Starting the Next Chapter: Food!
Choppin broccolli!!!
I am currently looking to expand my horizons and find a new venue in which I could make a living. I love my current job with www.tropicalshade.net, but I need to do something extra so I don’t always have to eat off of the dollar value menu. I know times are tough for everybody , and by judging by the news, I’m lucky to be alive and not living in fear of some authoritarian regime blowing me up, or some wing nut shooting up my place of business. We have to take things in stride, but I need to become proactive in achieving some form of financial stability. I am thinking of starting some kind of food truck business, (although their might be a glut in San Diego). I love to cook and I have many resources in all the Aunts in my family, so there is no shortage of delicious recipes, what I need is some input on whether or not this is a good idea. As many of you may or may not know, I love to cook. I think owning my own gourmet food truck would be right up my alley. Thoughts…
Making this look easy!
I need to get me one of these bad boys!
Social Media Monster
Lately I’ve been spending a lot of time online, catching up with friends, updating my Twitter and Foursquare info, uploading my pictures to my Evernote account and I’ve come to the realization that I am a grown man who now has a diary. It’s crazy to think that I’ve turned into a 12 year old girl as it relates to capturing the moments of my life using my social networks. I guess its a good thing and makes me consider all the events in my life and how I want to edit them for posterity. For example, if I’m out with friends and we take 25 pictures on my own, I only keep the only two pictures where I look relatively handsome. The others go into a “prepare to destroy” file on my Photobucket account. So after signing up on Klout, here is a list of all my social networks:
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- Photobucket
- Picasa
- Flickr
- Youtube
- Google +
- WordPress
What I love about the current state of social media is that I can be an armchair voyeur. I can listen in on peoples lives without having to buy a cup of coffee and sit with my back to a couple of loud mouth hipsters in Starbucks. People LOVE to over share on Facebook and Twitter. I mean do I really need to know how good your coffee is? Unless you are going to drive over to my house and drop off a cup, (did you notice how I said drop off a cup, I’d rather drink it alone in my underwear than chat), I really don’t need to know about your tasty beverage.
Bottom line is, I really need go get a life. 
Top of The World Ma!
Woke up today just knowing it’s gonna be a great day. Just finished reading my cousin Danae’s latest post from Paris which was great. Aaahh Paris. The City of Lights. If I had only two meals left in my life, one would be a carne asada burrito with extra hot sauce from Lolita’s and the other would be a Croque Madame that I had at Cafe de la Mairie in the sixth arrondissement across from the Saint Sulpice. If you don’t know, then, well, you don’t know. Take the best grilled ham and cheese sandwich you’ve ever eaten. Take the top bread slice off, now top it with an over easy egg and there you go. Don’t knock it til you’ve tried it. Imagine lightly smoked ham, (not bacon), fresh Gruyere that’s warm and gooey, slightly translucsent melting over the side of the Parisan bread slice that was baking while you were sleeping, with a side of fresh sliced roma tomatos and bib lettuce on a pristine white plate. the only condiments needed is a little salt and pepper. Sheer perfection.
Allen, I mean Henri just chillin outside the Moulin Rouge....
Now I had that meal when I first visited Paris. I was alone, 21 and didn’t have a clue what to do next. I tried to look nondescript, but I knew from my white socks and Birkenstocks (can you believe that! I got it from my Pops), black and green neon backpack and white T shirt that said “Sevilla Expo 1992″ that Parisans took me for a tourist. The first thing I did was race back to my hostel to change my clothes. I pulled out my least dirty Levi”s, put on a plain white T shirt and my blood orange Doc Martins, (that I had bought at London’s Camden Market. England is another story). I set out on the city with just a few provisions, A map, a backpack, (not the neon green and black one), that held a half of a stale baguette that I had bought in Brussells, a half bottle of water and a half bottle of cheap Beaujolais that I had picked up somewhere, and the equivalent of twenty bucks in my pocket.
Because of my limited budget, I figured I’d walk around the city til something caught my eye. Being a tourist, the first attraction was the Champs-Elysées. The main drag where Hitler had his Nazis goose stepping through Napoleon’s Arch when they invaded France during WW2. It is a pretty walk, kind of a drag if your broke because there are shops and cafes to stop at. Mostly for tourists, but I didn’t want to do the touristy thing, so I just strolled until I came across a tent hosting a Toulouse-Lautrec showing. I’ve always had an affinity for Toulouse-Lautrec. He reminds me of my Pops, (Pops is gonna kick my ass for saying that), but seriously, Toulouse-Lautrec is one of the unsung heroes of the Impressionist movement.
