A Day in the Life of Andrés

Strictly Business - Part 1

2011-03-04T17:30:00.000-08:00

For the last several years, starting when I was a sophomore in high-school, I've been lucky enough to have a nickname stick to me.
This nickname I speak of is The Sexy Beast.

I never took it too seriously though, since I already had the Cafeteroman name for myself. However, just as I did with Cafeteroman, I soon realized the potential for this name, since it was unclaimed as a legit entity, or business name.
I began to use Sexy Beast Enterprises as my "strictly business" alias.
If I ever had an order to make, whether online, through snail-mail, or in person,
Sexy Beast Enterprises was my employer, my boss, and my brand.

It has been well over 4 years, and the name is beginning to acquire fame nationwide.
I've been receiving major name-brand catalogs from across the country under the Sexy Beast Brand unsolicited.
Online business registries now feature Sexy Beast Enterprises (SBE) in their listings;
The Yellow Pages has recognized SBE as a local business; and SBE is now featured and/or listed on international websites, whether I like it or not.

The only question that remained until recently was which direction this fledgling company should take: Graphic Design? or Luthiery?

The answer became clear to me a few nights ago, as I was opening yet another Yellow Pages registration letter.

Luthiery!

Recent Life in a Nutshell - July 2009 Edition Flashback!

2011-03-04T16:48:00.000-08:00

*The Following is a post I had saved as a draft for the past 2 or 3 years. I really did mean to finish this anecdote, but completely forgot what exactly I was trying to say, much to my dismay.

However, I'll post this "as-is" because it really would have been a great piece, and because I'm feeling quite nostalgic at the moment. It is unfinished, and unedited. Enjoy.*

Since my last post regarding my somewhat fascinating adventures, I've joined the Track and Field team at school, shamefacedly let my grades slip a little, became a ladies' man, gotten slapped for it, later became a sexy beast...then I got slapped some more.

In the one month that I have been on summer vacation, I've only slept in my own bed five times. The other 25 days and nights having been spent at my brother's homes or their in-laws.
I can now say to some extent that I am nomadic or homeless, the latter being more accurate, since I am reserved the right to be kicked out or starved at any time..

I recently spent a week up near...

La Guitarra - Part 1

2011-01-23T21:51:00.000-08:00

Since February of 2010, due to lack of any other mental stimulation, I've been fabricating a guitar.

Not just any guitar,
The Guitar:

An entirely bookmatched Walnut, Rock Maple, Alder, and African Padauk blend of electric, neck-through awesomeness.
The Epitome of all things sonic, auditory, musical, and awesome.
The Cutting Edge of Merciless Shredding that will blow womens' clothes off whenever you strike a chord.
A guitar so rock-tastic, even Van Halen and the band of miscreants known as Metallica will spontaneously combust if they come near it.
Those who consider themselves a hard-core rock fan tremble in the sonic wake of its menacing presence.
It's a beast of a masterpiece One year into the making and it will make your ears bleed.

The ENTIRE Body has been painstakingly crafted by hand. No plans have been drawn for this: it was built with no premeditated thought. This Guitar is unique. Original. And the only one of its kind on the planet.
Every feature of its physical existence is custom cut, carved, and sanded to fit One pair of hands as if it were a vestigial extension of your hands.

Its body is literally smoother than glass. Never before have you seen wood reflect the light like a mirror, or see your reflection grinning back at you as you appreciate the handcrafted beauty. You have a higher chance of getting a splinter from typing an essay on a Mac than you do from handling this instrument.

The fretless ebony fretboard is a blank wall waiting for the baddest graffiti artist to come and fill it with the color of sound.
The custom, hand-inlayed padauk/pearl will remind you that this guitar is more precious than your grandmothers' wedding ring, your liver, and left kidney combined. and that it was worth trading it in for this guitar after all.

In my absence...

2010-09-25T14:05:00.000-07:00

Being my first, genuine post in over a year, I have much to talk about.
But to avoid writing a 300-page autobiography from September 2008 and onward, I'll be posting a 1-3 part installment highlighting a few important changes/moments/events/points in my life since the aforementioned date. Note, that many of these points of interest may not be chronologically ordered, since my mind apparently isn't either. So without further ado, I present to you Part 1.

Seeing that my last post was from September, 2008, I've decided to begin with November (since October seemed to be very uneventful).

November 2008 I think I was in my junior year of high school. I was single at the time, and greatly enjoying it. I feel that it was about that time when I started coming out of my shell, and evolving in to the person I am now. Classes were going great (even my grades), and I even began to teach myself to play guitar. The honeys were plentiful, and even met a few with whom I still maintain a strong contact today.

From that year forward I started developing athletically as well. I joined the track team (but never competed, I simply refused to show up), but I still maintained an athletic disposition. My diet literally quadrupled, and gained about 15 pounds.

Now, fast forward a year (I totally forgot what happened in 2009, except for the fact I became somewhat of a party-animal).

2010
A year, a few missing brain cells, and 10 pounds later.

I turned 18 in January, and after much delay, earned my drivers license 3 days later.
Since then, the world seems to have gotten much smaller. I can now make it from one end of the city, to the other in about 10 minutes flat.

Senior year flew by, of course I spent most of it at the ROC, where I worked closely with only 7 other people for the entire year. We, of course grew close to each other, and being the flirt I am, made things worse. Let's leave it at that.

Aside from that, my post-graduation plans have been foiled at least twice.
An effort to join the US Air Force failed due to "talks" with family.
College is postponed, partly by financial aid, and skyrocketing tuition costs.
As of this moment, the 3rd option is going great, and I'm totally excited for what comes next.

