One Last Shot

One Last Shot

The tale you're about to read is entirely true and tragic that starving children in third world nations will feel my pain. Of course they wont be able to tell the difference between my pain and the pain of not eating for a week. But that's Sally Struthers problem and well, once you finish this blog you'll realize I have my own problems to deal with. Namely because of a shot glass.

And before I get started on this, let me say I'm sorry. I know you don't read this blog to get inundated with my personal shit, that's a pet peeve of mine when it comes to blogs and people thinking that they're so god damn important that any one gives two shits about their own person struggles. I don't fool myself. I know you don't care. You read my blog because I'm funny, off the wall and often witty. I apologize in advance but stick around through the personal strife and maybe you'll laugh at my suffering.

Back in 2005 I did my little road trip from Florida to Los Angeles. On this really awesome road trip I saw many things, ate many items and enjoyed life to the best that one man with a car full of gas and an open highway in front of him could enjoy life by. In that it was pretty boring after a while. You factor in that Texas is about 800 miles of nothing but empty wastelands.. and racist rednecks.

I knew that the drive wasn't going to be all that interesting. It's 773 miles of god damn nothing! My hope was going and almost gone when I passed mile marker 769 and then I saw it.. such a sign of beauty. Ok, it was more along the lines of confusing and... a little upsetting.

This sign was telling me to hold my piss for 262 miles? Whaaa? But I wanted to pull over and piss over Texas. With Bush in the white house, I felt it was my all-American right and privileged to take a long piss on the state that allowed him to run and own a baseball team in.

Though I have to say that I found it a little humoring. There was this stupid beaver as the mascot of the company. What's there not to like? Well, I didn't have to take a piss and so I carried on. The more I drove, the more I found funny signs for this place. One of them even just had this slogan "BUC-EE'S: IT'S A BEAVER" and maybe it was because by mile marker 650, I was starting to lose my marbles. Oh yeah, if you can't tell by now, I was counting down the miles before I was out of Texas.

But through it all there was the Buc-ee's silly signs to guide me through. Like an albatross leading a ship out of stormy seas. Like a compass leading a hiker back to safety. Like something something adverb something something something. Yes, Buc-ee's sure as hell made my trip tolerable. It gave me something to look forward to. Mainly due to the best sign that they had "Fabulous Restrooms". Oh my, I can't say that in my travels from Florida to the current middle of Texas that I had used a half way decent restroom. Yes, there's Southern hospitality, but they don't advertise Southern Restrooms because all those biscuit and gravey sure as hell does not go down easy in their plumbing.

After pushing on through vast fields of Texas nothingness I finally got closer and closer to my new goal - To see this Buc-ee's in person. I figured it was some sort of attraction park. It ended up being a whole lot better, It was a gas station! And what a gas station it was. They had all sorts of trinkets and other junk. The neon sign kept highlighting their fabulous restrooms and you know what, they were beyond clean. I built up the hype about those johns and I can't say that I was let down in the slightest in terms of how clean they were.

I was in heaven. Or at least what heaven would look like if it had self-service gas stations, beef jerky from around the animal kingdom and all sorts of other junk that an all service gas station selling wares would have. I needed to take home a piece of this place. I needed to remember that it wasn't all a dream... Then I saw it. A shot glass with Buc-ee's Beaver mascot face on the front. Turning it around and what did my eyes see? The logo "IT'S A BEAVER".

Maybe it was the fumes from the gas pumps outside. Maybe it was the fact that I just drive a good 500 miles hyping this place up with billboards. But I cracked up so much at this shot glass. I had to buy it. I plopped down my green backs on the counter, bought some beef jerky and hit the road again with my new prize. The buc-ee's shot glass.

While the rest of my road trip had their own adventures that I could save for another time, let's jump forward to when I finally make it to L.A. and I'm unloading all my stuff. I have the buc-ee's shot glass in a plastic bag covered in paper and safely secure... or so I thought till I put down my bags and heard a large glass crushing down. Yes, not even two minutes into my place and I already destroyed the shot glass that I valued so much from the road trip.

