Tonight Means More

Saturday Wedding Blues

2011-08-20T14:40:00.005-04:00

Few events merit one’s total annihilation by alcohol consumption like a friend’s wedding. The booze is free, why not? My lady and I got into our party suits, and before we headed out the door I made good use of the one-hitter I’d bought at the smoke shop the previous day. After getting a good buzz, I opened the door to our apartment with the intention of reaching the elevator as quickly as possible. It was not to be. Our neighbor, a sweet old lady who’s well into her sixties, saw us all dressed up and could not help herself. “Oh my God! You two look lovely!”, she said. We smiled courteously, trying to avoid the inevitable. “Can I get a picture of you?”. Fuck. She fetched her disposable film camera and proceeded to snap a few shots of us in our Sunday’s best. I was relieved I was stoned.

After reaching the ground floor I fell victim to the most absurd stoner cliché: I forgot something. I turned around to head back up to the 4th floor to get the directions to the church. Reaching the church without directions, after all, would have been quite a challenge. I pointed the car towards San Patricio, turned up the car stereo, and away we went to the house of God.

The invitation stated the ceremony would start at 3pm. As I pulled into the church’s parking lot, I glanced at the car’s clock. 3:29pm… I was certain we would step into a wedding on its last legs. Turns out the whole thing had stalled. From what I could gather, the bride was late because she was having trouble fitting into her dress and the mother of the groom was still at the beauty salon. “Shit”, I thought, “we’re gonna be here a while”. So after saying hello to friends I had not seen in a while, I suggested to one of them the only sensible thing that could have possibly occurred to me: Let’s get some beer to kill the time. My friend, who we’ll call Rick, smiled and agreed.

We drove over to the nearest gas station, taking advantage of the drive to once again work my one-hitter. We reached the gas station and walked straight to the fridge. I must admit I love wearing suits. Maybe it has something to do with wanting to be a member of The Bad Seeds, but that’s another story. I placed all my beers on the counter and asked the clerk if he had any small bottles of vodka. “A friend of mine is about to get married”, I told him, “and I can see the fear in his eyes”. The guy lifted his eyebrows, recognizing the seriousness of the task I had bestowed upon him. He shook his head with visible disappointment, letting me know he could not help me out. “Say hi to your friend for me. Tell him he has my condolences.”

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JJ Barea and John McCain

2011-06-24T12:09:00.000-04:00

Musings from the Morning After

2011-04-29T07:48:00.005-04:00

Whenever I wake up on a day off from work, I’m immediately filled with the child-like, romantic notion that anything is possible and a good time is inevitable. Sometime in the afternoon I opened my eyes – the black out shades I’d installed in my room had had the most serene effect on my inconsistent sleeping habits. Stepping out of bed and stumbling into the kitchen, I found a half empty pot of coffee. Hello there, I thought. But for reasons I fail to understand, I did not drink the coffee. Instead I turned around and headed for the bathroom, stopping just long enough in front of the mirror to give myself a motivational wink. Doesn’t everybody do that?

By the time I got out of the shower, he was already downstairs. In my mind I could picture my friend Paul furiously typing a brief message with abbreviate words into his Blackberry, the sole purpose of which to inform me that I was taking “Too fucking long”. Never one to disappoint my friends, I got it together and headed out the door. It was 4:29pm.

I greeted Paul with unusual enthusiasm. He flashed his great big smile, patted my back and asked plainly, “Are you stoned?”. No, I replied. We decided the best course of action would be to head down Loiza Street, look for a bar and take it from there. Our search proved futile and after walking for miles, stopping on occasion to check out a pawn shop or remark on the deviant pedestrians we encountered, we found a deli that served beer. When looking for a place to have a drink I usually set my standards pretty low, so an overpriced, pompous deli by the beach seemed like an appropriate place to start our drinking – right at the bottom.

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Statement 11/20/2010

2010-11-20T13:03:00.005-04:00

I just wanted to take a moment to let you in on what I've been doing recently and my plans for the upcoming months. As some of you have noticed, there has been little to almost no activity on this blog since this past summer. In August 2010, I began to write songs for an unnamed musical project. Since then I've decided to call this new project The Red Ashtrays. As it stands now, I've written about 10 songs, recruited other musicians and friends to join in and have booked studio time in 2011. The sound of this project is unlike anything I've done in the past as I intend to bring my Classic Rock influences to the forefront. Perhaps a little more broken down and roots, if you will. The initial plan is to record three new songs which will be made available online for free.

Which brings me to my next piece of news. My website, NoelDavila.net, is currently undergoing a redesign that will make it more accessible, but most importantly, I will have the ability to make constant updates and offer all sorts of multimedia on a weekly basis as opposed to the current site. The launch date is New Year's Day 2011.

Thank you for taking the time to read this. I feel weird writing a statement like this, it's not my nature, but since some of you have asked me on Twitter, it seemed like the right thing to do.

All the best,

Noel

The Red Ashtrays

2010-11-01T18:48:00.001-04:00

Feels like home: 9 days in the Big Apple

2010-06-28T16:20:00.005-04:00

“One belongs to New York instantly, one belongs to it as much in five minutes as in five years.”

-Thomas Wolfe

After a nearly 4-hour bus ride from Washington DC, in which I had to fight off the temptation to turn off a sleeping passenger’s iPod, I arrived at the Port Authority Bus Terminal. In the subway, I saw a young girl tell an old man to “sit the fuck down” and noticed that the guy in front of me was talking to himself while tightly holding a book in his hands. Without a shadow of a doubt, I knew I was in New York.

The next day I decided I would take a walk across the Brooklyn Bridge. I had a smoke in the small park by the subway in order to relax and to brace myself for the long walk ahead. Apparently I relaxed a little too much, seeing as I found myself walking in the bicycle lane. Devoting all my attention to not getting run over, I’d begun asking myself why so many bikes kept coming down my way, until I noticed the bike sign painted on the ground next to a thick line indicating the pedestrian’s place in the sidewalk. I immediately took my place among the other silly tourists.

Being so enthralled with my surroundings, I walked at a slow pace behind a large family while enjoying the exceptional sights of the Big Apple. After a while I began to get that feeling you get in restaurants, when you feel that the couple next to you actually came with you in your car because of how close they've been sitting for quite a while. “Let me move up ahead” I thought, “before I do or say something stupid”. It just so happens that we were approaching the center of the bridge where lots of people thought it was a good idea to take a picture. Since most people were in large groups, it was impossible to walk past them lest I venture once again into the dangerous bike lane. I swear to God, I must have appeared in about a hundred pictures.

Once in Brooklyn, I played local band Earl Greyhound on my iPod and decided to get lost. I ended up in a park on the side of the bridge overlooking Manhattan. The view was stunning; words fail to describe it. I took it all in and after a few moments asked where the nearest subway was. I found it, and as I went down the stairs I realized that a train was about to leave. I ran and managed to get inside before it took off. It took me the better part of half an hour to realize I was headed in the wrong direction. I've gotten lost in the subway before, so I didn't panic. I looked at the MTA map and figured it out, because after all, real men don't ask for directions.

I was feeling very self-conscious because the new slip-on shoes I'd bought were making strange noises every time I took a step. I'm no expert, but these peculiar noises I was making resembled the frowned upon sound of a flatulence outburst, aka a fart. I paused in front of an escalator to see if there was any way to stop making these sounds. An elderly man heard me speaking in Spanish, and annoyed with the fact that I was in his way exclaimed, “C'mon, poppies! Let's go”. Then again, it could've been papis (as in the plural form of papi). Guess I'll never know.

On a train leaving Queens, I looked up from my book and suddenly realized I was surrounded by mariachi. A fellow passenger decided to make a request and asked the musicians to play “Mexicali Blues” by The Grateful Dead. I don't think they knew the song, or how to speak English for that matter because they looked at this guy with bewilderment. I felt sorry for him. I felt even more sorry for me: a mariachi version of a Dead tune would have been something epic.

Every day in New York seemed to be a story in itself. I continued to encounter unique people and circumstances, as one can only do in this great city. As far as food was concerned, one of the things I enjoyed repeatedly was the hot sausages sold in the little cars on the sidewalk. One day as I walked into a Barnes & Noble bookstore it quickly dawned on me that my last hot sausage was not agreeing too much with my stomach. Trying my absolute best to keep things under control, I couldn't help seeing Marlon Brando in my thoughts, gently whispering “The horror...the horror”. Despite my better judgment, I ventured into the public restroom. I don't care to describe the things I heard inside of that God-awful place, but I will say I was very uncomfortable knowing that someone in the cubicle next door was up to the same thing. Even more awkward was the look we gave each other as we both exited our respective cubicles at the same time. Jesus Christ... Ok, enough of this. Let's continue.

All around Times Square and other parts of Manhattan I couldn't help but notice all the people dressed in graduation togas. At some point I saw a group of young girls that kept jumping up in the air at the same time. As I approached and realized what was really going on I became speechless... these bitches were attempting the infamous 'up in the air' picture. I haven't seen anybody do that since the first Clinton administration.

A few days into my NYC expedition I began to get guitar withdrawal. The only sensible thing to do would be to find a guitar store and shamelessly ask them to let me test a guitar worth more than my beaten up Ford Taurus. And yet, I've done that so many times that this time I thought it would be in better taste to just refrain. So I took Option B and contacted an old friend in Queens. Since he has a few guitars and amps, I knew a jam session was in order. I met him at some corner of Astoria to go buy beer. In our little walk around his neighborhood he won my complete trust by asking himself at every corner: “Where the fuck am I?”. I found it all very funny until it seemed we were walking in circles. That's when I began to doubt his abilities as a host.

When we finally found his apartment, we threw back a few cold ones and sat across one another with guitars in the living room. We had a lovely jam and later, as was expected, I had to go to the bathroom to relieve my pulsating desire to urinate. Lucky for me, I found a Maxim magazine sitting on top of the toilet. Milla Jovovich was on the cover... oh my. I quickly grabbed the magazine and raised the toilet seat. Judging by the amount of beer we had already consumed, I knew this would take a little longer than usual, so I placed my gear on auto-pilot and used both my hands to look through the magazine. Once I was done urinating, I began to raise my zipper. In an instant I heard the doorknob turn and I watched in disbelief as the door began to open – I was still unzipped. My friend's female roommate walked into the bathroom and caught me in the rather embarrassing and suggestive position of having a picture of Milla Jovovich in my left hand while my right hand was placed somewhere near my nether region.

The next day, after sleeping off my humiliation, I took a downtown train to Brooklyn to catch my friend's play at St. Ann's Warehouse on Water Street. After the show I made my way back to the subway. Since it was a Saturday some trains were not working so certain commutes had to be reorganized. It was still early so I was having a hard time making sense of this mess. Some girl saw my confused face and offered to help. Turns out we were both headed in the same direction so we got on the next train heading back into Manhattan. I asked about all the confusion and she said that “New York is a well-oiled machine, but sometimes it needs maintenance.”

“Where are you staying?”, she asked.

“Astoria.”

“Astoria's nice. I once had sex with a photographer in an apartment over there”.

“Was it big?”

“Not really. It was small but cozy.”

“What about the apartment?”

“What do you mean? I just told you.”

“Nevermind.”

On one of the last nights of my stay in New York, I found myself in the coolest place in all of Manhattan, The Beauty Bar. The hour was approaching midnight, and as one song ended and another began I realized that this place had very high standards for what is quality music. Song after song, the tunes were hitting the right spot and I was mesmerized. Quickly, I approached the bar and ordered a brew with a shot of whiskey – I was having a good time. On a later trip to get another beer, I leaned over into the bar and said to the bartender “Give my regards to the DJ; tell him he has my utmost respect.” The bartender flashed a big smile and asked “More whiskey?”.

“Yes, sir, please. Two!”

He poured the drinks.

“What do I owe you?”

“Don't worry about that, they're on me.”

“I love this town” I thought to myself as I swallowed a mouthful of scotch. After some more drinks and even some dancing (Yes, I'm prone to dance on occasion with the proper motivation), the time seemed right to head back to Queens for further entertainment. The party had begun to wind down anyway. After taking one last look around, I headed for the door and walked back into the warm Manhattan night.

Photograph by Nichole Saldarriaga

Mindless Roaming in the Capital City

2010-06-10T14:36:00.006-04:00

A decision had been made. At at the end of May I would embark on a vacation of sorts to the east coast of the States, making stops in Washington DC, Maryland, Virginia and, most notably, New York City. The motives were simple: my birthday was coming up. Seeing as I celebrated last year's birthday in Madrid, celebrating this year's in the Big Apple seemed fitting. As cliché as it sounds, I love New York... but lets continue with the story.

All bullshit aside, I hate flying. I love to travel, but having to pack a suitcase (making sure I don't fuck up and forget something), the process leading up to boarding (worrying I've done something wrong, feeling my life fade away in a terminal) and flying in an airplane (fill in the blank, genius) is what I consider to be a huge inconvenience. Call me shallow; you wouldn't be the first. Luckily, there is something I can count on so as to avoid what at times seems like imminent panic: my friend, Xanax.

Let's be clear about something: I am not a pill popper, but when I begin to get what is widely regarded as The Fear 30, 000 feet in the air, I'm just about liable to change political inclinations, religion, or even gender to make it stop. Yeah, it's that bad.

