‘Los Says Goodbye: Part 2 Of 2 (A Look Back)

And so it is, my final day at Guanabee. Yesterday, I broke you off a primer goodbye so this whole thing could be a farewell by attrition. After today, I’ll be spending my daylight hours recovering from egregious hangovers and preparing myself for an 8 month stint in Spain. Some idiot in the Spanish government thought it was a good idear to offer me a job helping teach English to a bunch of impressionable kids. But the stories I tell them about Latino identity in the U.S. wouldn’t be half as interesting, or well-informed, if I hadn’t helped launch this site. Which is why I consider Guanabee the Zack Morris to my A.C. Slater–the bizarre, opening metaphor to a look back that I hope isn’t too cheesy or long-winded. (Stick around, cuz I promise it gets better.)

When Daniel first met me about this job, I was just a homeboy fresh out of undergrad in New York and looking forward to a summer free of cares before going abroad. A couple ears of grilled, Mexican corn later (paid for by his shiny business Amex), and the bastard had me convinced that this would be a more productive use of my time. Since then, Daniel has been my personal fountain of knowledge regarding professionalism (”Fuck Spain! You work for me now.) and media savvy (”Is there any way we can build on Enrique Iglesias having a small pee pee?”). Above all else he’s been an older brother to me, in the boy band sense of the title. And that’s not just because he refers to me and every other male in his life as ‘bro.’ Gracias, D, for long and delirious hours of blogging at your pad, and I vow to start production on the music video for “Hummus On My Keys.” (I might have to write the lyrics first.)

The other key member of our dysfunctional family here is Cindy, the editor who taught me that brevity is the soul of wit–along with snarkasm, (homo-)erotic undertones, and Menudo references. I knew it was the beginning of something when we met for the first time at a diner for an informal interview, and some dude got into a fairly graphic motorcycle accident across the street. Nothing bodes well for a creative venture like broken ribs and staggering blood loss. But the moment she encouraged me to spin my envy of Thalía’s husband, Tommy Mottola, into the first installment in a series of full-blown rants, I knew everything would be alright. Our mutual appreciation of the affirming power behind the word ‘word,’ ubiquitous in every single one of our iChats, is something I’ll never forget. (Until some cute, Spaniard girl takes a liking to my use of it.) Thanks, Cindy, for bringing out the bitch in me.

Shout out to Patric (and Su), responsible for the site’s design at House of Pretty. Thanks for highlighting Daniel’s alluring ambiguity in the eyes of New York’s gay community, and for troubleshooting technical stuff that even a mildly retarded chimp could figure out.

I keeps it simple when it comes to my most memorable stories. As corny as they were, I was a sucker for everyday conversations by Latinos or about Latinos overheard and reproduced for the masses. I’ll forever cherish the ongoing vigil we held at the deathbed of a certain Communist dictator who’s outlasted my tenure here. Video highlight? It took me a while to find her, but the Dora the Explorer duplicate known as Maraka is still my nominee for Guanabee mascot. And, of course, the fleshy void that absorbed a lot of our time, a lot of your attention, and a great number of our unique hits–all for absorbing a serious organ in various positions on a grainy recording. (Do I get a bonus for being the one who broke that story on this site?)

Phew. All this reminiscing is really draining. With that, I think I’ve said my peace. (Or is it ‘piece’?) I promised myself I wouldn’t cry! A more realistic vow is that I’ll read, like, every day and keep in touch with my former overseers bosses. Bidding you a surprisingly tearful farewell while hoping you’ve learned not to take yourselves (or the world) so seriously, I’m out. Later, preppies!

Un abrazo,
Carlos

P.S. Whether you’re a fan or a hater, you commenters need to keep plugging away. Somebody’s gotta make Cindy and Daniel feel appreciated now that I’m gone.