I can fall asleep pretty much anywhere, awkward places or not, many is the time I have found myself waking from slumber wish a puzzled look on my face. Dentist chairs while being worked on. Driving the highways. At the movies, ha...I like paying $12 for the privilege of taking a nap. In the front row of a bar with a band playing in front of me....the bouncer was going to do his bouncy thing until I awoke and told him I wasn't drunk. Which segues nicely into places that I have awoken in that I wasn't entirely sure how I got there. You know what I am talking about...are you sitting comfortably? Good.
Giant wooden prep tables are not entirely comfortable, actually I would go so far as to say they aren't meant for sleeping on at all. Save them for chopping flour. Well, while I have seen people asleep on said table and have thought about it a few times when slightly hung over I haven't fallen victim to it's natural tones. I did however wake up one morning on top of a TV. That table would have been better. So you see, Slutty Gary threw a bachelor party for a co-worker, which I won't detail here, that a number of us were invited to. Quite the soiree we had, full of mirth and a bit of alcohol. The story becomes a lot shorter without the gory details but I will fast forward to the end of the night. Slutty Gary is driving me home, and I'm up front for the record. We all had to work the next morning at the Golden Griddle, save for the groom and that meant Slutty Gary was going to pick me up in the morning to ensure I got to work. Now, normally, I'm fine after a night of you know...I have never missed a shift because of the drink. So when I left Gary's van and walked into a wall, I mean my house I was sure that there wouldn't be an issue for work in a few hours. Turns out I never made it to my bedroom, hell I never made it on the ground floor. Where I ended up was on this huge TV console that my parents used to have. Stereo on one side, radio on the other and TV in the middle...and me on top without my pants. I'm assuming one of my parents came down at some point to see why I hadn't made it upstairs to my room and simply left me there to rot, I mean rest. I'm assuming it was around 6:00 when I heard banging on the side door that somehow woke me up. I trudged over to the door to see Slutty Gary looking like shit but wide awake and angry because I wasn't ready....five minutes buddy. Ugh. What a mess of a day, five of the seven people working in the kitchen that morning were in no condition to work. Obviously we lived even though I am sure I wished death would visit me.
All these stories probably happened with a few years of each other, my rebellious years as a teenager of course. I'm not sure if this was before TV bed or after but the general gist was the same. Our little gang of misfits had just dropped off the girls at the airport as they went down south for a girls vacay away. What that meant for us, well for those that were dating those girls, it was a license to drink their faces off. The rest of us single guys didn't have any restrictions upon us...hell, the legal age for drinking never factored in with us. I have vague recollections of the night, there might have been a walk through the MacDonald's drive thru, a vibrant discussion with a bunch of half wits from another high school, bad food at a sub shop...oh, and quite a bit of liquid gold. At some point we ended up at a friends house that we really shouldn't have been at. His parents were ultra strict and ultra conservative Hindu. They may have been away which goes to explaining why we were there but it didn't explain why when I woke up from the floor there were pop tarts sticking to my shirt..WTF? Wait, where is everyone? Did you see the movie the Hangover with that opening scene...that was how I felt. We didn't have a tiger but there were a lot of unexplained things in that basement rec room. Where did those hub caps come from? And is that a cover from a city electrical junction box? I found people sleeping/passed out in bath tubs, behind couches, under stairs and inside closets. Not one of us was on a couch. Every where but the couch. And we were missing one guy. Maybe two. Still don't know what happened to them but since I didn't attend any funerals I assumed they lived. Good times!!!
My first trip to Quebec City on one of those ski trips that nobody actually skis on would be where I really came into my own as a prodigious proponent of party life. There were no rules, not for those five days at least. Seemingly god was watching out for me as I am still unsure on why I didn't die, but that's for another day. In between runs to the liquor store, lame attempts to pick up women in bars and the general mayhem that we were causing I usually found my way back to my bed at the end of it all. One night though, not so much. I do remember sitting in an upstairs lobby kind of area of the Auberge du Gouveneur, chatting amicably with a plant that I had my eye on when a gaggle of slightly younger school mates walked on by. For whatever reason they invited me back to their room. Next thing I know I'm waking up in a queen bed with seven other people in it. Fully clothed like the rest of them I wasn't sure how or why this had come to pass but I knew I needed to get out, something was nagging at me..I wasn't safe here. I found my way back to my room and a barrel full of trouble. Danny, I really should have locked him up in that closet, was freaking out because they couldn't find me. Seems I had been missing for a few hours and supposedly the hotel management was possibly looking for me as well. In hind sight I can see why they kicked us out...just saying. Chill man, it's all good. No, I'm not telling you where I was because you're being a pain in the ass and if you say one more word I'm throwing you thru that plate glass window. Buzz kill!!!! Now shut up and pass me a beer.
Seriously, how are we still alive?
