Follow the yellow brick....bike path

Faithful readers,

Perhaps you may recall my story past of Phil the Angry Dwarf. Well, Phil almost changed his name to Phil the Angry Red Stain on 53rd Avenue today.

I was out running errands for the coffee shops, and was on my way home. There, on the side of the road, riding his bicycle, was Phil. From behind, one may believe the rider to be a small child, but having travelled this path many times before, I knew it was Phil. What I didn't know was that Phil, for some inexplicable reason, was going to swerve out of the bike path and into traffic, directly in front of me. Luckily, there was a break in oncoming traffic and I was able to brake and swerve around him, so Phil is still Angry Dwarf, and not vehicular statistic.

For reasons unbeknownst to me, my fortune has been in the karmic toilet of late. I'm pretty sure that pancaking a pixie is the cosmic equivalent of a double flush.... It was a close call, by a matter of inches, but all's well that ends well.

Stick to the road, stay off of the moors..... Or rather, stick to the back paths, stay off of the roooooads. You listening Phil? I may have issue with your sunny demeanor, but I still don't feel like scraping you off of my bumper.

Good Wishes to our friends in need

Life is hard enough without having to endure the hardships of natural disasters, but sometimes we must endure them as well.

Having endured four hurricanes last year gives we Floridians a bit of a sense of what our neighbors to the west are suffering. Hurricane season isn't over yet, either, so we're keeping our proverbial fingers crossed.

Help out. Do what you can. Send supplies, if you can. Donate some time, if you can. Donate some money to the relief efforts, if you can. Pray, and send good thoughts their way. The important thing, as fellow Americans, and fellow human beings, is to simply do what you can. Even good thoughts help out....

The other thing I've discovered in times like these, is that we need to keep moving on. That's the great thing about the human spirit, and the American way. We manage to keep moving on. Keep moving, folks, keep moving.

I believe that children are our future.....

As mentioned earlier, I have a particular beef with the Florida Comprehensive Assessment Test (FCAT). For those not in the know, the state of Florida has an assessment test given to all public school students in the third through eleventh grades. It covers reading and mathematics, in the 3rd through 10th grade; writing in the 4th, 8th and 10th grade; and science in the 5th, 8th and 11th grade. Students failing the FCAT are held back, and schools are graded on their students success rate, the result determining the amount of funding and bonuses said school receives. Students can not graduate and receive a regular diploma without passing this exam.

I have absolutely no problem with an assessment exam ensuring that our children are learning what they need to know to succeed in life. We should make sure that the children are actually learning how to read and write. I do have a problem with the effects of this test, and its limited nature. (Allow me to state that I do not, under any circumstance, blame the teachers. It is the administration and politicians that are, in my muddled little brain, at fault.)

Schools are "teaching to the test". Their entire curriculum is geared toward taking and passing the FCAT. I’ve heard many arguments and debates that this is not true, but I’ve seen testimony from teachers, and seen firsthand, that it is, indeed true. Perhaps not in every school, granted, but enough to be noticed. The entire focus of education in the classrooms is on the subject matter of the test, and ensuring that the students pass.

This, in and of itself, is not an entirely bad thing, as it does cover fundamental skills needed in life. But it doesn’t cover all of them. It narrows the focus. What about Social Studies? History? Art? Where is the diversity? What about professional development? Shouldn’t these things be a part of the educational process as well?

The students are not learning. They are not obtaining a grasp upon their past, their roots, nor are they gaining insight into their future, what skills they excel at, and where they might be best put to use in a career. They are not being taught to create, to invent, to imagine, to dream. They are learning how to take a test. One particular test. Yes, again, they are learning the very basic skills needed in life, but no more. We are not educating individuals, we are stamping out cookie cutter molds.

There must be some accountability in our schools. I agree with this completely. I think that ensuring that our children are able to read and write before they can graduate is a wonderful idea. But it can not be the "end all" point of our schools. It can not be too narrow of a focus. Children must grow, not memorize.

What is the solution? How about smaller classrooms? A smaller student to teacher ratio? How about enough funding for our schools so that the teachers don’t have to spend their own money to buy class supplies? Or ration chalk? Or teach in a trailer? How about sharing the wealth of knowledge, in a less fiscally competitive program so that programs that work can be utilized throughout the entire school system, instead of being hoarded by the "A" schools, the one’s making all the money, getting all the bonuses?

Hey, I may be way off base, but this is my blog, so it’s my opinion, and I am free to shout it from the top of the mountain. Okay, Florida doesn't have mountains.... Heck, I don’t even have kids. But that doesn’t keep me from worrying about those who do.

End rant. Blaze away….

What's love got to do, got to do with it?

Okay, a comment made about a previous post, and some recent remarks have gotten me thinking. That being said, let's get ready to rammmmmble! Like most of my other posts, this shall be a murky mire, filled with quicksand, but fear not, as it is only knee deep, causing only momentary panic, ending in euphoria and slight embarrassment....

Love.... What the hell is it? I'm certainly no expert in the field, judging from my past experiences. Is it a spiritual state? An emotional existance? A chemical imbalance? Who knows. What a bizarre concept. We're talking about a concept that makes you feel great, happy, joyous, sad, miserable, and all points of the spectrum inbetween. It is a rollercoaster filled with hairpin turns, steep drops, and loop-de-loops, and yet we all long for the ride.

I don't believe that I am ready to jump into another romance right now. I may never be ready, to be honest, but then again, when are we ever? Are these things planned out and scheduled? Maybe on the grand cosmic scale of things, but certainly on no calendar I've ever seen. Maybe it'll happen. Maybe it won't. Maybe I'll just become a monk. Nah. The uniforms are itchy and the lifestyle's a bit too sedate for me. They do make good beer, though......

A friend has been not so gently nudging me lately. "Ask so and so out. You'd be great togther." "Why don't you ask that one out?" There are several answers... One, as stated above, I'm just not sure I'm ready. I know that dating doesn't have to be serious, but in a way, it does. Isn't that the whole point? Otherwise, it's just "hanging out with friends". Another big reason is that my confidence is pretty much shot. My self-esteem pretty much tumbled down along with it, as though attached by a tether... That doesn't really help, especially when I never really had "game" to start with. All that, and the fact that I just don't have a clue about women and the "signs". I'd been in a serious relationship for far too long, so I just don't pick up on these subtle clues any more. Is she interested? Was that eye contact? Wait... what's it mean when she scratches her earlobe.... Arggggghhhh!

This same friend also thinks I should just "play the field" and sew my wild oats. I think my oats mildewed long ago... Besides, let's back up to the previous paragraph. Same rules apply. Hello? I'm just not a "playah". Yes, I have a healthy libido, one that screams for attention, but you can not be what you are not. I'm just not a love 'em and leave 'em kind of guy. I'm not saying you should married first, but for crying out loud, there should be some kind of mutual respect going, don't you think? Maybe not. Maybe it's just me. I'm not saying that those who do are morally bankrupt, but it's not my style.

