He Ponders This

Most of the family all rendezvoused in San Li Tun last night.  The older one needed a new computer.  That meant the Apple store.  She’d found some “Mexican” place called “El Barrio”, in Nali Patio, nearby that we could all have dinner in.  We're assertive and they find us a place to sit out on the terrace.  I mention that El Barrio is actually a Puerto Rican neighborhood in New York.  I mention point out that the polka-like rhythm of the Mexican music they have blasting is simple and that this is because there was less of an African diaspora in Mexico.  And then I try to shut up and let everyone enjoy their food.

The menu is flashy.  The tacos are small, but they aren’t bad.  Soon though, I feel the drizzle.  And within a moment it is a deluge.  We grab up our plates by ourselves and head inside to the already crowded restaurant and work our way towards a space by the bar.  A waiter comes up and says “pay now.”  I tell him “give me good service first, then we’ll pay.”  He ponders this and walks away trying to get other wet people to pay. 

Our little perch isn’t so bad and we finish off what we have and indeed, we pay for it and find a table we can claim by the door where we consider the rain which has largely passed.  My son has a place he is recommending over by Solana.  Apparently, there is live blues.  I’d had the idea to see some live music together.  If I recommended it, it wouldn’t likely go anywhere.  But if he did, there’d be more credibility.  And though there is resistance, we manage to talk everyone in to making our way out to board a Di Di and drive to the north east. 

The place he has in mind is one I knew well.  Before San Li Tun had been turned into a high end mall with fifty story hotels, one of the staple dives for music was Nashville.  It still exists, now over across town.   We make are way over from the road and begin to hear some rather crummy, live Chinese pop music.  My son’s face sours as does mine.  I thought this was going to be “ blues.”  "Me too."  We head in and the waiter wants to show us up to a table on the second floor where there would be no live music.  “Um, no thank you.”  I feel a bit of warmth seeing the red Les Paul in the young guys hand and consider whether or not we should stay.  My daughters have one foot out the door.  And the young men in the band begin the unmistakable opening of “Freebird.”  And with that I too decide that a cab ride home would be preferable to standing-room only Lynyrd Skynyrd covers. 

Sunday, 06/02/19