Ciao
D
Saturday, 6 August 2016
Friday, 5 August 2016
Faithless
Prophecies, signs, fate, destiny...shit happens? Can any of us really know? If you say you do, then I would argue you are not using fact to stake your claim, rather faith in things unseen and unproven. A whole heart belief that Karma is a bitch or you were meant to be standing where you are standing right now. That's OK of course, I'm not claiming to know anything better but let's be honest with each other for a minute if we can. I seem to recall that I promised I was going to be honest so let everyone do their part.
What do you believe? Are we here with purpose and plan, mapped out by some omnipotent spirit to an unknown end? Our lives a prelude to ever lasting life in the beyond or doomed to hell without an electric fan if we haven't done what ever version of scripture we are supposed to be following? Or, this is it, you're born, you live and you die. Nothing more. Potential fuel for the earth is what we have to look forward to, if you're really good or rich you can have a building named after you.
I don't know if you can avoid getting religion mixed up with this kind of question but for the sake of argument let's not close any doors or for that matter, minds. I am not a fan of organised religion. Everyone should know that about me from the get go. I do however believe in a god. My atheist friends will be raising an eyebrow now, but before you get yourself all twisted up know that I am pissing off some of my religious friends as well, so before attacking me with either pitchforks or the periodic table can I say everyone just chill out for a minute. Yes, I sit squarely in the middle of the great debate. I'm comfortable with that. and as long as you aren't trying to convert me we can get along.
I was making a comment on something once and my youngest said, but you don't believe in god. No, I never said that...I don't believe in religion and those are two different things. Seeing an opening I chose to voice my side of the story as I see it. Believing in a deity is about understanding that perhaps we do have a destiny. Not just an end game where we get to drink from the cool kids fountain but a general kind of thing as well. I was meant to be a father, how I got there and with who was free choice. I'm good at helping and serving people, my free will with some outside influence pushed me into what I do but my personal helping spirit is by free will. I choose to be a good guy instead of that ass-hole guy. While I was raised a Catholic my humanity is not defined solely by that fact, I'd be a good guy regardless of what religion I was forced into.
Religion is mans attempt to understand and explain the unexplained, which in the end turns to control and power. If absolute power corrupts absolutely then divine power derived from the gods is the ultimate power play in my book. That to me is what is most insidious about organised religion, yes they can do very good and important work but that work is over shadowed by corruption and malice that is no different then regular society but made worse by standing behind the shroud of holy writ.
I prefer to believe in people and myself. The simple fact that we have people trying to kill each other in the name of religion should be enough to dissuade people from joining any particular cult. Sadly, this is not the case and I'd be willing to bet all the money in my pockets that god is shaking his/her head at what is being done in his/her name...what the hell did I do? That wasn't what I wanted....hmmmmmm, maybe not so omnipotent after all.
Let me end thus.....
I don't have faith in faith
I don't believe in belief
You can call me faithless
I still cling to hope
And I believe in love
And that's faith enough for me
What do you believe? Are we here with purpose and plan, mapped out by some omnipotent spirit to an unknown end? Our lives a prelude to ever lasting life in the beyond or doomed to hell without an electric fan if we haven't done what ever version of scripture we are supposed to be following? Or, this is it, you're born, you live and you die. Nothing more. Potential fuel for the earth is what we have to look forward to, if you're really good or rich you can have a building named after you.
I don't know if you can avoid getting religion mixed up with this kind of question but for the sake of argument let's not close any doors or for that matter, minds. I am not a fan of organised religion. Everyone should know that about me from the get go. I do however believe in a god. My atheist friends will be raising an eyebrow now, but before you get yourself all twisted up know that I am pissing off some of my religious friends as well, so before attacking me with either pitchforks or the periodic table can I say everyone just chill out for a minute. Yes, I sit squarely in the middle of the great debate. I'm comfortable with that. and as long as you aren't trying to convert me we can get along.
I was making a comment on something once and my youngest said, but you don't believe in god. No, I never said that...I don't believe in religion and those are two different things. Seeing an opening I chose to voice my side of the story as I see it. Believing in a deity is about understanding that perhaps we do have a destiny. Not just an end game where we get to drink from the cool kids fountain but a general kind of thing as well. I was meant to be a father, how I got there and with who was free choice. I'm good at helping and serving people, my free will with some outside influence pushed me into what I do but my personal helping spirit is by free will. I choose to be a good guy instead of that ass-hole guy. While I was raised a Catholic my humanity is not defined solely by that fact, I'd be a good guy regardless of what religion I was forced into.
Religion is mans attempt to understand and explain the unexplained, which in the end turns to control and power. If absolute power corrupts absolutely then divine power derived from the gods is the ultimate power play in my book. That to me is what is most insidious about organised religion, yes they can do very good and important work but that work is over shadowed by corruption and malice that is no different then regular society but made worse by standing behind the shroud of holy writ.
I prefer to believe in people and myself. The simple fact that we have people trying to kill each other in the name of religion should be enough to dissuade people from joining any particular cult. Sadly, this is not the case and I'd be willing to bet all the money in my pockets that god is shaking his/her head at what is being done in his/her name...what the hell did I do? That wasn't what I wanted....hmmmmmm, maybe not so omnipotent after all.
