El Mas Chingon de Torreon... 

Sins of the Flesh

Today, my roommate and I went to "see a man about a horse." Not really, but we did go get him a tattoo. I'm not too big on tattoos, because I do have somewhat a phobia of needles and more so of commitment - but that's a whole 'nother blog site to begin with - therefore I will not tread.

When we got there, the 'tattooist' was sitting next to a little seven-ish year old boy playing a Gameboy Advance while stroking the blonde hair of a little four-ish year old girl. Cute kids I thought - even the little 'very white' looking girl. The little boy, no doubt had some Aztec blood - it was obvious due to his arrogant, fuck you demeanor that I see in my little cousins. Don't ask how I know this - it's just an hecho mendigo thing.

Quickly he got up from the zebra stripped couch, putting "daddy time" on hold for a couple of hours as he tended to my friend, some dark skin, an enormous nipple, and ink. Three hours later I noticed that the interaction with the kiddies had been limited to "what do you want? Okay baby go sit down."

As I watched dad begin work on my roommate's tattoo, I realized these kids must be used to Korn pounding from 12" woofers, while daddy and his tattoo covered body ink aesthetic emotions by way of tribal bands, Spanish Armada type ships, Irish last names in Olde English font, and an infinite list of skin propaganda. Sunday's are spent in a back room in Whittier eating chocolate chip cookies, drinking soda, and bouncing around on a dirty couch while daddy splits fatherly duties and work time.

But all good things come to an end... In conservative mommy attire - like Jesus appearing before the devout, she returns. They storm towards her like Bryant Gumble towards a group of Stepford Wives look-a-likes. Pobresitos, the kids and Gumble. I knew it... she's speaking Spanish to the kids - "que quieres mi amor, has comido?" and the gripes about Daddy begin, but he ignores them and finds an escape route in his art. These kids aren't worth a simple good-bye from daddy. Mom is surely upset and walks out with kids, cookies, and a bad taste in her mouth... she never looks back, but the little ones do.

So I wonder what runs through his mind as his kids leave with mom and he continues with his mundane construction life, while vying for sanity on the weekends by tattooing young and old. Does he know that the permanent ink blots he tats on strangers aren't the only permanent memories he's fabricating. His kids will surely remember these weekends, their father, and his distance. I have no idea what kind of man he is... I try not to judge, but I do form opinions. I hope he's more of a father outside of this place - preferably where it counts, but that's unlikely and doesn't it always count?

A not so funny thing happened - he screwed up my roommate's tat... he shaded an area that wasn't supposed to be shaded (I had left by then). He apologized, said he'd fix it, and chalked it up to lost concentration... did he remember his little girl, his little boy? Was he thinking of them and of what kind of impression they had of their father? Has he done enough? It's definitely not too late if he hasn't, but it's too early to tell he has. Like the ink on his neck, shoulders and arms, these memories stay with children/teens/adults forever.

As I recall my dad spanking me with a thick leather belt for saying or doing the wrong thing, I thank him. I respect him for the man that he was back then and continues to be. Memories of him working two jobs and coming home late and tired tattoo the soul, the memory... But these tats, leave me with the guilt that not many others are fortunate to have the father that I did/do.

I have a deep appreciation for fathers who surpass unreasonable expectations, those who go above and beyond the call of duty by not just putting food on the table, instilling some kind of human perspective, and showing some love, but by doing everything in their power to make a better life for their offspring - as Malcolm said, "by any means necessary." These trailblazers set the blue print for good people who can change the world, who can inspire those around them... it's not to say those without amount to shit, because we all know underdogs overcome and we cheer with glee when they do... but the underdogs remain just that.

The Blue House of Blues 

Girl Soldiers

Despite the fact that these last 27 years of life have been everything but perfect, it (life) has a funny way of turning tragedy, sadness, insecurity, fear, hate, sorrow, and hopelessness into the exact opposite. The arch rivals and nemisis' to all things pessimistic rule, what many refer to as a soul, by way of brute strength - my soul that is. As if a devine being is reminding me of an inside joke, winking, nodding and reminding me there's a reason for this.

I keep these things in perspective when dealing with emotional, psychological, or just plain physical pain. Blessings from above, below, and in between are absorbed by this protaganist like Tori Amos lyrics in a thoughful head. We've had bumps in the road... some more than others. A few of us stumble across those of Mt. Everett proportions, but the human spirit triumphs.

The past is just that. What we take from it should be one thing and not much else - cliche as it may be... we learn. Some learn to love, hate, speak, think, etc... but we learn to live in a non-forgiving world. In a world that prizes all things superficial. What's real is left for the rest of us, thank GOD/Allah/Jesus/your GOD/no god for that.

I say this because my sisters remind me of what's important, of why life has been and continues to be important - not that I ever thought otherwise. I do know what it's like to raise a child without having my own - these little girls turned women are proof to that. Don't believe me? Ask 'em. I'm thankful for those moments of being afraid of what life will be like without those important to me. I'm thankful for these little soldiers of life that have my back throughout this war we call life. This undeniably winable war.

As overly optimistic as I may seem, I am not... I am as real as they come. As real as I can humanly be even if that hurts, inspires, or offends. A fool I am not for believing in a GOD, in a supreme being that always gives me the last laugh - that lets me hit a home run and jog the bases with a smirk on my face even though I know it's wise to be humble. Time isn't the only thing on my side...

Legal Crack... 

A New Day

These past few days an alarming sense of change has been overwhelming me. As the immortal Jerry Garcia once said, “It’s been a long, strange trip.” Indeed it has, although kinda short… my trip was not that of hallucinogenic proportions – on the contrary – it’s been one comprised of a summer in Mexico, a week in the modern day Babylon (also known as New York City), side trips throughout my beloved Califas, coffee shops, spoken word events, dinner at my dad’s place, a lot of time hanging out in my El Monte apartment with good company, cold Henies, little sisters, great books, Halo 2, and excellent DVDs – “Begin to look!”

A new trip is about to begin… one that I’m not all that interested in. That’s right, the job hunting has begun and it’s picking up steam at a rapid pace. The corporate environment awaits… I guess that’s why it’s so difficult for me to get all that excited. True, the day to day interaction and overall feeling of accomplishment can have its benefits… but nothing cleanses the soul like months away from the rat race, traffic jams, fast food lunches, “good morning” greetings… wait, I’ll stop there – I’m already getting depressed.

So I say goodbye and wish for the days I’ve treaded these past few months to return faster than you can say, “Leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.” Maybe that’s what Fox News “analysts” mean when they say… “They hate us for our freedom!” Because the freedom I’ve had is damn near worth killing for – I tell no lie. As I dust off my Khakis, slacks, and polo shirts, I hope my soul can brace for the fall. I think of caged animals, married folks, prison inmates and CEOs - trapped in a world with limited time, infinite space, hope, and will… and still nowhere to go.