How to begin?
Mi Latina, Beatrice, loves Cinco de Mayo. It’s rooted in family and memories — nothing else. She shopped (we have Patron, for tomorrow; entertaining, again). On the heals of a great dinner last night in the Oakland hills, in a house rebuilt after the fire (the only thing left was the big iron thingy of a piano on which strings are mounted), and a fabulous brunch this morning for eight close friends, she’s got Carlos Santana permeating the loft on the stereo, whilst I’m sitting up here YouTubing and such.
Here was my first hit, and it’s good enough.
The question is tongue in cheek, of course, but then there’s the political overtones. Barack and Michelle Obama can go fuck right off. Get Carlos together with any number of white guys, black guys, and "homies," and you’ll get some harmony.
Here’s what I’ve always thought: Carlos is the only guy in the world with the legitimate right to use that "people of color" smear (’cause it wouldn’t be about genes). He can rock it (or groove it, funk it, rhythm it, soul it…) any way you want it.
Later: Groovin’ with a white guy.
More Later: He can groove with a white guy in a cowboy hat.
Finally Later: He rocks and rhythms everyone.
Can’t Stop Later: Uh, Blues. Don’t dare miss it. It’s a one-off.
Best For Last Later? You judge, but Santana and Clapton jammin’ on Jingo together? Damn.