A night out on the town- Remembered

Back in my college days in Berkeley, cars were hard to come by. Because of the lack of parking and the general lack of funds, few of my friends owned a car. I was lucky enough to have an Audi that my dad helped me buy at an auction for 1500 bucks. As you might expect for a 1500 dollar car, it had few of the bells and whistles normally associated with a European luxury cars. The windows rolled up with a handle and the air conditioning worked by rolling the windows down. The color was a combination of silver and gold..shall we say a rusty gold. But the Audi was reliable and fit a ton of my friends.

One day, my friend Suli asked me if I could loan him the car for a date.

"I don't think so. No one drives the Audi but me.”

"How about if you come with us and I pay for your drinks?"

I still wasn’t crazy about the idea, but free drinks were free drinks, so I reluctantly agreed.

On the way to the car, I bumped into my friends Cody and Brian and invited them to join us. If I was to be the third wheel, then why not add a fourth or a fifth wheel? Soon, a car full of four guys was on its way to San Francisco for Suli's date.

We parked in a rough area of San Francisco. There was a large group of mostly black males loitering on the corner as we walked to the apartment where we were going to pick up Suli’s date.

“Where are you, young uns going,” came a gravely voice belonging to a large man on the corner. “Why don’t you come and talk at us?” He looked over a group much the way a coyote probably looks over a chicken coop. Suli was black and nerdy with a pair of glasses thick enough to use to start fire in survival situations. I was tall, but as always I was as threatening as a six foot tall teddy bear. And Cody and Brian were short white guys...

“It’s cool, man” said Suli in the whitest inflection known to man. His voice shook, but he couldn't help sounding like Bryant Gumbel. He was black, but grown up in an Asian neighborhood. The guys on the corner looked at his dark skin and seemed unhappy. “We’re just going to pick up my woman and we’ll be out of here.”

“Are you for real? Damn Oreo.” came a voice with a lot of bass. This was from a guy who looked jittery as he approached us. Was he coming off a bad drug trip? I mentally calculated the odds of reaching the car if I took off running.. It didn't seem likely that any of us could take any of them in a fight.

“Hey, don’t be messing with my bro. You’ve got to show respect,” came a booming voice in a very realistic African American inflection behind me. I turned to look in the direction of the voice- there was Cody, all 5'2" of him, walking towards the guys with a Jefferson strut “This is your hood, but that’s his woman we’re picking up. Cool?”

Laughter ensued. “Man, you’re alright..” said the gravely voice and the guys left us alone after that.

Suli's date ended up being a good sport- she danced with all of us at the club and even treated me to a non alcoholic drink for being the driver. We stayed at the club until closing time and all became instant friends.

"This is the best date ever," she said "Four dance partners!"

On the way back to her apartment, Suli feel asleep. Cody and Brian started tossing pennies at him to try to wake him up. Eventually, his date joined in the fun. Suli would paw at the location where the pennies landed, but wouldn't wake up.

We dropped his date off at her apartment and Suli finally woke up halfway on the bridge back to Berkeley.

"Where's my date?"

Brian hit him with a another penny and a I drove the Audi back home.

Goddess of Cleanliness

Those of you that know me, know that my natural state is somewhat messy. My truck is filled with miscellaneous junk- ties that I've discarded after court, a brief case or two, papers, tools and God knows what else. It's often an adventure to fit passengers in my truck. My personal office within my law office is similar- the desk top is filled with papers that I am working on and the drawers are filled with books, electronic gizmos, tea canisters, tools and much else.

Yet, when you come to my house it's impeccably clean. A nice lawn leading to a beautifully decorated entry way. Sometimes the door will have a wreath or roses for Valentines or a similar holiday decoration. Inside the house you'll beautiful and comfortable golden sofas, a mahogany dining table with a matching vanity cabinet- the cabinet filled with beautiful crystals and the table set with a candle motif centerpiece.

The only thing out of place in the house is probaby the ruffled man wearing half a suit who is sprawled half in and half out of a leather loveseat with one hand on the remote control and a lap top on..well...his lap. He blogs away, while his wife watches, as observant as a CSI investigator, looking for any signs of messiness. Seeing if the man's leg will knock over the glass of juice...