My first stop was JFK International Airport in New York, and then a 50 minute flight to Ronald Reagan Airport in Washington D.C. - the home of Henry Rollins and Fugazi. At this point I was feeling very relaxed, even managing to walk with a certain ease and cool only reserved for the likes of The Rat Pack. I bought a copy of Spin Magazine for no better reason than it was a Stone Temple Pilots cover feature. I'd been listening to their then-unreleased album on my iPod for a few days, it having been provided illegally by a fellow blogger. I was attempting to read an article and found myself reading the same sentence repeatedly. I did the only sensible thing, and placed the magazine on the floor next to my bag. No reading for me, I needed to straighten out first. Only moments later a maintenance employee picking up trash in the terminal decided that Scott Weiland wasn't worthy of the dead tree bark on which the magazine was printed and attempted to dispose of it. Politely I told her not to, and all I got was a baffled look.

After a couple of days wandering around the capital, I stumbled into the George Washington Hotel near The White House. The hotel has a balcony bar overlooking the city, and it was from this very spot that I saw the sun go down that Wednesday afternoon. Moments like those are the reason I love to travel. After a few beers, I headed to the elevator. As if I wasn't completely out of place – everyone was dressed in a suit, I wasn't – a middle aged man, walking with two females, one on each side, gave me a look with a smirk as he entered the elevator where I was already standing with my finger on the Door Close button.

“Oh look at that, you got a Flip phone. Good for you! You can videotape anything.”

"Yeah, I can videotape you guys for fifty bucks; a hundred if you want me to participate".

"Excuse me?"

"That I got a good deal on the Flip. Only a hundred bucks."

"Is that right? Well, good for you!"

He began to laugh uncontrollably as his two female companions slowly joined in, snickering subtly. In an instant, two facts became abundantly clear to me: 1) He was inebriated and 2) He has paying the bills, not the girls.

“And it's actually a video camera, not a phone.”, I said in the most well-mannered way possible.

“Oh, shit! That's right! I mean... that's what I meant”.

I saw the usual sights in DC, but one thing that stuck out was a photography exhibition in the National Gallery of Art titled Beat Memories: The Photographs of Allen Ginsberg. Seeing black and white prints of the Beat Generation's greatest was an unexpected treat; photos of Jack Kerouac, William Burroughs, Neal Cassady, and Gregory Corso, among others. I later learned that the use of any kind of photographic device inside the exhibition was strictly prohibited. Since I was informed of this as I was getting ready to leave, I'd already gotten a few nice shots with my video camera. Suckers.

Upon exiting the museum, I decided to walk to the Capitol building through the National Mall. A young girl approached me and inquired if I didn't mind answering some questions on camera for a documentary of sorts. I asked what it was about. She said it had something to do with the future of mankind and technology. I said I wasn't feeling too optimistic so I was not a good candidate. She tried in vain to convince me, saying she'd spoken to plenty of optimistic people and it would benefit her greatly if she could have another perspective. I said no again. She was disappointed.

In Maryland the next day I made my way to to the Metro station, a good, decent, 15 minute walk away. I saw a few barber shops along the way, came to an intersection and that's when I saw her. Nothing particularly stunning about her, except for the fact that she had a pair of scissors and a hair comb tattooed on her left forearm. I couldn't quite make my mind up about how I felt about her tattoo, but it certainly got me thinking. Just then, I saw a man standing across the street, waiting for the light to change as he jumped in the air shaking his arms and breathing heavily. “Holy shit” was the first thing that came to mind. The light changed and he began to run. I laughed at myself, realizing that he was simply a jogger. I decided to buy a bus ticket to New York that same afternoon. It was time to get the hell out of DC.

Photograph by Nichole Saldarriaga

Embracing through the gaze

2010-02-27T03:30:00.031-04:00

This wasn't supposed to happen.

I was not supposed to notice her. I was not supposed to notice how her apparently soft hands would turn the pages of a book, as she sat down at her kitchen table. Or how she carelessly tucked her hair behind her ear every so often. I was not supposed to notice how she would wet her lips repeatedly, allowing them to shine slightly under the candlelight as her muted television set projected moving light unto the walls. I was not supposed to notice any of this - but somehow, I did.

She lived in the apartment building across the street from mine. Since both our apartments were on the same floor, I had an almost privileged view of her living room and kitchen. The two large windows that allowed me to peer inside made it seem like I was watching a movie, or staring into an ever changing picture frame. On most nights I tried not to look, but there was a very compelling quality to my nameless neighbor. I simply could not look any other way.

On most nights, she would go to bed considerably early, but on some occasions she'd have a glass of wine while watching a movie. They were always old films, and I would sometimes catch a glimpse of her smiling as she gazed into the black & white images unfolding before her eyes. After the conclusion of each film, she would sigh and stretch her arms. Walking to her bedroom, she seemed content with the celluloid frames she would now take to bed with her.

A few days had passed since I'd last seen her, when I saw a light go on in her apartment early one Saturday evening. She ran into the kitchen in some kind of hurry and quickly began to cook a meal. A couple of hours later, when I decided to have another look, I found her sitting across from a young man at the table. She was visibly enthralled with her guest, laughing uncontrollably from time to time, staring closely into his eyes, seemingly lost in the moment. After finishing dinner, they moved over to the bedroom. A short while later, the young man exited the room and quickly headed for the door. He said goodbye and left. After she closed the door behind him, she leaned into the wall for what seemed like a whole minute, but in reality was just an instant. As she turned off all the lights in her living room, she casually glanced over in my direction. I froze thinking she could see me, and in her eyes I saw the most subtle hint of sadness - as if she was trying to hold on to an elusive feeling, something not quite tangible, something not quite hers.

The following Saturday, I got home just before midnight. I didn't even bother to turn on the light inside my apartment, instead I approached the windows and found her sitting down with a picture frame in her hands, her eyes glued to the photograph. Since it was a large frame, I managed to see whose picture it was: a small girl, no older than 9. My neighbor seemed too young to have a daughter that age, so I assumed it was an old picture of herself. I sat there mesmerized looking at her, while she in turn, looked at her younger self.

It was then that it began to rain heavily and she suddenly approached her door. Before opening, she placed the picture frame in a small table beside the door. The same young man from last week stepped inside the apartment and sat down at the table without saying a word. She quickly produced a bottle of wine and poured two glasses. As she sat down across from him, he began to speak with an indifference that was apparent even from a distance. She seemed relaxed and calm; maybe the wine had something to do with it. As she poured herself glass after glass, his wine sat untouched in front of him. After a few minutes of conversation, she began to nod her head in approval while she stared at the glass in her hand, searching for words she had no intention of speaking. He got up to leave and she followed him to the door. They said goodbye and she hugged him effusively while he just put one hand on her back. He began to let go while she hanged on for a moment longer. The last thing I saw before I fell asleep, was the sight of her pacing her apartment with a glass of wine in her hand - alone.

I woke up abruptly some hours later, as if someone had shaken me. I looked over to the other apartment building, not expecting to see anything. However, to my surprise, I found my neighbor standing at the very window through which I've seen her countless times. She was standing still, gazing intently at the sky just above my building, completely oblivious to my presence. But just then, she lowered her gaze and our eyes met for the very first time. Her face had a blank expression completely devoid of feeling. I had a moment's hesitation in which I thought of acting casual, but it was impossible to look away. We locked eyes for what seemed like forever, until she lifted her arm and very slowly waved. I forced a smile but I could feel my chest tied up in knots. So many times I'd imagined what it would be like to look into each other's eyes, what it would be like to have a moment... and yet, nothing could have prepared me for this. This wasn't supposed to happen.

She slowly turned away, pausing for a fleeting instant. In the corner of her mouth, I saw that unique and subtle smile I'd seen on her face so many times as she viewed her old black & white films - that smile that had touched me from afar on so many nights. I saw this smile for the last time and I marveled at the idea that my nameless neighbor was now smiling at me. She took a few steps towards the bedroom's door, grabbed her old picture from the table and disappeared into the room.

Her next door neighbors would later recall how they heard the sound of a book drop as they got dressed for the early morning mass that Sunday. Such a sound is played over and over again in one's head, as you try to remember where exactly were you standing when you heard it.

Inside her room there was no noise, only silence. She sat down on the floor and leaned into the wall, and then reached under her bed to pull out a brown box. She looked into the eyes of the smiling 9 year old girl in the picture. She closed her eyes and tried to remember what it was like to be that little girl and not have a care in the world. She thought of this and smiled... and it was then that she pulled the trigger.

Photograph by Nichole Saldarriaga

Conan has left the building

2010-01-26T01:48:00.013-04:00

"Tonight, in this house, we are gathered in praise of one Conan O'Brien."

This past Friday, January 22nd was a day of melancholic celebration, marking the death of The Tonight Show and the ousting of Conan O'Brien from NBC after more than two decades of service.

After work, I stopped by the Old Harbor brewery in San Juan and promptly purchased a gallon of their best beer without a second thought. I had arranged to meet a friend at home and watch the final Tonight Show with Conan O'Brien at the scheduled 11:35pm EST time. After pouring the first glasses of beer, we moved the television set so it would face outside into the yard. The reason for this was quite obvious: I wanted to smoke. Considering the magnitude of the event that was about to unfold before us, I did the only sensible thing that came to mind and smoked my finest Cuban cigar...among other things. Having the t.v. set up this way made it seem like we were in our own theater and I was very pleased with the results, until I began to think hard about the reason behind our gathering.

The show was amazing, as expected. Conan's goodbye speech was a heartfelt and sincere moment that touched me as I'm sure it touched countless others. The show closed, fittingly enough, with Lynyrd Skynyrd's Free Bird - a song of such epic grandeur, that it's shout-out requests at just about any show have become the stuff of legend. More remarkable so, was the fact that Conan himself played guitar on the track and even took a solo on his Les Paul. Simply brilliant.

My friend and I had consumed all the beer and had even downed a few shots of a deer-in-the-headlights liquor whose name we won't disclose. After watching a bit of Late Night with Jimmy Fallon and having a couple of laughs, an eerie silence fell between us. I was starting to get a particular feeling and simply uttered the word "Shit" as I stared at the shot glass in my hand. I looked up at my co-conspirator and he smiled and said, "I've already sent out some texts to see who's hanging out." This kind of unspoken coordination is something akin to telepathy; I assume this kind of communication is developed between individuals after they've been in the trenches together for years. I looked at my watch, it was nearly 2am... let us begin.

We decided to head to a place I had never been to before. My friend asked me to drive. When I questioned his request, he told me he couldn't get a DUI on his record. For some reason, he assumed I could. Fine. We rushed over to the bar in my decomposing vehicle while the music of Blur blasted from the speakers, hiding the frightening sounds of an engine that has seen far more better days.

The bar in question wasn't necessarily great, but I was now in the company of a couple of more friends, so this inconvenience was overlooked. One of those present wanted to dance with a girl he'd been looking at for a while. The only problem was he cannot dance to save his life. He quickly reconsidered after I informed him that the dance floor was so crowded, no one would notice his lack of skills. I later learned that, for reasons unknown, the floor cleared up pretty fast after he'd decided to grab the girl's hand and lead her to the aforementioned area. The poor bastard could not back down and went through the agony of trying to dance for a full five minutes before making up a bullshit excuse to head outside to the smoking area once again. Things could have been worse, without a doubt. Like the unfortunate yuppie who sat down next to an attractive young lady, who later politely asked him to vacate his seat so her girlfriend could sit down. And by girlfriend, I mean lover. Ouch.

I made it a point not to look at my watch for the rest of the evening because I didn't want the aggravation of knowing that my sleep time was wasting away before my eyes. I clearly recall laughing uncontrollably at some point but I cannot, however, remember what I was laughing about. The bar's bouncer asked me what time it was, but I told him that I didn't know. This individual, as far as I could tell, was not retarded, so when he noticed the watch on my wrist he kindly asked: "That is a watch on your wrist, right?"

-"Yes", I said.
-"And is it working?"
-"Yes, but it's complicated and I haven't the patience, nor the brain capacity to explain at this time."

He looked at me with pity and I felt it was as good a time as any to get out of there. I found my friend and suggested we leave, and it was only after he suggested we get some breakfast that I realized how close we were to daybreak.

On the ride home, my friend drove. I implored him to speed up in an attempt to outrun the first rays of the sun as we listened to an old imported recording of a live Green Day performance from the last century. My alarm clock would sound off in 3 hours, but it didn't seem to matter. We had witnessed the closing of a chapter in such a unique instance of television, that I closed my eyes safe in the knowledge that this was a night people would talk about for years to come. I made it to bed shortly before 7 am amidst small beacons of light penetrating my windows, serving as a kind reminder of an evening well spent.

Brief notes on a journey out west

2009-11-04T22:01:00.007-04:00

It all began in a car full of booze. We were headed west to attend an annual music festival that takes place on a military base. At the behest of my doctor, I had purchased a Zinfandel bottle of wine. “It'll be good for you,” she said. Well, I found myself drinking a substantial amount of this liquid and no progress was being made in the attempt to establish a decent buzz. It was hopeless, so I gave up.

Once we arrived at the hotel, I stepped out to the balcony to smoke my tobacco pipe, trying to wind down before the circus that would inevitably ensue at the festival. I noticed a large amount of smoke coming from a window in the floor below me. I panicked. 'Jesus Christ!', I thought, 'who the fuck is smoking that much?....and can I join them?'

Now, pull it together! It was only the window from the downstairs kitchen.

The bands at the festival were great with the exception of a few of them, whose drummers are incapable of performing without a metronome attached to their ear. It was precisely during one of these horrific sets, that I decided to walk an overwhelming distance to use the portable toilets. I can't say I was surprised at the conditions I found them in, but the number of girls going into these toilets two or three at a time, was bewildering.

