You *know* I'm going to analyze this one
I'm on the 22, headed for an interview. There is an enormous man in front of me. Easily 500+ pounds and clearly in distress. He and the bus driver are having a conversation. Seems his busstop is farther away than he'd expected and now he is unable to hold in his bowel movement. A runny one at that. As the bus makes an emergency stop, he's just standing in the aisle, sort of grunting and moaning. We get him outside and I get him into the basket of a hot air balloon. We get that going, drift it out over the valley, over a sinkhole, where he slowly lowers the balloon, slips into an impossibly tiny hole and gets washed away.
This apparently being the proper way of handling grossly obese, incontinent men in the alternate universe of Frisbee Dreamland, we dust off our hands with great satisfaction and head home. Once there, my friend Darla (as in a grown up version of Darla from "The Little Rascals" - wtf?) begins hanging out around the bay windows in the living room and dining room. I come over to see what she's looking at.
I notice a strange man with polarized sunglasses lurking around the next door neighbor's house. I scream. He screams and runs around the side of the house. I think about calling the police. He pokes his head around the other side of the house, sees me and disappears, screaming again. He repeats this several more times, not unlike a hyper toddler caught in the throes of peek-a-boo.
Darla tells me he's flirting with me. Her tone is biting and I sense that she is mad at both of us because of this and to avoid an argument and because I have no place for a piece of information like that, I choose to ignore him instead. I mean what am I going to do, flirt back with the nutter lurking outside? I think not. But Darla would. Darla is a girly-girl, alternately simpering, pouty, demanding, whiny and clinging - completely focused on getting and keeping the attention of any male in a five mile range. We're polar opposites, my lack of concern drives her nuts, but I think she's crazy anyway, so I don't worry about it.
Then Napoleon Dynamite shows up with a 'very delicious' cheddar and jalapeno grilled cheese sandwich he's made for me. He gives some to Darla, but she seems agitated. He asks me what I'm doing that night and I am non-committal, telling him that I'll call him later. A shows up with two huge cheeseburgers from McDonald's. Gives me mine and drops the other, which he then gives to Darla. Her agitation increases as A and I discuss his plans for the night. Though it seems that we may have had tentative plans, he's going to see his dad. I talk about a movie later on, tell him to call if he wants.
A leaves and Darla goes apeshit. She's not only upset that I'm getting the attention that she wants, but that I could take or leave it, furthermore, she's pissed at me because I'm not pissed at A for not taking me to sushi. (Aha! So we did have tentative plans!)
The doorbell rings, I ask Darla to get it. It's the screamer. I leave them alone, thinking some quality time might do her some good and go out the back door.
[this one's going to be good]
"You have this on the one hand,
that on the other hand. That is why you wring your hands."
- Taxi Driver Wisdom
(I'm not sure why this bounced back to 'draft' form, but I took the opportunity to clean it up a bit before reposting.)
As I start dividing my energies between restaurant posts and admin posts, I'm feeling damned near disassociative. Clearly, there's a trade-off regardless of which path I choose. The eternal and nagging problem is which path to chose.
My heart is in restaurant, service, hospitality. It seems that time has proven that it always will be. In many ways it's the ideal profession for me. It's rogue and romantic, somedays it feels like a racket and it's always a hustle. But there's just something to it. At it's best, it's fun and exhilarating, unpredictable, yet utterly predictable, brutal, maddening, inspiring and full of brilliance. At it's worst, it's absolutely deplorable, vapid, drug addled, alcohol soaked, petty, pretentious, back-stabbing, lecherous greed, rife with incompetence. I've always had a knack for navigating the terrain well enough to avoid the latter and continue to do so, and ultimately, despite some of the most bizarre situations over the course of the last year, I have little to complain about and not a speck of bitterness.
But as I poke around looking for a good fit, eternally optimistic that it is out there, I can practically hear a voice in my ear, "Come in from the cold, Agent Frisbee!" And I find myself pausing. Looking first at one lifestyle and its impplications, and then at the other, weighing them mentally. No small amount of separation anxiety playing at the edges of my mind even as I contemplate the beauty of paid vacations and health benefits. Which direction was that voice calling from anyway?