And speaking of marriage... What is it about married couples? Why do they think that they need to set you up "with someone they know"...? Why can't they understand that being single is okay? Not a crime, y'know? Yeah, I get lonely at times. Yes, I am a bit envious of those with viable relationships, at times. But I'm doing all right by myself. Unless, of course, your friend happens to look like Dorothy Stratten, has a mega-rich daddy, owns a bar, a car dealership and a gas station, is a licensed massage therapist, likes football, and absolutely dotes upon her man, then I might be interested. Heck, I'm even willing to negotiate on the football thing.....

Well, I've rambled enough, and probably made little sense, but I warned you in the beginning. Wade out of the quicksand, and make your way to the vine strewn door. Thanks for coming. I'll be here all week. Try the veal.

Good Guys Finish Last

Gainesville has a 2am closing time, and they're serious about it. Anyone found in a bar after closing time, who is not an employee, can be hit with a hefty little fine, as will the employees of the establishment. Efforts are being made to change the law to allow bars stay open until 3am, but stop serving at 2. The theory is that all the drunks will not all be forced out onto the streets, like so much effluvia, and will, instead, have time to sober up a little before heading home. I've mixed feelings about it. Part of me dreads it, as that means an extra hour of work, one which I will most assuredly not be compensated for. Another part knows that it would help some of these folks regain some of their senses, and I wouldn't worry so much about them, nor spend so much time and effort, not to mention money, ensuring that they arrive home safely (I've paid for many a taxi out of the tip jar). But would an hour really be enough?

Last Friday I had a good example of how an hour would have helped, but wouldn't have been enough. One of our regulars was in, and was completely blotto. I won't serve people when they are getting to this point, offering them soda or water instead, but someone was buying her drinks. I think a couple of less than well-intentioned fellows were plying her with the muddifying fluids, trying to achieve some pre-determined results. At least, that's something along the lines of what I was able to get out of her. (And not in those words, mind you, but I'll keep it a family show, for now). She is a fairly tiny girl, so it probably didn't take much to get her this way. They were obviously unsuccessful in their nefarious plot, as she was now alone. She'd become very "clingy" to me, and didn't want me to leave her (as I had to go do my clean up duties). She wouldn't hear about me calling her a taxi. She was very emotionally distraught. An extra hour would not have gotten her sober enough to drive home, but it would have unclouded her mind enough to not be so, well, nutcakey.

We figured the only way to get her out of the bar, without her trying to drive (she couldn't even walk without support) would be for me to take her home. Luckily, my truck was parked nearby, as I ended up having to carry her. I managed to get her License from her so I knew where she lived, and drove her home. It was a short drive, but all the while she muttered, incoherantly, how much respect she had for me, and how sorry she was.

I got her home and, with some (major) assistance from me she managed to unlock her door. I supported/carried her to her room and got her into her bed (fully dressed - remember the title of this blog). She tried, several times, to go for the lip lock, but I turned my head and offered her my cheek. She wanted me to stay the night with her. She really is a very attractive girl, but my morals don't stack up that way and my conscience would have never forgiven me). I actually didn't want to leave her, as thoughts of Jimi Hendrix ran through my mind (not pretty), but knew that I couldn't stay and watch over her all night. Luckily, her roommate woke up then and took over the watch duties. As I tried to leave, she begged me stay with her. Now, in the 30's and 40's this might have been a great scene, shot in grainy black and white, and probably at an airport. I'd say something pithy, like, "We'll always have Bali Bali" (sorry, Paris was taken...). But in the here and now, it was very ackward, and I could only mutter, "You know I can't do that sweetie. Try to get some sleep." She closed her eyes and was out cold in seconds.

I turned to leave and her roommate looked at me and said, "Thanks. You're really a nice guy." Yep. The kiss of death, but true.

Of course, when I returned to the bar, to start my close down chores, an hour late, I was the target for that night's razzing. At first it was the elbow nudge, wink wink kind of teasing. When I told them that they knew perfectly well that nothing happened, the jokes escalated about me losing my "man card". That's okay. I know that none of them would have done anything either. Okay, 90% of them.....

So, let's sum up: A couple of scumbags got her wasted, trying to take advantage of her. I got her home safely, and, despite her efforts, without "incident". And I take derision for it.... Sigh. We really do finish last.....

Aloha from hell....

Man. Another sucky week. Okay, maybe sucky is not a word, at least not a very scholarly one, but it sure sums up the week.

The bosses have been in lousy moods. That always makes for a rough time. I've had to make 8.2 gazillion supply runs. The local Sam's was out of lids for the hot cups we use. I had to drive to the Sam's in Ocala to find them, "find them" being key words. I walked up and down they aisles looking for the "cups/paper goods" section. Wasn't listed anywhere, so I did a search up and down individual aisles looking for them. I finally found the cups.... in the "Pet Supplies" aisle. Silly me. I go to the area where the lids should be, and lo and behold, they're not there. Don't tell me I just drove 40+ miles for nothing! Well, I wasn't about to give up so easily, so I decided to poke around and see if I could find some hidden, as happens a lot at Sam's... I actually did manage to find some, on the bottom shelf. In the back. Behind a bunch of other items. I had to crawl up underneath, on my belly, and drag them out. That was fun. On my way out of the store, it started pouring. Not your usual drip, drip, sprinkle, sprinkle, rain. Overcast sky one moment, sheets of rain the next. I was soaked in an instant. I managed to load the boxes of lids into the cab of the truck, and get on my way, shivering in the A/C that summer in Florida does not allow turning off. There was an accident on the road, directly in front of the on-ramp to I-75. Luckily, they were able to move the vehicles off the road, a mere 10 minutes later, and I was on my way. Slowly. Traffic crept along in the downpour, but that's okay, as it wouldn't have been too wise to speed home anyway. Upon arriving in Gainesville, I met... traffic jam! The students are back. The leisurely drives from one side of town to the next are gone. I arrived back to derision. "What? Did you stop for lunch?" Upon reflection, I should have. At least I wouldn't have been hungry....

I missed the draft for my Fantasy Football league. Well, I didn't miss it. I'd logged in, but the system they had was so buggy, that I coudn't make any choices. I've got a very lousy team in a very competitive league. Oh, well, someone has to come in last place.....

Wednesday night was another evening of the uneducated bar hoppers. I think it was my worst night, tip percentage wise, in the 9 years I've worked there. That, and the customers were, in seeming majority, buttheads.

Thursday brought a project of hanging the new menu boards for the shop. Without the materials to do so. I had to run to Wally World to buy picture hangers. While I was perusing the proper section, trying to decide which item would work best, a lady and her young son made their way down the aisle, past me. Mostly. She actually ran over my foot with her cart. Now, if you're pushing a shopping cart, and meet resistence, do you puch harder, or look to see what might be obstructing the progress? Personally, I'd look. She didn't. She pushed the cart harder, and right over my foot. It really didn't hurt all that much, but it was more of shock than anything else.

The new inventory systems keep me at the shop an hour later, after closing. I am now there until 2 or 3 in the morning. It's a lot of extra added work. Well, except when Michael closes for me, on the nights when I work at the bar. I guess it's too much added work for the people who instituted the system in the first place. Sheesh.

We had a friendly little hurricane pop up on our shores, yet again. At least this time it didn't cause nearly as much damage. I'd been worried about my mother, who lives in South Florida, as does the majority of my family. I finally managed to reach all of them, and all is well.

