Tre Miller Rodriguez's Blog, page 29

Pink responsibly, people. (Industry City, Brooklyn)

Pink responsibly, people. (Industry City, Brooklyn)

Pink responsibly, people. (at Industry City)

Pink responsibly, people. (at Industry City)

Earning our 10k steps a day the architectural tour way. ...

Earning our 10k steps a day the architectural tour way. (California Tower - Balboa Park)

Built for the 1915 Panama-California Exposition, the newly...

Built for the 1915 Panama-California Exposition, the newly restored California Tower has survived earthquakes, wildfires, and architects of the 1980s. ‪Hopefully it’ll outlast the wrecking ball that is our current government.

Happy Easters from Sandy Eggo! (Mount Soledad, Calif.)

Happy Easters from Sandy Eggo! (Mount Soledad, Calif.)

Happy Easters from Sandy Eggo! (at Mount Soledad)

Happy Easters from Sandy Eggo! (at Mount Soledad)

Golden rule in the Golden State. (Hammer Museum, Los Angeles)

Golden rule in the Golden State. (Hammer Museum, Los Angeles)

Golden rule in the Golden State. (at Hammer Museum)

Golden rule in the Golden State. (at Hammer Museum)

If DJing your own funeral or permanently memorializing a loved...

If DJing your own funeral or permanently memorializing a loved one through music is your jam, the generous folks over at My Last Soundtrack are offering 30% off with promo code MODERNLOSS. Tune in by May 1, 2018. 

Rabbit Holes Aren’t Always Dark

Last year, I marked Alberto’s deathiversary with a permanent mark on my forearm in the shape of a bird. This year, I did something more his speed: cleaned out the last storage unit in my life. Boxes of files from his office, loads of his photography supplies, and a buncha remnants from my California life. Alberto was a practical minimalist and over the last nine years, I’ve sensed him cheering me on whenever I’ve downsized my possessions and expenses. This year’s March Fifteenth project required a haul to Salvation Army, seven trips to the trash chute, and hundreds of decades-old documents fed to the paper shredder…all to the soundtrack of his greatest hits.

Today involved more sweat than tears, but in order to store the camera stuff in my apartment, I had to access a living-room cabinet that I haven’t opened in several years. It’s the one containing condolence cards, our mementos, newspapers with his obits, childhood photos, and other awesome hard-copy triggers. Also, this hyper-packed cabinet won’t accommodate another paper clip, let alone a giant SLR and its accessories, which means I’m gonna have to purge it.

I cringe away from the cabinet and call Alberto’s Mom, who is essentially him—if he’d lived past 40 and were a woman. An hour of love, laughter, and commiseration about the Douche-in-Chief later, I’m ready to purge so I open a beer and the cabinet. A few ad industry books and art catalogues are easy targets, but as I’m reorganizing things around the camera, I encounter two books that I don’t recognize.

Of course I don’t. Because they’re guest books from the funeral week. Books I could never bring myself to read. Not trying to go down a rabbit hole tonight, but before I can remind myself of this, my curiosity opens the first one…and I encounter phrases like this:

“Alberto showed me how to sop up the sauce of life.”
“He made such good bacon!”
“He made me feel like family.”
“The world won’t be the same without his humor and style.”
“He was first my jefe, and then my friend.”
“I can still see his smile from here.”

Not mad at the overstuffed cabinet. Or my curiosity. I can still hear his smile from here too.