Let me end thus.....
I don't have faith in faith
I don't believe in belief
You can call me faithless
I still cling to hope
And I believe in love
And that's faith enough for me
From my friends in Rush
Enough said
Ciao
D
They said what??
This post could be just as easily been titled tales from beyond the pass going the other way....meaning the things that happen on the other side of the swinging door. Out in the dining room, with the seemingly normal people, the people that most cooks spend a lifetime avoiding. I've said it before, we really don't care for you. Showing up five minutes before closing, menu substitutions and vegan based requests just leave us with a disdain for you in general. I have a lot of respect for what a good server can accomplish and for sure they can work hard and having been one I can appreciate both sides of the line, but I prefer my world with the loud music, borderline criminal behaviour and a level of discourse that would make a new sailor blush.
Over the years I have heard some crazy stories around what happens out there, indeed I have a few of my own. Wanna hear them? No? Too bad, you're going to.
On my very first shift at my very first table as a server, at the ripe young age of 18, I thought I was going to have a death on my hands. Not caused by me, well...peripherally I suppose I could be blamed, but a death all the same. I had pestered my boss at the Golden Griddle to let me train a bit as a server. I would keep my cooks job but I wanted to pick up some extra cash waiting on tables. I figured if I can pull in $120 in tips bussing those tables, surely I could do well serving them. Thirty years ago I was not nearly as confident and wise, ahem, as I am now. I was pretty fucking green in the world and when combined with my gullibility, I was easy pickings fro a seasoned veteran like Slutty Gary. You see, Slutty Gary worked full time as some sort of paint chemist and he slummed with us on weekends as a cook and on Thursday nights as a server. The cash tips he earned were hidden from his wife for his extra curricular activities as a slut. He actually had a shagging van, tripped out with a bed, shag carpet walls and a sound system. I had no interest in seeing the back up close, hell I never even wanted a ride up front...save for once, funny story by the way. But I digress, Gary was to train me in the finer points of serving. I knew where everything was already and I knew the menu inside and out, I just needed direction on service culture and taking money from people.
There I am on a Thursday night, shined up shoes and a tie around my neck, ready to rake in the cash. We were doing some of the chores that the restaurant world is famous for when things are slow, wiping down chair legs and cleaning windows. Time to lean, time to clean you bastards. Yeah, wait while I count my $3.45 I just made for being here an hour then I'll wash your windows ass-hole. In walks an elderly couple that didn't bother with getting seated and took their place at a huge round table for six people, even though they occupied less space than my cat does now. Don't diss my cat!!! I follow Slutty Gary to the back and he says look, best way to learn this is to jump right in. Introduce yourself and go from there. Okee dokee says I.
Pen, order pad and a smile on my face at the ready as I stroll into the dining room to take my very first order. I didn't have the time to form the question on my lips when I heard from the elderly gentleman words that still haunt me "my wife is dying, she needs some soup" Uhm....blank look, twelve things going through my head right now and none of them are good. Uhm...."I'm sorry, can I..." is all I managed to get out before hearing again, "my wife is dying, she needs some soup" WTF!!!! Be right back with the soup. I don't care what kind we have you're getting a bowl of soup and not dying on my shift...live damn it live!!! I ran out some cream of something, placed it in front of her, relieved that she was still alive, and stood there. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to watch her eat or not but I was rattled. "Crackers please" comes the gravely voice of husband dearest. Right, be right back. The whole service went like that, I think I was at the table 25 times in an hour. The reward for my effort, twenty five cents. Hmmm, laser surgery is looking good. Of course Slutty Gary was laughing his slut ass off...these were regulars that he pawned off on me. Haha mother clucker. I had one table that night, ran my ass off and learned a valuable lesson...don't trust Slutty Gary.
Fast forward to 1994, actually not that much time has passed. In six years I had become a chef, got married and was living in Lunenburg getting ready to open an Inn. I was working as a chef at a small restaurant in Mahone Bay on a quiet October night. If you live in any of these small towns you know what I mean by quiet. We had one table in all night. They had both ordered my special that evening, a lovely bouillabaisse that I was quite proud of. My ex wife and my mom were downstairs having a drink waiting for me to finish so I could get a drive home. Before sitting down with them I strolled over to the youngish attractive couple to ask how their meal was. So....you've read enough of my posts to know how I am by now, not quite right in the head for normal society and not so much with the filters, luckily I was still young and in some kind of control of my mouth. Young lady looks up at me and says "that is the best thing I have ever put in my mouth"......long pause for thought. Please understand how insanely hard it was for me not to look at her husband with a raised eye brow, or worse a smug smirk while looking down at him. Don't ever say something like that to a cook, are you nuts? That's like crack for a guy like me. I held it together though, kept my cool and didn't let them see me tremble while fighting back the urge to say, well anything. Why thank you, I'm glad you're enjoying your meal...thank you for visiting us.