The man, of course, is me and my wife is truly a Goddess to put up with my messiness. She graciously allows me a spare room and a garage for my messy habits! The rest of the house, thankfully, is hers!

Dancing Machine!

On Friday night, we went out dancing with a group of a friends. There was a great local band, playing more and more latin songs as the night went on. The night started out with Mustang Sally and graduated to "Negra Tomasa," "Suavemente," and other great songs.

As a confession, I should say that I've always been a lousy dancer- uncoordinated, completely unabashed, and close to impossible to get off the dance floor. A couple of times, I dated very good dancers who tried to improve my skills, but were continually frustrated. As one of them complained; "All you seem to care about when you are dancing is goofing around and making yourself laugh.."

Luckily, my wife is in on the joke- though she groans when I offer to give people lessons in any type of dance they want ("You don't know how to dance the tango? Come on, I'll show you.")

On this Friday night, one of my friends- Tony- was paired up with a ballroom dancer. She went over the steps that he should follow for the cha-cha-cha and many other dances. My wife and I watched as she patiently guided him through the different routines.

"Maybe someday, he'll be as good as I am?"

"Yeah, right..."

Meanwhile, the rest of us just moved in random to the music. It was a great night- lousy service, but a great band. We had a table of about 8 people, and there was generally only one couple left at the table with purse watching duty with everyone else dancing.

If you get a chance, check out the South Bay Bar and Grill on Friday nights. That big dancing bear that you see, just might be me.

Give thanks to the turkey! A eulogy of sorts....

My great aunt had her funeral yesterday. I didn't go- largely because of work, but also because I really hate funerals. I rationalize not going by reasoning that I never really knew my great aunt well, though I do have one memory that lingers.

It was Thanksgiving Day and I was six or seven years old. I had been shooed out of the kitchen all morning by my mother and sisters and was now looking at the spread table with all the excitement of a rather large chihuahua running after table scraps. The table was filled with fresh baked rolls that smelled like butter. There were bowls full of stuffing, mashed potatoes and my mom's famous gravy. And in a starring role, just inches from me, was a perfectly golden turkey. I could barely contain myself.

Looking around the table, I could see that the family was eager to eat as well. My two sisters were eying the warm rolls. My three brothers, like me, had their eyes on the turkey. There were two turkey legs and four of us... Only my father was indifferent to the food, seated at his recliner, with an eye on the game.

As my mother carved the turkey, a special guest, my great aunt looked at her sternly from her small seat of honor at the head of the table. It was unusual for us all to be seated at the table, usually at Thanksgiving we grabbed food and spread out throughout the house, but my great aunt's presence demanded a certain formality.

"Se ve que le pusiste mucho esfuerzo a la comida, Nancy." said my great Aunt in Spanish.

"What? Oh. yes, it took a lot to put this together. I hope..espero que te guste." replied my mother, graciously as she expertly sliced the big bird.

The moment, my mom put down the knife, my brother snaked an arm across the table and grabbed one of the turkey legs. There was a brief commotion as one of my sisters reached over for a roll and the rest of us leaned forward to serve ourselves.

"Jesu Christo. Que hacen?" came a voice that froze us all in mid air "Todavia no le damos gracias al senor." By this she meant that we had yet to say grace, which was definitely not a tradition in our house.

I thought for a half second and then quipped; "Gracias al senor? Ok, Thanks papa." and grabbed the second turkey leg. Everyone but my aunt laughed. A free for all assault on the food followed.

My aunt never came back to our house after that, but it became a yearly tradition to thank the "senor" or my Dad at the Estolano house.

I hope that my great aunt in heaven, looks down at us not as heretics, but with a sense of humor about religion and family. I hope also that my uncle, who offered a middle finger as his final words to priests coming to see him, is also looking down at us with a smile.

In this world, we take religion too seriously and don't leave much room for the idea that God has a sense of humor and a keen understanding about the people that he created. Too many people have died over differences in religion when the real differences between us as people really aren't that great. Most of us could be friends under the right circumstances- maybe over a turkey leg.