We had a print of a Toulouse-Lautrec in the house growing up and it scared the shit out of me because of unnatural colors he used to portray the Moulin Rouge. I regress, anyway, I paid what was five bucks to enter, and when I did it was glorious. I perused the paintings and drawings for about an hour before I met Sophie. She had been in Paris for two months studying history at the Sorbonne. She was there doing the same thing I was doing. Just hanging out, enjoying the city. She
Growing up, this print scared the crap out of me, but I never told anybody.
was Québécoise, (French Canadian). Her parents had sent her to Paris, not just for the schooling, (which is top notch), but because she had an aunt that lived in Paris, so it defrayed the cost of her education. She was a dilettante; Iwas less than that. We met under Vincent Van Gogh. He and Toulouse-Lautrec were buddies and TL did a pastel of Van Gough. I didn’t notice her at first; her perfume wafted over me and I turned to look. She was stunning to me. Long brown hair, slight of build, wearing sensible brown flats, khaki capris, a sea foam green tank top and a light sweater tied at the waist. I looked at her for awhile before she noticed me looking at her. I felt like a pervert. she turned and introduced herself, ”hi, I’m Sophie.” Acting nonchalont I said, “hey, hello, howya doing?” (What a fracking idiot!). As my Pops would say, “you have to have hand” and at this point, I didn’t have hand, she was a queen and I was joker. I felt like a rube. Can you imagine all this shit was running through my head in like a fraction of a second?!
Here is the sweet part, she asked me to accompany her for the rest of the exhibition. SWEET! We ended up walking to the Eiffel Tower and from there walked to the Metro where we caught the #11 at the Hotel De Ville to Jourdain where her family lived. She wouldn’t let me walk her all the way home. She said her uncle would not allow it. I tried to get her number, but she said she couldn’t. I asked her to meet me at the exhibition the next day, but she said she was going out of town. I could already sense that this would be the last time I would ever see her. We kissed at the top of the stairs in front of the Metro. It was painful
Sophie was staring at Van Gough while I was staring at her....
to say goodbye. I watched her walk across the street and out of view. I turned and went back down into the Metro, to my bunk at the hostel across town. Yes, that was my first day in Paris… I LOVE PARIS!!!!
A Sore Thumb In a Stack of Sore Thumbs
Lately I’ve been feeling blue. I have to admit it. Life hasen’t been cool to me lately. It’s painful. I try to take it on the chin like a man, but sometimes your knees buckle. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had great trainers in my parents, education and life experience, but sometimes life hits you on the chin and you have a choice. (1) fold and go to your knees or (2) shake off the dizzy and stay on your feet until the bell rings. Right now I’m trying to shake off the dizzy. It’s hard to breathe, mouth bleeding, Nose swollen, eyes swollen. Try to gain my balance, but I keep getting punched. Can’t fold, I see my Mom, Dad and Sister between the ropes. Can’t quit even though I want to. I put my gloves up, I can feel the punches and all I can think of is, “if you stay on your feet and wait for the bell, you’ll be able to breathe again.” But it feels like I’ve been in the ring for an eternity, even though it hasen’t been that long. All I am waiting for is that opening so I can take my shot at life. I can see the opening at the ribs; I can take the wind right out of life; make it bend to my will. All I need is a small window. I keep getting punched. Through my swollen eye I can see life waiting for me to take another jab. This is my chance to get out of this round alive. I swing with all that I have left…
Bonded: A Father and Son Story
I was watching Countdown With Keith Olbermann with my Dad, (my Pops loves watching TVG and HRTV (which are horse racing and analysis channels), ESPN, NFL TV, MSNBC, CNN and the Disney Channel, (OK, I lied about the last one )) Anyway, There was a piece on a Twitter page called, “Sh*t My Dad Says.” It is F*cking hilarious! The author, (who’s situation mirrors my own), has moved in with his Mom and Dad after a break up. He decided to post quotes that his father had espoused on Twitter. Long story short, he now has a following of 1.3 million, (yes million) followers and has written a book. As his Dad puts it, “YOU, a published writer?..Internet don’t count. Any asshole can throw shit up on there.” Yes, the son wrote a book about his relationship with his Dad. To give you the backstory, here are a few quotes from his Pops:
“You seen my cell phone?…What’s it look like? Like two horses fucking. It’s a phone, son. It looks like a phone.”10:44 AM May 3rd via ShitMyDadSays.com
“Fine, let’s take a vote. Who wants fish for dinner?…Yeah, democracy ain’t so fun when it fucks you, huh?”12:04 PM Dec 20th, 2009 via web
“We’re out of Grape Nuts… No, what’s left is for me. Sorry, I should have said “You’re out of Grape Nuts.”10:49 AM Dec 7th, 2009 via web
“The whole world is fueled by bullshit… What? The kid asked me for advice on his science fair project so I’m giving it to him.”1:31 PM Nov 27th, 2009 via web
“Everybody’s broke, so here’s the rule for Christmas this year; if you still shit your pants, you get a present. Otherwise tough shit.”11:27 AM Nov 24th, 2009 via web
This got me thinking of my relationship with my Old Man. Me and Pops are tight. I’ve been on my Dad’s hip for as long as I can remember. My Dad and I have always had a special bond, one that is evident in our entwined histories.
For as early as I can remember, my Dad would take me with him everywhere he went.
Ronny and Me
When I was 11, my Dad took me and my cousin Ronny to the Del Mar race track. He taught me how to read the Racing Program, how to bet a Quinella, Exacta and Trifecta. We didn’t have a lot of money back then so I think he gave me 10 bucks, (which at that time was alot of money for my folks). Ronny had the same wad. Anyway, I’d been losing my ass all day, (which amounted to about 8 bucks). My Dad asked if I wanted a part of ticket that would cost me my last 2 bucks. I remember mulling it over in my mind, “should I keep the 2 bucks and buy some Hubba Bubba and a Coke or bet it with my Pops. I’d been losing my ass all day and told my Dad, “No, Pops, I don’t want to bet.” He then turned to Ronny, who immediately accepted the invitation, (by the way, Ronny had won a couple of races). The horses were approaching the gate. I remember that sinking feeling that I just may have lost out on a winning bet. The horses loaded into the gate….and away they go! Ronny and Dad were watching with amazement as their bet started to materialize; I watched as my stomach sunk with the thought that I had missed out on the thrill of the race. And down the stretch they come! The sinking feeling grew equally with the anticipation of the win with Ronny and Dad’s enthusiasm. Across the finish line they come. I remember Pops and Ronny jumping up and down celebrating while I stood there, stunned by the fact that I had wimped out on what Churchill may have considered, “my finest hour.” I was heartbroken, jealous, mad, ashamed, and ultimately felt defeated. My Dad cashed in the ticket and it payed well. Ronny got something north of 30 bucks, I don’t know how much Pops took down; I’m sure it was more a emotional victory that a monetary one. But what I hold dear to my heart is that my Dad knew I was hurt by my decision and kicked down 20 bucks to me. I never questioned his horse selection ever again, even to this day.
Me and Pops with our Better Halves
Yeah, I have a special bond with Pops. Our relationship isn’t what you might consider, “traditional.” Me and Pops weren’t the kind of guys who threw a baseball around, we didn’t kick a soccer ball around or threw a football around. No, he had me in the garage with an old pair of boxing gloves that weighed 2 pounds and we would box. He took me to the track, to the Elbow Rest, the American Legion and the VFW. He would take me, when everyone else left their sons at home, to watch the fights at Victor Nieto’s house. He took me to Aunt Celia’s and Uncle Eddie’s House in Pico Rivera to see the Clooney fight when all the other sons were in bed. We went to the 84 World Series together. We took a father/son cruise in the Bahamas with Memo and Dirty Ernie, (how many fellas can say they could hang with their Old Man for 8 days on a cruise?). Numerous Vegas trips and the ultimate moment in our relationship was when he was my best man at my wedding.