Friday brought another scrambling about town for supplies, and then rushing back to get everything put away in time for "Open Mic Night". We have music on Fridays, and occasionally Saturdays. It has been decided that we would charge $3 at the door, and give a $3 voucher for food/drinks. Essentially, they are simply paying for their beverages early. We'd run into a problem last semester during music nights, with crownds of people coming in, filling up the store and parking lot, and not buying anything. This solved that little problem, but created another in keeping track of the vouchers, having someone work the door, etc... One more system to work the bugs out of....

Friday night at the bar was at least interesting. It was a very strange crowd. I can't explain it, but there was just a very unusual "air" to the crowd. At least they tipped a lot better. There was only one altercation, and I managed to spot it in time and break it up. Well, at least inside the bar. They went outside and commenced to wailing on each other, where the police broke it up. All that, and I turned away true love. (Yeah, right... More on that in it's own post.) I didn't leave there until 5am, and had to be at the shop at noon. Fun, fun, fun.

So, to sum up, I've been working more, sleeping less, and taking a larger dose of BS in the middle. It could be worse, I guess. It could be a lot worse. I suppose I should count my blessings, and I do. But this is my blog, and this is where I get to whine and moan to my hearts content. And no, I don't want any cheese with that....

Strange Days Indeed...

So, I'm making a supply run for both shops, in my capacity of "Operations Manager" at the coffee shops. I'm still the General Manager, but we've "redefined" the duties of all of the managers, and I've drawn the short straw of making sure we have everything we need. It's going to be a pain in the tuchus until I can get things organized and inventoried, and get on track with all the nuances involved.

I'd just made a trip to Sam's Club, the back of the truck loaded with miscellaneous goodies, and was on my way to shop numero uno to drop off their share. Sitting at a red light, I was glancing around, just checking out the scenery and noticed the Explorer sitting in the next lane.

On the side of the vehicle was a magnetic sign which read "Mary Kay - Cosmetic Beauty Consultant". Okay, a Mary Kay salesperson - not too unusual. What caught my eye, though, was a similar sign on the back of the truck advertising septic tank repair and service. With the same phone number.... Can you imagine making that phone call? "You want to get tarted up or pumped out?" Oh, well. I thought it was funny.

Another observation: There is very little customer service to be found in this world.

I was going through the line at Sam's, and got nothing but attitude from the cashier. Not a single smile, hello, how are you....nada. I'd put my membership card on top of the first item on the conveyor, as I knew I'd still be unloading the cart when she started ringing me up. She snarled "I need your Sam's Card." I informed her where it was, and she snatched it up, literally, and told me "you need to hand this to me." Okay...... She then told me, not asked, not informed, that I "needed a business check to purchase these items." I told her that I knew, and had one with me. I remained nonplussed, so far. She then said something which I didn't catch, as she was on my "bad side" (due to a rather nasty day in the Navy, not to mention a severe infection as a child, my hearing in my left ear is less than perfect). She griped, "you need to pay attention!" It was at this point that I wanted to snatch her over the counter and relate a few rules of customer service... But I was running late as it was, had to make a trip to shop #1 before heading back to shop #2 (my usual location) as the monkeys were left unsupervised, so I made a mental note to have a word with the manager at a later date, when I have more time to get "indignant", and headed out the door.

I understand that we all have bad days. I do. I have 'em myself. But that does not give me a right to take it out on anyone else. My customers still deserve at least the minimum amount of service standard, and I can gripe and moan about the bad ones... after they leave. This is not an isolated incident. I constantly get rude, or in the very least, indifferent service there. There are one or two cashiers who seem to care what they're doing, including the slightly autistic one who bounces while he rings up your order, calls everyone "Dave", and is the fastest, most efficient employee they have. (I'm not complaining nor being cruel - he really is autistic, and I'll get in his line whenever I see him working.)

They need to lighten up on the FCAT (another rant entirely) and start teaching some social skills in school, 'cause it's getting pretty sad out there.

Turnin' the cultural tables....

Okay, we've all been there. Either us, in a moment of cultural insensitivity, or, more likely, you were with an assinine friend (be it a normal state of being, or lapse of PC moment)... Yes, I'm talking about... mocking the Asians. You've been there. You've seen it. You probably didn't do it, as my faithful readers are all courteous, cultured, sensitive individuals (yeah, okay, whatever). You're at a Chinese restaurant, and the "theme appropriate servers" break into a conversation in their native tongue. It is inevitable thatan Occidental is going to screw their face up into a bad Oriental parody and say, "hoy chong kong, doyyyyyy fu tu ho!" Okay, maybe funny when we were, say, six, but today? Not so much.

Having, through odd circumstance, had pizza for dinner for three nights in a row, I decided that lunch need, very badly, to be something completely diametric to pizza. (Another geographic phenomenon: those from the South "get a pizza". From the North, they "get a pie". Weird. But I digress...) I decided that Chinese would fit the bill nicely, so headed to one of the local buffets (of which we've about 6,037, all within a couple of blocks from each other....). While masticating my General Tso's, I overheard the young girl at the register speaking with the hostess. Now, it is not exactly listening in, as I really couldn't understand what they were saying, and they were speaking loudly enough that I really wasn't being nosey, but something about the conversation nagged at the back of my brain. I realized that a few English words were slipping into the conversation.

The conversation went something like this (I'll just use random letters in place of the chinese words, so as not to appear like "that culturally insensitive guy"...):

"Gkdkd kwkdksdk Yahoo hekeke, fjfds odsl Laugh Out Loud" Followed by a burst of uproarious laughter.

After a bit of this, it occurred to me that...they were mocking Americans and our IM slang. Hey! That's.... pretty much what we (our assinine friends) do to them all the time. I didn't find it very amusing at all, but then again, it was hard to get indignant....

Oh, well. Some of our slang is pretty stupid. I suppose it was the least we deserve... Dammit.

Workin' for the weekend...

Another lovely weekend full of fun in the sun. Okay, not so much "fun" as "back-breaking, wasp-stinging work". But it was fun, nonetheless. Sort of. Kind of. Kinda sort of.

My friend Judah had decided to tear out the wooden deck in his back yard. It had been there when they bought the house a year ago, and probably should have come out then, as Judah fell through a rotten spot the day after they closed... Well, they'd finally set a weekend to have it done and asked all the friends to come over and help, payment for services rendered to be made in the acceptable currency of beer and pizza.

Hey, Marius, as a side note, we were just blocks from your apartment. I'd have called you for the extra set of hands, but knowing your wan complexion, and the fact that we were working outside, you'd have probably burst into flames. And I (still) don't have your correct phone number....

The work day should go quick, judging from the amount of people who were to show, but as Burns said, the best laid schemes of mice and men.... The cancellations started piling up, and those of us that showed knew we were in for a bit of work. We understood that others had issues pop up which they could not avoid, and hold no ill will, but we knew it was also going to mean a few more hours of work.

They day started out about 3 degrees cooler than the surface of the sun, and we were all soaked in sweat in no time. At least it was a good sweat, earned in the forges of hard work.... Okay, we were sweaty, stinky pigs, no matter how prettily you phrase it.