My patience immediately grew thin. I had to piss – simple as that. I refused to wait any longer. So, acting much drunker than I actually was, I stumbled to one of the portable toilet's doors, ignoring the line of girls - and boys that look like girls - that were waiting. I heard some insulting remarks and warnings, but still I pushed forward. Little did I know that 5 seconds later I'd be wishing I had listened to them. I flung open the door and found an individual with their pants down to their ankles, in the midst of a terrible dash to cover themselves up, with panic and devastation in their eyes. I don't know if it was male or female, all I know is that this person was considerably overweight. The door's 'Vacant' sign had been showing, I had not hesitated. So now I found myself feeling exactly like that: Vacant... not to mention stupid.

My official website: www.noeldavila.net

2009-10-21T01:42:00.000-04:00

Trailer www.noeldavila.net from Noel Davila on Vimeo.

Writers on the storm

2009-08-16T12:23:00.009-04:00

Recently I began to do free-lance writing for a site called Examiner.com. I am a type of music correspondent/ journalist. My focus is on New York music. I am very thrilled by the opportunity to be doing this because I've always wanted to be employed to do some writing, and doing so on music is a blessing. Chuck Klosterman, David Fricke, Lester Bangs, Jann Wenner and the late great Hunter S. Thompson have served as an inspiration to me as journalists, music related or otherwise. I will be turning in 2 to 3 pieces a week and the more people access these articles, the better I will be regarded among other Examiners (as we're called).

If you think you have what it takes to write for Examiner, by all means click here to get the information. You'll have to go through a short process in order to be accepted but it is well worth it. I'd appreciate if you'd watch this short video so you let the good people at Examiner know that you were referred to the site by me. My full name is Noel Davila and my official title at Examiner is Queens Local Music Examiner.

Click here to read my articles on Examiner.com

Thank you for reading, as always.

Yours truly,

Noel

Moving Pictures Pt. 3: London, England

2009-07-18T21:41:00.002-04:00

Moving Pictures Pt. 3: London, England from Noel Davila on Vimeo.

A decade in pursuit of the dream

2009-07-05T14:44:00.005-04:00

Ten years ago today, I gathered with a group of friends in my room on a hot summer's day. All four of us present were musicians and the purpose of our gathering was, predictably enough, to play music. What other purpose could there be? As musicians, we were familiar with one another but on that particular day we were trying to form a more cohesive unit and ultimately call ourselves a band. I was very young - I even had braces on my teeth - but I remember thinking that this particular attempt at forming a band would be succesful. Our bass player and I had tried on another ocassion and that didn't seem to go anywhere, so we found ourselves with two fellow musicians from our high school trying for a second time. There was very little ventilation in the room; we were all sweating profusely. Our equipment at the time wasn't too impressive. I was playing my cheap Epiphone guitar and the bassist's amp was so small, it had to be placed on top of the bunk bed so it could be heard properly. Our drummer had only recently begun to play the drums, but being a very skilled instrumentalist (he could play almost anything, including the violin) he fell into his task with ease and natural talent. Our lead guitarist had previously been a bass player in another band and after being thrown out, he embraced his new position as a six-stringer in our fledgling project. As for myself, it would be only the second time that I would attempt to front a Rock band as a vocalist/guitarist. There was no original music played that day, only covers, but we put our own take on them - maybe because we weren't the best players to begin with. I still have the tape we made that day and just recently listened to it again. I can't say that there's flashes of genius in it, but listening to it takes me back to that moment of realization when it became clear that there was indeed some kind of chemistry between the four of us - chemistry that was worth exploring further and ultimately proved to be a big part of my life as a teenager and subsequently as an adult. Ten years...shot a decade already. I still continue to play music with my band to this day. The original members are long gone, and I even changed the name of the band about 3 years ago, but to this day I still carry with me that utter amazement and child-like excitement that I felt that summer day in 1999. I only wish we could celebrate this day by all four original members sitting in a room together and playing some music, something that hasn't happened since April 2001 when our first lineup change took place. However fitting a reunion would be, it is impossible, seeing as we don't all live in close proximity like we did some years ago. I still feel a certain responsibility to the three original members to do the best I can so they can feel proud of being a part of what I consider to be my roots as a performing musician. Today is a very special day for me and I will raise a glass to that summer day ten years ago when I got together with three brothers and took a path I am still on today- and hopefully will be for the rest of my life. Here's to a decade in pursuit of the dream...

Moving Pictures Pt. 2: Paris, France

2009-07-01T13:19:00.001-04:00

Moving Pictures Pt. 2: Paris, France from Noel Davila on Vimeo.

Moving Pictures: Madrid, Spain

2009-06-24T23:16:00.000-04:00

Moving Pictures: Madrid, Spain from Noel Davila on Vimeo.

London Calling

2009-06-15T11:17:00.010-04:00

(London, England -- June 2009)

Day 1:

I've always wanted to go to England, especially London. For some reason, I've always felt a certain kinship with the country. Maybe it's the Rock & Roll factor (most great Rock bands/artists come from the UK) or the maybe it's in the blood somehow. Whichever the reasons, I love England.

After passing through customs, I headed to an exchange booth to turn my american dollars into british pounds. The clerk lady took a look at me and said "Nice t-shirt, sir". I had to check because I'd forgotten which shirt I had on. I was pleased when I realized I was wearing a shirt that had the words 'ROCK & ROLL' on it. I was loving England already. As we waited for the train, some lady started sneezing. I was about to say 'Bless you' but I started thinking about Swine flu and didn't. Ten minutes pass by and she doesn't stop sneezing - it's a good thing I didn't say 'Bless you' for the first one.

At the train station we were told that due to a strike the trains were not operating. I ask my brother about taking a taxi, and he tells me that the first thing that happens when you enter a taxi is you start hearing porno music and before you know it your pants are off. So we walked. After checking in at the YMCA, we get the key to our room and it happened to be on the 13th floor - so first the strike, and now this. I was hoping this wasn't a sign of imminent bad luck.

Walking around the city and seeing the cars driving on the left side was very strange and I don't think I ever got used to it. Most cars also have their steering wheel on the right side instead of the left like we're used to. At one point, I saw a man sitting on the left side of the car reading a book. I nearly freaked out thinking this guy was going to crash at any moment, until I realized my mistake. It was a sunny day in London, something I've been told is extremely rare. In a shop, some english guy asks me "You like Punk Rock, mate?". I said yes. "Ok, what's the greatest Punk band ever?" I was about to say Fugazi, but my survival instinct kicked in and I said The Sex Pistols, to which my friend replied "That's bloody correct, mate!".

I saw the Big Ben and the House of Parliament. As I suspected, I was utterly blown away by this. Due to the lack of trains, we walked and walked and walked. We soon realized we were running low on cash. We needed to find a resolution to this problem, but how? We walked over to Leicester Square and Piccadilly Circus, found a casino and gambled. There weren't many options at this stage in the game. Inside the casino, a fucked up cover version of The Velvet Underground's 'Waiting for the Man' was playing. I sat behind the Black Jack table and watched my brother gamble our money.

It was successful, we tripled our investment.

After that, we walked around for a while longer visiting Buckingham Palace and St. James' Park. I loved all the surroundings and some churches looked straight-up creepy. It made me think of Jack the Ripper.

Day 2:

This hotel was like the last one in the sense that the bathrooms were shared. That's not so bad, what was bad was the fact that towels were not included. So on my second day in London, I did what seemed impossible: I took a shower without a towel. I won't go into details, suffice it to say it was done.

The strike was over so we bought two all-day passes for the trains. We made our way to Camden Town to visit what was home to two of my favorite poets, Arthur Rimbaud and Paul Verlaine in 1873. On the train, I was listening to Robi Draco Rosa's "La Flor del Frio" - a song that speaks of these two poets and their time in Camden Town. Once there, I was very overwhelmed though I tried to hide it. To the unknowing eye, it was merely a plaque on a wall but to me it meant so much more. Most of the poetry that makes up Rimbaud's "A Season in Hell" was composed behind those walls.

Afterwards we went to the Camden Town market. Picture a flee market on steroids. I liked it very much, but I restrained myself from buying many things. Around the place we saw many old-school punk rockers with their tall mohawks and leather jackets from 1977. I loved it. We then proceeded to our next destination: Abbey Road Studios.

For those of you who don't know, Abbey Road Studios is where The Beatles recorded most of their albums and singles with very few exceptions. Other artists that have recorded there include Pink Floyd, Oasis, U2, Green Day, Radiohead, and Alanis Morissette among others. The famous Beatles album cover in which they're crossing the street, was taken a few feet from the studio's gates. A few people were getting pictures taken on the famous crosswalk, but few of them knew that The Beatles were actually walking away from the studio when the photo was taken. I don't mean to be a rock snob, but facts are facts. I had my picture taken crossing the street and I did so barefoot just like my man, Paul McCartney.

I visited the home of Ross McLennan, a photographer who took the picture that served as my band's album cover. I'd promised Ross I'd give him 10 copies of the album, and I honored that promise by showing up at his place and delivering said copies.

We headed to the Tower Bridge and then the Tower Castle. It's amazing to see something so old in front of you. I was enthralled walking the streets of London under it's pale grey skies. Afterwards, we took a train back to the hotel.

We wanted to hang out but we knew the trains would be out, so we took a bus. It was one of those two-story buses so we sat on top in the very first row overlooking the street. Across from us, sat an english couple arguing about something. Some memorable quotes from the drunk asshole talking to his girlfriend were 1) "I'm afraid it's the beginning of the end." 2) "C'mon you, we're better than this!". I was trying desperately not to laugh.

We found a basement bar that was playing good old school music. It was great, but it was so small... I was thinking that if a fire would break out, we'd all die. I know, not the happiest thought, but then again I'd only drank 3 beers. After 3am we tried to find another place to have a drink but the cover charges were ridiculously expensive. Something I was not ready for was the fact that the sun began to rise well before 4 am! I'm used to seeing the sun come up around 6am, so looking up and seeing the sky clearing up around 3:40am was a little startling. We got on one of the night buses, thinking we could get to the hotel easily. I fell asleep thinking my brother would know what to do. When I woke up I realized we were still on a bus trip to nowhere. I accepted defeat and volunteered to hail a taxi and pay for it.

Day 3:

On my third and last day in the lovely city of London, I took my last towel-less shower. I'd read that President Obama was in England but I didn't think much of it (I was at his inauguration). As I sat on my bed waiting to air-dry, I heard a few planes going by. Since we were on the 13th floor, we had a rather privileged view of the London skies. I saw a large jet go by with two fighter jets escorting. At first I didn't think much of it. But then I saw four fighter jets flying in line. Seconds later, I saw a very large jet with another two fighter jets at each side (I assume this was Air Force One). After that large jet, five fighter jets flew by giving out some white-colored smoke and then a combination of red and blue. These last jets confirmed that what I'd just seen was indeed President Obama's plane.

On the way to the train station I saw a very old man walking a few feet in front of his wife. He paused for a second, shook his ass to her, and continued walking. I tried with every fiber in my body not to laugh. In retrospect I think it's very charming - an old man shaking his ass to the love of his life. Even I can't make that shit up.

We decided to cancel our trip to The London Eye in order to save some money. We'd had a good look of London from our hotel room anyway. We went to the Imperial War Museum. We only had two hours before they closed, so we decided to only see the Holocaust Exhibition. The exhibition was very fascinating, but also very depressing. Afterwards, we went to Notting HIll. Most of the stores were closing, but we managed to drink a cold brew at one of the bars.

We had dinner at a chinese buffet and then went to a movie theatre to watch the film "Looking for Eric" which will probably never be released in a Puerto Rican theatre. After the film, we bought a few cheap souvenirs and headed to the hotel.

We knew we wouldn't get much sleep because we had to be at a bus station by 3am and then catch a flight around 6am. After walking a few miles, we made it onto the bus. Before I closed my eyes to try to sleep, I heard the sweet sounds of David Bowie's "Life on Mars". Sometimes I think the radio only plays music for me. After sleeping for a few minutes at the airport terminal, we boarded the plane that would take us back to Madrid, Spain. It's only a matter of hours before another plane takes me back to my homeland. At this moment, I'm reminded of a beautiful Oasis song called "Talk Tonight" in which Noel Gallagher sings 'I know I'm leaving, but I'll be back another day...'

Until that day.

Parlez-Vous Anglais?

2009-06-14T18:15:00.016-04:00

(Paris, France -- June 2009)

Day 1:

I vividly remember watching the 1998 film version of Great Expectations and being engulfed by Robert De Niro's character when he said "Every artist must go to Paris at least once". These words have stayed with me for some time and I found myself thinking about them on the plane from Madrid to Paris. The ride to the airport had seemed almost surreal because I was (as usual) plagued by the weight of another sleepless night. That, and the fact that the taxi driver was a woman who reminded me of a scene from Pulp Fiction.

Arriving in Paris, I immediately felt powerless due to the fact that I couldn't speak the language. I know how to say a few things, but not being able to communicate is frustrating. I found myself asking the same question repeatedly, "Parlez-vous anglais?". After we found the hotel, we were informed that we couldn't check in just yet so we went to eat. Where did we go eat? A fucking McDonald's... Hello, cholesterol.

We took a train to the Eiffel Tower. I was stunned when the train exited a tunnel and to my right was that marvelous structure that I had seen so many times in films and in pictures. It was a very touching moment. I was even laughing to myself. I suppose nothing can prepare you for things like these. We headed up the endless stairs to the tower. Once up there, the sight we beheld was beyond words. It was interesting to feel the tower move a little due to the winds. The weather wasn't the best, but I didn't mind - I was in Paris.