The "Goodfellas"
Under my Dad’s tutelage, I’ve gotten to know all the uncles and my extended “uncles”
Pops and Me
when I was a kid. We would hang out with the Uncles at the American Legion on Thursdays, none of the other cousins participated in this ritual. The point is, is that I love my Pops, and my Pops showed me a life, (however unconventional) that was interesting, exciting, fantastic. I felt like Henry Hill when he worked for the cab stand in Goodfellas.
Today, our relationship is still going strong. My father has been there with me through good and bad. The point is, there is no substitute for time with your Dad. There are those who didn’t have the time to spend time with their with their fathers the way that I did and I would say, be the father, (if the occasion arises) to be the father that you’d want. This fucking world isn’t fair, but we make the best of what we got.
I’ve been more than lucky to have such a great Pops. Now he is not perfect, he wouldn’t profess to be, but he is my Pops, and I love him.
A Conversation with the Smartest Man in the Room
The other day, I was sitting in my room and trying to figure out what I had to do for the day. It was a nice, sunny day so I went out on the balcony and just people watched for a time. As I looked over the railing, I noticed a woman standing on the corner. There was nothing conspicuous about her. She was an older woman, gray hair cut short, like a nurse, a tan London Fog overcoat with four buttons, white blouse, dark pants and a pair of brown, casual and sensible shoes. She was an attractive older woman. I bet she was a looker back in the day. So I stood there watching her. The light turned green but she didn’t cross. Now she piqued my interest. She just stood there, looking in all directions. I thought, “she must be lost and can’t figure out where to go.” I contemplated going downstairs and asking her if she needed help. But I didn’t. I wanted to see this thing play out. The light turned green again, and again she didn’t move. Now i’m fully intrigued. I thought, “how bizarre? Why does she not cross?” After what felt like an eternity, (but what was in actuality was 10 minutes), a car pulled up, a silver Camry, the door opened, and she stepped in. Whisked away to join the other 10,000 cars coming down Front street and into the fray that is Downtown driving. This led to conversation that I had with myself as a result of this little vignette that I just witnessed. I sat in the sun with my eyes closed, absorbing the warmth from the sun’s rays when we started our conversation. It went something like this:
Other Me: What does it mean?
Me: What does what mean?
Other Me: Everything, life, love, food, family, friends, cars, sex… everything?
Me: If I knew I’d be a millionaire. I wouldn’t be sitting here talking to you.
Other Me: I’m serious. It keeps me up at night trying to figure out the meaning of life.
Me: Oh brother. Why don’t you, like, grow a goatee, wear black turtle necks, smoke cigarettes and frequent all the open mic nights at different coffee shops so you can share your heaviosity. I mean really, you sound like a cliché.
Other Me: Do you mean to tell me you don’t think about it?
Me: I think about it, but I don’t dwell on it. If I did, I’d go mad. In my 38 years, through trials and tribulation I’ve learned that the only way for me to survive this ride called life is to accept life on life’s terms. That means sometimes I hit my point and life’s good and sometimes I roll the dice, out comes snake eyes and I crap out. You don’t have to approve of everything that happens in your world, but you have to accept it and come to terms with that. If not, then you’re treading water in the deep end of the philosophical pool, and the way you think, your floaties don’t have enough air to keep that fat body afloat for long.
Other Me: Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit…you twit!
Me: Ha ha, your so funny I forgot to laugh.
Other Me: Whatever asshole. Go ahead and be glib about it if you want to. But when the fit hits the shan, when you are at that moment of clarity right before the ride ends, you’ll look back and say what, uhh, like cool man, like my life was rad! Get real.
Me: There are people in this world, hell, in this city, shit, on this block that don’t know where their next meal is going to come from. Do you think they have the luxury of contemplating the universe and the meaning of live. You get real! Take up a hobby. Looking at you, I’d recommend working out…
Other Me: Point taken, and fuck you very much. By the way, I’m you and you are me.
Me: Oh yeah, my bad.
Other Me: Anyways…
Me: Anyways?
Other Me: Yeah, anyways.
Me: Anyways is not a word, it’s anyway, not “anyways.” Just like “these ones” or “those ones,” it’s “these” or “those,” drop the “ones.”
Other Me: God I hate people like you. You’re one of those pricks who have to whip out their literary prowess whenever anybody makes a verbal faux paus. So what if I want to say “anyways.” I like it and I’ll use it whenever and wherever I want.