Of all the different plans for removal, the "chainsaw the puppy into manageable little bits" idea seemed to be the best. Iain brought his newly acquired toy and was anxious to use it, so we let him have at it. I discovered him to truly have brass...uh... fortitudes... when he sawed through a hornets nest under the decking, and kept working without so much as a flinch, as seemingly hundreds of wasps poured out of the cut and swarmed menacingly. I backed up hurriedly and still got stung, as Iain continued to cut away at the wood. The wasp cloud dissipated as Iain got to the end of the deck and shut off the chainsaw. "Wow, you're ballsy!" "What do you mean?" "You hit that wasps nest and just kept working." "What wasps nest?" Okay. Not courageous. Clueless. He didn't even see them swarm out. Why, then, was *I* the one to get stung??? Sheesh!

We'd gotten half the deck removed, and decided to wait for Jim to show up with the trailer before we continued. The other half of the deck was now under piled, rotten wood, which needed to be hauled to the dump, and out of the way. It was decided that a little yard maintenance was in order while we waited. Iain broke out the brand new weedeater, while Judah fired up the lawnmower. That was the plan, anyway. Burns in action, again. The lawnmower would not start, and the pull cord on the weedeater came out, but wouldn't go back in..... The girls were sent on a supply run, to pick up a new air filter for the mower, return the weedeater, and pick up some miscellaneous supplies.

Jim had shown up by this point, and we loaded the trailer to full, and he and I headed to the dump. For the first of four trips. Sort of... We drove all the way out to the dump, waited in line for 20 minutes, got up to the gate and were told that we needed a recent tax bill to be allowed to drop off. Trip number one a complete waste of time. We left, with trailer still full, and went to Jim's hosue to get his tax bill. We'd arrived back at the dump for trip two, amidst nearby lightning strikes, but no line, presented the tax bill, and were told to proceded to dock 6 to dump. Unloading is certainly easier than loading, but still took a while, and it was now only about 2 degrees cooler than the sun... Underneath the rotten decking, Jim had a small amount of yard debris that he'd cleared from his house, and the attendant, politely, yet somewhat incoherantly, informed us that we couldn't dump. He told us to take it over to the yard refuse area. No problem. Until we discovered that there was no way to get there from where we were..... We had to leave the dump completely, get back out on the road, drive two blocks down, and go in the front gate all over again, for trip number three... Okay, technically, this was tip number two, but we'd left and came back, so, to us, it was number three....

We arrived back at Judah's just in time to reload the trailer and head back to the dump. While we were gone, Judah and Iain had managed to remove most of the rest of the deck, as well as cut the grass with the now functioning lawnmower and new, new weedeater. We'd used Jim's tax bill already, and you are, apparently, only allowed to dump once a year (tough luck for renters, eh?), so had to use Judah's for the 2nd/4th trip. They couldn't find his tax bill, but did find the "proposed tax bill" and called the dump and they said that'd be okay, as long as the owner of the home was present, and had a valid Driver's License with matching address... We took Judah's better half with us, and headed out.

This trip was pretty uneventful, as we'd arrived, had no line to speak of, and moved right to the dock, without any fuss. While Jim and I are chucking wood (go ahead, say it, you know you want to), Amanda spots a mini-van next to us, throwing out perfectly good plywood. The man had purchased it for last years hurricanes, and had since installed rolling shutters. Both Amanda and Jim had projects that required plywood, so we decided to take them off his hands for the low, low price of free. Wait....wasn't the object to go to the dump to get rid of stuff? C'est la vie. We unloaded his van, reloaded the trailer and headed for Judah's.

By this time, I was a very stinky beyotch. We all were. But the work was done, and it was shower and beer time. Okay, not at the same time... You'll get your beer all watery! The beer was cold, and tasted devine. The pizza was cold, and tasted devine. The shower, after the 7 of us finally all got bathed (again, not at the same time), was cold and equally devine.

We settled in for an evening of libations, good company, and pre-season football. The Bucs lost, but the beer was still cold, so all was good. The original thought was that we'd head across the street to Busch Gardens after finishing the work, but it took longer than planned, and everyone was too tired, so we just hung out instead. The folks started dropping off, one by one, 'til I was the last one left awake. Well, being that I was sleeping on the couch, and had to wait for everyone to go to bed before I could, I had little choice in the matter. But that's okay, as I'm usually the last one up, anyway....

Since we were slugs the night before, we were going to get up the next morning and do something. The sunlight came only to discover we were still quite slug-like, so breakfast was about all we could manage. As long as Denny was cookin', that is. The service was horrible, the food okay, but the company grand.

A two hour road trip later, and I am safely back home. It was a fun weekend, with tasks successfully accomplished. A job well done. All right, I'm feeling motivated. I'm going back to bed.....

I'm too sexy for my blog....

Well, it is official. I am a stud.

http://www.nydailynews.com/news/gossip/story/337994p-288635c.html

That's right! Woman want....me! Get lost you little, thin waisted, chest-shaving, well-groomed, grooming product buying neo-men! You and your Aeropostal wearin' little cronies can go weep in a corner. The ladies likey. That's right! I am in! I'm hot, I'm hip, I'm happenin'. I'm the real thing, baby! I'm....

I'm living in a dream world. The ladies do not flock about. I do not have to beat them off with a stick, nor even a very small, flimsy twig. Okay, there was the psycho-hose-beast..., but she doesn't count, as she is utterly and completely insane. We're talking looney. Big time looney. But the normal, non-full-set-of-Samsonite-carrying honeys just aren't breaking my door down...

Where are all the ladies? Didn't they read this article? Don't they know I'm hot? I am! Playgirl says so! Really. Really? Aren't I? Dammit.

Cry Havoc....and let slip the movers of war...

Sigh. After getting home from work rather late last night (see previous blog entry), I figured that I would sleep in today. It would be peaceful. It would be restful. It would be serene. It would not be.

The movers showed up today with Tanis and Brekke's stuff, bright and early. If you will recall from yet another previous blog entry, Tanis and his family have come in like little whirlwinds and completely turned my life upside down. Mind you, this is a good thing. I was sitting stagnant as the world kept moving, and this was a nice little motivational push. Well, their stuff arrived this morning from the Army storage, and there are boxes everywhere. And I mean EVERYWHERE.

I love having them here in my home. It gives me someone to talk to. They keep me company. I've eaten better in the last two weeks than I have in the last year. They are great companions. But still... these little shocks are going to stroke me out! I feel like my cats probably do... "What is this stuff? It wasn't here yesterday! What's going on???" Deep breaths.... It will all get put away, and we can get on with movin' on.

Life is good. Well, it's getting there.

Crummy Day, Seemin' the...clouds will stay....

Sigh. What a lousy day. The bosses are in bad moods. The employees are slackin'... And here I am, stuck in the middle. Guess that's the job of the General Manager. Take the feces storm, and keep it rolling downhill.

Let's see....what's going on today? We had to fire an employee. That's never fun. No matter how much they may truly deserve it, it is most assuredly no fun.