Hard drive blues

On Friday, the hard drive crashed on my computer at work. Everything was backed up, except my mp3's, which I really never considered backing up. So, now I'm going to need to rebuild most of my mp3 collection- minus what I had on my Sansa, my laptop, and old computer. I think I'm definitely going to start with the following songs:

The Sky is Crying- Elmore Leonard (and maybe the Stevie Ray version)- This song encapsulates the essence of the blues. His woman left him and the sky is crying...look at the tears running down the street. A nice guitar lick.

Negra Tomasa- Jaguares/Caifanes- A great beat to it. In my bachelor days, my friends and I used to play the song to set the mood before going out.

Y Que Paso- Banda Limon- One of the great the hell with you songs. The woman left him, but now she's back and he's wondering...did she forget something? A truly distinctive voice by the lead singer.

I guess I told her- Robert Cray- Alanis should listen to this song to learn the meaning of the word irony. Cray is so good that this pick could be one of 20 songs. "He doesn't live here anymore" is heartbreaking.

Luna Llena- Elvis Crespo- One of the best songs to take your lady on the dance floor and show your meringue chops. Some great lyrics as well.

I can't stand losing- Police- A top 40 song, but one of the greatest "loser" anthems ever. If I ever feel sorry for myself, I just have to play this song and instantly I become aware that there's someone worse! "But you'll be sorry when I'm dead, all this guilt will be on your head." Classic.


Voy a pintar mi Raya- Banda Arkangel- you have to listen closely to this song- beautiful lyrics about a man giving up his woman to the men that she now loves, but in the last repetition of the chorus, there's an almost imperceptible change of a word- changing the meaning of the song entirely. He's actually saying; "Go ahead and go with him, I know you'll be back."

Revolver- Rage Against the Machine- brilliant, but sad reflection on sexism and domestic violence. You can hear the beating through the staccato of the music.

El Rey- Jose Alfredo Jimenez/Vicente Fernandez- a much deeper song than most people realize. Every man is a king and his word is the law, so long as he realizes that he rules only himself.

Baby Grand- Billy Joel/Ray Charles- a wonderful song about their greatest love- music, but also a song about how fame/riches are fleeting.

Fight the Power- Public Enemy- I love just a couple lines in this song; "Elvis was a hero to many, but he never meant nothing to me. Motherfuck him and John Wayne." A good song to listen to on occasions when you are angry with everything.

Estolano Law, now corporate!

It's official. I am now a corporation! Effective March 2, 2008, the State Bar of California has certified Estolano Law as a corporation.

Now, it's time to buy the corporate car, right? Well...only if the office manager (the wife) agrees. So, you may see me driving the pickup for some time yet.

But, hey, a corporate man can dream, right?

The Weekend of Terror!

If you were to bump into my wife and I, you would be struck by how nice we seem. Both of us smile, are generally polite and try to make people around us as comfortable as possible. People are always telling me how sweet my wife is...and they are generally right. My wife is a sweet lady with a huge tender heart.

Which is why it's perhaps surprising that my wife is one of the biggest scary movie fans around. She won't watch exorcist type movies, but she's taken me to see just about every other scary movie that has come out in the theaters since 1999. I tend to prefer comedies, but because she enjoys her movies so much, I almost always defer to her to pick the movies. And the movies that she picks are always terrifying.

It must make a funny scene to see us at the movies- a pretty slender Latina laughing at all the scares, sitting next to a large guy with his hand covering his eyes and jumping out of his seat. In real life, I'm a somewhat brave person (I think)- but in a theater audience, I'm chicken little- nervously anticipating the next appearance of the villain.

So, this weekend when my good friend Chryseis invited us to a Friday the 13th party- as a horror fan, Maria was anxiously anticipating it. The party lived up to it's hype- there were Jason masks decorating the previously swank downtown gaslamp condominium, the movie itself on the television and plenty of lucky charms and 13's scrawled on the wall. No, the party wasn't scary- but it was kind of fun to talk to people about their favorite scary movies. It seems that everyone is scared of the exorcist. A friend of mine at the party, another tall and tough looking guy, admitted that he was made queasy at the sight of movie blood.

