how is one supposed to conduct themselves? i always liked that turn of phrase. i imagine standing outside of myself waving a stick dramatically and pulling up slowly to build my own intensity.
if there was a finishing school i would have it--and while i'm relishing the lack of sugar in my personality, sometimes the salty, petulant shtick gets old.
so, how do we conduct ourselves?
if i knew more about music this could be a great piece of reading.
i have all of these questions. am i supposed to conduct myself differently then men? should i care about sports? should i take up knitting? where is the crescendo?
when i pull out the mind (which i paid so much money to hone) people get up and walk away. not sure where i got it, but i do believe myself to be off-putting.
oops.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Monday, February 14, 2011
smells like middle-aged homelessness
it will never be your problem--and by "you" i mean you dwellers of hills, you purveyors of peaks, you packers of heights.
you people, you voted for a ballot measure in favor of enforcing a sit/lie law on the streets of san francisco. fuck you.
tonight a couple came into my work. they were obviously homeless. they looked like homelessness. they smelled like homelessness. they asked for a table. i gave it to them. any reason i had for reservation i disregarded--my restaurant does not take reservations.
they sat. i took the order. they ate like kings, they drank wine. i treated them like royalty. deep down i knew they would not pay...and even as he looked me dead in the eyes, i knew. as he asked for butter and extra lemon, i knew. as i offered coffee and he politely declined, i knew. as he requested the check and i ran to calculate, i knew--and as he walked quickly to the door with his silent friend i considered the situation.
he left me a dollar bill and an old loehmanns gift card.
i stood still for a moment. and then i ran. i chased him down the alley. i knew he didn't have money. i yelled to him "HEY" caught up to him quickly and told him "i'm faster than you old man". he stopped.
i asked him why. i had treated him with respect, i had welcomed him to sit when no one else would and he had chosen me to foister the financial burden upon. i asked him for the food back--i took back what i had packed for him in to-go boxes and i apologized for him not being able to pay for it. he gave me his silent friends wallet and told me he would have money on monday. i do not believe him. he made this promise using the same honest eyes with which he had ordered his wine.
i threw his leftovers in the garbage. i am not sure what i feel worse about--the fact that i allowed this to happen--or the fact that it almost seemed i had laid a trap for them. all the while knowing, but refusing to believe it would actually happen.
in the end, i believe i felt worse about it than they did. i hated taking away the food. i hated that when all was said and done i found myself in the possession of his lady friends wallet with all of her important cards and identification bits--her food stamps. most of all i hated that i am poor and i was deceived and betrayed by other poor people--the battle to be fought is not between we lower classes and yet that is where we find it.
so you see, this problem with the homeless--it does not belong to the dwellers of hills, the purveyors of peaks or the packers of heights. it belongs to us, the gutter punks.
god save the waitress
you people, you voted for a ballot measure in favor of enforcing a sit/lie law on the streets of san francisco. fuck you.
tonight a couple came into my work. they were obviously homeless. they looked like homelessness. they smelled like homelessness. they asked for a table. i gave it to them. any reason i had for reservation i disregarded--my restaurant does not take reservations.
they sat. i took the order. they ate like kings, they drank wine. i treated them like royalty. deep down i knew they would not pay...and even as he looked me dead in the eyes, i knew. as he asked for butter and extra lemon, i knew. as i offered coffee and he politely declined, i knew. as he requested the check and i ran to calculate, i knew--and as he walked quickly to the door with his silent friend i considered the situation.
he left me a dollar bill and an old loehmanns gift card.
i stood still for a moment. and then i ran. i chased him down the alley. i knew he didn't have money. i yelled to him "HEY" caught up to him quickly and told him "i'm faster than you old man". he stopped.
i asked him why. i had treated him with respect, i had welcomed him to sit when no one else would and he had chosen me to foister the financial burden upon. i asked him for the food back--i took back what i had packed for him in to-go boxes and i apologized for him not being able to pay for it. he gave me his silent friends wallet and told me he would have money on monday. i do not believe him. he made this promise using the same honest eyes with which he had ordered his wine.
i threw his leftovers in the garbage. i am not sure what i feel worse about--the fact that i allowed this to happen--or the fact that it almost seemed i had laid a trap for them. all the while knowing, but refusing to believe it would actually happen.
in the end, i believe i felt worse about it than they did. i hated taking away the food. i hated that when all was said and done i found myself in the possession of his lady friends wallet with all of her important cards and identification bits--her food stamps. most of all i hated that i am poor and i was deceived and betrayed by other poor people--the battle to be fought is not between we lower classes and yet that is where we find it.
so you see, this problem with the homeless--it does not belong to the dwellers of hills, the purveyors of peaks or the packers of heights. it belongs to us, the gutter punks.
god save the waitress
Sunday, November 14, 2010
i will miss you paul newman, again.