We ran out of cold cups. It is summer, and the majority of our sales are cold drinks. Frozen coffee drinks, iced lattes, etc. The afternoon girl informed me that we were out, at 5:00. Right about the time when our vendor for these cups closes. Nice timing.... Had to serve cold drinks in the insulated hot cups. Man, I hate having to do stuff like that. Makes the shop look bad...

Had to kick a pervert out. Permanently. We've gotten a couple of reports that this guy was viewing porn on the coffee shop computers. These are public computers, in full view of the seating area. I've never caught him in the act, so to speak, but customers have, and complained. Two young girls spoke to a couple of police officers who are regulars, and they were interested in talking to him. I told them I would handle it next time I saw him. Michael was all hell-bent on doing it, so it was a matter of who saw him first. I think he knew something was up, as he hadn't been in in a couple of weeks. Then I'd heard he'd been in over the weekend, when neither Michael or I were there. I was in the office, trying to do some paperwork, when the girl at the counter hit the buzzer (indicating she needed some help - the next tale of woe, BTW...). I went out the the front and helped her, and in the process, noticed Porno-Man sitting at one of the computers. I finished up the orders I was making, and went over and asked to speak to him outside. Hey, at least I had the common courtesy not to do it in front of the store crowd. I informed him of the complaints, of the fact that it was a family atmosphere, and that viewing pornography in public was illegal. He never argued or denied his acts. When I mentioned the police, his eyes grew quite wide. I told him to leave my property, and never come back. Ever. He quietly got in his car and left. Thank goodness. It could have gone a whole lot worse. Then again, wasn't exactly a thrilling adventure for me. I thought I would enjoy it more. I didn't. Not fun.

I have a metric butt-ton of work to do, but have been unable, as I've been playing barista instead of GM. I've also been training new staff, and they can't exactly be left alone. Well, the girl on duty formerly worked at another shop, one of the "corporate biggies", and had been training for a week. I figured that it would be a good time to disappear into the office and get some work done. T'was not to be. Every two minutes or so, she would hit the button which rings a buzzer in the office, and I would have to come out and help her with an overwhelming crowd (it was never more than three people, and always in the same group), or answer a silly question which she should have already known the answer to. They say that there are no stupid questions.... Well, when you are supposedly already a trained barista, and have had a week to learn our way of doing things, and you have to ask how to make basic drinks.... There *are* stupid questions.... Needless to say, I didn't get much work done at all.

I then had to come out and help her clean up for closing. In the process, I found 8 dozen muffins fresh from the bakery, sitting in the refrigerator. They all had to be individually wrapped. It was already late, and she was slow as molasses rolling uphill in January, so I help her close, sent her out the door, and proceded to wrap the muffins myself. I then went in the office and counted down the registers, which I should have been doing while she was cleaning, instead of cleaning with her. I'm not terribly happy with her performance so far, but I suppose I need to give her another week. Hopefully, she is just not confident with the new job yet, and will improve. Otherwise, another one's going to have to get the sack, and two weeks of training will have been wasted.

A complete nutcase freaked out on a bunch of friends of mine. She's been trying to finagle her way into my circle of friends, and offered to cook an elaborate meal for us at our next gathering. She got a little bit testy when we declined to let her join our e-groups list, as most of the folk hardly know her. She then proceded to take comments made on the list, of which she is not a member, out of context. She went ape-shite, and posted some rather rude remarks about these friends, and generally got everyone pretty riled up. I emailed her personally and told her that her behavior was way out of line and she needed to knock it the f*% off. She emailed me back, apologized for the misunderstanding, and informed me that "all was forgiven". WTF?? We were not the ones needing to be forgiven... C'est la vie. At least the vile little psycho hose beast went away.

To top it all off, I chatted with my mother on the phone for a little bit. This, in itself, is not a bad thing. I love my mother. She's a great lady. One of my dearest friends, no less. The problem is that she has been having minor health issues. She had cataract surgery on both eyes. One of them was not done right, so she had to have it redone. It seems that she's going to have to go back for a third surgery. In addition, she has fluid in her inner ear that is not draining, and antibiotics have not cleared it up. She's going to have to have a shunt put in to drain it off. These are minor things, but they've got her frustrated and depressed. I really hate to see my mother depressed. She raised 5 kids on her own, and is a really strong individual, so it hits me a little hard to see her so down. And I'm stuck 300 miles away and can't go over and comfort her. I'm bummed, but have to stay positive for her sake.

So....that was my Monday. How was yours?

Bar Etiquette 101

Okay, so this really won't apply to most who read this rambling journal o' mine, but the other night was the proverbial dromedary snapping straw... I've joked for years that I was going to write a "bar-going manual", to teach the ins and outs of the public pub experience, from the professional, inside view. It is no longer a joke. Friday night was filled with morons with no apparent idea how to behave on a night out on the town.

Lesson One: The Bartender:

Most bartenders earn their wages through tips. They do receive an hourly wage, but this is less than minimum wage, and mostly goes to pay taxes. I receive a paycheck, every two weeks, of $2.00 - $4.00, after Unkie Sam gets his fair share. That is for two entire weeks worth of work. This won't even buy lunch, yet alone pay any bills. Bartenders depend on their tips as income. This is how they make a living. Tips are their only source of income. They are not Red Cross workers; they are not volunteers. They work for money, and that money comes in the form of tips. Get it? Can I get any clearer?

Don't want to have to pay a tip on top of your drink cost? Pick up a sixer at the Quickie-Mart and go drink at home. Tipping is part of the service, so factor in the cost before you go. Otherwise, don't go. I once had a customer who went two rounds without tipping. This is my cutoff zone. I served everyone else around him, including those standing directly behind him, while he was quite ignored. He asked me why I was ignoring him, and said that all bartenders tend to do that to him. He honestly didn't know why. I informed him, and he actually replied "Well, I can't afford to drink AND tip." Guess what? You can't afford to drink in a bar. That is the reality of it.

The "industry standard" is, theoretically, 10-15%. 15-20% is better. A dollar per drink is more realistic. Change is for the toll booth; save your quarters. Tip a quarter and don't be surprised to find it bouncing on the bar in front of you. ("Oooooh! Half-way to that newpaper I've been saving up for!") If a more complicated drink is ordered, tip accordingly. A draft beer, or whisky and cola are pretty easy. A hand squeezed margarita involves a bit more work. I can serve three customers in the time it takes to make one decent margarita, so that's three tips lost. Think about it.... (Yeah, I can make a crappy margarita in about 15 seconds, but that defeats the purpose of having a decent margarita, now doesn't it?)

Since I am in the "industry", I tend to tip ridiculously well. I usually give 20-25%, at a minimum. I also very seldom have to wait to get a drink.

Don't say "I'll catch you at the end of the night." We've heard this hundreds of times over, and 99.9% of the time it means we're going to get shafted. We are tired of it. Frankly, that is one of the easiest ways to piss off a bartender. Sometimes you forget. Sometimes you blow through all your money. Sometimes you have no intention of tipping at all, and only say it to make sure you get service. With me, you get two chances (I am, I am told, very nice to give them this much opportunity). Stiff me twice, and you go thirsty. I've got plenty of other customers who will tip, so why should I waste my time with you?

