Arroz Con Frijoles

There are certain people we meet throughout the span of a lifetime that in some form or another affect the way we function within our own reality… nevertheless, annoyance and elation can never be overlooked.

“Friends… HUH… what are they good for?” The age old question… well, beside bailing you out of jail on a Saturday morning and providing comical commentary while in the trenches known as the platonic odd numbered triple date, they serve less functional purposes which I will avoid for the sake of this piece.

Having been born and raised in L.A. (WESSSSIIIDE!), I tend to have a double spectrum of the social world as a whole. Reason being; I live in quite possibly the most superficial, materialistic, siliconized (whoa, I just made up a word), shallow, self-indulgent city in the world… quite possibly. BUT! As Chappelle would say, “I’m from the streets!” To put things in perspective, El Monte’s not Watts or Inglewood (woo-woo!), but it’s definitely not Beverly Hills (That’s hot!) either. Point being, folks from their respective parts of town – west of downtown or not – share views representative of their local collective best interest… Look, if the glove in your backyard fits, where it – otherwise kill your blonde ex-wife and pretend it doesn’t (“If it doesn’t fit, you must acquit”). Not to say that people from my neck of the woods aren’t caught up in the superficial aspect of L.A. life, but it’s the exception, not the rule. But as bloggers do, I digress.

Back to my original point... my peeps. Rarely, has there been a case when I don’t appreciate the people that have been catapulted to the top of my priority list by way of drunken conversations at BJs, quality time in front of the tube, meaningless quite time checking out the hoodrats while chilling in the front of my apartment – that’s old school shit, but nevertheless worth mentioning. Simple, yet deep interactions between my friends and I have always been a part of my daily reality. I’ve lost a few while on the road, but have yet to look back in vein. Those near and dear to me as of this posting have jumped through the proverbial hoop of friendship with the greatest of ease.

Alluding to me 2nd point… Because in the city of Angels, keeping it real is such a rarity that when we encounter semi-civilized beasts with hairless tongues, one can’t help but take notice, check oneself and mental note a check mark next to “real motherfucker” along side the name of said character. Roommates and cousins keep it the realest.

The roomie…

I’ve always believed that Mexicans still contain a serious ounce of Spanish blooded racism EVEN in the scope of Chicano life in the U.S. My mother always referred to my light skinned sister as “La Princesita” – the princess, while referring to my darker skinned sister as “La Changita” – the monkey. Coincidence? Hell mutha-fucken no. Having said that, one counter part of this piece is the darkest Mexican I know. I love this “Oaxacan with a tan” imposter like the brother I’ve never had – he’s lost one and I tend to believe I’m the bootleg substitute… by no means an adequate replacement, but I do serve a purpose. I stumbled upon this creature through an old friend a few years back while I was on the prowl for a roommate – we flipped a coin to see who was getting what in terms of rooms and the rest is history, as they say. A few years, too many 12-packs, a handful of semi-disagreements and countless alibis later I can’t see my life the same without the presence of the 6 foot naturalized brother, softball aficionado, partner in crime, fantasy football rookie extraordinaire we call Bear.

El primo…

Theoretically, a cousin should be one’s best friend by default. Que no? Despite the fact that I do not subscribe to this idea… it plays out like a fat kid taking the biggest slice of pizza at a pizza party. I’m serious too, I never subscribe to the default portion of life – unless on the dance floor, as Fitimiti can confirm. Let’s not front, we all have that default dance – you know the one. When the cumbias hit, you default to the two-stepper while looking around to make sure you’re not too far off the concept of the dance and at least two other mother fuckers are as confused as you – ah, I can always count on my tio Cosme for that. Come on, if your last name ends in Z, you know what I’m talking about… “Member your cousin’s quincenera? You member!!!” We were always close as kids – I was always fascinated by his ‘me against the world’ mentality while I was the docile, well behaved good son. Fast forward to the present and come to find those rolls have been reversed in an umpteenth of ways. Now, I admire his docile character, his beneath the surface innocence – this may sound strange to some, but I know this guy like Halo controls on an Xbox. As a 14 year-old, he managed to bail me out of situations that even my mother had shunned… and as an adult, it’s no different. Although, things with my mother are a lot better – thank you for asking.

A small glimpse, thanks, token of appreciate and ode by way of words on a blog for two saps in my tiny nucleus of cronies.

C/S,
- Lucio