The middle part

I refuse to start this blog posting with the words "I haven't blogged in a while..."

Because first of all, statistically, it hasn't been all that long. Like two months. Which some may say is long, but most people blog a lot less frequently. So anyway, let my ramblings begin.

I feel that I have come to that point in my life (although I think it's been at that point already for a bit, I'd say 2 years), where the "middle" part of my life has passed. Even though I'm still in my mid 20's and it's more like I'm passed the first "quarter", I'd call it the middle, because frankly, everything after you get married just looks like one big chunk, and everything before is the piece that precedes marriage.

I originally got this idea from the Lion King. This dude starts off as a little cub, walking around, doin damage, etc. He meets Timon & Pumba, and then a montage happens where he crosses over that "middle" section. Apparently his teen years are so unimportant that all he does
is sing and dance with a meerkat and a warthog, and suddenly he has a big majestic mane and grows into adulthood. When he meets the girl, and beats up the bad guy, he becomes king, and the movie is over.

I think I beat up the bad guy in my life already. I know what you're thinking. But no I'm not saying that I totally rid Satan's goals of destruction over my life and that I'm holy. What I am saying is that the thing that has kept me from moving forward and taking my position
in life, fell off a cliff and was eaten by hyenas. I can finally go where God wants me to go, and be the man He wants me to be. Whether it means leading a worship team for an awesome
congregation in Jersey City, or king of the jungle with the elephants and baboons.

And now, there's the girl. Who I'll be marrying in May, and is by far the most beautiful person I have ever known, and is the best zebra hunter on the savannah. Somehow I'm more in love with her every day, and as the day of our wedding approaches, I can't help but be excited to see where else God will be taking me as the loving husband and priest-of-the-home I know He's called me to be.

So as you can see...
My middle-part-movie-montage-in-the-jungle-with-the-dancing-and-stuff

is over.

...

Now comes the sequel, right?

Steve Jobs 1955-2011

Today, Wednesday October 5th, we lost Steve Jobs. He was sick; pancreatic cancer, 56 years old. I'm sure that the tributes are coming, the videos, the documentaries, etc., but this is my tribute to him.

His direct influence on my life goes as follows:

Steve Jobs first made an entrance into my life in 2004. I was graduating from high school, and was due for a congratulatory graduation gift from my parents. At this point, my life was like any other. Plagued by Blue Screens of Death, Comic Sans MS, viruses, and all the other nasty things that are associated with living a life under the control of Big Brother Microsoft. It was time for entering a new phase of my life, and my first Apple product was purchased.

It was beautiful. The box was beautiful. Even the cables were beautiful. It was everything I needed it to be. A small brownie-shaped white box that held every song I could ever imagine. Every moment of my life from then on had a soundtrack, and it was at the control of just my right thumb.

I had only seen the tip of the iceberg.

Three months later, I started college, where I met Mac OS X. It came in the form of a PowerBook. It had a G4 processor clocked at 1.33 GHz, and 512MB of RAM. It was the most gorgeously built machine I had ever used in my life. It ran smoothly, the software was clean and refreshing. It was invisible, yet completely integrated into everything I ever did. I was able to focus on my content, and I used it as nothing other than a computer should be. It was my canvas as an artist. Being a musician and being able to use a computer where I had no worries of crashing, security, viruses, etc., I was able to really develop what was important.

Pretty soon, the Apple products in my life grew over the years. I had a Mac, an iPod, and used all of the Apple software. iPhoto, GarageBand, iMovie; these were all embedded into my everyday life.

And then, it happened: I got a job at the Apple Store.

I worked there for about a year. It was amazing. Selling Apple products was easy, because I believed in Apple. I was able to see how amazingly well their products worked for me, so spreading this gospel to the poor, lost souls in the Windows world was just natural. This was a phase in my life where I really saw the true beauty of what Apple was trying to do. Not only were the core aspects of Macs simply better (stability, ease of use, efficiency), but the things that one doesn't even expect to be improved, were given, like unexpected perks at a hotel.

It just works.

And it works really well.