Don't cop the attitude that "everyone else is tipping, so they're making plenty of money". "Everyone else" is going to continue to get served. Do not suddenly become "European". Sure, they don't tip over there. They also have to shell out a hefty cover charge to get in, and pay a lot more per drink. The one who puts no bread in the jar is a waste of time more valuably spent serving those who are tipping. "You can't ignore a customer!" No? I can sure as hell serve every else first....

And please don't break out the "you've got to earn the tip" attitude. When a bartender is slammed, or, as we like to say, in the weeds, he is getting to everyone as soon as possible. He makes your drinks as fast as he can. Guess what? That's earning the tip. He's busy, so he doesn't have time to blow a little sunshine up your arse. If it is slow, and he is sitting on his thumbs, watching the boob-tube, then you've got an excuse. Otherwise? Get over it, and get real.

That guy or gal is behind that counter on a Friday or Saturday night, busting his/her tail to serve you and your friends. You are out having a good time on a weekend, while they are working. They are not doing this because they have no social life. They are there because they have to pay rent/mortgage, car payments, utilities, etc.

Bartenders have bad days too. A major part of their job is dealing with drunks. Think about it... inebriation is their business. The atmosphere tends to be loud, so people are constantly shouting at them, and not always nicely. They get a lot of people looking for bargains or breaks or freebies. It gets old, believe me. There are the "busy hours" wherein they are in constant motion, hustling from one end of the bar to the other, trying to make sure that everyone is served, as fast as possible. Throw a few non-tippers into the mix, and it'll really put a damper on your mood.

When a bar is busy, the bartender is busy. He will try to get to everyone as soon as possible. Do not shout; this will cause you to turn invisible. Do not whistle. They are not dogs. This will cause you to turn invisible. Shouting their name (only because you heard one of his regulars use it - you don't know them and they don't know you) will cause you to become invisible. NOT TIPPING WILL CAUSE YOU TO BECOME INVISIBLE. There are plenty of other customers, most of whom do tip. Guess who is going to get waited on first?

So, how do you get served at a busy bar? Being a regular helps. Being a regular who is known for tipping helps a lot more. (I have one regular who always orders one draft import, costing $4.50, and pays with a $10, and always says "keep the change". Guess who has a beer waiting when he walks in the door, no matter how crowded the bar is?) Tipping very well on your first round will help you be remembered. Otherwise, sit (stand) quietly, with payment in your hand (held calmly, not waved frantically) and try to make eye contact. Don't shout. Don't interrupt. Wait. Patient people get served faster, believe it or not.

Don't ask for discounts. You are in a bar, not the flea market. Don't ask for free drinks or shots. A lot of the time, the drink is not actually free, but is paid for on our tab (hence, "this one is on me"). We give the freebies to those who have demonstrated the ability to tip well. We give them at our leisure. Ask and/or beg, and you get nothing.

Don't give the bartender a hard time, for whatever reason. It is not his fault the drinks cost what they do - he only pours 'em, he doesn't set the price. It is not his fault you ran up a $100 tab. You should have kept better track. Ask what your drinks cost. Ask for the occassional total. Don't whine that someone else got served first - there's probably a reason. They may be a regular. They may have been waiting longer. They probably tip better that you. Whatever the reason, whining will only increase your wait time for the next drink.

You want to have a good time with your friends? You want fast, friendly, personal service? Become a "regular". Get to know the bartender. Find out his name (by asking him, not by overhearing someone else...) Talk to him. (But don't do it when the bar is busy... Come in a little earlier before the bar fills up.) Tip well, and often. And be polite and friendly. You'll get better service. You'll have a better time. And you may even get an occassional free drink.

Be a jerk, and you just may find yourself talking to the very large man at the door.....

Case o' the blahs

The problem with being known as a happy go lucky, funny individual is that you are not allowed to have an ordinary day. To be known as "upbeat" is to live a life of upbeatedness.

Therein the problem lies. For me, today is just a "blah" day. Nothing exciting, nothing noteworthy nor newsworthy. Nothing terribly wrong, nor devastating, nor even truly bad either. Just blah. But I can't walk around and be mellow and quiet, without being asked a million times what is wrong. Nothing is wrong, per se. Just blah.

This was the scene of me walking into work. (For the record, Darcy is a young lady that we have working for us at the shop. She is young, 18, with all the associated aspects therein, namely being exceptionally perky, but fairly cool, by my standards. She likes Boondock Saints, so she can't be all that bad...)

Darcy: Hey, buddy!
Me: Hey, Darcy.
D: What's wrong?
M: Nothing.
D: Something's wrong...
M: Nothing is wrong.
D: Something is. I'll find out, sooner or later...
M: Darcy, absolutely nothing is wrong. I'm just in a quiet mood.
D: Well, something is...

And that's the way the next 4 hours pretty much went. I kept getting the stare with the raised eyebrow, and the what's wrong inquiry every 15-20 minutes.

Why? Am I not allowed to have a quiet, introspective day? Every day is not all cake and ice cream. Some days are simply bologna sandwiches... I appreciate the concern, honestly, but for crying out loud, I am fine. These are not the droids you're looking for. Move along, move along.

Stay frosty, Phil, stay frosty...!

Quick story lead-up: Phone call at 6:45. That's in "am". Not too bad, for your normal Joe. I, however, am not named Joe and am not normal. My biorhythem, dude, cycles from about noon to 4am. It was the new roommate, Tanis, who we have employed at the coffee shop. He was due in the north shop at 7am, as backup to the opener. Only problem is, gee whiz, the opener never showed up. So I haul my lazy arse out of bed, get dressed and haul said arse down the road to the shop to get it open. Now, this is one of those rare occassions when I actually have a day off, even rarer that it is in the middle of the week, but haul I did. When I arrived, the opener had shown up, and things were running smoothly (as smooth as a shop that opens an hour late can run...). Well, I'm up, feeling grumpy and hungry, so I decided to continue the arse haulin' across the street to Mickie D's for a grease infused breakfast.

This particular location employs a gentleman I like to call "Phil, the Angry Dwarf". He is, indeed, a Phil (well, okay "Phillip", but it angers him to be called "Phil", so I ensure that I always shorten his moniker... Well, not to his face, as he's usually agry enough), indeed, a dwarf, and is, indeed angry. I've never gotten a smile, or even so much as a "thank you" from him. Service with a scowl, that's his motto. I can't really blame him, too much. If I was 3' tall in a world built for those 5' and above, I'd be a little angry too. P.A.D. was in his usual foul humor and wouldn't even serve me, as he was far too busy wiping down the front counter. I had to wait until another rocket scientist decided to take my order for a McGrease sandwich.

I am, I freely admit, one of those mannerless souls who likes to read at the table while dining, especially when eating out, alone. Hence, I tend to linger over my meals. The newspaper was particular interesting today, so I lingered long enough to finish my soda (can't stomache the swill they call coffee) and wished a refill. Again, Furious Phil was the only grease slinger on duty at the counter, but couldn't be bothered to refill my cup as he was "about to get off". While I was waiting for another future millionaire to stoop to pushing a button for me, a lovely young lady walked in. Phil immediately jumped to attention, and was grinning from ear to ear as he took her order. Quite polite and genial. Suddenly, he's the male, dwarven version of Emily Post.... Well, I'm pretty sure Em doesn't drool....