After looking desperately for an ATM machine that would let us withdraw cash, we headed towards the Louvre Museum walking on the edge of the Seine River. One guy offered to draw me for free because he "liked my nose". I declined. Then some lady tricked me into giving her one euro. She pretended to pick up a cheap ring from the floor in front of me and then asked me if it was mine. I said it wasn't. Then she said I should keep it because she was a religious woman and didn't wear jewelry. She began to walk away and then returned to ask for some money for a cup of coffee. I gave her the euro and then heard a man saying I shouldn't give her anything because she was a thief. So I guess I was played. I kept the cheap ring, though.

We checked the prices of admittance to the Louvre and decided to go the next day. We walked back in the opposite direction using a different route to see different sights. We made it to the Arch of Triumph. Amazing. In order to take a picture with the Arch, we had to stand in the middle of the street. Not the safest thing to do considering how rude the french tend to be, but the picture was worth it.
We made it back to the hotel and checked in. The room was quite something. It had a slight vertical inclination like a small ramp. We had a sink and a television set that only showed stuff in french. The toilet and shower were located somewhere else and would be shared by everyone staying at the hotel. Not the best accommodations, but we were on a budget.

The area surrounding the hotel didn't look too welcoming after dark. It reminded me of a rough part of The Bronx or Harlem, so we bought some food and ran back to the hotel.

Day 2:

Our second day began with the commute to Père Lachaise Cemetery. Many important people are buried there but I was interested in Frédéric Chopin (the composer), Oscar Wilde (the poet) and Jim Morrison (The Doors' frontman). I knew it would be easy to find Jim's grave due to the people heading that way, but Chopin's and Wilde's would be harder. After searching for Chopin with no results, we headed towards Jim's last resting place. I'd seen this grave many times in pictures and in Oliver Stone's film but it looked very different up close. For one, the small bust wasn't there and the stone was different. The stone read 'James Douglas Morrison' instead of 'Jim Morrison'. I later learned about the changes that were made to the grave in the 90's. The sad part is that there is a small fence around the grave keeping visitors at a distance. Despite it all, it was still incredible to be there.

Next was the Louvre Museum, home to none other than Leonardo da Vinci's Mona Lisa. That place is so overwhelmingly huge, that I knew we couldn't possibly see it all. We headed towards the Mona Lisa. Many people were pushing and shoving in order to get a picture with the painting that stood a good 15-20 feet behind a small wooden fence and under bullet proof glass. I heard some girl say "I didn't feel what I thought I'd feel when I saw it." Oh, that's too bad, dear.

After the Louvre, we went to Notre Dame. It was raining incessantly and our cheap umbrellas weren't helping the cause. Somehow, don't ask me how, we got into the cathedral while a mass was taking place. A very beautiful place.

In order to camp out while the rain subsided, we went into a bar and with my broken french I ordered some beers. After a couple of rounds, the rain calmed down a bit. With our soaked shoes we walked to the nearest metro station to return to the hotel. Much to our surprise, the room that housed the front desk at the hotel was closed. After knocking, someone opened up. We later realized why the door had been locked. This cunning frenchman was watching porn, and not on his laptop, but on the large t.v. on the wall across from the desk. Ooh la la, monsieur.

And thus concluded our visit to Paris. Short and sweet. The following morning we woke up and headed to the airport for a 50 minute flight to London.

Letter from Overseas Pt. 3

2009-06-06T17:25:00.013-04:00

(Madrid, Spain - June 6, 2009)

You check your email every now and then, but the truth of the matter is you're gone...

Sitting in a taxi on the way to a club appropriately called "Joy", we began speaking of certain things that I probably should not disclose here. Our driver was visibly interested and even laughed every now and then. Once out of the car, I spotted what looked like a homeless old man, sitting in front of a mini market singing his lungs out. Inside, the club was decorated in a very interesting way with pictures of Audrey Hepburn, Humphrey Bogart and so on. The cover charge included two drinks and I must say, it was very interesting to see how everyone disposed of their glasses by dropping them on the floor (they weren't plastic). We ran into a group of british ladies trying to look like school girls straight of a Harry Potter movie; they even had the coke bottle eyeglasses as well as painted-on freckles. When I drank my two complimentary drinks, I headed to the bar for a whiskey on the rocks. The bartender offered to make love to me without even giving me his name, when he asked for 11Є for a whiskey on the rocks (about $15.59). I had no choice but to let him have his way - the fucking drink was already poured.

The bathroom in the apartment I'm staying in has a window sitting elegantly over the toilet looking towards the door. I've recently begun to look out the window as I took a piss, marveling at the architecture in the neighborhood, however I later realized that someone from the floor above could be getting a free peep show. I've since stopped.

Last night we went to a very fancy club that charged a 14Є cover charge and only gave one complimentary drink. Not cool. I was further disillusioned when I went downstairs and heard the sounds of the Hanson song, "MMMbop" coming out of the speakers. Fancy, indeed. It has been surprisingly cold outside recently and after we left the club, I found myself shivering like a moron, walking the streets without a jacket because someone told me it wouldn't be that cold. Serves me right for listening.

Today I took another one of my walks to the Arch of Victory. I sat on some steps across the street overlooking the arch. It was chilly and very windy and the wind caused ripples to form upon the long grass. As I listened to Tool on my headphones, sitting there under a cloudy sky, I felt great. Some days I still can't believe I'm here. Just then, some guy screamed at me from the passenger's seat of car. I didn't get what he said but that's the second time it's happened. Maybe it was the same guy. After I got up to walk to a theatre, I saw a floating paper bag that reminded me of the film "American Beauty" which in turn reminded me that I missed out on a recent AC/DC concert due to lack of funds. Don't ask me how I make those type of connections.

On the way back to the apartment, I was following the other people I was with, as I usually do. After we headed down some stairs to the metro station, all three of them quickly jumped over a small fence. I didn't think much of it and did it myself. What I thought was a harmless way of hurrying up a bit, turned out to be theft. I supposed no one thought it necessary to let me know what was up beforehand.

Tonight, we'll be heading to a more humble type of bar - something I've personally requested. Before making dinner, I took a shower. The water started changing dramatically from hot to cold without a second's warning. Each time it happened, I found myself screaming desperately "What the fuck is this?!!". I said the same phrase so many times in the space of 10 minutes, that I'm sure the neighbors that heard me thought I was singing some popular rap song in order to get in the mood to hang out. I know that's unlikely, but the thought of it amuses me.

Olé!

-Noel

Letter from Overseas Pt. 2

2009-06-03T15:31:00.008-04:00

(Madrid, Spain - June 3, 2009)

It appears I have yet to grow accustomed to the 6-hour time change in Europe. I've been going to bed much later and sleeping a lot during the day. Some nights ago during a late night drinking session, someone spilt some spanish beer on the floor of the living room. Apparently it wasn't deemed necessary to clean up, so I didn't give it much importance. However, some minutes later one of the other guys walked in the room with his rubber sole sneakers and promptly slipped on the beer and fell. He fell hard, but he did so with such grace that it seemed almost like ballet. Perhaps the late hour made me romanticize the incident more than it merited.

I've slept five nights in Spain so far, and I've had the weirdest dreams that are unusually easy to recall in the morning. I usually forget my dreams a brief time after waking up, so this is very odd. These have been overwhelmingly surreal dreams that I cannot explain. Perhaps later I'll write more about this.

I've recently learned that Madrid sits at about 2000 feet above sea level. Perhaps that is what's had a very dire effect on my lips, which have begun to peel and turn red and also ache like a motherfucker whenever they come into contact with salt. The only appropriate thing to do, I thought was to buy some Chap Stick. I couldn't find any known brands that I'd usually buy at a Walgreens back home, so I bought some generic thing I found at the market and splattered that over my lips repeatedly before going out to have some drinks. What I didn't realize is that the fruity-tasting "chap stick" I had bought was painting my lips red. It wasn't until some hours later that my brother had the good sense to ask why my lips were more red than usual. I tested the stick by rubbing it on some white paper and the results were indeed surprising. So yeah, I looked like a bitch for a couple of hours without knowing it.

Yesterday I accompanied some people to the local campus. Afterwards, we went to have some lunch at a nearby place. I saw some small boy about age 5 looking at his mother in an uneasy manner a few feet from me. What happened next is something I was not expecting. He lowered his pants down to his ankles, raised his shirt a bit and proceeded to piss in the dirt at the bottom of a tree on the sidewalk - a space that is usually used by dogs for the same purposes. To say I was dumbfounded, would be an understatement. Apparently his mother condoned this outrageous behavior.

And now, here's a few fun facts I've come to realize lately:

1. There is no Diet Coke here, but they do have Coca Cola Light.

2. There are couples kissing and making out in every corner, with complete disregard to whoever might be watching.

3. Inevitably, the subject at a bar conversation between inebriated males always turns to sex.

Not necessarily enlightening stuff, but interesting nonetheless.

I haven't been here long, but I must admit that I feel my perspective on certain things is changing with every passing day. I'm sure such a change is inevitable when traveling so far away from your home, which in my case is an island in the middle of the Caribbean. I'm loving every minute of it and I'm looking forward to Paris and London. Until then, I remain,

Yours truly,

-Noel

Letter from Overseas

2009-05-31T15:58:00.008-04:00

(Madrid, Spain - May 31, 2009)

It was to be two planes, 14 hours, a pill to calm nerves and a prayer that would get me to Madrid to see my brother. On the first flight to Atlanta, I sat next to an old man who told me "when you're my age" stories. I humored the bastard and listened intently. I didn't mind. But when I finally fell asleep he woke me up so he could go to the bathroom, which in turn resulted in another "when you're my age" story about the glories of a weak bladder after 60. My second flight was scheduled to clock in at 8 hours and 2 minutes. I couldn't sleep. During one of my visits to the bathroom, I glanced at the mirror as I was urinating. I was so surprised at how fucked-up I looked from lack of sleep that I didn't notice that I had turned slightly to the left and was now pissing on the floor. I'll just clean it, I thought. Unfortunately, my small puddle of urine began to move towards the door due to the inclination of the plane. You cannot imagine the panic I felt in regards to the possibility that my urine would exit towards the hallway. I quickly grabbed some paper towels and cleaned it up. This was not the sort of thing I wanted to deal with at 30,000+ feet above the Atlantic ocean. After the plane landed and I got to my brother's apartment, I decided to take a nap. When I woke up a while later I noticed a foul smell emanating from my armpits. I had been in Europe for only a couple of hours and already I was smelling like one of their own. After my brother's roommate looked at me and said "Hey, man - you wanna go ahead and take a shower?" I grabbed a towel and did what had to be done.

After buying 40-ounce bottles of beer at a marketplace that was playing The Beatles' "Let it Be" (how lovely), we headed to some party at one of the local universities. A couple of hours beforehand, I had eaten some spicy food and as anyone who knows me closely is likely to disclose, when I have to go to the bathroom it becomes a goddamn crisis. To reach the entrance to the party, one had to walk down a wooden ramp that was decked out with a red carpet... seriously. Some guy in front of us fell down and actually rolled over a couple of times before he came to a stop. This was very funny, but I had no time to laugh. The cover charge was 10 euros, but my brother and I decided we were NOT going to pay. So when we got to the gate we just nodded at the security guy, said hello and walked in like we owned the place and no one batted a lash. We were through. We walked with chins held high and felt like fucking royalty. Our friends however, were not so fortunate. They had to pay. When I found the bathroom I marveled at how clean it was. I didn't have time to think about this much because there was business to attend to. Performance under pressure always results in success - don't ever forget that.

When we left the party, we saw a group of four girls having pictures taken of them as they stood on the red carpet. My brother was not amused by this, and decided to stand behind these bitches striking his best Richard Nixon pose for the camera. I was so proud.

This morning I woke up and took a walk around the city. Since it's a Sunday, a lot of places are closed. There were many people walking their dogs, while I just walked my lazy ass around. I bought a terrible breakfast that included some ham that I could not chew and eggs that were drenched in olive oil and an unhealthy amount of salt. After returning to the apartment, I took a shower in a very small bathroom that has a sink whose hot water is too hot and the cold water is... you guessed it: too fucking cold. Later in the afternoon we went to have lunch and I saw some beautiful sights. I was particularly impressed however, with a man that had no arms, holding a plastic cup with his mouth while he shook his ass so the coins inside the cup would make noise. You gotta love that. I thought I should drop a coin in his cup but it seemed impossible. He just couldn't stop shaking his ass.

That's it for now. Tomorrow is my birthday and I'm halfway around the world.

Yours truly,

-Noel

Play Some Jazz: An exercise in improvisation

2009-05-09T14:24:00.031-04:00

"I think I can stick this down my pants..."

It was to be a calm night out to watch a movie, but I should've known better. My friend and I drove up to the theater in a borrowed vehicle, because my own car has a window that stands permanently lowered and the idea of driving around with a black garbage bag taped to the side didn't seem appealing to me. The movie was really good, seeing as we're both musicians, it appealed to us in specific ways. Walking to the car, we were faced with the common interrogative: What now? When I turned the car on, jazz music was playing on the local college radio station. We were instantly in awe and somehow our evening began to acquire purpose. We decided we'd head into the city, go to a jazz club I'd never been to and drink some wine. And then, we'd take it from there. Improvisation does have its perks, but it can also lead you into a situation that you'd never thought you'd find yourself in - at least not in that particular moment.

