Don't think about it - Do it Don't talk about it - Do it Do it, do it Don't lie about it - Do it Do it, do it Talk about your sick man, so good you got to do it, do it D-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-do it, do it Do it, do it, do it, do it, do it, do it, do it, do it Don't lie about it - Do it Why give a fuck about it, man - Do it, do it There's a law, but who cares - Do it, do it Don't rip me off, man, just do it, do it, do it, do it Do it, do it, do it, do it, do it, do it, do it, do it Don't talk about it- Do it, do it Don't lie about it - Do it, do it Don't cover it with a lie, man - Do it , do it Just do it, just do it Do it, do it, do it, do it, do it, do it, do it, do it
At the Sushi Restaurant she looked incredible, in an off cream business skirt, jacket and gloves and umbrella. I showed up in boots, beat up jeans and a long sleeve shirt rolled up to my elbows. I wanted to protect myself so I grew out a beard, over three months. She looked much better than I remembered she looked 1o years ago. Her personality was even sharper than ever. We make small talk, and as much as I am hearing what she says, I am listening to the sound of her voice. And then, maybe after a few Kirin Beers and sushi, it was time for her to leave. I insisted i walk her home, every second was like being on a strange planet explored for the first time, albeit familiar. The choices she's made since the split were hard, but produced amazing results. She's back now in the city for the time being. I want to contact her again, but I don't know if it's appropriate. Seeing her brought back waves of memories, I cannot help but recall our past, it was near thanksgiving, the third or fourth night in our new shitty apartment on 20th and Capp. Just a radio, some water was boiling, only the bathroom lights produce a hazy glow to the whole apartment, then slow dancing to the music of Tom Jobim. There were not enough moments like this. I'm sorry. And her eyes.
I could never take for granted this woman, an inspiration, the introduction to new cultures, style, movies and music.
Before we left the restaurant, I had to tell her how she helped me look at the world, but she didn't say much on the matter.
"So please call me, baby
Wherever you are It's too cold to be out walking in the streets We do crazy things when we're wounded Everyone's a bit insane I don't want you catching your death of cold
when I was a kid, I was raised in a small(then) farm town called Santa Maria, on the central coast of California. It was named after the mother of Jesus, but somehow, maybe for political correctness, Christopher Colombus's boat (Nina, Pinta, and the Santa Maria) became the symbol in the mid '70s. Bullshit. My parents, every thursday night would take me to Connies Mexican Restaurant, (Ok, it wasn't called Connies "mexican" Restaurant, just Connies and all the restaurants where old school mexican restaurants) At Connies, there were no waiters, only waitresses who wore these big white or red traditional dresses and water boys in tuxedos. There was a 50's style jukebox in the corner, playing mostly mexican ballads, and the occasional Elvis, Willie Nelson, Patsy Cline and Johnny Cash tune. Clients were gauchos (mexican cowboys) cowboys and shitkickers. All in a room with a 7 foot ceiling. On the walls hung christmas lights, tecate neon lights and a few paintings, some were black velvet portraits, the others were of legendary cliff divers. This is in an era, the '80s/early '90s when shit wasn't ironic. Black velvet paintings of Jesus Christ
Mexican superstar Vicente Fernandez
and Frank Frazzetta style Aztec Queens
Connies Connie is gone now, but with a different owner, and is fast food street tacos with no art or style. One of my dreams as a boy was to make a black velvet painting for Connie (she was a super cool waitress too that would kiss me on the lips even tho i was 11 yrs old!) I tried, and I really suck at painting. If she was still around, I'd like to pitch her my portfolio, not for money, but for her handmade Chile Rellano and a few Negra Modelos .....