This is the philosophy that Steve Jobs himself instilled onto Apple. I remember watching a video of him giving the Commencement speech at Stanford U. This big-time CEO literally spent a few minutes actually talking about fonts. He was enticed by calligraphy and typography. He was thinking about the parts of the OS that one actually spends most of your time looking at.

At this point, Steve Jobs has more than just physical pieces of himself lying around my house (an iMac, iPhone, three iPods, a MacBook, two AppleTV's, a Mac Mini), but his philosophy, his boldness, and the unshakable firmness in the quality of his life and his work, have laid immovable foundations in my personal character.

"Stay hungry, stay foolish."

-- Steve Jobs

http://youtu.be/UF8uR6Z6KLc

The engagement story

So as you can see by the title of this post, I proposed to the most beautifully fabulous person in the entire planet, Leah Rivero, and she said yes. I am the absolute luckiest man in the world. But I have a large circle of family and friends, so telling this story a hundred times can get tiring. So I'm telling the story here. For the world to read and enjoy. Because honestly, it's sort of an interesting story.

So let's begin with setting the context. If you know about me and Leah, then you can probably just skip this paragraph. But let's face it: you won't skip this paragraph. Anyway, We started dating 9/24/2010, soon after her birthday (the 19th). We've had our ups and downs throughout the year, like any other relationship, faced the test of time and turbulence, and made it through. My favorite words to describe Leah are funny (with both meanings, like humorous and curiously interesting) and considerate. I'm not going to try to describe myself. Let's just say that me and Leah are the same in some areas, and completely opposite in others.

Anyway, so let's begin with Saturday afternoon, 9/17/11. It's Leah's birthday weekend, so I promised to take her out to the city (specifically Madame Toussaud's Wax Museum). My "secret" plan was to take her to central park, put her on a rowboat, and whip out the ring under the Bow Bridge (here's a pic >> http://bit.ly/r4KXaF), followed by an awesomely delicious meal at the super-fancy Loeb Boathouse Restaurant right next to the boat rental spot. That was the plan.

So on our train ride uptown, we rode the subway packed to the brim with obnoxious crowds of New Yorkers and tourists. The streets, trains, and platforms were so congested, that it took us more than 5 minutes just to leave World Trade Center. Leah is not a fan of big crowds like this. Her mood was slowly evolving from an curious "where is he taking me? =)" to "UGH!". As I keep trying to maintain her in good spirits, the trip up Manhattan was not helping. That didn't stop Leah from asking some surprise-spoiling questions like "are you proposing today?". My answer would always be "our anniversary is next week. This weekend is your birthday."

When we arrive to E 77th St., we walk a few blocks, we walk over to Central Park, do some more walking inside the actual park, (I was looking for the lake). FYI, Leah is also not a fan of walking. And finally, there was the restaurant. But lo and behold, a big crowd of protesters were chanting and beating on drums, holding up signs, and screaming at whoever passed by. "This restaurant is rat infested!" and "the manager sexually harassed 7 ppl!" and "if you go into this restaurant, you are supporting sexual harassment!". These ppl on strike would literally follow you around, and yell at the back of your head "don't go in there!"

My heart dropped. My mouth dried out. This sucks.

TOTALLY ruining the atmosphere. I look over at Leah, and she's pretty much fuming. I couldn't blame her. Not only did it take swimming through oceans of people to get here, we walked into a strike, with some very angry employees. On top of it all, I'd forgotten to make a reservation at the restaurant. We get inside, and Leah goes to the ladies room. For all I know, it could have just been a 5 minute escape from reality for her.

I lean over to the hostess and tell her "I know this place is going to be packed for dinner, but please squeeze us in! I have a ring in my pocket!"

Leah comes out of the bathroom, and I give her the bad news. Lucky for me, we weren't really hungry yet, so the boat thing could happen while we wait for a table (the rental spot is right next to the restaurant). We step out for two seconds to go next door, and right there are a buncha strikers, yelling at us for setting foot in the restaurant, and shouting "thank you for supporting sexual harassment!".