To say that I was a little bit sad is an understatement. I was pretty frustrated. Here I am far away from Texas and even though I stopped by the Alamo, I was in a state of not being able to forget the Buc-ee's shot glass. I called around. I still had one connection in Texas that I could call up and see if they could do me a solid and get me a shot glass, ship it to me. Sure, I bribed them with Arrested Development show material like scripts and other handy crafts that I stole from the set.

Sure enough, about six weeks later I got it in the mail. A replacement shot glass to my broken Buc-ee's one. I was complete again. And while yes, it was just a material item that I really had no practical use for, seeing that I'm not a drunk and if I was to turn into one, I sure as hell wouldn't waste a step by pouring it into a shot glass.

It was more along the lines of a memory of the road trip. Even though it wasn't MY shot glass, it looked exactly like it that I could pass it off as my own. Maybe one day I would tell it the terrible secret that I had to get it through the mail. But I wasn't going to ruin its ability to get me wasted.

They say that the good times can't last forever. They're right. They can't. Yesterday when I got back home I found that gravity has decided to work against me and dropped a bottle of Patron while I was away. While the glass bottle was thick enough that I didn't lose any Patron, I did notice the shards of a shot glass. It was like seeing a dead body. It was my replacement Buc-ee's shot glass. Shattered into a good couple of pieces. NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!

Now you may be thinking "It's just a shot glass, what's the big deal?" And I'll tell you to go fuck yourself, thank you kindly. It may very well be a shot glass with some itched on scribbles. But it was the last memory that I stopped by a Buc-ee's on the first road trip that I traveled so far. From Florida to Los Angeles. Let's see you do that!

So now I'm left with two shattered used-to-be-pieces-of-shot-glass left. One broken shot glass would just be bad lucky. Clearly there's some force, some mythical and unexplainable hand guiding heavy objects or my own clumsy nature to break and otherwise crush my shot glasses at every opportunity. While I maintain my strong atheist beliefs in not believing, I can't ignore the fact that of all the shitty shot glasses I have and never use, the one that I enjoyed the most is the target of such crimes against glassware. Shattered by the one item that gets put into these? Now that's just cold blooded.

I'm not left with a tricky lack of options. I don't know when's the next time I'll be unlucky enough to be in Texas. Nor do I want to continue not having a shot glass that, even though I'm a raging alcoholic that seldom drinks, I don't think I can go on with this idea that my Buc-ee's road trip memory is shattered. So I'm looking to you, anyone who lives in Texas.. or even you Buc-ee's corporate headquarters. I've tried looking for an online way to purchase this. I have money that I want to give you in exchange for goods and services!

Maybe I should just face the facts. The shot glass is dead and I'm more than likely not going to get another any time soon. It's tragic, I know. but maybe it's for the best. Who needed to be reminded that Buc-ee's was indeed, a Beaver. And isn't it odd that they would say "It's a beaver" He has a name, you know. Buc-ee! I'll pour myself a stiff shot to ease the pain, but it's not going to be the same without drinking it out of the Buc-ee's shot glass.

Now as I attempt to take one last shot out of this broken shot glass, with what I assume will result in my lips being completely cut up (and not to mention that vodka isn't going to feel to great on the potential open wound) I say goodbye Buc-ee's Shot Glass #2. You last a lot longer than shot glass #1 and I really don't know when I'll replace you, but rest assure I'll try to fill your empty space on the shelf with something like you... cause you're to good to be let go.

So.. anyone in Texas. I have cash that is burning a hole in my wallet like this vodka is burning my open glass wounds in my lips. All I know is I need another shot glass that will eventually get shattered in some ironic fashion!

To Live And Die In (The City of) L.A.

To Live And Die In (The City of) L.A.

L.A is a strange place. It has a lot of wide variety of places. Some high brow, some not so much and a bit south. Me, I'm in East L.A. I wasn't actually born there. I was spewed into this world on Sunset across the Scientology building. I suppose that explains why I'm such a strange person.

I did grow up in East L.A. though and somehow managed to come out of it alive and relatively upstanding. So it can't be all that bad. Well, I guess it can. But it's what you make of it. I don't think something is entirely the product of their environment. Besides, what if instead of an incorporated part of Los Angeles, East L.A. was actually an actual city?



