El Güerito

Before the age of 18, my mobility around Houston, a city that mandated you have a vehicle, rested on the goodwill of my best friends and my girlfriend at the time (to whom I am eternally grateful). The summer before I left for Austin to attend St. Edward’s University, my father gave me the sweetest thing

Don't be jealous because my car knows more about Star Wars than you do.
Don't be jealous because my car knows more about Star Wars than you do.

since that raptor-fest t-shirt I mentioned in an earlier post. He gave me a 1991 Honda Accord LX. It was more practical than the early-80s Camaro he wanted to get me, and it was old. So, if I screwed it up, it wouldn’t be that big of a deal. He had been broken into before, stolen and involved in a high-speed chase. I knew I had a winner. He was going to be my little boy. He was my little white boy. El Güerito.

Now, I know what you’re thinking, “Why not name it after a woman like any self-respecting man would do? Don’t you have a penis?” Even at 18, I felt that naming my car after a woman would be degrading and sexist. Women only serve two purposes, broodmares for the state and having names so we can name our petty shit after them. I was one down 18 year old, let me tell ya.

The transmission computer was screwing up when I got him. I changed that fucker in the East Hall parking lot my first semester of college. Unfortunately for the past 5 years, my car has not failed to break down on me in some way.

Also, for the past five years, El Güerito has been with me through stormy trips back to Houston, lonely rides through South Austin and awful journeys to East Texas and a magical, scary place called San Antonio. El Güerito has served me well, and in its eighteenth year of existence, he has never been better. Sure, he might need a new power steering pump, but who doesn’t, right?

All I know is my barely legal baby is all grown up now. At 185,000+ miles, the lil’ guy is going to get his number pulled soon. I don’t know how I’m going to take it. I’ve had so many great memories in that car. Dually, I have had some pretty awful times in that car. No reason to waste my time on those.

Now that my car is old enough to buy cigarettes, I am afraid that it’s going to leave me soon. I think about it every time I get in it. I think about my muñeco all the time. I can fix things like busted radiator hoses, replacing transmission computers, batteries, tires and whatnot, but I’m afraid of that day when I can’t fix it at all and the mechanic says he’s done.

I am proud of El Güerito. My car can now:

  • legally vote
  • buy pornography (no more embarrassing trips to the XXXcite! on Lamar anymore)
  • purchase tobacco products for minors
  • register for selective service
  • dropout of high school without parental approval
  • and much much more

This has been a pointless blog post, but to end I say this:

El Güerito, we’ve lied together, cried together. I swear to God, I hope we fucking die together (Not really, that would fucking suck)*,


* I am aware that the line comes from “Me and my Bitch” by Biggie Smalls, but I really like this song. It illustrates my feelings more clearly. :D


I’m a pack rat, through and through. I cannot throw anything away. Ask my mom. It took me like 15 years to finally part ways with my Goosebumps series. That included the “Choose Your Own Adventure!!” ones. Those were boss. I still have a stuffed panda bear that I was given at the age of two days. I have reminders of my college years littered around my room. I save stupid shit. I yearn for the ability to just say, “Screw this. Why do I need a copy of Madden 2006 for Gamecube? First of all, it’s a dead system. Second, I don’t even have my Gamecube hooked up to the TV. Why do I need a Gamecube?!” [toss GC out window, hits possum]

My best friends are mostly pack rats. In fact, the Power Rangers poster in my room is the product of years of self-inflicted cluttering by my friend Tim. I think it was the summer of ’06 when I snatched that from his dad’s apartment, which during the week-long moving ordeal looked like a scene from a poorly funded horror film. Intense. Nevertheless, you can find some pretty bitchin’ shit when going back through your crap from years ago. Tim and I found some pretty interesting stuff that day. In fact, with this sentence right here, I know he’ll know exactly what I’m talking about. It was VERY interesting.

I want to raid my closet in Houston so bad right now.

I’m also a digital pack rat. I have music on my computer I would never honestly admit to listening to, like Decemberunderground by AFI. Oops.You never know, though. Maybe, one day, I will want to hear an epic 60 minute “Oh”-fest coupled with shitty songwriting. You NEVER KNOW.

I pack things away because I love that feeling one gets from finding something completely randomly a closet. I want my box full of wires to come in handy some day. I want my spindle full of CDs to save me in from a non-musical situation. I still have all my training material from Starbucks and Barnes & Noble. God knows, that shit will be useful for a lifetime.

It’s silly how incomplete the lack of petty things like media and print can make me feel. I would feel stupid if I didn’t have all these books laying around. I can’t explain why. I am aware of how dumb that is. Honestly, who am I trying to impress with my the volumes on Michel Foucault or my Marx-Engels Reader? I guess I feel safe knowing that I have these reference materials at the ready. But, that’s what the Internet is for.

Why do I need four guitars? Shouldn’t one be enough? Why do I need the entire Hall & Oates discography? I don’t know, but I’m getting my fucking hands on that right away.

I would kill for that mustache.

These private eyes are watching you,


Wolf T-shirt

I’d say this a well-known fact amongst the youth of America, but I feel like discussing something. Wolf t-shirts are fucking sweet. In fact, anything with a majestic animal, scenic views or an epically postured red man plastered across the front owns. At 8, I remember my dad getting back from New Mexico bearing the gift of my very first majestic shirt. It was of a Velociraptor. That’s it. Between the ages of 11 and 21, I lived my life sans majestic/scenic wildreness t-shirt. It took me until 21 to really get the balls to get an epic shirt with a fucking sweet ass white tiger on the front.