I liked the jazz club instantly. On one of the walls was a framed picture of Miles Davis which I also have in my room. There was live music and an endless supply of red wine. There was even a middle-aged man with a cigar, striking a Lee Marvin pose as he sat in a corner. The place seemed complete but I still felt we should go someplace else, to look for something more. So after finishing our respective glasses of wine, that's exactly what we did. We arrived at a small open-air bar, where patrons are allowed to smoke. Right next to where we parked, we spotted a man sitting down on the ground with his face buried in his hands. "That guy's having a bad time" my friend remarked and I agreed. Once inside, I insisted we order two cups of sangria. "Don't worry" I said, "they know me here. I'll be sure they're easy on the ice." Well, that didn't turn out too well... Our cups had more ice than was reasonable and our alleged "sangria" tasted more like grape juice. I busted out my pipe to smoke a bit of tobacco and as I suspected, it drew some stares. Fuck 'em, I thought, I'm also a paying customer. As we were leaving, we noticed that the same guy we saw when we parked earlier was still next to the car, only this time we was laying down on his back with his hat almost covering his face. Now, how 'bout that? I momentarily considered waking him up abruptly and having a laugh, but I decided to behave with a bit more class... instead we just took a picture.

We headed to some other bar where bohemian-type music is performed live and they always close late - at least that's what I thought. When we got there the place was closed. I was so disappointed by this sudden turn of events that I didn't even notice some poor girl standing behind the car when I began to back up. Good thing she got out of the way. Sorry, honey.

I thought the appropriate course of action would be to purchase a bottle (or bottles) of something and retire to the comfort of my house, where we could talk at length for hours and listen to great music. I parked the car outside a 24 hour Cash 'n Carry. As we walked to the door, we passed by an old man sitting by himself drinking a beer. I'm sure it wasn't his first beer of the night. "Good evening", he said in that lonely tone of voice that one is so used to hearing from those sad-drunk types. "Good evening" I replied "How's the beer?". "Not cold enough" he said staring intently into my eyes. "It never is" I said, "it never is". Once inside, me and my associate began to plot our next move. What should we purchase? Whiskey? Wine? These things are never simple. Seeing as we didn't have a lot of money, we were looking for the smartest way to spend it. I got tired of waiting and decided to open up a bag of pita chips and eat them while we deliberated endlessly over what to buy. The girl behind the counter started giving me the look and I instantly knew she didn't like the fact that I was eating those chips before actually paying for them. She kept looking at me over her shoulder until I felt compelled to flash her my best shit-eating grin. "You're gonna pay for that, right?" she asked. I was a bit surprised by her stupid question. "Aw shit, I thought that if you ate it all inside the store it was free." She didn't laugh at my smart-ass remark, so I thought it was a good time to get the fuck outta there. And yes, I did pay for the chips before leaving.

We decided the best thing to do would be to head to the 24/7 Supermarket and buy some cheap whiskey. Walking through the aisles in the market, my friend came up with the idea that we should drink our whiskey with coconut water. It seemed like a good idea to me, so as we walked around looking for said coconut water, my associate looked me dead in the eyes and said the phrase I would find myself repeating for the rest of the night: "I think I can stick this down my pants". He was, of course, referring to the bottle of whiskey in his hands. And so it was, that we found ourselves looking at the roof, trying to find a good reason not to proceed with what was now being called "The Plan". We split up. As my associate walked towards another aisle where he would in fact "stick it down his pants", I went to the wine section to act cool and hope for the best. And that's when I heard it, a voice over the P.A. System: "Alejandro, please report to the office. Alejandro."

Who the fuck is Alejandro? Is he the head of security? Is he a cop in civilian clothing?

I was trying not to get nervous when my associate showed up. "Well, I guess we'll be paying for that whiskey after all. It's OK, man. We're not 14 anymore" I said.

"Just pay for the coconut water" he said in a low tone of voice, "It's already in my pants."

I was stunned. Nothing seemed to be out of place. He wasn't even walking funny or anything. And just then, I got that rush that you only get every once in a while, that whispers inside your head 'We're about to commit a crime.' We could've pulled back, but it was decided we should proceed with The Plan, for good or ill.

Since it was nearly 3am, there was only one cash register open. The lady in front of us was kind enough to let us pass since we only had a few cans (little did she know). And this is when the moment of truth came before us. As I nervously struggled with my wallet to pay, I saw through the corner of my eye as my associate very calmly walked towards the door. It was a very tense few seconds. I held my breathe, repeating in my mind the words 'Please don't sound off an alarm' over and over again. That instant seemed longer than it really was, but as my associate walked through those doors, I sighed with relief. We made it... but then I saw him walk back in. And this time the only words I was hearing in my mind were 'You dumb motherfucker!'. But he stood beside me, helping me with the bags and then whispered "Relax, it's in the car."

And so we headed west on the freeway with the wind hitting our faces, smiling at the thought that we were somehow outlaws fleeing the scene of the crime. These are the type of nights that can never be planned out. These nights where sex is scarce, but ideas run high among fellow comrades. We were feeling good. We were having fun. It was 3am, but our night was just beginning.

I stand alone tonight

2009-05-01T20:08:00.007-04:00

I don't recall when it began, I just remember it being there inherently since a very early age. I suppose it was one of those things that grew inside me, like a latent virus that doesn't manifest itself until much later. The Hunger. Sure, we all feel it, but some of us are powerless to it. It's like an addiction - your body asks for more than it can take. Pushing it beyond the limit usually results in shame and unnecessary frustration. When did I become this way? When did the flesh overtake the mind? I laugh to myself thinking of all this, because in reality The Hunger tends to provide more pleasure than I care to describe. Perhaps the frustration of no pleasure far outweighs the pleasure itself. And that might be the reason why I find myself writing these words at this ungodly hour - because there is no pleasure tonight, just The Hunger. The Hunger and the lack of words that fail to do justice when attempting to describe it. Tonight there is no pleasure, only failure. Failure to carry out what is in my nature to do. Failure to make contact. Failure to achieve satisfaction. I'm left only with the bitter taste of another unfulfilled evening, in which I try to gather once again the words I want to speak from the air or from the smoke that surrounds me. This air that is filled with the scent of broken promises and those two words I keep reciting over and over like a hollow mantra: Never again. Never again? The last person I should lie to is myself.

I stand amid a crossroads that I must always face on nights like these, nights in which The Hunger calls and I'm compelled to answer. I can either crawl into bed and continue this battle elsewhere, or stay awake facing the hours, hoping that this feeling will subside before the sun rears it's face over the horizon. This is no choice at all, because in reality the only option I have is to feed The Hunger, not run away from it hoping it will forget my name and forget my face. I can't run away, not now. I close my eyes and all I see are those faces that stood beside me on countless nights where stories unfolded before us in a cloud of unapologetic youth and adventure, stories that none of us ever cared to tell anyone else - and rightly so. Countless nights of inconsequential behavior where possibilities seemed endless and pleasure was always acquired without much thought.

And yet nights like tonight are different.

Nights like tonight are breeding grounds for embarrassing realizations, and yet the truth is that with each passing year there is less shame in the victimization of The Hunger. Where are you? We were supposed to fight this together, to share the weight so it would be less of a burden individually. But no, you're not here. I stand alone tonight. I stand alone facing another night of unfulfilled urge and desire. Another night of smoke and poetry, bathed in the sounds of sweet music, that attempt to wither away these empty feelings like old grapes on a vine. I can't seem to escape The Hunger - not without you. Another hour passes and here I am still, staring at my hands in disbelief while my ears listen intently to a cello making the most beautiful sound, while it attempts to comfort me with it's melancholy notes. I'm beyond comforting. All I want is you. Your warm body pressed against mine in an insatiable lust that makes time stand still. An embrace where inhibitions are lost and selfishness is regarded as dead. A shared moment that only belongs to us and stands so still, like the shadows of ghouls in the twilight. 'Where are you?', I ask again. I yearn for your touch. I yearn for something to stop the pain, to dissipate The Hunger. I don't know what to do with myself. Dawn is approaching. Maybe it's better that I hide my eyes from the sunrise, so as to not be faced with the sad truth of another wasted evening with a lack of meaning. I lay on the bed and before I fall asleep, I hear your voice, but it's far too late. I belong to The Hunger now. You couldn't save me from it. You weren't here. You were never here.

I stand alone tonight. Just me and The Hunger.

Photo by Ricardo K

In between the smoke

2009-04-28T03:16:00.014-04:00

It was well past midnight. In some other part of the world there was already daylight, but here they were still in the grip of night. There was a mild fog in the streets that led up to the bar. The car couldn't be driven too fast because of this, but no one seemed to mind. At a given hour at night, everything runs a little slow. The two men exited the vehicle and went through the small building's door. They found a secluded booth at the end of the room. Each took his place across from the other and no one spoke. Their names were Noah and Duke. Noah sat with his back to the rear wall and Duke sat across from him. Every time someone opened the door, Duke couldn't help but turn around to see what was happening. They both wore jeans that hadn't been washed in weeks and faces that hadn't been shaved in days. Noah lit up a cigar while his counterpart ordered some drinks. Every time he puffed on his cigar he could see Duke in between the smoke, bearing a twisted resemblance to some elusive memory. There was some music playing but the volume was too low to make out what it was; it was drowned in the monotonous drone of several conversations taking place in the room. And it was then, that this conversation began.

Noah: What time is it?
Duke: It's late...or early, depending on your point of view.
N: Why do we come to places like these?
D: Because we can't go home. Besides, you're not likely to get any sleep anyhow. Drinking here beats watching the news while the sun comes up.
N: Every time I come to these places, I look around and see everything that I don't want to become.
D: What do you mean?
N: These old, bitter men that have to drink just to cope with their existence. And then you have the yuppie crowd, and that speaks for itself.
D: You know what you sound like?
N: What?
D: Like a bitter, old man.
N: (laughs) Well, bitter? Yes. But old? I don't think so.
D: You know how long it's been since we graduated high school?
N: I do know. No need to say it out loud, thank you.
D: Doesn't seem like that long ago, does it?
N: It never does.
D: We were wearing those goddamn uniforms just the other day.
N: (long pause) Don't you ever get the feeling that we could be doing more with our lives?
D: Not necessarily, but I do get into a panic sometimes, thinking that there isn't enough time - like that cliché dream where you're drowning.
N: I get the feeling that God hates me.
D: (laughs) He doesn't hate you. With all the shit going on in the world, I don't think you're on his priority list.
N: That may be so, but I still feel...hmmm, how should I put this? Persecuted?
D: Persecuted? Now that's a big word, pal.

Just then, the club next door began playing a sexy, FM pop hit and there were loud screams from the females. So loud in fact, that they could be heard through the wall. Noah and Duke could have sworn they heard a thousand bras snapping open.

D: You still talk to that girl you used to date?
N: Not too much. I've been relegated to the position of a friend with privileges.
D: Hey, when it comes to sex, everything is a privilege.
N: I suppose you're right.
D: I know I'm right.
N: Wait a minute, I'll be back.

All throughout the conversation, Noah had been anxious to take a leak, but he had refrained from doing so because he felt they were going to hit upon something important. When he couldn't hold it any longer, he ran to the toilet and when he got there, it felt like being reunited with a long lost lover. He sighed with joy and exclaimed a "Hooo!" as he relieved himself. When he returned to the table, he found Duke immersed in thought.

D: Returning to what we were speaking of earlier, I don't think you should give yourself such a hard time.
N: What do you mean?
D: What you said about not doing much with our lives. In your case, it doesn't seem to make sense that you'd say that.
N: I know, but it's been a rough ride and I've hit so many fucking walls...
D: So? Anything worth doing is going to be difficult.
N: I agree, but I still feel...
D: Persecuted? Let me tell you something, the definition of oneself shouldn't rest entirely on what you've done, but also on what you will do. It's always about the next thing.
N: And what is the next thing?
D: Fuck if I know. I refuse to be one of those people who wakes up and needs to know what's gonna happen. Shit, I'm just happy to wake up y'know?
N: That's an interesting point. But it's just that in the past couple of years I've taken a few hits. And when your face gets pounded with no mercy from time to time, you stop recognizing yourself in the mirror. Every day becomes a test and you keep looking over your shoulder for the next thing that's going to blow up on you.
D: I can understand that, but you also can't deny that those experiences have given you more vigor and resilience than any other asshole who's had it easy his entire life. Fuck, man! You're sitting across from me, having a drink and you're still breathing. That, in and of itself, is an accomplishment.

Noah was taken aback by Duke's sudden bout of inspiration. Such words are rarely spoken at bars, but tonight, they seemed appropriate.

N: So what you're saying is that God doesn't hate me?
D: For all I know, maybe he does hate you. But if that's the case, at least he's acknowledging you. Would you prefer that he was indifferent?
N: Now that you mention that, I sometimes think there's a reason I never wanted any children. I guess I couldn't handle the burden of being asked questions I could never answer for myself. So many things are still shrouded in mystery... so many things are still kept in the dark. (Long pause) I need answers.
D: I'm sure you'll find the answers you're looking for eventually. Besides, time heals all wounds - as they say.
N: Yeah, but is there ever enough time?
D: I think so, yes.... (Whispering almost) I really think so.

After the two friends decided to leave, they exited through the same door they came in. Unbeknownst to our heroes, the sun had come up during their drinking session. Noah couldn't manage to start the car and after a few futile attempts, they realized it was hopeless. They didn't seem bothered by this and decided to walk.