You would think I would know not to relate the story to my ex-wife but I did...haha, she wasn't impressed. Oh come on...it was funny. So you see my loyal reader(s) the majority of the time I am handed material as if from heaven and I am simply reacting to outside stimuli, it's not my fault, I swear.
Go forth and smile
D
Over the years I have heard some crazy stories around what happens out there, indeed I have a few of my own. Wanna hear them? No? Too bad, you're going to.
On my very first shift at my very first table as a server, at the ripe young age of 18, I thought I was going to have a death on my hands. Not caused by me, well...peripherally I suppose I could be blamed, but a death all the same. I had pestered my boss at the Golden Griddle to let me train a bit as a server. I would keep my cooks job but I wanted to pick up some extra cash waiting on tables. I figured if I can pull in $120 in tips bussing those tables, surely I could do well serving them. Thirty years ago I was not nearly as confident and wise, ahem, as I am now. I was pretty fucking green in the world and when combined with my gullibility, I was easy pickings fro a seasoned veteran like Slutty Gary. You see, Slutty Gary worked full time as some sort of paint chemist and he slummed with us on weekends as a cook and on Thursday nights as a server. The cash tips he earned were hidden from his wife for his extra curricular activities as a slut. He actually had a shagging van, tripped out with a bed, shag carpet walls and a sound system. I had no interest in seeing the back up close, hell I never even wanted a ride up front...save for once, funny story by the way. But I digress, Gary was to train me in the finer points of serving. I knew where everything was already and I knew the menu inside and out, I just needed direction on service culture and taking money from people.
There I am on a Thursday night, shined up shoes and a tie around my neck, ready to rake in the cash. We were doing some of the chores that the restaurant world is famous for when things are slow, wiping down chair legs and cleaning windows. Time to lean, time to clean you bastards. Yeah, wait while I count my $3.45 I just made for being here an hour then I'll wash your windows ass-hole. In walks an elderly couple that didn't bother with getting seated and took their place at a huge round table for six people, even though they occupied less space than my cat does now. Don't diss my cat!!! I follow Slutty Gary to the back and he says look, best way to learn this is to jump right in. Introduce yourself and go from there. Okee dokee says I.
Pen, order pad and a smile on my face at the ready as I stroll into the dining room to take my very first order. I didn't have the time to form the question on my lips when I heard from the elderly gentleman words that still haunt me "my wife is dying, she needs some soup" Uhm....blank look, twelve things going through my head right now and none of them are good. Uhm...."I'm sorry, can I..." is all I managed to get out before hearing again, "my wife is dying, she needs some soup" WTF!!!! Be right back with the soup. I don't care what kind we have you're getting a bowl of soup and not dying on my shift...live damn it live!!! I ran out some cream of something, placed it in front of her, relieved that she was still alive, and stood there. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to watch her eat or not but I was rattled. "Crackers please" comes the gravely voice of husband dearest. Right, be right back. The whole service went like that, I think I was at the table 25 times in an hour. The reward for my effort, twenty five cents. Hmmm, laser surgery is looking good. Of course Slutty Gary was laughing his slut ass off...these were regulars that he pawned off on me. Haha mother clucker. I had one table that night, ran my ass off and learned a valuable lesson...don't trust Slutty Gary.
Fast forward to 1994, actually not that much time has passed. In six years I had become a chef, got married and was living in Lunenburg getting ready to open an Inn. I was working as a chef at a small restaurant in Mahone Bay on a quiet October night. If you live in any of these small towns you know what I mean by quiet. We had one table in all night. They had both ordered my special that evening, a lovely bouillabaisse that I was quite proud of. My ex wife and my mom were downstairs having a drink waiting for me to finish so I could get a drive home. Before sitting down with them I strolled over to the youngish attractive couple to ask how their meal was. So....you've read enough of my posts to know how I am by now, not quite right in the head for normal society and not so much with the filters, luckily I was still young and in some kind of control of my mouth. Young lady looks up at me and says "that is the best thing I have ever put in my mouth"......long pause for thought. Please understand how insanely hard it was for me not to look at her husband with a raised eye brow, or worse a smug smirk while looking down at him. Don't ever say something like that to a cook, are you nuts? That's like crack for a guy like me. I held it together though, kept my cool and didn't let them see me tremble while fighting back the urge to say, well anything. Why thank you, I'm glad you're enjoying your meal...thank you for visiting us.
You would think I would know not to relate the story to my ex-wife but I did...haha, she wasn't impressed. Oh come on...it was funny. So you see my loyal reader(s) the majority of the time I am handed material as if from heaven and I am simply reacting to outside stimuli, it's not my fault, I swear.
Go forth and smile
D
Thursday, 4 August 2016
Break Everything
Back in the day, before labour laws were changed so you really couldn't hire anyone who was 13 years old, I had my first real job. I'm not counting the two weeks of paper delivery because that was kind of stupid, I'm not sure if I even got paid for it. The summer before starting grade nine, as I recall, I had answered a temp ad in the paper for general labour work. I didn't know what that meant but I didn't really care, $1.85 an hour baby!!
