Ray Ray- the soundtrack!

Ever wish that your life came with a soundtrack? In the classic movie, I'M GONNA GIT U SUCKA, a band followed the hero, playing "New Jack City."

In my life, I think I'd need an MP3 player with a huge memory and an eclectic collection. One song wouldn't be enough. Sometimes, fresh off a court victory, I imagine the eye of the tiger playing as I strut down the street- though it might look funny to see an overly healthy 6'2" man strutting to anything but maybe some circus clown music. Other times, the song would be Elmore Leonard's "The Sky is Crying" or Robert Cray’s “I think I showed her.” It’s weird, but blues songs about losing everything sometimes fit my mood, though I’ve never lost everything (I did lose a cell phone once) and am generally upbeat. I guess this would make me a blues “poser.” I do take my loses with a touch of humor, just like the narrator in Cray’s song who showed his woman what’s up, by ending up in the cheap motel room while she kept the house.

But the place where the music really plays a role in my life is in flashbacks. Music reminds me of yesterday’s moments like little else. I hear Gloria Gaynor sing and I remember every breakup that I ever had. I will survive! I play Marvin Gaye and suddenly I'm the suave undergraduate would be Romeo, with a jumbo bottle of Obsession cologne, a bad haircut and a hopeful smile. Certain songs hit the radio and I remember a flash of pain, like John Secada’s another day without you- a song that I heard for the first time in Spanish shortly before a breakup.

On a non-romantic level, there are songs that remind me of family. Leo Sayer’s sings “when I need you” and it reminds me of my parents, who went away for business, but would always come back when I needed them. Jose Jose, El Puma and a few other old singers make me think of my siblings, who are each a decade older than me and would play the music ad nauseum.

So, if music were to be a soundtrack to my life, I’d need a library full of tunes. I think we all would.

The Crew

Picture the scene. The streets of Berkeley on a Friday night in the 90’s. A tie dyed mix of Berkeley residents, homeless activists and students walking in an out of coffee shops, street stands and the small restaurants that dotted Telegraph Boulevard. There’s an almost 60’s hippie vibe. Suddenly, a group of tall and dark young men appears among the hubbub. The hair is slicked back, the shirts are night club flashy and the smiles are confident. Berkeley meet South San Diego. We looked like five Latin princes among the hippies- Jose, Louie, Gabe, Israel and myself. What followed was certainly a night to remember…though time and alcohol have dulled some of the memories. I remember a couple house parties, a night club and a night of much cheap beer, loud music and laughter.

Time marches to a funny beat, sometimes. Twenty years later, three of us are still friends, but the athletic and confident princes of the party scene have become the middle aged Kings of the comfortable bar stool. I can’t say for sure that any of us reached the starry dreams that we held as young men, but we've each carved out a life for ourselves. Jose has the American package- a marriage, kids and a mortgage. The fan of Pink Floyd’s the wall, has become, shudder, a school teacher (though he thinks about changing careers). Louie, who sported a bandana throughout much of undergrad, has a son now and also works for the school district. I have my law practice, a wife and two kittens. Our crew is rounded out by a couple of parking enforcement officers, Ruben and Ray.

As we head down to Tijuana for a “boys night out,” we cram into Louie’s SUV and probably look little like the group that partied our way through many a weekend in college.

But, a few tequilas later, we are laughing as if time had never passed. Louie is as crazy as ever, having replaced his signature bandana with a captain’s hat. Jose is still the same clown that he always was, quick with a joke and quicker with a laugh. He laughs so much that I almost think he won’t be able to breath. The new friend (new being relative, as we’ve known Ruben for over a decade) adds his own jokes and suddenly we’re all laughing much more than we’re breathing.

I take a small sip of tequila in silent toast to the younger me and then down the rest of the tequila in a toast to the me to come. Twenty years from now I may remember today as the glory days, but I’ll be wrong. Whenever you are. Wherever you are. That’s your time to cherish. We remember the past, prepare for the future, but live in glorious today. Cheers!