I want the balls to wear that shit out in public daily, and not exclusively to concerts where I don’t want to get fucked with. You’d be amazed what an intimidating sight a dude wearing a shirt with a white mother tigress and her pink-nosed cub on the front can be. Aside from being total a-hole repellent, my shirt is a ragin’ chick-magnet. My t-shirt says, I love nature, but I’m also dangerous, OR for the ironic chick, have a sense of humor.

I just wish I had the balls to consistently wear it in public.

I say all this because I saw some kid who looked like one of those geeks that played Pokemon on his Gameboy Advanced in high school wearing a great dragon shirt. I mentioned to Darby that I wanted to be brave like him. I wear plain things. I don’t want to stand out. I think my weird personality and chattiness do that enough. I wanted to own people’s faces with my dragon shirt like that 16 year old kid. I wanted to tell people to fuck-off and come off as the coolest guy at this end of the queue simultaneously, without saying a word.

Please, buy me a dragon shirt,


So… new computer?

This weekend, the inevitable happened. My baby, the LOVE OF MY LIFE, my Dell Inspiron 1150 purchased in 2004 died on me. I know what you’re saying, “What the fuck were you doing with an Inspiron 1150? It’s 2009. You should be rollin’ with something more 1337 than that. lulz…” Well, fuck you. I am that 1337 (not really). For what it was, that Dell was running like Terrell Owens in his first year with a new team (watch out Dolphins). I loved that thing, and made sure that it was well taken care of it. I could do anything on it except run REALLY REALLY high-demand programs.

Anyway, the backlight went out on Saturday night after my first blog post. I freaked out a little, but it wasn’t anything unusual. Old computers have some kinks that can get worked out with a little rest. The next day, the backlight wouldn’t turn on anymore! At this point, I’m freaking out. What do I do? What are my options?!

At one point, I thought to myself, “Wow, you’re ridiculous…” I am so attached to computers. I am attached to technology. With technology comes the use of social networking sites, blogs and LOLcats. I became so worried about how I was going to check my Facebook account. “Well, I can use Facebook Mobile, but I can only check certain notifications for a while. I would have to use Gmail Mobile to check the comments on my posted items… blah blah blah.”

I don’t consume media in any other manner. It’s almost a burden to me to have to turn on my television. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not an MR (Mental Retard–for those of you keeping score on how many offensive things I say today) who hates TV.  I owe my sense of humor, trivial knowledge and connection to “normal” society to television (I grew up an only child in an immigrant family from El Salvador, had to learn how to deal with “whitey” somehow :-P). But over the years, I have become inseparable from this mass of wires, disks and dual-core 2.33GHz processors.

Luckily for the ECONOMY, I came to the realization that it wasn’t wrong for me to be so addicted to the internet and my computer. It’s my way of connecting to the world. It may seem strange for some people, who watch TV, read the newspaper or actually GO OUT. So, I went to my local technology shoppe, Best Buy, and bought myself an ASUS CM Series Desktop*, with a 2.65Ghz Intel Dual-Core processor, 6 GB of RAM, 600GB HD and a whole bunch of other shit that I don’t need. I tried to lag this shit it out, and I can’t.

Oddly enough, I should be really happy about this new computer, but I miss the tenderness and near perfection of my old laptop. I miss how I knew everything about it, and if anything went wrong, I could easily fix it. We could go on being happy again.

The ordeal on Saturday/Sunday felt like breaking up with a long-time girlfriend. You know what buttons to push, and you know how make everything right again, but you’re tired of hitting the same fucking button, and your tired of fixing things because the cycle will never stop. I know I could have fixed Cynthia (My Dell). I just didn’t have the will anymore.

Internet addiction can be a problem, but I look at it this way, at least I don’t fucking do crack.

I don’t do crack,


* Yeah, me getting a desktop is a big deal.

beginning things

This is my second/third (if you count an early-2000s era LiveJournal) attempt at a blog. I used blogs in the past to deal with personal issues. I would leave them open to the public, knowing what the consequences were. This blog won’t go down that road. To avoid most interpersonal conflicts, the intended purpose of this blog is to criticize the anonymous.  I hope the more I get the hang of this, the better the writing and topics get.

I want to discuss the everyday things I see, and hear. As any good American, I consume. Also, like any good student of the liberal arts (blegh!), I have a lot of opinions about things I interact with on a daily basis. You will probably not agree with what I have to say, have an opinion on whatever sport I’m yelling about or even like the way I write about it. I just want this blog to be fun. In fact, I’m pretty sure this blog will be fun at the expense of others. I hope you’re okay with that. OK.

Now, onto the most important thing—myself. I’m an out-of-shape, twenty-three year old male from Austin, TX. A graduate of St. Edward’s University, I have a degree in History (know-it-all), and one day hope to get my hands on a Ph. D.

I currently have two employers, but will probably disclose their names in another post.  I’m not a fucking bum!

I have opinions, and I, being a dirty fucking liberal fascist, feel like all voices are important. I suppose this will be mine, for now. I’m originally from Houston, TX—Sharpstown to be exact. I’m obsessed with sports, music, politics, lively debate and people’s day-to-day interactions. So, let’s just get started, eh?

Continue reading beginning things