The L.A. Times usually doesn't report much good, but they are Reporting that East L.A. wants to become a city.

East Los Angeles is proudly known as the community that sparked a Mexican American civil rights movement, gave birth to Los Lobos and jump-started low-rider car culture.

But for all its notoriety and close-knit feel, East L.A. has never been a city. Rather, it's an unincorporated area governed by the county Board of Supervisors.

But on Friday, the community took a major step toward gaining independence. County officials announced that backers had gathered enough signatures for the cityhood process to formally begin.

Boosters hope residents will cast ballots on the question in 2010. First, a major study has to confirm what a much smaller, earlier study asserted: that the neighborhood of 140,000 can sustain itself economically as what would be L.A. County's 10th-largest city.

On Friday, supporters who were gathered along Whittier Boulevard said they were confident of victory, even as they prepared to go door to door to raise $100,000 to pay for the study.

"We the people of East L.A. have not only stood up, but we have delivered," said state Sen. Gloria Romero (D-Los Angeles), referring to the movie "Stand and Deliver," which was set at East L.A.'s Garfield High School. "What a vibrant community, what a vibrant city East L.A. can be."

Calling the neighborhood an internationally known "icon" of Latino culture, Romero said that with the Gold Line rail extension coming soon, the time is now for East L.A. to become a city and control its own destiny.

Now you're probably confused by all this. Don't worry, L.A. is full of strange Cities and Non-cities. Growing up here you'd still be hard pressed to know what exactly is a city and what isn't.
Santa Monica - City
Studio City - Not a city
Burbank - City
Panorama city - NOT a city
City of Industry - City
East Pasadena - Not a city
Pasadena - City
Culver City - City
Silver Lake - City

So you see, it's very strange what exactly is considered a City and what isn't.



The History of Los Angeles is pretty interesting. This was once a Jewish community. In fact, you can still find the remains of the Jewish culture all around between taco trucks and other ethnic areas. Unlike Israel, it seems that the Jews don't want East L.A. back.

How do I feel about this? Well, I would be up for it only if East Los can actually support itself. We don't have any sort of major shopping area that isn't some Mexican mercado. I'm not sure how well tourism will be other than to visit the Cheech and Chong historic museum or come for a day of the dead celebration. As long as the Police force stays as good as they are, I'll be happy. Why am I all of a sudden interested in the health of the police state? Well, that's a long story that caused my Saturday night to feel like I was a character out of Gran Torino.


Don't get me a big button phone. ggggrrrrrr

You see, my Saturday night was going pretty well. Getting some downtime and just relaxing, it was a nice change from the long work hours. Some time to write and hell, I wrote a lot of pieces which will be up during the coming weeks. The last thing I expected I would be doing was getting into an altercation with some taggers.

My place.... has been a constant state of fixing, It's a fixer-upper and has been that way for some time, but that's a blog for another time. There's already a lot of ground to cover in this story alone so I'll save the construction and constant improvement on it for another blog when I can bore you to tears.



Around 1:40 I heard a thump on my window. I wasn't sure what the hell was going on. I walk out to the living room and I see a backwards S go up through the window. I turn on the lights and bang on the door to scare them away. I have enough common sense to not jump out there and get into it, right? After that they seem to go away and I go out there with my windex, past experience has taught me that if you get it on the graffiti quick enough, it comes off with ease. The cops were called by this point so they can come and do their rounds around the neighborhood.

I open the door and sure enough, taggers are just slightly down the street tagging the curb. Fuckin' kids these days. I felt like Clint Eastwood in Gran Torino.

I'm no hero. I was just trying to get that babbling spics off my lawn!

They see me and yell "Get back inside, you pussy!" Which I suppose in hindsight wasn't the best time to yell about them tagging on my window. But even more so that once they responded with "I got a gun, nigga! You want to die?" I'm not sure in calling his bluff because really, if you have a gun, you let the gun do the talking and actually pull it out without ever having to mention having one. So my "You're going to shoot someone over graffiti? Fucking morons." wasn't the best course of action but I was pissed off.