As instructed I made the long trek down to Spadina Avenue in the garment district. Six young boys standing around inside a sock factory, yes I said sock factory, waiting for instructions from some coverall wearing boss. I remember being very nervous, I wanted to do well but I didn't know what I was going to be doing so how was I going to do well? My dad wasn't there to show me the right way...what the hell was I gonna do. Why do these other guys look older than me? Am I even in the right place? Who the hell needs a factory for making socks anyway? Ahem....pay attention boys.
Uh oh...here we go. And thus started the best job I have ever had. It had it all, tom foolery, sweat, physical exertion, destruction and french fries. The six of us were given sledge hammers and told to go forth and break everything that was wood on the factory floors. Excuse me, can you say that again? Break everything? You want to pay me to swing this sledge hammer and smash the fuck out of everything in here? I am certain that the smiles across all of our faces was simply precious. We were being given permission to do the very thing that society absolutely prevented us from doing every other minute of our lives...destroying things.
Why was this my best job ever? If I think about it I would say it was freedom. I was young and like all of us at that age, jacked on all kinds of hormones. This was the freedom to burn them off while participating in organised anarchy. In my life I've owned a few of my own business's, ran both small and large kitchens, opened hotels, taught cooking, consulted, served, unloaded tractor trailers, shipped records, telemarketing and had numerous jobs in the restaurant field. I am, for the most part, respected in what I do and I do OK for myself, but that first job was still the best. A fifteen minute walk followed by a thirty minute bus ride, a forty minute subway ride and a fifteen minute streetcar ride to get to my place of destruction. Not to mention doing it all in reverse at the end of the day. All for $1.85 an hour. It was fantastic, it was also a long time ago so I only remember snippets. Randy sliding down the chute from the second to first floor every chance he got. Throwing balled up socks at each other. Shooting over to Lucy's Diner for fries and gravy for seventy five cents, A crush on the Portuguese girl on the fifth floor that was way too old for me. Speaking of which, remind me to tell you about almost getting engaged at the age of 16...funny story. All that was great, but smashing tables and shelving was the great part of the job. Like the perfect golf shot or the crack of the baseball when met with a bat, the sound of destruction was so exhilarating. It felt right, it felt good.
We spent four weeks destroying and when there was no more to break, we were told to start building. We assembled shelving from some metal strut like bars and rebuilt the damn place. Not nearly as much fun, actually it sucked when compared to swinging a sledge hammer, but it was another two weeks of pay before school started. Going into grade nine and what was known as high school in Ontario was an ominous time in my life. We had moved the year before where I got one year under my belt with these new kids before ending the year ready to start high school at Don Bosco. I knew few people, didn't fit in with the ones I did know. Maybe some of that angst was why I enjoyed breaking shit so much...I was really not looking forward to high school. Maybe breaking things helped me in the end because it turned out to be a great experience....creative destruction kind of thing, you know? Good times whatever the reason.
Didn't think I could slip in some life insight because of a job swinging a sledge hammer at the age of 13 did ya? Bah
Ciao
D
As instructed I made the long trek down to Spadina Avenue in the garment district. Six young boys standing around inside a sock factory, yes I said sock factory, waiting for instructions from some coverall wearing boss. I remember being very nervous, I wanted to do well but I didn't know what I was going to be doing so how was I going to do well? My dad wasn't there to show me the right way...what the hell was I gonna do. Why do these other guys look older than me? Am I even in the right place? Who the hell needs a factory for making socks anyway? Ahem....pay attention boys.
Uh oh...here we go. And thus started the best job I have ever had. It had it all, tom foolery, sweat, physical exertion, destruction and french fries. The six of us were given sledge hammers and told to go forth and break everything that was wood on the factory floors. Excuse me, can you say that again? Break everything? You want to pay me to swing this sledge hammer and smash the fuck out of everything in here? I am certain that the smiles across all of our faces was simply precious. We were being given permission to do the very thing that society absolutely prevented us from doing every other minute of our lives...destroying things.
Why was this my best job ever? If I think about it I would say it was freedom. I was young and like all of us at that age, jacked on all kinds of hormones. This was the freedom to burn them off while participating in organised anarchy. In my life I've owned a few of my own business's, ran both small and large kitchens, opened hotels, taught cooking, consulted, served, unloaded tractor trailers, shipped records, telemarketing and had numerous jobs in the restaurant field. I am, for the most part, respected in what I do and I do OK for myself, but that first job was still the best. A fifteen minute walk followed by a thirty minute bus ride, a forty minute subway ride and a fifteen minute streetcar ride to get to my place of destruction. Not to mention doing it all in reverse at the end of the day. All for $1.85 an hour. It was fantastic, it was also a long time ago so I only remember snippets. Randy sliding down the chute from the second to first floor every chance he got. Throwing balled up socks at each other. Shooting over to Lucy's Diner for fries and gravy for seventy five cents, A crush on the Portuguese girl on the fifth floor that was way too old for me. Speaking of which, remind me to tell you about almost getting engaged at the age of 16...funny story. All that was great, but smashing tables and shelving was the great part of the job. Like the perfect golf shot or the crack of the baseball when met with a bat, the sound of destruction was so exhilarating. It felt right, it felt good.