Me: Fine.
Other Me: Fine.
Me: Good.
Other Me: Good.
Me: And no, .I don’t correct people when they butcher the English language, but I must admit I do correct them in my head 
.
Other Me: God, your a pain in the ass!
Enter God: What did you just call me.
Other Me: Holy Shit! I mean, wow what are you doing here.
God: I was in the neighborhood, buying some Prosciutto and salami for a party I’m hosting and I heard you two knuckleheads blathering on about a bunch of nonsense. Just kidding, I wasn’t buying Prosciutto or salami, I’m a vegan.
Other Me: Doesn’t being a vegan make you fart more frequently and with a stronger odor?
God: I don’t fart.
Other Me: Oh, I’m sorry God, my bad.
Me: He’s just asking because we dated a vegan once and I mean this girl could fill the Hindenburg with her fumes in one day. I mean we could completely abandon our reliability on fossil fuels if we could harness the vapors that she expelled. She could…
God: OK I get it.
Me: Sorry.
Other Me: God, can you help us with this dilemna. Can you please explain to us what is the meaning of life?
God: Well I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you. Just kidding, no but seriously, I would have to kill you. dead.
Other Me: How bout charades? Can you show us if we played charades?
Me: Are you trying to incur the wrath of God? Shut the F up!
God: You can curse out loud. It’s not like I can’t hear you saying “fuck” in your head.
Me: Oh, yeah, I mean, your God.
God: Damn Skippy! And you, smart ass. Charades huh. You know what happened to the last guy who was a smart ass to me?
Other Me: You made him the Devil?
God: No.
Other Me: You made him a meter reader?
God: Keep it up smart ass…
Other Me: I’m sorry God, I’ll keep my trap shut.
God: Ever heard of a Platypus?
Me: Holy shit! So that is why we have the platypus. Who would have thought…I just figured you got some really good weed, say from Humbolt County, put on some Doobie Brothers, turned on the lava lamp and stared at your poster of Farah Fawcett on the Mexican blanket and decided to “shake things up.”
God: HOW DARE YOU PRESUME TO KNOW THE MIND OF GOD!!!!
Other Me: He did it! Not me! Please don’t make me a platypus!
Me: Oh God!!! (isn’t that ironic, I’m screaming oh God, to God to keep God from turning me into a platypus), huh.
God: Aaaaah Gotcha! I was just messing with you.
Me: (very quietly) Gotcha’s not a word.
God: What!
Me: Oh nothing nothing.
God: Fool, I can hear your thoughts. I pity the fool who thinks he can correct me. I got that line from Mr. T. I loved the A Team. Man they just don’t make American action adventure television series like they used to.
Other Me: Amen Brother!
God: Time’s awastin. Let’s get down to brass tax. You two foolios are debating the meaning of this life that I’ve given you.
Me: yes.
Other me: yeah.
God: Well, I’d be doing you a grave injustice if I tried to explain it to you because I designed you not to know. You see, to know and understand the meaning of life would diminish the experience of this thing called life. It’s like getting a great book and reading the last 10 pages to find out how it ends before experiencing the process of reading the book itself. Imagine going to a movie after knowing who is in it, what the plot is, what happens, and how it ends. Would you still go and see that movie? You have been given this privilege of life. Focus on experiencing it, and less on trying to make sense of it. Don’t waste your moment of existence on frivolity. Take time to enjoy those little moments that make your existence meaningful. Roman, I know how much joy you experience when you take your sheets and blanket out of the dryer and they’re warm and smell fresh from the softener. I know how much pleasure you take in slipping into those clean sheets at bedtime. I see the smile on your face as you fall to sleep. I know the pleasure you take from spending time with your friends and family. How it fills those crags in your soul that reinforces those blocks that makes you you. I know how much you enjoy cooking and the satisfaction and feeling of accomplishment you feel when you cook for friends and family. You see, it is more important to focus on experiencing life, than to try to make sense of it. I am using language that I know you can understand. If I used my own vernacular, your head would explode. Just kidding, no but seriously, it would explode. Like a melon with a M80 firecracker in it.
Other Me: Got it.
Me: Me too.
God: I only ask one thing from the two of you.
Together: What is it?