To pass the time however, I've taken up a new hobby. Luthiery.
I've been in the guitar building process since February 2010, with the end in sight. My masterpiece should be completed sometime before I die 80 years from now.

****Post-edit Note****

I've noticed that my writing style has somewhat, if not drastically changed. My witty sarcasm is merely dormant. The lack of mental stimulation has driven me to find...unorthodox solutions for boredom. Expect this frown to turn upside down as soon as I find something interesting to do that makes me feel warm and fuzzy on the inside.

So I was taking the PSAT one day...

2009-06-29T16:12:00.000-07:00

...and I was confident in my natural, yet inhuman skill to pass this test, even though I was pretty agitated that they had assigned me a seat at the front, where I was exposed to sniper fire. So I took my seat at the very back, where all the cool kids except those who I deem unworthy hang out. It was just me sitting back there, along with some of my honeys who have devoted their entire life to my existence.

After 3 hours of cruising through the (2.93 x 10^12) questions they had me waste my time on, I finally completed Section 1 of 4 on the test. I couldn't wait! I was halfway there to halfway there!
But as one of the lady-admins passed by to make sure I did not cheat, I heard the zzziipp of a silenced sniper round pierce the window to my side and completely miss me. I had dodged it. I ran to the door...then the beep of the small digital timer that lady-admin #2 wore around her neck stirred me from my daydream, and I proceeded to Section 2: English and Language Arts.

* This was a draft, started November of 2008 that I had only started...now complete (I hope).

Monday Morning Madness

2009-06-29T15:45:00.000-07:00

This is an almost ancient draft that I wrote in September of 2008, and left it incomplete because I lost my train of thought. So I'd thought I would try and remember what inconclusive point I was trying to make and eventually finish this post.

I open my eyes and pick up the pillow that fell on the floor. I don't know how I do it, but I somehow know that something is missing. It's still dark in the room, so I deduce that it's still before 7:00. So I wait. What seems like an eternity later, my dad finally cracks open the door and turns off the fan, which puts me in a bad mood, because I like the fan ON. So I get up and wash my face, scare my mom with the sound of the faucet, let her fall from the bed once, help her up, and continue my morning routine. I eat a sandwich EVERY day, and sometimes, it doesn't seem like enough to get me through 4th period. I have no problem with school, it's just the annoyingly monotonous ritual I experience everyday. It's almost creepy.

After I get home from school (which is to be described at a later time),

I drink a half-gallon of gatorade, juice, water, and soda to cool down from the 900*F heat outside.

I think now is a good time to note that my morning ritual has changed significantly since then, because I eat scrambled eggs for breakfast now.

2008-09-13T19:22:00.000-07:00

I was strolling through the mall on one fine day like I owned the place, which I do, and girls were plentiful. I glanced one way, and a group of babes giggled at my unnatural hotness. Glanced the other way, winked, and the girl melted away as if in a caught in a breeze. Ignoring them, I went and bought a Burgundian Pinot Noir at the nearest McDonald's. I pondered for a while, and wondered why the girls were unusually hateful today. I looked down and figured that I mismatched a Salvatore Ferragamo shoe with a Berluti. How foolish.

Knowing I couldn't appear like this in public, I continued my expedition throughout the department stores, jewelers, and restaurants buying stuff left and right. Realizing I overshot my destination, I turned back, reached the stairs leading to the roof, and climbed into the pilot's seat of my Sikorsky S-61. Once my bodyguard gave the all-clear sign, I took off. But wait, something's wrong on the radar screen.

It was a tomahawk cruise missile, surely it must have been launched by my mortal enemies, Sam Walton and his buddies: Bill Gates, Steve Jobs, Giorgio Armani, and others. The missile collided with my helicopter. I fell..fell..and woke up on the floor in my bedroom on Friday.

Paid Vacation

2008-09-06T14:14:00.000-07:00

Poor, miserable Cafeteroman.

Cafeteroman wakes up at seven-thirty with an overweight brother, (AHEM) Correction: Slightly chubby, standing over him with a brand new nerf gun pointed at his vulnerable face.

No, it isn't a present. It's a wake up call.

The entire crime took three minutes.
He leaves my nephew and I with darts stuck on our arms, legs and foreheads. Struggling for breath, we barely manage to get up in time to fight the cockroaches for breakfast. We both manage to share a moldy cookie we find under the fridge. It tastes vintage, circa 1999, and it was good.

After we recieve our fill for the week, we are put to hard labor while the man sits back painting his masterpiece. We mow the backyard lawn, fighting off the hordes of flies, black widows, and wasps that swarm over us. The waves of heat engulf us, bathing us in wet- dog smell and sweat. After I revive my nephew with a few drops of sweat from my brow, we go to the front lawn, and start pulling weeds for a mercifully scarce eight hours with no break or refreshment. It's not like we should be expecting it anyway, but the smallest drop of hope keeps us on our feet.

Upon completion of the assigned task and soon afterward, my nephew humbly begs to go to Target, but in response he is beaten down with a curtain rail. I try to help, but the curtain rail is accidentally bent. My masters force me to straighten the 3/4 inch rod of steel and nickel alloy. And I fail.

For the rest of labor day weekend, I try to ignore the world by using up the 5 minutes of computer gameplay I've accumulated for the past eight years. My parents unexpectedly come to rescue me from my prison, and am taken home. The next day, because of the unrelenting mercy my parents exhibit, I am blessed with cutting the fifty acre front lawn using only my hands. God bless them.