On Sunday, we saw the movie called "The Last House on the Left." My review? It was absolutely horrible- I almost walked out at one point. I couldn't believe how gory the movie was. There's a scene with a garbage disposal that reinforces my desire to never wash dishes. Of course, the wife and the rest of the audience loved it!

This coming week I think I will stick to the Disney Channel...

E & F Enterrprises

The nostalgia bug has hit me and I'm going to go even further back than high school in this post. We're talking 7th grade.

In 7th grade, my best friend was Frankie Fernandez. We were both sons of businessmen and fancied ourselves to be born entrepreneurs. We would dream up schemes to make money. Sometimes, we even acted on our schemes.

One of these schemes was a candy bar business based on a pyramid principle. We had our parents buy us boxes of Hershey's Big Block candy bars for wholesale prices at Price Club (this was before it became Costco and everyone was a member!) and organized students to sell the candy bars for us in two seperate junior high schools. The business worked in principle- we sold a ton of candy bars with very little work. Every once in a while we lost a candy bar to a teacher confiscation or to a dishonest saleman, but the candy bar sales were consistently turning a profit.

The only problem is that we would spend our profits at the 7-11 for slurpees and comic books. We would make, say, twenty dollars in a day and would spend all of it without any thought as to how we'd be able to buy more candy bars to sell.

But, the important thing is that we had a ton of fun. To our young minds, we were brilliant businessmen and we enjoyed thinking of ourselves this way. It didn't really matter if we were able to sustain a profit.

Years later, Frankie and I remain friends. Somehow neither of us became businessmen...

Where are you Paul?

I've been thinking a lot about my high school days recently. Thanks to facebook.com I have been messaging with people that I hadn't had contact with in almost two decades. I think most people would find that I haven't changed much in two decades in term of personality- maybe a little more outgoing and confident, but basically I'm the same guy. In high school, like today, I didn't really fit into any one group, but was comfortable in many groups. I had friends in student government, amongst the soon to be drop outs, the chess club, the drama department, the dungeonmasters, the cholos, etc.

This brings me to my friend "Paul." Where I was generally popular in the sense that I had a couple dozen or so friends, my friend Paul had no one but me that he really socialized with. He was an outcast from even the outcasts. As a Jehovah's Witness he would try to recruit his fellow high school students, without much luck. In fact, this is probably how we met.

I came from a family background that was generally skeptical of anything "too religious"- so I wasn't very open to the notions from the JW, but I felt bad that Paul seemed to have so little happiness in his life and tried to help him be happier. To a naive high school version of me that meant making him more like me!

The only problem was that you really had to be me to get away with...well...being me. For instance, though I fancied myself to be a good dresser, my wardrobe in high school extended to sweats and superman shirts, with an occasional airplane shirt thrown in. I combed my hair when I felt like it and actually sported an afro for a few months. (Yes, I didn't really start dating until college!) But, I difficult to make fun of for my clothes because 1) I really like those airplane shirts, 2) I didn't really care what people thought, 3) I was ready with a comeback to any jokes and 4) if someone "got me" with a wisecrack, I wash ready and willing to laugh at myself. Not so for Paul! Even with an "improved" wardrobe, he had trouble fitting in.

I took Paul once to a get together that I'd organized for about 10 of my buddies- a typical guys night included playing pool and a number of stupid games that we organized- like "Dofus on the pool table." Dofus involved one of us getting up on the pool table and telling jokes or doing funny things until he made the new "Dofus" laugh. Paul refused to play along with any of the games and somewhere around the time that he informed us that we would go to hell for drinking alcohol, my friends Frankie and John jumped him! This was actually something of a initiation- as dumb high school guys, we were constantly hitting and fighting with each other. We never really hurt each other, but were very prone to rough housing. Unfortunately, Paul was unused to rough housing. He went rigid with fear to the point where he didn't try to defend himself and I had to pull the guys off of him.

Paul left shortly after that and I never tried to introduce him to my friends again. I decided to give up trying to "help" him and just remained his friend. We kept touch for years after high school- going to a movie, talking religion- until one day he just disappeared. One day, I cam back from school break to find that there was no one at his apartment complex.

I've often wondered since then what became of him. I hope that he found a place where he felt free to be Paul.