What the hell, Phil?? I'm always nice when I order. In fact, I'm usually extra nice, in the effort to alleviate what must be an average hellish day for you. And yet, since I'm not young, nor pretty, nor female, I don't deserve a kind word? I know it isn't me; I've seen you treat every other customer in the same gruff, angry dwarf manner, for years. All or nothin', Phil! Give 'em all hell, or throw a smile around a little more often. If you're going to play the role of the angry dwarf, then play the part! Or be a decent human being, and try being a little cordial now and then. Don't be so selective, you pocket-sized pervert! You diminuitive dipstick! Ugh! I now fully understand dwarf tossing.....

That's it! I'm hauling my arse back to bed. And dreaming of tall women.....

Houdini update

I forgot to mention... Grey Kitty turned up later Saturday afternoon. Sure enough, he was hungry - you don't get to be 32 lbs of furball without a good appetite. In all fairness to his butterball shaped body, and while he IS large, he is also Maine Coone, which explains why he is so large. Well, partially explains....

He was also covered in mud and cobwebs... The subsequent bath he received should be convincing enough to keep him indoors for a while.....

Oliver, the emergency backup cat, has been remarkably well-behaved. Must be a full moon....

I'll give you a little inside info on Grey Kitty, and why he doesn't have a name... Well, he was only 6 months old when we rescued him, and already large. We were looking for a tiny kitten, but fell in love with his head-butting, tilted head, cross-eyed little self. He holds his head at a permanent 20 degree tilt, in that animal "questioning" way, so it looks like he is constantly confused, and believe me, he is. He is not the sharpest crayon in the box, but he's lovable. Whenever he tries to straighten his head, his eyes cross. It's actually pretty funny to watch, but hurts his poor little kitty dignity when he is laughed at.

When he wants attention, he will do the kitty head-butt thing. Only weighing in at over 30 lbs, he packs quite a punch. He has given me more than one headache.... He also has a bad habit of walking on the back of the couch and plopping down on your neck. "Falling", I believe, is the accurate term. Again, he's large, so this is not a comfortable occassion. I swear, that cat has given me whiplash...

He also has no volume control. His knob is cranked to 11 and broken off... He talks to you constantly, but most regularly at 6am when his food dish is empty. And he is loud. Very loud. He, for the life of him, is trying to tell you something, and doesn't seemed amused when I ask, "What is it? Timmy fell down the well, again?"

He outweighs Oliver by a good 15 lbs, and is always instigating fights, but always loses them. He is a bully, but a big baby bully...

He is also a scaredy cat. Everything frightens him. It is hilarious to watch that bulk leap a foot into the air at any loud noise, but of course, his feelings get hurt when you laugh, and he sulks away... Until the next time Timmy falls down a well....

He doesn't really have a name. Until we could pick one out, one that suited him (Oliver begs for human food....), we called him Grey Kitty, as he was grey...., well, you get the idea. No name ever stuck. My ex's son wanted to call him "Spunky", but that sure as heck didn't fit. He was (and is) anything but spunky. I wanted to call him "Matt", as in "door...", as he's always underfoot, but that didn't go over too well, either. "Lardass" was right out... Nothing just seemed to fit. 5 years later, he remains Grey Kitty.

He is fat, large, dumb as dirt, loud, annoying, and probably the most loving cat you've ever seen. I'm glad he came home.

Happy Birthday, Old Man....

Okay, David was turning the big 4-oh. Dave and I have been friends for a very, very, very long time (and yes, I AM older than he is, but he looks older :)....) Plans were afoot to surprise him with the old gang getting together. Sounds easy, right? Hmmmmf.

We were all to meet at David's house at 2pm on Saturday, while Keith lured David away on a fishing trip, or some such nonsense. David loves fishing, and will go out on his boat at the drop of a hat. Problems is.... Keith isn't really much of a fisherman. I wonder if he has ever been at all? Keith has a metabolism that supermodels will kill for. He weighs in at 112 lbs. Not much of an outdoorsmans at all. Not the best choice of "get him out of the house" plans, but whatever works....

Well, I knew that it was going to be rough going just getting there. David lives in Punta Gorda. I live in Gainesville. That's a pretty good drive, but hey, I guess he's probably worth it. In case you're tuning in, Dave, that's a joke - I wouldn't be anywhere else. You're definitely worth it.

My major hesitation on making the trip stems from the fact that I would just be coming off a hellacious working spree. I worked Thursday night, 'til 3am, went home for a nap and was back at work at 7am. I worked all day, ran home to refresh myself, and headed off to work at the bar, where I would work until around 4am-ish. Then I had to get up at 9am and drive 4 hours...

Things looked even bleaker when I remembered that it was Lance's last night at the bar. Bartenders have a ready access to lots of booze. This is dangerous in the hands of a bartender with reason to celebrate. I knew that Lance would want to throw back a bunch of shots and down a few beers after we closed, and would not let me leave until the crack of dawn... Luckily for me, he started quite early in the evening and was actually kicked out of the bar for being too drunk and rowdy. It's lucky, in that I did not have to endure the farewell celebrations into the wee hours, but not so lucky, as we were now down a bartender, on one of the busiest nights in a long time. I sent my barback to the main bar and made my poor friend Tanis jump behind the bar with me. While he is not really trained, he could at least pull pitchers of beer for me. Bless his wee little heart, he hung in there like a trooper.

As I came home from the bar, the kitchen door was sitting wide open. The last one out did not pull the door all the way shut, and the little escape artist, Oliver, is really good at pushing doors open. Oddly enough, Oliver was sitting in the kitchen, and Grey Kitty, the staid one, the one who never tries to get out, as he knows where the food is, was missing. It was too dark to do anything about it, then. Ever try to find a dark grey cat in the middle of the night?

I managed to get up at 8am, got a shower and headed out and about the neighborhood to see if I could track down the little miscreant. No luck. I was already late, so it was time to hit the road, and hope Tanis and Krista could find him later. I was fairly certain his fat butt would get hungry and come wandering home soon.

I headed out for Tampa, where I was to meet up with Rick, and we would caravan down to Dave's together. Rick was supposed to send me directions to his apartment, but he was apparently operating in "dipstick mode" and forgot. That's okay, I knew his address, so I figured I could find it. Two hours later I arrived in Tampa, and promptly found his complex. I also promptly found that it was a gated community, and I didn't have a code. I didn't know his apartment number. I looked him up in the eletronic resident directory at the gate, but he wasn't listed. I'd tried calling his number, but kept getting a fax machine. I called friends who might have his number, to no avail. I got in touch with Jeff & Glea, on their way to the party, but they didn't have his number either, but had Robin's (David's wife) cell phone number so they would call her, and she could call Rick... 15 minutes later, Rick show's up at the gate and lets me in. Turns out that I had his old number still programmed in my phone. That was one hour wasted....

