Blogs

In the spirit of the season, I will lay down for you some hurricane tips and tricks and do's and don't's. Do you dread putting up your shutters like I do? Keep them up all year! It's easier, you only have to do it once and you are always prepared. This method of preparedness adds a level of cave-like darkness to your home, which is really good you return home from a night of doing the Cabbage Patch for 8 hours straight.

If you have no shutters, do what my neighbors did minutes before Hurricane Andrew: get some cardboard and tape them to on your windows. When you run out of cardboard, make an X with 2 large pieces of tape on your window. These methods are symbolic and spiritual only, the cardboard fies away the moment winds hit speeds in excess of 20 mph and the tape just looks really cool. But, it lets the hurricane know that you were thinking about it, and all hurricanes really want is attention. And destruction.

A summer night in 1999, my friends David, Cali and I rode out to Mezzanote in Coral Gables. He said it was a party, but it looked like a restaurant and sounded like cool music. The DJ was in some corner by the door to the busboys chamber, his name was Alex "Cookie Heads" Caso. Cookie Heads was funny and had an amazing collection of records.

I was very confused by the whole evening. A restaurant in the Gables, people dressed like rockers and most importantly: new music I'd never heard and everyone else was singing along. I sat down at a table to soak it all in. After a few more songs we headed home, smiling. Cali told me to watch the speed limit, Cali has excellent five-oh spotting skills. Still reeling with giddiness, I stared at Cali blankly and told him, "I can speeeeeeeed!"

Editor's Note: In this week's column, Jos El Rey asked readers to submit questions and he'd "lead them to a better living."

My old lady doesn't love me what should I do?
Charles

I hate answering questions with more questions. Do you mean old lady like your mom? No, no, no... Old girl is your mom! That's right. I was stranded in Opa Locka one night and my mom came to pick me up and the neighborhood fellows asked me, "Carlos! That your old girl?" By this point I had accepted that Carlos was slang for Jose, I answered them, "No! That's my mom!" Oh, how they laughed. At any rate, Joseph, if your elderly girlfriend doesn't love you, it is your responsibility to act like you don't love her. More importantly, act like you love many other, older ladies. To look better than her. 

Bro, everyone is trying to be cool. And act all tough. And act like they don't know me. How did this happen? When did people stop smiling? People have told me that the transition between childhood and adulthood is rough, harsh and loaded with disillusionment. Not the case for me, I have stayed firmly grounded in 1989. Firmly grounded in politeness and hand shaking and cheek kissing and hugging and opening doors for ladies and not getting mad when they slap me for going to far.

Seven years ago, I was at bounce house party at Arturo Sandoval III's house in Miami Springs. We were all way too old to be slip and sliding and bouncing off the walls of the dragon themed castle. We are all far to mature to be giggling and starting pilitas. Hours later, we were resting in Tury and his wife Mel's living room. Tury and (Friendswithyou partner in joy) Sam Borkson were sitting Native-American style and admiring a black penguin like toy named Malfi. Sam admitted to me that, he and Tury designed this little guy and that there were many more to come. 

I've been driving around town listening to one song. Non-stop. And, if you know me, that's pretty normal; usually the one song is one of my songs. This time the song is "Booty Shorts" by Basside. I swear, if anyone ever asks me what my favorite band is, the answer is "me." I am tempted (not in the usual physiological/sensual way) to say that I have a new favorite band. Pero, no, I cannot say that. I must say this: I have a new favorite band that is not me. And it is Basside.

Basside, just like Miami's most famous tourist shopping mall Bayside, is beautiful, dangerous and in a class of it's own. The two young ladies in this group are so badass that they will invite themselves and all their friends over to your house. They will trash the place. They will steal your beer and Galleticas Hilda, and you will love it. Metaphysically. 

Miami! My Miami! I missed you so much. I missed you like the deserts miss the rain. No, I miss you more than that; the desert has no idea that it's missing the rain. On my trip to America, I started getting worried. Especially, when I left you alone for your biggest weekend ever, WMC. I heard you did some things when I wasn't looking that weren't very safe or ladylike. But, that's okay. It's none of my business what you do when I'm not looking at you. What I do when you're not looking at me is your business. I am a self-ordained ambassador of Miami-Dade County.

This New York City is very wonderful. It has the skyscrapers and the subways and the bright lights. The people are not as mean as my parents said they would be and the muggings do not happen on every corner. They have bars with taco trucks inside of them, clubs with full size arcade games, pubs that give you a free pizza with every drink you order (even if it's Diet Coke!) and lounges with Bocci ball courts.

New York definitely has a lot more fun things to do than Miami. And please, do not be one of those people that gets mad at just one sentence in an article, allow the next sentence to make me make myself clear: Miami has more fun than New York. Punto!

Catholicos, it's Lent time! Cuaresma, baby! Time for to behave really good. Time to make up for all the sinning and loving ladies and inappropriate gyrating. Time for me to undo the damage of having become a Cuban-American Idol.

In Catholic school I was told to give up something during the 40 days of Lent. Kids were giving up candy, chewing gum, and playing with He-Man toys. I'd usually give up things that were easy to let go. No G.I. Joes. No Watchamacalits. No frituras de bacalao. Easy stuff. Child's play.

Seeing Miami in a movie or a TV show or music video turns on my internal geek switch. I'm super excited to see the 305 represented on the screen, but I approach America's assessment of Miami like one of those guys that knows the names of the different kinds of robots in the movies about Star Wars.

Take the song, "I'm in Miami Bitch" by LMFAO, which is very vague about the city. The dudes party all day and night, which is very true about Miami. But where are the shout outs to Opa-Locka, Hialeah, Henry Flagler, Julia Tuttle, and Metrozoo?

When the Fresh Prince grew up, he did not become the Fresh King, and just like parents, he don't understand. Every time I hear Will Smith sing about taking his jet ski to the "west Keys," I wonder if he means "Key West" or a series of land bound mini-islands west of Miami. Either way, Key West is not in Miami. Are there are secret keys west of Miami that only famous rappers know about?

Contrary to popular belief, I am capable of love. Many ladies have loved me, and I love myself as strongly as they did. I know how to show las seoritas a lovely time. I know how to love their bodies, but I can only say "I love you" to myself, and that makes Valentine's Day very challenging for me.

I need outside help. So, I sat down with Debbie D., of the now-defunct group Avenue D. We had a long talk with her about life, love, and most importantly, what to do to make a woman feel loved on Valentine's. 

Not too long ago, as impossible as it looks, sounds and seems, I held a day job. It was a mundane era of wearing socks, shaving, and having far fewer groupies. Sometimes, I needed to call this day job of mine and tell them I was not feeling so good. Every time I called in sick, I felt a sense of doubt from the other end of the line that made me want to act more ill than I really was.

It is an awkward position to be in. It was not unlike when you're on your way to meet a girl's family, and right when you get off the Palmetto in Hialeah, she sends you a text message that says, "If my parents ask, u r 20."

Whenever I woke up sick, I felt a panic, a need to emphasize the feeble sickness in my voice. I would hope that my boss wouldn't ask me to explain why I couldn't come in to work. I'd think about it for 10 minutes.