Worthless fucks!

Well, the two morons were odd and even. The more sensible one was trying to get the douche bag to get going. Like any tagger would when they see someone looking. You run. How hard is that? Well, douche bag starts running towards me, I back up and get into the apartment again and close the door. Douche bag starts banging on the door calling me a pussy. I hear the sensible one talk the douche bag to walk away and I hear them walk some. I open the door to check to see how far they are and sure enough, they aren't that far away. Douche bag comes running at me but this time I can't close the door in time. He's literally pushing his way inside, drops his spray can, I kick it inside.. why? I have no idea and I grab the Darth maul lightsaber that has been sitting next to the door waiting to be tossed out for a while now and start beating him with this this toy.

"Ever notice how you come across somebody once in a while you shouldn't have mess with? That's me."

Yes. You heard that right. I was beating him up with a lightsaber. He lets go of the door and I slam it close and lock it. I think this is the end of it and it seems like the sensible one is actually getting him to walk away. No dice. I hear constant "Where's my spray can!", "Where the fuck is my spray can?" answered by "I'll buy you a new one, dawg." Douche bag comes back and bashes on the door more. This time kicking in the glass panel on the door. Thankfully the doors backing was boarded up from a while back as I need a new door. He kicks the door constantly to the point that the bottom locking was jolted.


Seriously scary shit.

Slams on the door more and then bashes on the window kicking through it. By this point they've done too much damage and start walking away. I still maintain hope that the cops show up in time to see all this and I jump out when their a "safe" distance away. Keeping them in yelling distance. Douche bag acts like he's coming back for more and I pick up a shard of the broken glass and he stops in his tracks and they start walking away leaving me with such lovely parting words.

The thing that haunts a guy is the stuff he wasn't ordered to do

All through this I felt like Walt Kowalski. And if you don't know who he is, you must be an Oscar voter since you fucks snubbed Gran Torino badly. Cops eventually show up a couple of minutes later, take down my report and then they ask me if I can identify them. Sure enough, they had two squad cars converge on the area and find them. I jump into the back of the car and they take me to an impromptu line up and I remember them since they were double bladed lightsaber distance away from me.


Shattered nights.

I'm given the DA slip for whatever case they are going to pursue on them. A couple of felony charges and hopefully they're going to be spending a good time in the can. I spent the morning putting up boards to cover up the damage and start the whole process of fixing the place up. In hindsight, this whole situation could have gone far worse. Seriously though.. What the fuck was I thinking being out there?

Time and time again, we hear about well-intentioned people being murdered when they speak up against someone doing graffiti. Case in point, it happened again this week in Hollywood.

"Based on preliminary information, detectives believe that Perez saw gang members vandalizing property with graffiti," the LAPD said in a statement. "Perez decided to confront the gang members about the graffiti. In an apparent response to the comments about the graffiti, one gang member pulled out a gun and fired into the car killing Perez and injuring his passenger."

We hear this from police at community meetings all the time. If you see someone tagging, don't hesitate, it's a 911 call.

Perhaps opening the door to peak out only to follow it up with smacking him with a toy lightsaber... maybe not my finest moment. But who among us can say they ever did that with a lightsaber toy?

Not as clumsy or random as a blaster; an elegant weapon for a more civilized age

Later the officer told me that if they rolled up when that was going down they would have beaten the shit out of the guy. The humanitarian in me wants to think that it would have been wrong of them. The victim in me would have been all for it.


Eat your heart out, Starwars kid!

I just remembered that there is bug spray near the door that I got at CVS for free after some sale. I really wish I thought of that shit before. Seriously. Nothing like a blind tagger walking the streets at night.

It's rather interesting though. The amount of choices I made in a quick matter of time at night. I really needed a stiff drink when it was all said and done and I really needed to calm my nerves. Hell, since I already marked out as a geek, I might as well go the full tilt. After last night I think I earned a couple of Green Lantern rings.

Red - Rage
Green - Willpower
Yellow - Fear


"I'm used to going out at 3AM and doing something stupid."

Indeed...