They made their way down the avenues. The sun was burning hot. They were now pedestrians. They felt alive standing in that sunlight. It was Sunday morning in San Juan.

Workplace Blues

2009-04-13T18:10:00.009-04:00

I used to work at a place where the men's bathroom was cleaner than the women's. Where middle aged men would smile at the sight of a child, but when asked if they had any children of their own, they'd reply "Fuck no". A place where secretaries would bitch on a near-daily basis about traffic conditions. Where news was read out loud around the lunch table and people were ridiculed to their faces in languages they couldn't understand. It was a place where the people who gave off the best first impressions were really assholes. A place where there never was enough milk for the fucking tea and the hand soap was constantly being stolen from the bathrooms. I used to work at a place where beer was consumed religiously every Friday evening. A place where tensions ran high in spite of relaxed faces. It was a place where orders were received from thousands of miles away and meant to be carried out strictly, with no concern to sensibility. A place where pills were consumed to kill chronic back pain but ended up enhancing the work day in "unexpected" ways. It was a place where ideas were exchanged despite our deadlines and there was always a sense that we were part part of something bigger. I used to work at a place where 14 hour shifts seemed like much less because it was fun - a place where I NEVER seemed to get bored. I used to work at this place, and now I don't work there anymore.

A fictional account of a non-fictional evening

2009-04-04T15:39:00.018-04:00

There is no honest way to describe the events of a night of heavy drinking. Hindsight is never 20/20 and in retrospect there are things you might not want to remember - at least not in crude detail. I was already hitting 70 mph on my car when I realized I was not in possession of a bottle opener for the beer that was now resting between my legs, shrinking my manhood with its cold temperature. Now, this would pose a problem to any ordinary person, but not to a man as determined as myself. No silly oversight was going to get between me and the exquisite lusty pleasure that is a cold brew on a Thursday evening.

I balanced the wheel on my left knee and opened the car door. The highway was considerably empty and I've done this before - under worse circumstances. The deafening sound of the wind mixed in with Mick Jagger's dirty voice had the ability to conjure up some unexpected euphoria.

"I was born in a cross-fire hurricane"

I was beginning to believe that my deviant behavior would have devastating results but Jagger was telling me it's alright.

"But its all right now, in fact, its a gas!"

Well, I managed to open the bottle with the side of the car door and no one got hurt. I changed lanes abruptly, but like I said - no one got hurt. I arrived at my destination: a small bar ten minutes outside the capital city. As I exited my car I got a weird look from the security man outside the bar which quickly turned into a smirk. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that I was carrying six empty beer bottles that I planned to dispose of, but I can't be too sure.

Inside the bar I rendezvoused with two friends. These are serious gentlemen with a love of booze that is unmatched and a thirst for sex that rivals even my own. We ordered some rum & cokes that were going for $2 each. Herein lies a problem: Rum. No drink has a more sinister effect on your mind and body than Puerto Rican rum. I can handle wine and whiskey, but rum? That shit's like a drug.

I suddenly remembered that I'd left my iPod and laptop in the car. The security guy out front didn't inspire too much trust so I decided to get my iPod and remove the battery from my computer. I placed them in my pockets but it was too uncomfortable, and besides, I didn't want to give off the wrong impression by sporting a projecting bulge in my pants. So I walked over to the bar and kindly asked the very attractive bartender if she could hang on to my stuff. Of course, she said. And yet her smile made me uncomfortable. Was this bitch planning on stealing my shit? I couldn't be sure. That's another thing: rum makes me slightly paranoid. Not drug paranoid, but paranoid. "Everyone's fucking with me" kind of paranoid.

My colleagues and I quickly tired of having to go to the bar every 10 minutes so we started ordering our drinks double. This hurried along the inebriating process in ways that we were not quite ready for.

A band took the stage. Now, if there is one thing I must undoubtedly consume every day of my life without exception, it is Rock & Roll. And it was this very addiction of mine that caused me to stare dumbfounded at the stage from my table. These cats on stage were amazing. I grew so entranced with the music that I dropped my cigarette from my left hand onto my right arm. The fact that it didn't hurt as much as it should have was a testament to the party that was beginning to kick into my bloodstream. And what the hell, I thought - we must all suffer for our art, even if said suffering is subdued by alcohol.

It was my turn to get the drinks and what I found at the bar left me speechless: It was empty. No bartenders. No asshole owner lurking in some corner. It was an unbelievable sight that caused bewilderment at first, which quickly turned into rage. What kind of sick joke were these fuckers playing? Never mind what happened next, I got my drinks and that's that. I suggested we go to another bar. I for one, cannot tolerate people behaving unprofessionally - especially if it affects a well-established rhythm in terms of drinking.

We found a great bar in the old city that attracts the bare minimum of yuppies and airheads. It's conveniently located across the street from a hotel - in case things get out of hand - and it has one of the best jukeboxes that plays classics from Led Zeppelin and Janis Joplin to Simon & Garfunkel and Patsy Cline. We sat down close to the pool tables and promptly began chatting with some girls that were having a go at the strange pool table with the elusive name. They were obviously younger than us but that's not something to complain about. It did make me think back to when I was 18 years old, starting out my freshman year in college. I remember how girls our age only wanted to fuck older guys and that frustrated the hell out of me to the point that I was constantly lying about my age. The thought made me smile but then it hit me: now I'm that older guy. My my, how things have changed.

We started downing some tequila shots with our new friends. Things were starting to get loose and I was loving it. I've found, for reasons I've never been able to explain, that tequila gives me a runny nose. There's not enough space here for me to tell you how much I loathe this, but I've accepted it as a fact of life and learned to cope with it. I went to the bathroom to blow my nose, lest I attempt it in front of the girls and something goes wrong, like a handkerchief malfunction. And there I was, standing in line to use the restroom when the guy standing in front of me started looking back and staring. I wasn't sure what he wanted so I nodded and said hello. This apparently broke the ice and he said "Hey man, you think you can help me out with something?". I wasn't sure if he was asking for money so I asked him what he meant and he held his pinky up to his nose. I quickly waved this fucker off so he understood he was mistaken. What's wrong with these assholes that assume that every guy with a runny nose at a bar is some kind of cocaine dealer? Let's be clear about something: I am not a cocaine person. I may be a lot of things but a cocaine person is definitely not one of them.

It was when I was standing inside the bathroom that I felt that familiar vibrating sensation within my pants: It was a text message. And yet, it wasn't your typical text message. This is what we single guys refer to as a "booty call", only this time it was coming from the female to me and not the other way around, which seems to be the norm. When I was married I always resisted any sort of temptation but ever since my ex left me, I just don't give a fuck anymore. My two friends and I had all driven over here in my car so I just couldn't tell them that we were leaving just like that. It seemed they were on their way to getting laid so being the gentleman that I am, I decided to take one for the team. But right then, destiny intervened. One of the girls said she was leaving because she had to work early the next morning. I asked her where she was headed and it just so happens it was close by to where my "booty call" lives. How convenient. She agreed to give me a ride so I passed my keys with instructions to call me when they had finished their business with the young ladies.

I was on a mission. I live for nights like these. When we reached the kind lady-driver's car and she put her keys in the ignition, something blasted out of the speakers that I was not quite expecting. This girl was listening to hardcore metal - a style of music so fierce, I only listen to it by myself on the way to work. Although I was taken aback by this, I did not mention it; let's not forget who was doing who a favor here.

It was to be a 15 minute drive, or so I thought. At one point she looked over to me and very plainly said "Put your seat belt on". "Oh no" I said, "I got this shirt dry-cleaned yesterday and I have no intention of getting it wrinkled up". Just then she took a sharp turn while passing another car that caused me to slam against the door window.

I put on my seat belt immediately. Fuck the shirt.

After thanking my hell-bound chofer, I walked to the door of the apartment complex where I was to engage in sexual congress in only a few minute's time. I won't go into details, but let's just say it was 'okay'. As any man is bound to admit, alcohol doesn't necessarily do wonders for your ability to reach sexual climax. It feels like wasted effort, to put it to you clearly. I actually pondered the possibility of calling my ex and asking her to take me back. I felt like Rocky Balboa in the first movie, where he gets his ass kicked in such a way, all he can do after he leaves the ring is call for his woman to come and embrace him. "Adrian! Adriaaaaaannn!!!"

Well, enough of that. I shouldn't dedicate too many words to describe the frustration of bad sex. I placed a call to my friends to check up on their status. They informed me they were on their way to pick me up. "Good" I said, "Don't take too long... and bring some beer". I couldn't wait to get home and take a shower to wash my shame away, but after pondering this for a moment I realized I was not gonna head home anytime soon. My friends would not allow it.

Any desire I had of going home quickly faded when I saw those cold beers in the back seat and I heard Jeff Buckley reminding me of things I'd rather forget: 'Oh...that was so real..." I quickly got behind the wheel and put the car in reverse to exit the parking lot. I didn't bother to turn my head around, thinking I could rely on my instincts and the rear view mirror to do the job. Everything went fine except I hit something. I didn't see what it was, but I certainly felt it. I couldn't help but think that those mysterious, unexplainable dents that appear in my car from time to time are the product of nights like these.

We drove around for a bit, looking for a bar but nothing seemed to be open. We looked at the clock on the car dash that was looking back at us flashing the numbers 5:34 and realized it was probably time to go buy some breakfast instead. We found a lovely cafe only minutes away that was just beginning to open it's doors. The sun was already rising, penetrating with its rays a blue sky with scattered clouds, projecting light within the place in the most beautiful way. The food didn't seem to slow the alcohol down in any significant way, so I ordered more coffee and asked the waiter to bring me an orange. When he returned with my fruit he said it was going to be on the house, because it wasn't in the best condition. I thanked him kindly, but I wondered: was the rest of the food we got served in the 'best condition'?

Anyways, we left the place and started walking downhill to where we'd left the car. I'd decided I wasn't going to eat my orange, perhaps I still had a bit of that rum paranoia left. I began tossing the orange up in the air and catching it. I kept throwing it higher and higher until my lack of coordination caused me drop the precious fruit. I was amused by the way it got smashed against the street, causing some juice to spray out. I walked over and gazed at it. I couldn't help but think I was staring into a reflection of myself: Sweet? Perhaps. But undeniably broken? Absolutely.

It had been what Alexander DeLarge would call a 'glorious evening'. In the end, nothing was gained and yet nothing was lost. I was left with empty pockets and a head full of booze and deranged thoughts. What is it that drives a man to such depths of decadence and unruly behavior? I'm not entirely sure. I suppose I'll spend next Thursday night trying to figure that out.

Have a drink on me

2009-02-21T04:29:00.013-04:00

It was sometime after dawn when panic began to take hold. I normally don’t sleep much on nights before big events but this was ridiculous. I got out of bed and walked to the kitchen. The floor was cold and I could hear birds singing outside. I quickly went back to bed and tried to sleep a few more hours. I was supposed to be up by 10:30am but my anxiety got me up once again before that. I made a few phone calls, loaded my equipment into the car and left. During the drive, as usual I did my vocal warm-ups. I try to avoid other drivers seeing me because I feel like an ass doing these things.

After exchanging cars with my drummer, I began one of two trips to the Hot Topic store in which we would perform in a few hours time. Accompanying me was an associate which shall remain anonymous. Why, you ask? Having stopped in one of the many red lights we encountered on our first trip, I suddenly became aware of a foul smell that had not been present before. I looked at my associate. We locked eyes like two men about to draw guns and that moment seemed to drag on longer than it should have. Finally, he broke the silence: “It was me, OK?” I didn’t say anything; I only smiled as I lowered my window and raised the volume on the car stereo so the sounds of The Mars Volta could drown out any awkwardness.

It was difficult to imagine how we were going to play a gig inside this store. I knew we’d pull it off but I was having a hard time visualizing it. We left to get more equipment and when we returned about an hour and half later, we proceeded to set up said equipment in the limited space we were provided. I found myself checking the time with unnecessary frequency. I kept seeing 6:00pm approaching more and more and I began to get what Hunter S. Thompson called The Fear. I’ve been performing live since ’99 but I always get nervous before a show without exception.

We began our set past 6pm. Since it was such an intimate setting and I have a tendency to be shy when sober, I played with my shades on. “Attention shoppers” I muttered into the microphone after the second song, “We are Ophelia” and quickly began to play the next tune. It was a lot of fun like always. During the final breakdown, I climbed upon my amp in a crazed frenzy. In the corner of my eye I caught a look of fear in the bass player’s face and all I could think was “Maybe if I fall on my ass, we could sell a few more CDs…”

Fast forward a few hours: After a nutritious dinner consisting of Nathan’s Famous Hot Dogs, I headed to Rio Piedras to meet up with a co-conspirator who likes to be called Whore. (He’s male, by the way.) Now, under normal circumstances we wouldn’t be caught dead drinking Schaefer Beer, but the can was going for a dollar and who are we to argue with that? The economy is in recession, after all.

Seeing as we were a bit strapped for cash, we headed to the one place where anyone can get wasted with only a few dollars: El Refugio (The Refuge). This place is famous for a drink that contains copious amounts of rum but tastes so sweet, you tend to overlook the alcohol content. My friend and I were not fucking around, so instead of having our drink at room temperature as the norm entails, we had it in a tall glass with some ice. The ice made the drink even easier to consume - as if the sweetness wasn’t enough. We’d made up our mind to leave so we were having our last drink when something unexpected happened. While wildly gesturing with my hands during conversation, I knocked over my glass. It took me half a second to decide I wasn’t going to let it go to waste… Yes, fuck! I sucked the precious sweet liquor off the table to the surprise of my friend and the sinister eye of his fucking phone camera. Now I have yet another memory to haunt me when I stumble into El Refugio once again in the future.