God: Be good. Be good to yourself. To others. Be kind, be humble, be honest, be loving, be authentic. I know you can never be perfect, because if you were, you’d be Me. And I’m not giving up my job any time soon.
Other Me: Word!
Me: Well, thank you God, I think we have a better understanding of what we have to do.
Other Me: Speak for yourself. God, what about my proposal of charades?
God: Does your butt itch?
Other Me: A little, why?
God: Because your growing a platypus tail.
Other Me: Oh God, No!!!!!!
God: Just kidding! I needed to stick it to you one last time before I leave you two. Your still a smart ass, but you’ve got spunk, and spunk carries some weight. Peace out fellas.
Together: Peace out God.
Me: So what do you think?
Other Me: I think I need to get with the program
Me: Word.
Other Me: Oh stop trying to sound black, you grew up with white kids in the suburbs
Me: Word.
Other Me: Yeah, word. I’m getting hungry, how bout we go and make a bologna sandwich. With real Wonder bread, real mayonnaise, real mustard and a side of potato chips on a paper plate.
Me: Man, that sounds delicious right now. FYI, “bout” is not a word.
Other Me: Oh STFU! (that means shut the fuck up)
Love,
Roman
Singing in The Car; No You’re Not a Star!
So I was driving Downtown, running errands and I had my iPod with me. I was stoked because I’d just spent two days putting together the perfect set list of my favorite music and musicians. I like to have a plan for any and every possible situation musically. For example, this is how my iPod is organized:
For my Heavy Metal Head Bangin’ fix I listen to:
Metallica, Godsmack, Daisy, AC/DC, Filter and some others…you get the point.
For my Introspective mode, I have:
Mazzy Starr, This Mortal Coil, Massive Attack and some other emo stuff, (before it was called emo)
For my Swingin Hipster Mode, I listen to:
Sinatra, Michael Bublé, The “Velvet Frog” Mel Torme, Dean Martin, and some others
For my Hip Hop/Rap fix, you gotta roll with:
Jay Z, Biggie, Tupac, Mos Def, Brother Ali, Dr Dre, Snoop, Eminem, Game, Fiddy Cent, NWA, A Tribe Called Quest, and many more…
For my Gen X fix, I blast:
Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Blind Melon, The Smiths, Elvis Costello, Smashing Pumpkins, No Doubt, Radiohead, Weezer, Beck, Ace of Base, (just kidding about the last one )
Throw in some Johnny Cash, Mozart, Minor Threat, Descendent’s and you get the picture.
So I am driving up 5th Avenue and I had my iPod on shuffle and Jay Z’s “Empire State of Mind” came up. Now this is a dope song. I cranked up the volume and started to do that thing with my head where you stick your chin out and kinda bob up and down. Imagine holding a paint brush with your lips and painting a wall. Yeah, it’s kind of like that. So I’m cruising down the street and I find myself sliding low in my seat, my arm straight out with my hand on the top of the steering wheel. I mean, I am really feeling it! It was so good that I had to hit rewind and hear that jam again. So now I’m into it. I mean I’m Jay Z with a lighter tan. That’s when the inthinkable happened.
Just like this woman, I was ROCKIN the iPod
I STARTED SINGING ALONG WITH THE SONG…IN MY CAR! I rolled up the windows just in case someone might hear me. Now I’m singing LOUD and I come up to a stop light. There was a car that pulled next to me, but I didn’t glance over because I didn’t want to make it obvious that I was singing along with the music. So I’m still singing along and here comes the chorus and I just go for it, I mean, c’mon, my windows were rolled up right? Imagine that scene in Jerry Maguire where Tom Cruise is singing Tom Petty’s “Free Fallin,” yeah, well that’s me at the light.
Tom and I LOVE to sing in the car….
Just before the light turned green, I looked over to see a car with four very attractive, and obviously amused ladies in the BMW next to me. I wanted to crawl into the glove compartment and steer with my feet. Needless to say they drove off giggling and I took the nearest turn. I didn’t want to get stuck at another light with those pretty ladies. Once I got home and got out of my car, I realized that both back windows were rolled down! I had only rolled up the front two. That means that they had heard my screeching along with Jay Z! Aaaaah Rats!
Next time I want to sing in the car, I’m going to wear a ski mask and roll up ALL my windows.