I haven't even left and I already miss it. The only thing that comes to mind is that there must be a middle ground here somewhere. I just need to find it. If anyone can, it'll be me.
I realize that nothing is cast in stone. Restaurants aren't going away. And changing my mind is not a crime. Interviews have started and I have this sort of "What am I getting myself into this time?" nervousness. Like that time I agreed to sell my dad's Mustang to the neighbor boys for $5 if they'd run around block in their underwear. (I keed! The Mustang was really a motorcycle and the block was really a filbert orchard. But still, you get my drift.) In any event, it should be interesting to see where this all goes. I'll spontaneously combust if I need to sit at a desk for 8 hours, but there's got to things out there that aren't the equivalent 40 hour jail sentences.
What I am certain of is this, however: once the job search is over, I will honestly miss Craigslist. Combing through the postings has provided me with such gems as:
- The ability to discuss dildos, butt-plugs, vibrators, sex lube, the sex scenes in videos, and a wide variety of other sexually-related topics coolly and professionally.
- A near-fetish level of obsession with organization.
On articulation abilities & sonambulistic tendencies
Since I have been able to speak, I have had the tendency to become very free with my thoughts, feelings and observations on life almost precisely five minutes before I fall asleep. Like clockwork, I have an intense inspiration to share. Specifically, at that point.
When I am single and sleeping alone, I have a habit of reaching for a notepad and one is always close to my bed, ensuring that I won't change my mind or have to disturb my comfort. Years of developing this habit in conjuction with recording dream details without fully waking up has resulted in falling asleep while writing...but continuing to write.
More often than not, the result is a barely legible scrawl of a line that resembles more of a seismographical reading than a coherent thought. Some of these do actually result in coherent and interesting material. Others, however, are a brilliant example of quantum mental leaps and disassociative thought in shotgun marriage-like collisions.
Recent example: "Without remaining open to the facts, it's easy, not just tempting, but natural, to fill in the empty spaces with soap."
Who the fuck knew soap was so damned insidious?
The Man Behind the Myth
A week or so ago, I posted a link to The Darth Side: Memoirs of a Monster. The author of that blog also has a number of places that he posts other works of creativity or comment. His is the kind of creativity and personality that tickles and moves and inspires. It's at once an illumination and a reflection; and one that engages and invites as much as it warms and rewards. A true gift.
This is one such place and one such post.
Thanks so much, Cheeseburger Brown!
Denial may be a river in Egypt
but reality checks are not.
Why do Tuesdays rock so hard?
Random bits of entertainment
2005 is shaping up to be a great year in the theaters for those of us with a taste for specific genres. While I won't provide reviews, Sin City was amazing and Hitchhiker's Guide, which a small group of .m.'s Merry Marauders and Mischief Makers had the pleasure of seeing last night, was almost exactly as I'd envisioned it. I hope Mr. Adams is smiling somewhere in his booth in the restaurant at the end of the universe.
(It's worth saying that a couple times our gang unintentionally upstaged the film with our reactions to on screen events. So, if anyone reading this happened to be at the 7:10 showing at the Van Ness AMC, allow me to offer my sincerest apologies for the fly swatter scene as well as the scene where Marvin was 'killed'. We were moved.)
Then there's War of the Worlds, Serenity, The Corpse Bride and, of course, the much anticipated Revenge of the Sith. I have mixed feelings about the last of these, but was talking with the gang last night about the Darth Vader's blog, thinking I was the last person in the known universe to have heard about it. Apparently not. .m., I'm returning the favor of bringing to my attention the libel-bomb that was Michael Bay's blog by sending you here: The Darth Side: Memoirs of a Monster. Not nearly as scathingly funny as the Bay blog, it certainly holds its own. Especially when you start reading the comments. I recommend grabbing a beer and a towel, making yourself comfortable and watching the fun unfold.
Vader has a wonderfully twisted sense of humor. "Remember when your dog died? That was me." GOOD STUFF.