We spent four weeks destroying and when there was no more to break, we were told to start building. We assembled shelving from some metal strut like bars and rebuilt the damn place. Not nearly as much fun, actually it sucked when compared to swinging a sledge hammer, but it was another two weeks of pay before school started. Going into grade nine and what was known as high school in Ontario was an ominous time in my life. We had moved the year before where I got one year under my belt with these new kids before ending the year ready to start high school at Don Bosco. I knew few people, didn't fit in with the ones I did know. Maybe some of that angst was why I enjoyed breaking shit so much...I was really not looking forward to high school. Maybe breaking things helped me in the end because it turned out to be a great experience....creative destruction kind of thing, you know? Good times whatever the reason.
Didn't think I could slip in some life insight because of a job swinging a sledge hammer at the age of 13 did ya? Bah
Ciao
D
Wednesday, 3 August 2016
Boy Inside the Man
I have a theory. It's an easy way of explaining myself when I say or do something childish or moronic..well not really but I'm sure you're getting the idea by now. This theory is not earth shattering like Einstein's little ditty or very deep like "I think, therefore I am". Here it is...the age you enter the hospitality industry is the mental age you remain until you leave the biz. Some of you are right now saying, now it makes sense...it's all come together with regards to that guy. Whatever.
I started in this world as a 14 year old kid, dish washing at the good old Golden Griddle, a busy nondescript pancake house that would plough through easily 500 people for breakfast on a Saturday or Sunday morning. Where, when I switched over to bussing tables, I could easily pull in $120 in tips from the servers I served. That was a lot of money back then, probably the last time I really had money...haha My hourly pay was $3.05 an hour and I would be pulling in $15 an hour in tips, which must be the equivalent of $45 these days. Crazy right?
This is when the seeds were sown in my stunted growth, you see...there are no rules, there is nothing that can't be said and if you can't think up 12 different ways to fuck around with someone right now, you're simply not right for the biz. We have a skewed way of looking at the world, a strange confluence of stimuli that breeds us into sarcastic night dwelling child like prophets. Sharp knives, raw meat and loud music transform seemingly normal people into a mixed bag of fringe personalities, damaged egos and social deviants. Oh boy, can't wait to date this guy, what a catch...haha I'm actually a bit of an anomaly in the business despite this rather dark background. I have no addictions, no phobias, generally no issues integrating into the normal world, whatever normal is, and am pretty high functioning. And yet still child like a lot of the time...case in point, for shits and giggles I wanted to see how many grapes I could fit into my mouth, 30 seems like the right number. My kids thought it was hilarious and I didn't choke out. If you're not having fun you're simply not having fun...so go forth and frolic will ya.
Tom Cochrane had a song out a million years ago called Boy Inside the Man, a songwriters kind of song that captured some of the realities of growing up while still being young....
"When I turned twenty-five
We were hungry, we had drive
When I turned much older then
When the boy was lost in pride
Now I just turned thirty-one
I have lost and I have won
Still I've kept my dreams alive
Cause the boy will never die"
Now I'm forty eight
I started in this world as a 14 year old kid, dish washing at the good old Golden Griddle, a busy nondescript pancake house that would plough through easily 500 people for breakfast on a Saturday or Sunday morning. Where, when I switched over to bussing tables, I could easily pull in $120 in tips from the servers I served. That was a lot of money back then, probably the last time I really had money...haha My hourly pay was $3.05 an hour and I would be pulling in $15 an hour in tips, which must be the equivalent of $45 these days. Crazy right?
This is when the seeds were sown in my stunted growth, you see...there are no rules, there is nothing that can't be said and if you can't think up 12 different ways to fuck around with someone right now, you're simply not right for the biz. We have a skewed way of looking at the world, a strange confluence of stimuli that breeds us into sarcastic night dwelling child like prophets. Sharp knives, raw meat and loud music transform seemingly normal people into a mixed bag of fringe personalities, damaged egos and social deviants. Oh boy, can't wait to date this guy, what a catch...haha I'm actually a bit of an anomaly in the business despite this rather dark background. I have no addictions, no phobias, generally no issues integrating into the normal world, whatever normal is, and am pretty high functioning. And yet still child like a lot of the time...case in point, for shits and giggles I wanted to see how many grapes I could fit into my mouth, 30 seems like the right number. My kids thought it was hilarious and I didn't choke out. If you're not having fun you're simply not having fun...so go forth and frolic will ya.
Tom Cochrane had a song out a million years ago called Boy Inside the Man, a songwriters kind of song that captured some of the realities of growing up while still being young....
