On my recent trip to Houston I was able to visit my folks’ new home for the first time (they’ve been there for 6 years). In addition to a homecoming to my mom & dad’s hearty home cooking (heaps of corned beef hash, steamed rice and eggs for breakfast plus chicken adobo and arroz caldo for dinner), I was also able to reacquaint myself with a big ol’ stack of old photo albums which chronicle my life from birth all the way through my teen years. Born in 1970, I’ve been privileged with everything from the plaid plague to the bowl-cut boy look which pretty much defined my existence until the discovery of Dep® gel in 1983. Ah, what decades of decadence.
Above are some photos I found of me showing off my brand new “Wild Silver” bike, which my dad bought for me from JCPenney in 1979. The bike was not even a day old when these pictures were taken. It’s kinda funny that it looks like I changed my shirt to a Star Wars one midway through the photo shoot. It would make sense, that was my favorite shirt in the world.
I remember being totally stoked when I got this bike, but I couldn’t even ride it anywhere ‘coz the neighborhood was so bad and I risked getting it swiped from me by the local cholos, who eyed it like a prize from the day I pushed the pedal.
When we moved to Westchester only a few months later, I found myself in a neighborhood 1,000 times more clean, quiet and safe than Culver City was, so my bike enjoyed a period of sea-salted, sun-soaked happiness, which was cut short by the arrival of the “new” style of BMX bike, which did away with banana seats, fenders, chain guards, and nearly everything else which my Wild Silver had stood so proudly for. Not wanting to be singled out for ridicule, I quickly shunned the Silver and it remained in my garage from then on while I sought a new bike. Yes, in only matter of months it went from star stallion to dead like disco.
Anyways, I’ve been on a scanning safari, placing these photos on the platen and plastering the plethora onto my hard drive. So you best believe you’re in for a mighty treat of super-sweetness as I take you on a trip through trippiness.
There’s those stories of parents who try to turn their kids into child prodigies; shape them into “trophies” which they can show off—stories like Joy Luck Club and even Little Miss Sunshine.
As much as I try to encourage my kid to play drums, I never force him…although there is something in me that says I should be teaching him more often than I have been. He definitely shows interest, and plays his drumset without even being asked to (as in above).
I often wonder how important it is to nurture such things…like, if I was just to leave him on autopilot, would he keep playing at his own leisure and eventually get better? Or does that tiny ounce of extra encouragement from me make all the difference in the world as to whether or not he ends up playing the drums in the future?
Ah, the unending wonders of fatherhood.
Oh, and yes, if you haven’t noticed yet, I did make some changes around here. =)
We made our way over the bridge to the 710 North; a bridge which she always tells me to slow down on. We’d just received our first major rainfall of the year, the beginning of what was to be a week-long drench. Was that possible? I wondered if this was a blessing, or yet another symptom of global warming.
I thought of the possibilities and wandered in the grey area, as grey as the sky around us. Then suddenly, up ahead, a bright rainbow sliced the sky.
I smiled and remembered Maui, where we saw a similar sight. But we were here in L.A…specifically on the line between Bell and Bell Gardens, two places whose names I used to interchange without thought when I first met her. Then one day a friend made it clear…
“So where’s she from?”
“I dunno…Bell? Bell Gardens? Whatever.”
“Whatever? No…it’s either Bell, or Bell Gardens. Big difference.”
“Really? I thought they were the same thing.”
“What??! Oh hayell no man…there’s a huge difference between Bell and Bell Garbage dood!”
But there we were, in the midst of a beauty band whose pot of gold was right smack in the middle of the so-called garbage heap. Indeed, one man’s trash is another man’s treasure.
Cool design. Cheap construction. The Ikea formula.
I just bought some shelving units from Ikea for my kid’s bedroom. He has a bunch of toys and we need to get them organized. As neatly laid out and aesthetically pleasing Ikea is, there are some things I’ve realized after building these things:
Although they look all cool and modern and euro, Ikea’s shelves are simply just compressed wood shavings cleverly wrapped in nice veneer. While unpacking and lifting the shelves, I got reminded of stage props. Wow, they look real…but they’re not!
After realizing this, my better half and I both agreed that we should be paying less than half of what we really spent on these things.
Nevertheless, we, like many others, flock and feed from a company who’s managed to market themselves in such a way that one can nearly overlook or forgive the cheap construction in favor of the artsy, minimal-modern euro styling and exotic euro brand names that add to the illusion of quality, durable goods.
Ikea should really include a hammer or rubber mallet (to avoid damaging the cleverly wrapped wood chips) in their instruction manual when listing tools needed to build.
A hammer really comes in handy to tap in the wooden dowels to even lengths, and even more so to force feed the frequently stubborn allen bolts used to finish the shelves.
One should use caution when building these units, as the clever clumps of composite material appear to be solid, but actually get easily chipped and dented—the protective veneer is paper thin.
I’ve always wanted my kid to see me play. Then one night, I saw him play, right on stage during our closing number. Watch for him next to Deston (keyboard player on left) about midway through the song. What a kid.
I wanna put this on a black hoodie but they don’t make ‘em. Rats.
Meanwhile, I did put in an order for this shirt and the other ones I’ve made on Zazzle, including my What Would ZOD Do? shirt, which had been banned from the site due to legal matters. Actually they should be getting here tomorrow, so I’ll be sure to snap some shots.
It feels good in my hand
Soft and squishy
but firm
The pill says Dquil
In neat, modern letters
I think of the factory where they made them
and picture the machines
and people on breaks
having coffee
or vending machine cookies
I hold it up to the light
and see it shine through
the blazing red orange
technology is beautiful
multimillions
made on our well-being
somewhere someone
can say “I did that.”
Motherfucker.
I think of the future
this could be food
a complete meal
a baconburger combo
kung pao chicken
with brown rice
dinuguan
filet mignon
toast with butter
For now it is hope
hope that it works
cures me of this
crazy, annoying thing
called sickness
Why?
Not coz I feel feverish
not coz I hate coughing
not coz I hate blowing
my nose of sticky
yellow snot
It’s ‘coz I have a kid
who can say
“I want to play with you, Daddy”
so freakin’ clearly
that it shatters my heart
into a million pieces
each and every millisecond
that I hesitate because
of my weakened condition
This morning I woke up and was like, “I want to celebrate today with some good food.”
I remembered that in my cupboard I had one of those new “half-can” Spams, which yielded just enough slices for a hearty breakfast. So out on the stove it went. Sizzle sizzle. Mmm mm. Hot, fried Spam on a bed of fresh steamy white rice is definitely something I’m thankful for…on any day. 10-12 hour turkey? Whatever.
Speaking of this holiday, by far the most memorable quote I associate with Thanksgiving would be Wednesday’s ad-lib in the Thanksgiving Day Play on Addams Family Values:
You have taken the land which is rightfully ours. Years from now my people will be forced to live in mobile homes on reservations. Your people will wear cardigans, and drink highballs. We will sell our bracelets by the road sides, you will play golf, and enjoy hot hors d’oeuvres. My people will have pain and degradation. Your people will have stick shifts.
Kind of strange that I didn’t realize the irony in Thanksgiving Day celebration until I saw that movie. Yet since then, Thanksgiving has taken a whole new meaning to me. I see it simply now as a day of giving thanks for the health, love and happiness I have in my life.
In that context, I believe I should be thankful every day for those things. Perhaps Thanksgiving Day is just an “official” day to count my blessings.