At this point, Leah is so angry, that she shouted back "I LOVE sexual harassment! You're harassing me right now!!" (or something similar to that). I was pretty pissed myself.

We get to the boat dude, charges me my deposit, and Leah had her arms crossed. There was no way she was getting on that boat. We were both pretty pissed. But this ring was burning a hole in my pocket. After a bit of begging, I managed to get her to climb into the rowboat. Whew! finally.

So there we were, rowing along (it was my first time, I had no idea what I was doing. In fact, I was rowing the boat backwards the whole time). But this was good. As we drifted into the lake, it became quieter, and the sounds of the strikers wasn't audible, nor was the craziness of Manhattan or the screeching of subway trains. The experience was serene. The water was completely green (eww lol), but it was still a beautiful place to be.

Finally I can see the Bow Bridge. The moment was drawing near. As we get a bit closer, I couldn't wait any longer. I started speaking to Leah, and the corniest and cheesiest words that I prepared myself to avoid, were the only ones that successfully were able to roll out of my nervous and sobbing mouth. As i began speaking, Leah immediately picked up my corny/cheesy demeanor, and looked around, "is he really doing this right now?!" (LOL). I told her that I wanted to take her to a bridge, because it represents a crossing, a transition to a new chapter in our lives together. God is the path we need to make it to the other side. And this happens to be the most beautiful bridge in the greatest city in the world. Out came the little box, and then the words (while i was basically crying), "will you marry me?"

She said yes, the ring was clumsily slipped on (took us a while to figure out which hand haha), and finally, I could breathe. I rowed the boat a bit, and a bride/groom passed by, still dressed in their wedding gear. "Congrats on your wedding! We just got engaged!" They were technically the first people to find out.

We headed back to the restaurant, where the dinner reservations were still locked for an hour. We were super hungry. It was time to find an alternative. As i googled for a fancy alternative eatery, next thing you know we were in Dallas BBQ in Time Square eating ribs and french fries.

It was the perfect day. My whole life, I'd watch corny romantic comedies, where things go wrong, the dude drops the ring in a drain, retrieves it, but the girl still says yes to a him, covered in sewage. Or like in "Hitch", where Will Smith takes the girl to Ellis Island with the intent of making a romantic gesture, but ends up being a total disaster. I have literally prayed for a story like this. Like a movie. And God was like "you know what? Here you go!"

The moral of the story:

Be careful what you wish for. Cuz God can get randomly generous.

He was definitely overly generous with the girl He placed in my life.

A woman of God, with a good head on her shoulders. The funnest and funniest girl you will ever meet, with a smile that will soften the hardest of hearts.

And I get to marry her!

------

Pics => http://on.fb.me/q6s28g

Rulo Power

So very recently a Dominican dude joined my department at my awesome new job (which I love very much, thank you Jesus!). He happens to be from the same province my family is from in the Dominican Republic.

Over the past few days, he has made some interesting observations on some of my relatively Americanized attributes, particularly my lack of love for some of the more commonly enjoyed Dominican music. I'm also not into batata (basically a ghetto sweet potato) or other random vegetables.

Anyway, so he gave me a funny analogy for people like me -- he called me a "rulo".

One must take two things into consideration. First, to be aware that plantains are the biggest and most famous crops in Dominican Republic. They originally came from Southeast Asia, and are actually a mix between two types of random wild bananas. The word "platano" is pretty much synonymous with "dominican", especially as a word used by non-dominicans.

Then we have bananas, which are statistically the most popular fruit Americans eat. They're yellow. They're delicious.

A rulo is a special hybrid fruit. It's half plantain, half banana. But it still treated and cooked like a plantain.
So Americanized Dominicans are "rulos".

Ya tu sabe. Rulo Power!