We ended up in some balcony above a bar. Already I could feel the booze dancing in my veins. I even recall telling my friend that I felt compelled to throw my beer down to the street with the hopes of hitting someone in the head. After we got bored outside, we decided to step inside once more. I went over to the bar and asked the bartender to charge 4 beers and an order of onion rings from my credit card. He seemed confused at my request and replied that I better open up a tab than pay for 4 beers and ask for 2 now, 2 later. Yeah sure, I said. But then he kind of got lost in the background and never actually took my credit card. I did get the beers and the onion rings, though. And so it was, without a second thought, that I instructed my partner in crime to move with me to another table. When it became apparent to me that no one was waiting for us to pay, we left through the door in an alcohol-fueled escape. We got to the first floor of the place with a sigh of relief. Right then, a security guard told us we had to get cups if we wanted to drink those beers downstairs. I wasn’t going to debate this issue, and quickly ran back upstairs. We stopped just a few steps shy of the door. We realized it wouldn’t be wise to walk back in with our stolen beers so we did what anyone else in our position would’ve done: we stuck the bottles of beer down our respective pants.

To the unknowing eye, I’m sure our manhood could have seemed larger-than-life considering we had large bottles of beer in the front of our pants. Now, come to think of it, the bottles were extremely cold - so what could’ve been perceived by an outsider and the reality of the situation were two entirely different things. We stepped outside the place and finished our complementary beers in the midst of cigarette smoke and obnoxious drunk talk. After a while, we looked around us and decided it was time to go home and leave this decadent treachery behind us. We shook hands and exchanged a knowing glance that acknowledged the fact that we would soon meet up again in the moral battlegrounds that are these booze-filled Caribbean nights where there seems to be no consequences whatsoever. Until then…

New Ink

2009-02-16T15:36:00.008-04:00

First session:

Second session:

Tattoo by Papito at Underskin Tattoo

A dream within a dream

2009-02-11T14:58:00.006-04:00

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow-
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand-
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep- while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?

-Edgar Allan Poe 1849

Fear and Loathing at the CD Release Party

2009-02-08T15:46:00.006-04:00

Photos by Nichole & Tommy

The revolution will be digitized...

2009-02-01T01:41:00.006-04:00

Brand new CD's for $5? Am I hearing this correctly? In the modern age of digital downloads (legally paid or otherwise), less and less love is extended to the physical Compact Disc form that I grew to love so much in the early 90's. So, in light of this, many record stores are beginning to close, including (but not limited to) Virgin Records in Times Square.

Now, I own over 500 CD's (without counting CD-Rs, etc) and over the past 15+ years I've considered myself a collector of sorts. I love buying a record, opening it, reading the liner notes and then reviewing the lyrics along with my first or second listen. I can probably count on one hand the people I know that take pleasure in that kind of thing.

Anyways, I walk into Virgin Records the other day and find this great sale. Not all records went for $5, but some really good ones did. A lot of them were records I should have bought long before but because I had a few songs on a CD-R or on my iPod (or even on a cassette!), I never got around to it. I would've bought 20 albums but I had to watch my budget so I just got a few: "Grace" Jeff Buckley, "Chelsea Girl" Nico, "A Love Supreme" John Coltrane, "Machine Head" Deep Purple and "Aha Shake Heartbreak" Kings of Leon. I also bought High on Fire's "Live from the Relapse Contamination Festival" at full price because it was recently reissued.

Frontrunners for the 5 dollar "take me home" price were "Daydream Nation" Sonic Youth, "The Best of" Roxy Music, a few Bob Dylan albums, "Sketches of Spain" Miles Davis and "Magic" by Bruce Springsteen. I just couldn't afford them, which seems to be the main reason why CD sales keep dropping more year after year. Less importance is placed in acquiring the physical format than on downloading the digital and saving some money. I can totally understand and respect that, especially considering the current state of the economy. Shit, I even do it myself on occasion; and of course, there are very positive aspects to the fact that music is so accessible to anyone at any time nowadays. I won't mention them here - they're pretty obvious.

I guess the point I'm trying to make is that regardless of the method you use to acquire music, the important thing is to always carry a thirst for new sounds and to do some exploring of your own instead of depending entirely on what the mass media feeds you. Excuse me for getting a little romantic there...

Before I left New York, I went to a Cuban restaurant/bar in Manhattan. Sometime after midnight, we decided to leave. Outside it was about 15 degrees F. As we neared the door, I could feel the cold from outside already. It gave me the feeling of slowly stepping into something unknown but undeniably imminent; kind of like the slow but imminent demise of the Compact Disc form, which appears to be upon us - whether we like it or not - more and more with each passing day.

New York, Washington DC and everything in between

2009-01-23T09:58:00.014-04:00

I didn’t sleep last Friday night. I spent most of the night in Old San Juan with some friends. After some illegal activity that I cannot disclose here, I went home. With my laptop and a small lamp providing some dim light, I finished packing my suitcase. Sometime after 5am, I left for the airport.

It was a chilly morning. Little did I know that in just under 7 hours I’d be yearning hopelessly for “chilly” 70 degree F weather. As I drove over the bridge on Kennedy Avenue, Metallica’s “Nothing Else Matters” began playing on the radio- a sign of things to come.

I got on the plane, popped a Xanax to deal with my fear of flying and headed north to the Big Apple in a chill-pill haze. What’s that, captain? Smooth flying with just a tad of turbulence? Just the way daddy likes it.

So, I got into NYC Saturday morning. It was really cold but it “seemed” like I could handle it. I emphasize the word ‘seemed’ because a couple of hours later I was standing outside talking on the phone with a friend from Long Island, when I began to shiver uncontrollably. My New Yorker colleague began to laugh and quickly declared “Ah, your Puerto Rican ass can’t handle this cold!” (Fuck you, Richard). After dinner I had some beers and then went to bed in a house in Queens. Following morning, I loaded onto a bus full of strangers headed for Boston.

The drive on the Peter Pan Bus didn’t give me the “On the Road/Jack Kerouac” feel I had hoped I’d get. This became even more clear when some redneck across the aisle began to smell his own armpits and then said “I need to take a shower, I feel dirty”. Way to go, buddy.

Boston seemed unimpressive, to say the least. I thought the home of Samuel Adams Beer would be more to my liking but I can’t say that it was. Perhaps my disappointment has something to do with the fact that I was only there for a few hours and most of the city was buried in fucking snow.

Trying to get into the TD Banknorth Garden was a bitch because they wouldn’t allow cameras. Now, this was a big problem because I didn’t have a hotel or any other place to leave the camera. After giving the prick old security man the batteries and after a lot of ‘No sir’s- we got in. The show was phenomenal, as is to be expected from the mighty Metallica. Next stop: 9 hour drive to Washington D.C.

Upon my arrival I noticed there was a tangible energy in the air. I overheard some guy at Union Station say “It’s really crowded but everyone’s in such a good mood acting all nice”. When I got to the hotel, some elderly African American lady out front greeted me with a smile and a hello.

On the following morning, Inauguration Day, I got up at 5:30am and before checking out, I helped myself to a Continental Breakfast (Who the fuck coined this term anyway?). As the sun began to peek over the Maryland skyline, I took a taxi to the train station and boarded a very crowded train to L’Enfant Plaza. There were so many people. It took about 2 hours to walk a distance that could have taken 15 to 20 minutes on any other day. Spirits were very high, though. At some point an employee with a megaphone started giving out instructions and then asked “Can y’all hear me?” At this point, the crowd began chanting “Yes we can” repeatedly. It was very heart-warming and I began laughing out of nowhere.

Walking through DC, I suddenly felt the urge to listen to The Rolling Stones' “Gimme Shelter”. It was so fucking cold. This is when I started to realize why so many people were in awe of my decision to be in DC on this day which I made as early as April 2008, when I was an employee for Obama for America. The cold, the long walks, the overwhelming crowds, crowded train stations- all of this required a lot of patience and endurance, but I didn’t mind at all. I saw so many smiles on so many faces that I couldn’t help but wear one on my face as well.

According to reports, there were 1.8 million people at the Inauguration. I settled in a spot close to the Washington Memorial. I was very far away but the so-called jumbotrons (PA systems with huge screens) made me feel close to what was happening about a mile away in front of the Lincoln Memorial and the Capitol Building. I saw U2 perform two songs, something I was not expecting. At the end of “Pride (In the name of love)” Bono began shouting ‘Let freedom reign!’ over and over. It was a beautiful moment that made the hairs in the back of my neck stand up.

And so it was, under a partially cloudy sky just past noon and under the gaze of nearly 2 million people and countless around the world, that Barack Obama became the most powerful man on Earth. I’ve never heard such a joyous rupture of screams and applause as I did that instant after the new president pronounced “So help me God”. I turned around when I heard some woman behind me giving thanks to God out loud for having witnessed this day. I almost hugged the old lady because it seemed like the right thing to do. I didn’t though; I kept it cool.

After the excitement wore off a bit, I was faced with the predicament of having to get back to the bus station. It reminded me of one of those scenes in movies where they’re trying to evacuate a major city and its just pandemonium everywhere. That’s about the only way I can describe it. At some point I heard some guy say “People, please! We helped this man become president, let’s help each other get outta DC!” Truer words could not have been spoken given the circumstances.

Something curious to note: I saw this guy that looked like he was 17 or so, wearing a McCain/Palin T-shirt. I thought it was a tasteless thing to do but I have to admit the bastard had some balls pulling off a gesture like that. I’m sure he zipped up his sweater more than a few times, especially considering we were in a town like DC.

On the final stretch of my endless journey to the bus station I saw none other than a Mr. Bill Murray walking in a hurry dragging a suitcase behind him; very cool. I wish he hadn’t been in what appeared to be a crazy, booze-enhanced dash to the airport to get the fuck out of the capital city. Oh, well…next time, Bill.

So for the last couple of days I’ve been in New York, walking around the place having a good time. The energy of the city that never sleeps combined with a smack of cold air to my face has made me think of that Leonard Cohen song, “Famous Blue Raincoat”.

“New York is cold but I like where I’m living…”

Once I get back to PR, I’ll continue work on my band’s CD Release Party. Maybe something memorable will happen in the time I have left in NYC. Who knows? I’ll be in town for two more days of mindless wandering, excessive spending on food, jaywalking and unknown nomadic explorations. Yeah, that’s right… just the way daddy likes it.

Promoting the cause in the streets of Old San Juan

2009-01-16T18:48:00.006-04:00

OPHELIA's CD Release Party

2009-01-14T01:45:00.003-04:00

[Click on the images to view them larger]

I am a traveler of both time and space

2009-01-11T16:16:00.005-04:00

Next Saturday I will depart on an 8 day trip that will take me to three cities. In just a few days I will bear witness to what many call the greatest city in the world, to what I call the greatest show on Earth and to what we can ALL agree will be history in the making. Between cities I will travel mostly on bus and I look forward to seeing a lot of the east coast from the window. I've never seen snow and I've never been subjected to temperatures below 40 degrees Fahrenheit, so I'm feeling a bit nervous about stepping into such a cold climate. So here's how it will go:

Jan. 17th: Arrival in New York
Jan. 18th: Travel to Boston; Metallica show
Jan. 18-19th: Travel to DC, check into hotel and maybe see The Beastie Boys that night
Jan. 20th: Barack Obama's inauguration; travel back to New York
Jan 20-25th: Hang out in NYC
Jan 25th: Return to Puerto Rico

The anxiety that drives me

2009-01-04T18:39:00.012-04:00

When I was seventeen years old, I remember feeling rather anxious about this idea I had that I was not going to have enough time to achieve much as an artist or even as a person. I don't know where the idea came from, really. Perhaps I was asking too much of myself at such a young age. What managed to calm me down was the thought that when I reached the age of 34 (twice my age at the time) I would still have time to fulfill my artistic needs and desires. That's a rather simplistic and dull conclusion, but it worked for me at the time. But still to this day, I think I suffer from some sort of anxiety. It's hard to explain, but ultimately it comes down to the idea that I can't let up at any moment. I can't let my guard down, ever. And even when I achieve some sort of success, I still won't be able to conform to anything. You can't really believe when people tell you how great they think you are. Every compliment needs to be taken with a grain of salt, because the second you start believing all that is when you stop asking a lot of yourself. I mean, this is a fucking fight; it's all or nothing. Nevertheless, there are moments of incredible joy and satisfaction. There has to be. If not, why are we here?

I consider myself a handicap person in the sense that I sometimes assume that everyone that works with me in a creative situation has this same sense of drive. It's really frustrating and even heartbreaking when I realize that that is not the case. I try to always remember that talent is part of the equation, but so is relentless hard work. I don't consider myself better than anyone, but I do try harder than most people. That's really all I can do. To take something that you love so much, and stretch yourself beyond your means to achieve something incredible and awe inspiring, something that will quite possibly overwhelm anyone and everyone that comes across it- can we strive for anything else? I don't think so. The sky is the limit and all we have is now- this day, this moment. That's all we've ever had; that and the dream. I have mine, why don't you go out and seize yours?

(Originally posted on Myspace Feb/12/2007)

Requiem for the old year

2008-12-31T17:56:00.012-04:00

Two-thousand-eight brought with it a lot of change, both on a personal and cultural level. For the first time in my life, I felt inspired to contribute to make a change in the political landscape. Politics have always interested me, but I’ve never felt the need to actively participate in any way; in fact, I’ve purposely shied away from them on many occasions. I’m very satisfied with the work I did, though I wish I had done more. I didn’t do more because I
needed to put my band first. Still, I will always be proud of having contributed in some way.

