Category Archives: Amigos

Fotos y recuerdos

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The Friday after Jose’s untimely death some friends gathered to create a collage of photos to display during the services.

A half dozen women cropped and trimmed photos and laid them out on a large poster board. The two guys stood back awkwardly. One suggested outlining the black letters of Jose’s name in silver. I might have cracked a Raiders joke. I don’t remember.

The collage making was bittersweet. We laughed a little, nobody cried. Five days after we’d received the news, we had used up all our tears. When the jokes and small talk subsided we were left with silence, our own thoughts, and dozens of photos of our always smiling friend.

Jose Luis Vasquez passed away on July 1, 2007.

Concert buddy search revisited

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No one (in LA) applied to be my concert buddy.

I’d be sad about it if (a) I was still looking for dates for the concerts I’ll be attending later this summer and (b) Sean had not submitted three mix cd’s over the span of a few months. Of course, Sean can’t be my concert buddy since he lives a few thousand miles away. I’m okay with that because whenever I find the padded envelopes in my mailbox after a long and/or crappy day, I know I’ll be treated to several great songs and a clever cover.

I’m set for most concerts this summer, but still can use a buddy for a few shows. List after the jump.
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New York: Words and Photos

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Monday // Day 1

31s

My gate at Houston International Airport was C31. The numbers kept following me around for the rest of my trip. It’s like Lost, but without the magical island and Others.

I arrived around 11:15 at night. I was so tired that I hit my head getting in to the cab (or it could have just been because I was wearing my straw hat and couldn’t see the roof of the mini-van). It hurt a lot. I arrived and checked in at my hotel, Hotel 31, without any other injuries.
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Funky Monkey

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brassmonkey.jpg

I can’t say I did it because of the two margaritas in me, because I decided even before we arrived at the karaoke bar that I was going to sing. Of course, this was all before the tiny Caffe Brass Monkey filled up and both good and bad singers took their shot at old standards and new pop hits.

I picked out an easy song, Selena’s “Como la flor” from small selection of Spanish-language songs over Linda Ronstadt’s version of “Y Andale.” My friends P and J — there for a mutual friend’s birthday celebration — were surprised I’d sing in front of other people. I didn’t think it was a big deal. I’ve been doing it since I was six years old.

“This is nothing. No one here even knows me, so it doesn’t matter if I make a fool of myself,” I explained to J. “Plus, they’re all drinking.”

He shook his head. “No, it still matters.”
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π day

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Dear José,

Happy 26th birthday! It’s your day, π day, the perfect birthday for a man destined to teach mathematics.

I miss you, man.

It’s been over eight months since we lost you. Of course, that initial pain we all felt on July 1st — that extreme shock and sadness — has faded.

I still think about you all the time. It’s hard not to considering your picture sits atop my bookshelf on my mini-altar. You’re there next to Cindy Rabuy and Grandpa and Grandma.

Most days, I feel okay. But there are some days when that initial pain comes back. It catches me off guard like a rough wave that leaves my eyes irritated and red from the saltwater.

That’s what happened in September. I was looking through some photos from Ralph’s Halloween 2006 party. I don’t look at those pictures much. They remind me of loss and severed relationships.

I came across this photo:

I miss that smile

It took my breath away to see you and Jonathan grinning like fools. I have no clue why you guys are smiling so broadly. It doesn’t matter. It was just good to see that smile. I miss that smile and your positive energy.

I know I’m not the only one.

Love,
Me

Bear Hugs

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cindylu y oso Feliz Día del Amor y la Amistad. In countries like México and Venezuela, the 14th of February isn’t just St. Valentine’s Day, it’s also a day to celebrate love and friendship. I’m choosing to celebrate friendship today…

Oso and I met up on Sunday during his brief return to LA. If you blinked, you would have missed him. I’m glad I didn’t blink because it’s been a long time since I’ve seen Oso.

We had dinner at Versailles, a Cuban restaurant in my neighborhood, and discussed things like the science of falling in love and MHC, his work in Colombia, the politics of tú and usted, and my penchant for playing the same song a dozen times in a row.

I was in the middle of briefing him on a situation when he called me on my bullshit (like a good friend should do!):
Oso: You need to call.
Me: *Gulp* No… I can’t. I’m passive aggressive.
Oso: There’s nothing aggressive about you. You’re just passive passive.
Me: Ouch.

We finished up our tasty dinner, grabbed some espresso at the Coffee Bean and then headed to Union Station. I briefly forgot how to get there*, but thanks to Oso’s trusty iPhone we found our way. I dropped him off at Union Station with enough time for him to catch his train. As we hugged, I told him, “I’ll see you in another 9 months.”

“It’s not gonna be that long,” he said.

I hope it’s not that long, but it actually doesn’t matter. See, Oso is one of those friends I can go months without seeing. (This is not to say I don’t miss him.) When we finally get together for tea or lunch, it doesn’t feel like it’s been month since our last encounter. We just pick up where we left off.

*This is troubling. I’ve been forgetting my way around downtown and East LA lately.

La Brea & Willoughby

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On the way home from the Rodrigo y Gabriela show, my friend* was pulled over by an LA County Sheriff’s Officer.

The officer asked for his license.

My friend gave it to him.

Then the officer asked for registration and proof of insurance.

My friend reached for the glove box and opened it.

The officer then said, “you don’t have a hand grenade in there, do you?”

My friend calmly said, “that’s an odd question… Did I do something wrong?”

The officer then mentioned the broken headlight and that he didn’t know if my friend had a weapon in the glove box. The officer then returned to his car with my friend’s documents.

The officer returned and said, “Mr. ___, you’re clean as a whistle.” He advised my friend to get the headlight fixed and sent us home without giving my friend a fix-it ticket.

We talked about the incident the whole way home. And laughed.

*My friend is an Indian man in his 20s. He’s also Muslim and has a full-grown beard.

Partying like it was 1999

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Unlike many Harry Potter fans, I didn’t try to read the book in one sitting. I slept and I ate and I showered. I even put it down for several hours on Saturday evening when I joined up with friends in Alhambra to celebrate Chispa’s last night out as a single woman with dinner, drinks and dancing.

It was the perfect evening, mainly because it felt so, so… well, 1999. I felt like we were back in college at one of the many Raza Grad fundraisers held at a local club. That sense of déja vu might have come from the similarity of the music, lots of 1980s British pop and New Wave-infused rock en español with a smattering of recent music like Peter, Bjorn and John’s “Young Folks.”

Of course, it wasn’t 1999. We’re no longer 19. We can buy our own drinks — and we bought plenty of them — and don’t need to bug one of the older students for a ride to the club. Then there’s the simple fact that the 2007 group of dancing girls is different than the 1999 group of dancing girls. No one has been replaced, but some of the girls were out of town.

Yet some things remain consistent:

  1. At the end of the night, I’ll regret my decision to wear the cute heels.
  2. Chispa is still one of my best friends and I love her tremendously.