Runnin on empty

There’s a time when I want to sprint so fast that I’m able to run along the walls on pure intertia. Or momentum. Or whatever latin/greek physics term applies to pullin a jackie chan.
Jackie chan is such a beast. This dude is literally older than my mom, and can backflip around like a maniac.
Anyway, the point I’m trying to make is that I want to be able to accomplish something without the actual fuel or measurable energy needed to make it happen. Like people who are able to pull off getting into places without paying, or accomplish a lot with half the effort. It’s not laziness. In fact, it’s the complete opposite. I want to be productive, I want to be efficient. The best analogy is the simple machine, like a pulley. One is able to accomplish more while inputing less.
This relates to a sermon series my pastor was applying these past few weeks (before the whole church flew to D.R. for Josue’s wedding). Basically it’s about power vs authority. Someone possessing power has the ability to buy a jet and fly in it. A person with authority is a lot cooler. He gets jets brought to him. For all we know, the dude is broke. In fact, the highest government authority in this country, the President, lives like a king, but his salary is actually less than a surgeon. But can the surgeon command an army? Probably not.

One alarm

It has been about 7 years now since high school graduation for me. I'm 25 years old right now, (scary to think someone might be reading this s decade from now) and the high school life is far behind me. I have since spent 5 yes living in Boston attending Berklee College of Music, and some time living in Jersey City working and producing. I recently started a job working the usual 9-5 mon-fri thang, and it wasn't until this week that I realized how drastic of a change it was for me. Let me explain.

In high school, my schedule was pretty consistent. School started at 8:25am, let out at 3:05, then had band practice til 4pm. I spent my weekends and off-time either at church, or doing homework. This was actually the same routine I followed since I was 4yrs old. For twelve years this was my life until I moved to Boston. Everything changed in college.

In college, I had classes scheduled that would start at 1pm, would last 2hrs, followed by a 3hr gap until my last class at 6pm. Maybe the next day I had all my classes piled up Mondays, and was busy from 9am to 9pm. Some semesters I purposely avoided scheduling classes on Friday so as to ensure I always had a 3-day weekend. My schedule was as inconsistent as a retail employee. And on top of all this, I worked jobs to pay my expenses. My alarm in the morning was my scheduler. Some days I could sleep in, other days I could not. I had a different alarm setup for each semester.

When I graduated college, this didn't really change much. I would either schedule time to meet with an artist for production, or had to get up and work whatever day job I may've had. The worst was working at UPS. I'd get home after midnight, was in bed by 3am. I'd wake up at noon, to then spend 3 hrs doing whatever I had to do to, and then was back on the bus heading out to be at work by 4. It was horrible. It felt like living at my job. And my home sucked.

And finally, after years of schedule craziness, I can finally say I only have one alarm in my phone. Sundays church starts at 9am, as does my (current) job. This means waking up at 7:30 every morning with only Saturday as an exception. It's week 1 for me on this normal American-style rhythm. We'll see how week 2 feels.

"Ghetto" Christians

There's this thing goin around with Christian artists, particularly in the hip hop genre, that feel the need to cater to the "ghetto" culture that is often associated with rap and r&b, by wearing clothing endorsed by Hot97 fools and speaking like the idiots on MTV.

What bothers me more than anything is when ppl think that "ghetto"-ness is a culture that He is ok with. God doesn't hate hip hop or rap or baggy pants (or tight pants). As far as dressing like an imbecile, that's perfectly fine. As far as my personal opinion is concerned, check out http://bible.us/1Cor6.12.NIV --

"I have the right to do anything," you say—but not everything is beneficial. "I have the right to do anything"—but I will not be mastered by anything".

Anyway, if something looks "ghetto" to you, it means that it was birthed on ignorant principals. The jews were locked up in towns by the nazis and fascists in small "ghettos" so they would be ignorant to what was happening in WWII. Do u see a parallel in what "ghetto" really means?

Ghetto means confinement. It means you're stuck. It means you have nowhere to go, this is who you are, this is who you will be. You will continue to have a limited knowledge of what matters, you are boxed into a place of hopeless ignorance.

I HOPE this is not you... Right?

"See to it that no one takes you captive through hollow and deceptive philosophy, which depends on human tradition and the elemental spiritual forces of this world rather than on Christ." -- http://bible.us/Col2.8.NIV