Walk Along, Vagabond.

Happiness doesn’t always make you happy.

Thinkers will do, doers will think.

Trust the insane.

I was born on February 27th, 1992 and named Jose Antonio Aquino III, which means both my grandfather, father, and I share the same name. I am Jose Antonio Aquino, the third and final child of Eneida Aquino, and the result of a planned pregnancy. This is important to tell you, because both of my sisters were accidents. Of course, my parents would never say it explicitly, but the writing has always been on the wall.

My parents met when they were both in college. My father was attending school on an athletic scholarship and was introduced to my mother through his brother. Before they met, my mother said she would often catch my father staring, but he was too shy to make a move and she found that adorable. I take after my father in this fashion, although I’ve yet to find anybody else aside from my own deluded mother who finds this adorable.

My parents were only together a few months when they found out they were pregnant with my eldest sister. After taking everything into consideration, they got married and decided to flee from Mexico for the greener pastures of Los Angeles. Five months into her pregnancy, my mother ran hand in hand with my father into the land of promise.

My mother gave birth for the first time that winter. It was December of 1987. By January of 1989 she would give birth to her second child. She wasn’t of drinking age yet, but already she was married with children and working full-time. Due to the reality of her situation, my mother told my father that they would not have another child until they were financially stable enough to support the kids they already had.

Two years later they would move out of the filthy mess of Los Angeles and into a modest two-bedroom apartment in Redwood City. In short time my father found a decent job in a factory that paid well, and my mother no longer had to work. Due to the relative comfort of the situation, my mother was profoundly happy for the first time in her adult life. A few month’s later my mother expressed her desire to conceive another child. Soon enough, I became the fastest swimmer in my mothers belly. 

Much to the chagrin of my parents, the doctor informed my mother that they were expecting another daughter and my father’s excitement waned. For him, the entire purpose of planning this pregnancy was to bear a son. They continued throughout the pregnancy doing all the things couples do when they are pregnant. They shopped for (pink) clothes, (pink) cribs, (pink) shoes, etc. As the due date approached they even managed to settle upon a name: Yvette.

I was born a few weeks later with a fully functional penis. Needless to say, my father responded to this news enthusiastically. Caught up in the excitement, my mother decided to name her only son after his father.

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Yikes, sorry if you don’t care for my life story and I wasted your time. I know how annoying it can be to find something ridiculously long on your dashboard, and I know that I was supposed to write about my middle name and how I feel about it, but that wouldn’t be nearly as fun. If you want the truth about how I feel about my middle name it’s really very simple: I love it. For the longest time I didn’t even know my first name was Jose, because everybody I knew called me Tony. When I started the first grade and the teacher began to refer to me as Jose, it just felt so strange to me, so foreign. Nowadays, I’m a bit easier, but as a kid I didn’t always appreciate how fortunate I was to share a name with my grandfather. He passed two years ago and I did not take it very well at all. I’m still not over it, but I find comfort in knowing he still exists somewhere outside of the lump in my heart.

Paz de La Huerta

Jacket Weather

Hash Oil

Trail Mix

Bike Rides

Well, that’s harder to say. To be honest, most of the time I find myself wondering much of the same. It’s funny. I get that question more often than I expect and I still manage to say something stupid almost every time. I never know how to answer silly things like that. Maybe that’s why I usually don’t say much. 

I’m not eloquent, and this time I won’t pretend to be. Instead, I will mark the demise of my dormant state by saying this: I’m Back.

There is an awesome article on the New York Times website. The article is mostly about weed and how it has impacted the culture of food. It focuses primarily on high-dining(no pun) and ‘upper-echelon’ establishments, but the more I think about it a book about weed and food would totally fucking rule.

Click Here To Read