"When I turned twenty-five
We were hungry, we had drive
When I turned much older then
When the boy was lost in pride
Now I just turned thirty-one
I have lost and I have won
Still I've kept my dreams alive
Cause the boy will never die"
Now I'm forty eight
Finally knowing to stand up straight
Between young and old
I have so much to relate
That last stanza I just made up, accurate as hell I'd say. I like my naïveté, my outlook and my humour. They work for me and they are meant for me. If it just happens to resonate with others that's great, if not...whatever. I feel that I am creeping into more wisdom at the same time as finding even more ways to be imp like. Despite it all...life is grand my friends.
Having said all that I don't expect that anything will change with me when I get out of the biz, like say after Friday when the Lotto comes my way. Perhaps it is too ingranied in me or perhaps I have always been that way, whichever is the case I'm pretty certain that you will find me down the road still laughing and carrying balloons in my pocket in case a helium tank should present itself.
Guten Tag
D
Guten Tag
D
Monday, 1 August 2016
Namaste Bitches!
In Hinduism, Namaste means "I bow to the divine in you" Nice sentiment I think, so where does the "bitches" come from...my former significant other used to say it as she was into Yoga and it had to do with her Yoga class. I don't recall the story and I seem to remember a t-shirt involved but I simply thought it was hilarious, the dichotomy being almost palpable. If you're reading, you and your Yoga clan rock!
If you can wrap your head around that image you shouldn't have any issues with, a gun toting Buddhist monk or an Amish heavy metal band. Absurdity at its best I think, designed to make you scratch your head in disbelief...not unlike watching Drumph. Oh shit, again? Yep...again. He has invited both scorn and ridicule, Bill Maher, John Oliver and me really don't like the Donald. And while Bill and John have their bully pulpit and I have this blog we might as well use them, They may have a few more vested followers than I but I don't feel that I should defer the stage to them, regardless of how much I may like their rants.
Captain low life is now attacking the Muslim parents of a fallen soldier....let that sink in. This immigrant family from Pakistan lost their son while he was fighting for their adopted country and orangutan man feels that they should be raked over the coals for daring to voice an opinion on him. His child like responses lay bare his petulance and ignorance and it is scaring the crap out of people. He may just win...then we're all fucked. Downward Dog ain't gonna help any of us and Lotus just gives a bigger target to aim for....Namaste Bitches!
The simple eloquence that the father of the fallen soldier expressed himself in was almost poetic in imagery. Like the Chinese student standing in front of that tank I think that speech was one of the most effective things I have seen this primary season. I hope it helps to open people up to the reality, pun intended, of The Donald. You can't have him anywhere near that kind of power..."let me tell you folks, I'm gonna get the job done, that wall is going to start next week, right after China pays us for it. Believe me!" I'm gonna throw up in my mouth anytime now.
We've gone from "ask not what your country can do for you" to Crooked Hilary is the worst, the worst Secretary of State in the history of our country,,,believe me, I know. One notch tighter on his ball cap and we'll have I'm rubber, you're glue - what ever you say will bounce off me and stick to you, or my favourite, and you can just see this happening at a debate - I know you are, but what am I. Heard it here first folks...just send money.
There seems to be no low that is too low for him. Logic dictates that this election will decimate the Republicans. It really should, force out the religious right, the tea bag nut jobs and the Drumph wannabe's and let common sense come back into the fold. I don't even know what that looks like anymore when it comes to the Republicans but surely there must be some version of sanity that carries no guns or bible as a litmus test. But sadly logic seems to have been thrown out with the baby, the bath water and facts.
Let's hope that those better angels come to the rescue.
Nameste
D
Dear 60 Year Old Me
Dear 60 Year Old Me,
It's August of 2016 and I thought I might put down a few things in case your memory isn't quite what it used to be. I know this was only written 12 years ago but you can never tell with you, or me such as it were. Really what I wanted to do is a little gut check to ensure you have followed through with all the things you have been thinking and talking about. Not those things, get a grip buddy, the big picture, eyes wide open inspirational things that are floating around your 48 year old brain right now.
Where to start.....I know, obviously our kids who are now adults but always our kids. Adele will be 32 now and a full fledged doctor. I can't wait to see what kind of adult she has turned into...how was the wedding by the way? You cried didn't you...you sappy bastard. By this stage you probably have a grand kid or two and now are considered really old. Don't forget to keep candies with you all the time...kids love that.
Liam is 30 and probably running the NSA. How did the "Rain Man" gig go when he turned 19, did you guys clean up on Black Jack? I'm assuming that has helped foot the bill for our three month stays in Europe, where are you this year? I'm curious as to what has become our favourite spot, right now I'm assuming Italy or Greece but I can see a dark horse coming out of nowhere and living La Dolce Vita in Portugal or Ireland. At this point Liam is 6'3", please tell me he stopped growing, it's embarrassing to have him rest his arm on our head now as he towers over us, can you imagine what it will be like if he hasn't stopped growing...holy hell Hannah.
