“In my defense, these prison walls…they couldn’t hold anything in at all.”- Mariachi El Bronx
Tuesday, September 22, 2009 posted by Henri
You take an LA punk band named after a NYC borough and have them release a Mariachi album. You know what you get? The beautiful soundtrack to my current life. With the house we bought and all that comes with it ( you see what I did there Dan?) 2009 has been a series of dervishes and small fires. But with 60% of our boxes unpacked after living here for 4 months, I’m starting feel enough of a semblance of my former self to suddenly realize…what the hell just happened?
You see the problem lies in the tiny fact that somehow I am still not in Los Angeles.
In fact, strategically, I don’t see how buying a new house get’s me closer to this goal. Add to this the fact that my wife is constantly accompanied by this man and I'm lead to believe that something might be amiss here.
I may have been outmaneuvered. I think she swept the leg.
Maybe it’s for the best. She’s only known the Henri with that chunk missing, the LA piece. She might not like the complete me that she would meet back home. I’m like Voltron minus one tiger arm. I mean let’s say we get down there and she’s like… “Wassup with that flaming sword?”
Oh I’m sorry, you didn’t know I’m Voltron?
Our new house calls to me with endless projects. So many little bits and big bits to repair and restore. By the time we got her she was incontinent and had been through one too many abusive relationships. I’m sorry anyone let you get like this. Built in 1915 this fine girl has seen it all. She saw the country go dry during the roaring twenties, she lived through the great depression, she watched the neighborhood boys leave to fight in World War II, she welcomed as many back as she could. She watched the Fords and Chevy’s rumble through her streets in the fifties, and listened to the college kids find their voices during the sixties. She listened to disco and newro. She’s watched many families grow and move on. I want to make sure she sees some better days.
So far I’ve given her new pipes wherever I could. I’ve put in a basement drainage system to keep her dry. New electric panel and systems to put some new spark in her. We’ve taken up three generations of flooring from the kitchen and removed the old furnace chimney. The giant asbestos monster octopus in the basement is long gone…freeing up a bit of breathing room for a truly bad-ass 98% efficient, full filtration, tiny monster of a modern furnace.
The fact of the matter is…I know we’re in this house for a bit. In this place. Away from Los Angeles for an uncertain period of time. And through tendrils of slowly sinking roots I hang on tight to the flickering hope that my first girl will continue to wait for me. It might be longer than I had believed, but every year or so I have to remind myself, and her, that one day I’ll be back.
So to make a long story short, that’s the reason why you hear Mariachi El Bronx coming from my pants every time you see me. I‘m just homesick.
People think it’s my ringtone.
Sorry bro, it’s my theme music. I’ll turn it off when I’m done.