This year also saw that fateful day June 2nd: the day after my birthday in which I cut off my long dreadlocks. I had not gotten a haircut since early 2002. I loved having long hair but my dreadlocks were down to my ass (literally). Rather than cut them shorter (which seemed absurd to me), I opted to cut them completely off. I thought about it for months. There was the obvious concern about being the frontman in a rock band and having to sell a certain image or my worries of being accused of selling out. In the end, none of that shit mattered and I did it. I remember at the first show I played sans-dreads, some guy looked at me like I’d just broken his heart. Thirty minutes later we got onstage and did what we do best. Afterward, our heart-broken friend seemed very pleased with our performance. In the end it was just hair. Who gives a shit?

As far as my band’s concerned, I managed to organize everything to secure our record’s upcoming release. It was hard, but I got through the tough times and the endless frustration. I just hope the next time isn’t as hard but if it is, I’ll be ready.
Happy New Year to everyone. Thank you for reading.

It was cold and it rained so I felt like an actor

2008-12-29T08:16:00.012-04:00

So it all began close to 11pm, listening to a copy of David Bowie's "Ziggy Stardust" in the car stereo. The first couple of bars we visited were just about to close so we were left with no other choice than to commute to the metro area if we wanted to hang out. Didn't seem like much of a sacrifice to me. However, it is curious to note how fast some decisions are made after two beers.

We were three but one of us had to go home. We put some gas into the car and after a moment's hesitation glancing over at the strip club that's right next to the gas station, we headed east to some late night dives. First stop: some second floor club where there was a hardcore/emo band playing. My accomplice and I began to put up a bunch of Ophelia stickers in the men's room and other spots. Had I been caught by the club's security, denial would've been useless considering the t-shirt I was wearing closely resembled the sticker. So after a whiskey on the rocks, we left. I was on a mission to put up as many stickers in as many visible areas as possible. In another bar we ran into the singer/bassist of a great reggae band called Cultura Profetica. Afterward, we stepped into another after hours joint where apparently there was some early 90's hip hop nostalgia trip going on: they were playing stuff from Kriss Kross to Naughty by Nature. If that wasn't enough, the DJ played a medley from the movie "Grease". Jesus Christ... My friend began to sing every word to every fucking song. I gave him a look at which point he declared, "I'm so fucking gay!".

We ended up in a diner around 5am. Surprisingly, I found an old Ophelia sticker from 2006 in the parking lot. Because it seemed so fitting, I placed a new sticker right next to the old one. Aren't I a sucker? After eating, my friend and I drove to an undisclosed location and then headed back to our home town. I wasn't feeling particularly sleepy despite the fact that daybreak was upon us. Maybe that had something to do with the 4 cups of coffee I drank but who knows, really? We went to the beach to have a smoke and watch the sun come up. In retrospect, I realize now that we were seeing one of the last sunrises of 2008. Next year, many things are going to change- let us hope it's all for the better.

A failed (but humorous) attempt

2008-12-27T11:50:00.010-04:00

So last night our drummer hosted a small gathering and we thought it proper to attempt to sell a few of our albums to our friends in advance, considering the record won't be in stores 'till February. What seemed like a pretty simple undertaking in exchanging cash for CD's turned out to be anything but. Our t-shirts had arrived a few hours prior, so I took advantage of our little event to show them off to the guests. I even put up one of our posters so people would know we were selling. As the "party" progressed many people began to take advantage of the fact that our host works for a major Beer Company (let's not mention them here) and proceeded to consume many bottles of said beer. They drank many, many bottles; one after the other. A couple of people got a little too comfortable. One female guest insisted on changing the playlist we were listening to on my iPod to play Nirvana's "Rape Me". Yeah, I thought the same thing too. After a couple of hours of conforming to the music blasting through the speakers, one Mexican guest shouted "No more!" and took the previously mentioned iPod hostage and played only Ramones songs for a good half hour. No one else seemed to mind. In fact, most people seemed oblivious to the fact that our rebel DJ and another person began to shout/sing those Ramones songs in a drunken stupor. And in case you're wondering- I was that other person.

As the alcohol level passed the legal amount in more than a few bloodstreams, we lost all notion of what we had originally set out to do. Don't get me wrong, we sold a few CDs (about 3 actually), but this was nothing like I thought it would be. It's hard to hang on to your expectations when most things never go according to plan. It's also hard to take responsibility for your actions after 3am on a Friday night...

Moon River

2008-12-21T14:53:00.009-04:00

PJ Harvey

John Frusciante

Vincent Gallo

Download track here

A dozen boxes, 1000+ albums and a shitload of excitement

2008-12-20T17:11:00.014-04:00

Yesterday, I got a call in the morning from someone informing me that my band's records had arrived. This person also informed me that they would be delivered to the address I provided on monday and that I also had the option of driving all the way out to their warehouse to pick them up inmediately if I so desired. I think you know what my answer was.

After I got them I thought I'd wait until I got to the drummer's office to open up a box. Who the fuck was I kidding? I stopped the car on the side of the road, popped open the trunk and proceeded to remove one of the 1,031 copies that were sent. I have to admit I had the excitement of a 9-year-old on Christmas morning as I opened it. I looked at everything and read a bit of the credits...I even smelled the fucker. After I wiped the drool from my face, I played the album on my car stereo to deafening volume; didn't sound too bad, if I may say so myself. We also got some stickers, posters, rack mounds and I was informed that our T shirts will arrive in some days. Yeah, that's right: Christmas just got a little more merry than usual.

In the first week of January, we'll provide the distributor with a few hundred copies so they can be in stores by February 3rd. We'll also be selling them at our shows and they'll be available on iTunes and other internet music outlets as well. I'll begin doing press towards the end of January and throughout February. There is a lot of excitement in the air. I'll be sure to post photos and/or videos occasionally. In the meantime, here's a brief little video and please visit our Myspace profile to listen to a few songs from the album. Enjoy.

Music coming through the floor

2008-12-17T18:27:00.002-04:00

"You're fucking crazy." Apparently the news had not been entirely pleasant. My lets-tell-no-lies policy had backfired predictably. "Why would you even consider such an idea? It makes no sense." she asked. I paused for a moment: "I don't think anybody's going to get hurt, and besides, it'll make for a good story someday". I could tell my cheap attempt at persuading her had been futile. "Like I said, you're fucking crazy and I want no part in this." "Fine" I said.

I tried to get some sleep because I knew I'd have to plan everything out in the morning. She, as always, insisted on playing a record at low volume while I attempted to sleep. When I asked her to turn it off, she simply replied "This is very soothing music and I happen to know that sleeping without music is like not sleeping at all." I was in no position to argue with her so I let it go. She was still very angry with me and I knew better than to make the situation any worse.

Two days later I awoke with a dreadful feeling knowing that even though it was not my desire, I would inadvertently make her suffer. I broke free of her grip in the bed we shared and silently walked over to the window to smoke a cigarette. It was a cold November morning and the sky had a pale grey tone. I knew in my heart that what I was about to do was something I needed to do, so there was no turning back. I forced myself to look over my shoulder in order to catch a glimpse of her as she slept, but she too had gotten out of bed without making a sound. It was as though she'd never been there to begin with. As I took the last drag off my cigarette, I couldn't help but feel that things were about to change. Later that morning- with my eyes to the ground and with a heavy heart, I left.

I returned six days later to our apartment and found it empty. She wasn't home so I assumed she was out buying groceries or something of the sort. I had not even put my bags down when I heard the phone ring. I answered it and I heard her voice on the other end; it seemed cold and disconnected. She asked if I had something to say to her. "It's done" I said. "And?" she replied. "Well....I have a good story to tell". I started laughing nervously and then I heard her hang up. I didn't know it at the time, but this was to be the last time we'd ever speak.

That night I could not fall asleep no matter how hard I tried. I couldn't escape the thought that I'd ruined everything; and for what? There didn't seem to be anything to justify my actions. The cold was beginning to make me shiver and that's when I heard it: Music coming through the floor. My neighbor from downstairs was playing a record at this late hour, but I couldn't help but feel that the music was playing just for me.

So that night I slept on the floor with my ear pressed against it, because as you know, sleeping without music is like not sleeping at all.

My favorite albums of 2008

2008-12-16T02:55:00.005-04:00

Oasis "Dig out your Soul"
www.myspace.com/oasis

Scott Weiland "Happy in Galoshes"
www.myspace.com/scottweiland

David Bowie "Live Santa Monica '72"

www.myspace.com/davidbowielegacy

Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds "Dig Lazarus Dig!!!"
www.myspace.com/nickcaveandthebadseeds

Jenny Lewis "Acid Tongue"

www.myspace.com/jennylewismusic

Metallica "Death Magnetic"
www.myspace.com/metallica

Gavin Rossdale "Wanderlust"
www.myspace.com/gavinrossdale

Ashes Divide "Keep telling myself it's alright"
www.myspace.com/ashesdivide

Slipknot "All Hope is Gone"
www.myspace.com/slipknot1

Kings of Leon "Only by the Night"
www.myspace.com/kingsofleon

Listen to my other band: Voluminal

2008-12-12T16:15:00.022-04:00

For almost a year now, I've been playing guitar in another band called Voluminal. It is a departure from what I have been doing for the past 9 years with my own band. For starters, I don't sing. I just play guitar and occasionally help out with some background vocals. It feels great to have another musical outlet to express myself. I can put to use my Pink Floyd, Soda Stereo and early U2 influences as well as allow myself to be inspired by the very unique guitar work of Blixa Bargeld with Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds. I hardly ever use distortion, mainly I just stick to delay, chorus and other trippy types of guitar effects. So here's a taste. This is a track we recorded as part of a compilation. It's titled "Sombras Atrás". For more information on the compilation album, click here.

Sombras Atrás - VOLUMINAL from Noel Davila on Vimeo.

She sat quietly by the window

2008-12-10T12:15:00.002-04:00

She sat quietly by the window, breathing easily, occasionally sighing as tired people do. She put her hands over her forearms, trying to warm herself. She had forgotten how the mornings usually bring with themselves a bit of cold. She thought to herself how it had been many years since she'd seen a sunrise. So many years that she had deprived herself of seeing such an overwhelming sight. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that she could never sleep in the day. No matter how hard she tried, trying to sleep with the burning sun was an impossible task; hence she never went to bed too late. When the sun would come out she'd stay in bed with her eyes closed, pretending to be asleep. But today was different. Today she was fully awake and already amazed at the small sunrays that were gathering on the horizon, as if announcing the soon to be seen sun. She laughed to herself as she thought of this. It felt good to smile. Too much time without a smile can dampen your soul. She turned around for an instant and looked into the mirror. She forced a smile, but the reflection did not smile back. Right then she decided to play a record. Since she was a little girl she had always possessed a record player that had belonged once to her grandfather. She never knew him, but having this record player made her feel like she did. 'What record should I play?' she thought. 'A jazz record, of course.' Nothing could provide a better soundtrack for the rising sun, than the delicate sweet sounds of brass instruments. She closed her eyes as the needle touched down on the record. Those few seconds before the music started seemed like an eternity, but she savored them with much anticipation. 'Ah' she thought as the music began to fill the room, 'now it's perfect.' She sat down again by the window, taking a deep breath as she lay back in her chair. It would be a few moments before the sun would begin to rise from behind the clouds. It didn't matter, she was already at ease. She took in the smell of the morning air, the warmth of the light. She took it all in; everything. Right here, right now. This is exactly where she had to be. Just then, the sun peeked from behind the clouds. She could almost feel the world coming alive once again. She felt so overwhelmed that her eyes began to tear up. There was no replacement for such beauty, no replacement whatsoever for the warmth that it instilled in her soul. She looked to the ground and began to laugh; this time with her whole body. She turned around and glanced into the mirror on her way to bed, only this time the reflection smiled back.

Please allow me to introduce myself...

2008-12-09T12:50:00.017-04:00

I am a musician that resides in the metropolitan area of Puerto Rico. I aspire to a life of artistic and personal achievement. (Doesn't everybody?) I'm currently finishing up a process that began way back in December 2005 when I began to record an album with my band, Ophelia. The recording process, plagued by endless delays and inner-band tensions that resulted in one member leaving, took 1 year and 5 months to complete. After that, the back-and-forth with the mastering plant took another few months. Our rookie status as independent recording artists made releasing the album a difficult task. The fact that only one, or at times two people were working for the cause on the business end of things didn't help either.

Anyways, here we are 3 years later and thanks to a great A&R man and a credit card (ha!), our record will finally see the light of day on February 3, 2009. It will be available worldwide, as the saying goes.

I write a lot and I've posted many a blog on my Myspace profile (some of which will be reposted here). I've wanted to start a blog for some time but after seeing Feral Pig I got the last dose of inspiration that I needed. I put it off for a while because I didn't have much to write about but considering I'm about to embark on what will be a very unique journey for me, I might gather a few thoughts and anecdotes from time to time.
Now I can finally put a rest to that panic I felt every morning before I left my room and glanced at the promotional flyer on my door that said in BIG WHITE LETTERS: DEBUT ALBUM COMING SOON. "How fuckin' soon?" I thought. Well, our time has come. We were in need of some last minute financing so when the bank approved our credit card I, as they say, lost my shit. Needless to say, I've been smiling a lot lately...