He loaded up his family into his car, I jumped into the truck, and we were off. Like a herd of turtles... Had to stop for gas, dontcha know... Then it was off onto the highway south to Punta Gorda. With a brief, one hour stop on the highway for rubbernecking a wreck. An SUV had lost control, flipped several times, and landed in the Northbound lane. You'd think this wouldn't much affect the southbound folks, but nooooooooo. Everyone had to stop and look, which backed up traffic for miles.

Well, we finally got through the mess and back on the road, and arrived close to 3, an hour late. Luckily Keith and David hadn't got home yet, but we only had 5 minutes to decorate the house (we brought the decorations with us). It turns out that they hadn't gone fishing, but went to a movie instead, and were due home any minute. We'd gotten the streamers up and filled the last balloon, just as they walked in the door. David caught on that something was up, and knew when he saw all the cars, but was genuinely surprised to see all of us.

I could go into detail about the day, but it is inconsequential. We did typical birthday party stuff. It was fun, it was funny, it was relaxing and nice. The important thing was the company. It was get-together time for old friends who don't really get together enough any more. We laughed, told old stories, kicked each others collective tails in 9ball, and waxed politic. Man, I love these people. They were very important to me in my "formulative years", and are just as important now. Good times.

One point that I must mention though, is the absolutely beautiful house they live in. Huge, gorgeous, and made for entertaining. David has done well for himself, and I am very glad.

I could be envious of what he has, and what he has achieved, but I'm not. I'm glad to see my old friend doing so well. And besides, it's friends like that what drag you up to NYC and treat you to Spamalot, wot, wot?

Oh, yeah, another point: check your vehicle after visiting David & Robin's house... They constantly have a menagerie of animals running about, and they are always looking for good homes for them, so check your trunk, glove box, back seat before leaving..... Did I mention that Robin is a Vet? And rehabilitates critters? Check your car...

I had to work Sunday, so was going to leave late Saturday eve, but I was just having too much fun hanging out with my oldest and dearest, and my poor old body was just too tired to drive 4 hours home. I crashed in the guest house, got up early and hit the road. The only thing I have to say about the drive back, is that the State Troopers must not have made their quota last month, as they were out in force.....

The moral of this story? There is no moral. Get over it. Okay, okay. How about "Old friends are the best kind of friends"? No? "Friendship never goes out of style"? Hell, make up your own. I leave those moral things to Aesop....

Happy birthday, David. Luv ya, man.

More musing on lost youth...

Been thinking about my earlier post. It was really just a momentary thought, that I put down just to have put something down... But it got me thinking...

What happens to us between childhood and adulthood to make us so bitter and negative? At what age do we magically transform from "I'm great! I'm going to the circus tomorrow!" to "I'm okay"? What happens?

I once read an article (think it was in Newsweek) about a man who went to a bunch of elementary schools and asked the kids, "who can dance?" Just about every hand went up. "Who can sing?" Just about every hand. He then went to several college campuses and asked the same questions, and only one or two hands went up in each case. What the hell happened? Where did all these little performers go? At what point did their "can do" spirit get stabbed by the long, sharp knife of reality? I seriously don't know. I guess it has something to do with the society we live in, and the "you can't do that" attitude that prevails. To heck with them. Go outside and sing. At the top of your lungs. And be proud of it. Just don't sing too loudly in your cell, when they haul you away for disturbing the peace.....

Another big difference between youth and adulthood: Injuries. The other day a friend noticed a fairly deep scratch on my arm, which was bleeding, slightly, and he asked me how I did that. Truth be told, I had no idea. I didn't even notice. As a child, I would have, most likely, been screaming bloody murder at the same wound. I look at all the minor scars that abound my body and wonder where they all came from. So, the lost youth question on this one is this: At what point do we build up such a great tolerance for pain that we don't even notice wounds any more? And, more importantly, is this such a good thing?

Just a couple of things to ponder.

Rhetorical caring....

A young lady acquaintance of mine (get your minds out of the gutter, I've known her since she was 5, and she calls me "Dad") asked me how my day was going, and I replied. It's okay. She then muttered that that was all I ever said. Well, yeah! Of course that's all I ever say... It's a rhetorical question, one in which no one really cares about an accurate answer. Then I realized that Ever actually did care. See, she is still young, and hasn't quite lost that wordly innocense. It is kind of refreshing, really. Maybe if we all cared a little more, this world would be a much better place! Imagine! Ask someone how they're doing, and honestly expect a reply, something beyond a non-committal grunt.... Naaaaaah. I'm okay.

Just a little rant.....

I was at the grocery store earlier today, picking up a quick meal for work. I don't really have the time to go have a nice lunch somewhere, or even a not-so-nice lunch, so I was grabbing something I could make back at the shop, with little to no fuss. Wasn't feeling too particular, so I just got a bowl of Cup-O-Noodles. Throw in some hot water and you're done!

The couple in front of me couldn't have been older than 18, and had a small child. I didn't go to the Express Lane, as there were 18.4 gazillion people there, and only this couple in the regular lane. Granted, they had a metric ton of groceries, but I still figured it would be quicker. Their bill came out to $300 and some change, which they promply paid for with food stamps. I was a little taken aback, as they'd got a bunch of nice stuff, and I'm standing there with a Cup-o-freakin'-Noodles. Now, I could afford something nicer, if I'd wanted, but it still gave me a momentary jar....

They paid and left the store. I rang up my items, paid and headed out to the truck. Parked right in front of me was this self-same couple. They were loading their haul into a tricked out Toyota, with so much bling P-Diddy was probably sittin' in the trunk.... Fancy, funky paintjob, spinners on the rims, the whole 9 yards.... That's when the anger really set in.....

This....couple.... These....KIDS! Freakin' children with children!!! They're buyin' steaks and such on food stamps, eating better than I have in months, payin' on Unka Sam's tab, and they can afford this car??? WTF??? Where is the justice in that?? Heavy sigh. C'est la vie. So much for welfare reform.....

As a side note - I can afford to buy some good groceries. I make a "quaint" little paycheck that gets me by, and then some. The fact is, though, that I am a confirmed bachelor who works entirely too much, and really doesn't have time to cook. I can cook if I wanted to. I'm a great cook. I just seldom do. I'm rarely home, and don't like cooking for just myself. The only thing in my fridge right now is a couple of bottles of beer, some hot sauce, and a 2-litre of soda. And I'm not kidding. That's all there is. But that's all I've bothered to put in there. I eat on the run, a lot, and don't really have much time for anything else. My own fault. Not societies. I can afford groceries. So there.

Oh, and by the way? The cup of noodles sucked.

Small World....

I work as the General Manager of a small chain of coffee shops. I work with friends, and love it.

I was manning one store last night, when a customer pulled up to the drive thru speaker. Her voice sounded oddly familiar, but I couldn't place it. She'd placed her order and pulled up to the window. I glanced out and thought that she looked very familiar as well, but still couldn't place her. I handed her the drinks, and she handed me a credit card to pay - that's when it all came together (well, of course you'd know, once you had her name, you nitwit!). I'd gone to high school with the lady. Hadn't seen her in 23 years. How weird is that?

Okay, it's not "movie of the week" material, but I thought it odd to run into someone you hadn't seen in over 20 years, at a coffee shop 300 miles away.....