates how he’s thrown teammates under the bus, how the brother of 2.5 sisters still speculates and wonders about the Denver, Colorado incident but I’ll leave it at that. I love playoff basketball.
As SoCalifornians a good majority of us have been lucky enough to live through some amazing Lakers teams, whether you follow religiously and hold an abstinence shrine for A.C. Green, watch come playoff time (like me) or are annoyed by the whole fiasco and the car flags associated with Lakers greatness, it’s a force to be reckoned with. The thing about basketball is that it’s such a dramatic sport, like HBO’s The Wire dramatic. I can’t even count the number of times I’ve sat in front of the television in agony as Chick Hearn, whom I’ve never met yet love and dearly miss, would do the play-by-play as if life and death were on the line, as the city Los Angeles held their collective breath for .4 seconds as Derek Fisher sank a three-pointer that eventually resulted in another trip to the NBA Finals, as Robert Horry sank game clinching three's topping off (at the time; funny thing is the Lakers pulled a similar comeback last night) the greatest comeback in playoff history and pandemonium ensued at Staples Center. I remember my sister Mayra and I, even my mom, even Cloddy for crying out loud, glued to the TV as the 2000 Lakers hung on to their season as the Portland Trailblazers rode into Staples Center and played the 1st half like they were playing pick-up ball in their own backward only to watch the Lakers come back and win in (again) dramatic fashion; here’s a video of said game, check minute 5:15 as the Kobe/Shaq era sank their first significant dagger: look at Shaq’s face, look at Staples Center, look at the sheer chaos.
So we’re back with a new and old cast of characters and a story that’s yet to unfold; we’ve had a taste as in last night’s incredible comeback, we’ve had defining moments as in a Game 6 win in the barb wire comfy confines of Utah. The Lakers have been insignificant since Shaq left but how things have changed this season. Back are the sleepless nights, tossing and turning thinking about tomorrow’s game as if I were donning the purple and gold myself. Back are the days of it being okay to say you hate a whole municipality and its citizens even though you don’t really mean it. Back are the Lakers. But what is most important... back are those Lakers car flags.
Labels: baseball, basketball, nostalgia
Friday, May 2, 2008
From Sicko to Sanity
I've been hella sick since Sunday, like "I'd rather hang out with my ex-coworker Tony for an entire week than be this sick for one day" sick. Aside from being the epitome of a bitch, with all due respect to pregnant dogs everywhere, Tony is the last person I'd want to spend one minute with ever again; in my life. Ever. So yea, I'm pretty sick.
Usually one feels pretty good about missing work for a couple of days. In all honesty, I actually enjoyed Monday. I mean, I didn't enjoy being sick (who does right?) but I did enjoy fraternizing with Bear (my roommate for those that don't know) for an entire day. That fool is like a brother to me and incredibly funny so a day of, "What do you want to eat?" and "Let's watch the Indians vs. Yankees game (that MLB Extra Innings package is the shit) in the afternoon" makes for a pretty cool day and not a complete waste of a sick day. At least that's what I tell myself.
Tuesday was another story. I was heavily medicated and in bed most of the day, trying to sleep and not cough my lungs outs. How anybody can smoke ciggies and live with that smoker's cough is beyond me. If the social drinker occasionally experienced the equivalent to a kick on the nuts from time to time, you think I'd throw back the red label Chimays at the 35er from time to time? I wouldn't even drink Bud Light.
So Wednesday came and I figured my cold or flu or dose of karmic repercussion or whatever the fuck this is, was slightly at bay and I could resume the normal day to day functions of a non-profit org dweller. I got up, showered, dressed like I was going to dinner with my sister for her boyfriend's birthday (you know, not like a complete dickhead), pill popped some Drixoral and headed to work. Powering through work with a brain that feels like it's turning to mash potatoes is like trying to grip the steering wheel of your ride with your feet. Just because it can be done, doesn't mean it should. One pendejo point for me.
By Thursday you'd of thought I'd learned my lesson right? Well, of course I hadn't. I'm not sure if it was my medication cocktail or the psychological game I thought I'd play on myself would work: Go to work, act like everything's normal and your body will agree. Two pendejo points for me.
After thinking about all the "You should go home" comments, cross bearing ladies and cosmic dazes into my coffee mug at work, I thought to myself. "If you don't wake up well on Friday, you're going to stay home."
I think I slept about two hours in total on Thursday night/Friday morning. I'd wake myself with a cough or just simple discomfort. I'd get up, spray some Chloraseptic on the back of my throat and try to go back to sleep; didn't work much. Alas, it was 6:17 a.m. or something like that and I decided to go to work. I got up from bed, did a mental check of how I was feeling; which can be summed up with "I still feel like shit." Mornings are the times one feels worse so I showered and pretended everything was cool in case everything was in fact cool once the morning grogginess expired. I sat at my bed while watching The Today Show thinking, "Damn, I thought Al Roker had lost weight? Homeboy looks like as bad as I feel right now." So as I sat there disgusted for many reasons I realized this 'going through the motions' crap had been an exercise in futility and decided to rest up and work my way to normalcy the rest of the day. So I regretfully called in sick. One chido point for me!
I hate to admit this but even though a zombie version of myself had just been there the day before, I missed work. From the lefty politico verbiage and posters to the guy pod to the shitty coffee to the constant tapping of keyboards. Like a homesick fool, I missed the comfort of work. I know what you're thinking. "That boy dun lost his mind."
So here I am sick as a dog but already feeling like I'm on the upswing. I've been hanging downstairs playing Grand Theft Auto 4 and taking pill and after pill while Bear doses in and out of lazy, hungry and sleepy mode. He left for a while and as I sat there in my mess I started to get slightly depressed; which can only mean two things... it's time to clean and put on some music.
I popped in my Sunday Night Waiting Game Mix CD (Again, for those that don't know I create mix CDs every couple of months or so and come up with relevant and sometimes clever names for them. These mixes usually contain the latest musical flavor of the week or represent a mood or are just plain fucking good songs or all of the above). Three tracks, a clean table and a couple of soapy dishes in, any trace of melancholy had been crushed and devoured by the following beasts:
Kanye West's The Glory,
The Flock of Seagulls' Space Age Love Song,
Rogue Wave's Lake Michigan
... and that was just three songs in.
Well, that's that. It had been well over a year since I'd gotten sick but alas, it was inevitable. I hope another year passes before I endure this level of discomfort and pain again. Either way, things haven't been so bad. The weekend is here and before I know I'll be back at work, talking shit about John McCain and waxing poetic about all, um, most things Los Angeles.
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