Last but certainly not least is Cora. Having a world famous author at the age of 28 must be cool. Did she buy a castle to live in? I can so see that of her...books everywhere, nooks and crannies to steal away. I hope my room isn't too draughty. I wonder what her significant other is like...does he get her quirkiness and truly see her heart and soul? He better lest he get the business end of a two by four.
And you, you magnificent bastard. What does she look like? What does she do? I know she gets us because we have discovered this year that in the end, what's most important is that you can laugh and grow together. Looks fade but if she is beautiful on the inside there isn't anything more important. I wonder if I am seeing her this very week? I know we will be sucking every morsel off the bone when it comes to living a life, it's too beautiful not to, I hope it is with someone that really makes us happy. What story did we write my oldest friend?
We've had a couple of rough years, the divorce and all that has flowed from that has taken it's toll but as I sit here typing away I know, without a shadow of a doubt that it will be better tomorrow. Our past becomes part of our tapestry but it doesn't define us....you know that and you better not forget it. Don't make me punch us in the throat asshole. I can't help but think you still have that stupid inward grin that we secretly have all the time. Our brand of looking at the world is our thing, it's what is going to pull us through any tough times we may face. Remember the eye cancer (fuck cancer!!!)...you weathered that with grace and humility...wait, humour and a bit of grace with quite a bit of silly is what I was shooting for. Did we keep the eye patch and more importantly what radiation induced super power did we develop?
I'm going to finish off with a few questions I need answered, and if time travel has been invented, please send back notice so I can make a few bets....wine isn't cheap, as you know.
What year did the Leafs win the cup again?
Hilary or Drumph? I suppose if it was Drumph you're not even alive, so don't worry about responding.
Did Justin work out?
Did the men and women who hold high places get their collective act together and do what was needed to be done?
The winning numbers from August 5th Loto Max please....jackpot is 60 million
I'll write soon, I promise.
Ciao
D
It's August of 2016 and I thought I might put down a few things in case your memory isn't quite what it used to be. I know this was only written 12 years ago but you can never tell with you, or me such as it were. Really what I wanted to do is a little gut check to ensure you have followed through with all the things you have been thinking and talking about. Not those things, get a grip buddy, the big picture, eyes wide open inspirational things that are floating around your 48 year old brain right now.
Where to start.....I know, obviously our kids who are now adults but always our kids. Adele will be 32 now and a full fledged doctor. I can't wait to see what kind of adult she has turned into...how was the wedding by the way? You cried didn't you...you sappy bastard. By this stage you probably have a grand kid or two and now are considered really old. Don't forget to keep candies with you all the time...kids love that.
Liam is 30 and probably running the NSA. How did the "Rain Man" gig go when he turned 19, did you guys clean up on Black Jack? I'm assuming that has helped foot the bill for our three month stays in Europe, where are you this year? I'm curious as to what has become our favourite spot, right now I'm assuming Italy or Greece but I can see a dark horse coming out of nowhere and living La Dolce Vita in Portugal or Ireland. At this point Liam is 6'3", please tell me he stopped growing, it's embarrassing to have him rest his arm on our head now as he towers over us, can you imagine what it will be like if he hasn't stopped growing...holy hell Hannah.
Last but certainly not least is Cora. Having a world famous author at the age of 28 must be cool. Did she buy a castle to live in? I can so see that of her...books everywhere, nooks and crannies to steal away. I hope my room isn't too draughty. I wonder what her significant other is like...does he get her quirkiness and truly see her heart and soul? He better lest he get the business end of a two by four.
And you, you magnificent bastard. What does she look like? What does she do? I know she gets us because we have discovered this year that in the end, what's most important is that you can laugh and grow together. Looks fade but if she is beautiful on the inside there isn't anything more important. I wonder if I am seeing her this very week? I know we will be sucking every morsel off the bone when it comes to living a life, it's too beautiful not to, I hope it is with someone that really makes us happy. What story did we write my oldest friend?
We've had a couple of rough years, the divorce and all that has flowed from that has taken it's toll but as I sit here typing away I know, without a shadow of a doubt that it will be better tomorrow. Our past becomes part of our tapestry but it doesn't define us....you know that and you better not forget it. Don't make me punch us in the throat asshole. I can't help but think you still have that stupid inward grin that we secretly have all the time. Our brand of looking at the world is our thing, it's what is going to pull us through any tough times we may face. Remember the eye cancer (fuck cancer!!!)...you weathered that with grace and humility...wait, humour and a bit of grace with quite a bit of silly is what I was shooting for. Did we keep the eye patch and more importantly what radiation induced super power did we develop?
I'm going to finish off with a few questions I need answered, and if time travel has been invented, please send back notice so I can make a few bets....wine isn't cheap, as you know.
What year did the Leafs win the cup again?
Hilary or Drumph? I suppose if it was Drumph you're not even alive, so don't worry about responding.
Did Justin work out?
Did the men and women who hold high places get their collective act together and do what was needed to be done?
The winning numbers from August 5th Loto Max please....jackpot is 60 million
I'll write soon, I promise.
Ciao
D
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