RIP my fish, paul newman.
i'm not sure when you died, as you were partially decayed by the time i found you at the bottom of the bowl, but i had had you for three years and was rather attached to your floaty presence.
i sorry i forgot to feed you, but really, for a fish that subsists mainly off his own poop, i'm surprised you lived as long as you did. you will be replaced quickly (for $2.00 at the pet store in chinatown) but your buoyant spirit will circle the toilet bowl of my heart for all eternity.
paul newman is survived by his other fish friends "robert redford" and "manny ramirez"--and although they had never actually met(since they are siamese fighting fish and would likely kill each other)they were the holy trinity of my aquatic pet world. he has passed through life's curtain and now resides with his predecessor "zardoz:the christmas fish" in that mystical sewage pipe under the sea.
bon voyage my friend
i'm not sure when you died, as you were partially decayed by the time i found you at the bottom of the bowl, but i had had you for three years and was rather attached to your floaty presence.
i sorry i forgot to feed you, but really, for a fish that subsists mainly off his own poop, i'm surprised you lived as long as you did. you will be replaced quickly (for $2.00 at the pet store in chinatown) but your buoyant spirit will circle the toilet bowl of my heart for all eternity.
paul newman is survived by his other fish friends "robert redford" and "manny ramirez"--and although they had never actually met(since they are siamese fighting fish and would likely kill each other)they were the holy trinity of my aquatic pet world. he has passed through life's curtain and now resides with his predecessor "zardoz:the christmas fish" in that mystical sewage pipe under the sea.
bon voyage my friend
Saturday, October 23, 2010
poor baby
i use facebook. i am a prolific facebooker. i make statements, i post links, i share recipes and i, apparently, pick fights.
i recently had a former acquaintance from college inform me that, based on my disinterest/annoyance with sports fans (i live next to a sports bar and walk out of my doorway through sports puke), i was "an idiot who had lost his respect." apparently a less than enthusiastic approach to football was all it took.
i can tell you three things about this person. 1) he is rather unfortunately and prematurely bald. 2)he was a republican in college. 3) his birthday is four days after mine.
so after he called me an idiot i sent him a nice letter telling him that everything was ok. that i only knew three things about him and that there was no need for name calling.
he has not responded.
so i've been considering this. for all of the social networking i do, all of the poetry i share, all of the news links i pass on, all of the people i introduce, all of the music i point out--nothing lights more of a fire than these random statements i make. i'm tending to piss people off--and it is surprisingly easy.
so far these arguments have all been with men. men who say one snarky thing to me and then block me and run away. it's been frustrating mostly, since i'm not trying to be mean...
but seriously, suck my fucking dick you god damn babies.
the end.
i recently had a former acquaintance from college inform me that, based on my disinterest/annoyance with sports fans (i live next to a sports bar and walk out of my doorway through sports puke), i was "an idiot who had lost his respect." apparently a less than enthusiastic approach to football was all it took.
i can tell you three things about this person. 1) he is rather unfortunately and prematurely bald. 2)he was a republican in college. 3) his birthday is four days after mine.
so after he called me an idiot i sent him a nice letter telling him that everything was ok. that i only knew three things about him and that there was no need for name calling.
he has not responded.
so i've been considering this. for all of the social networking i do, all of the poetry i share, all of the news links i pass on, all of the people i introduce, all of the music i point out--nothing lights more of a fire than these random statements i make. i'm tending to piss people off--and it is surprisingly easy.
so far these arguments have all been with men. men who say one snarky thing to me and then block me and run away. it's been frustrating mostly, since i'm not trying to be mean...
but seriously, suck my fucking dick you god damn babies.
the end.
rules by which to live and dine
1. if you stiff the waitress you will get chlamydia and die.
2. no, that does not come with chicken. chicken is gross. what? were you born in a barn? obviously not because if you were you would know that chicken is disgusting.
3. yes there is salt in that. there is salt in everything. it's a fucking restaurant. if you want to eat bland shit then go home, cook for yourself, manage your own bloated ass and leave me in peace.
4. you want the filet mignon well done? you are a god damn moron. go next door to the liquor store and buy yourself a beef stick.
5. oh, you can't eat cheese? you didn't realize the cheese ravioli had cheese in them? you perceptive sonofabitch! no surprise you lived this long.
6. double dressing on the side? afraid i might under-sauce you, fatty?
7. that's not what you ordered? well it's what you asked for--what you really mean is "i dunt speek IIItalyen"
8. do i have a cocktail menu? do you have ID?
9. you don't see a kids menu? you also, apparently, can't take a hint.
10. you're a twenty-something dining out with twenty or so of your "friends" and you are surprised when i add an 18% service charge. cute. get used to it you cheap fuckers. the world doesn't owe you shit and neither do i.
2. no, that does not come with chicken. chicken is gross. what? were you born in a barn? obviously not because if you were you would know that chicken is disgusting.
3. yes there is salt in that. there is salt in everything. it's a fucking restaurant. if you want to eat bland shit then go home, cook for yourself, manage your own bloated ass and leave me in peace.
4. you want the filet mignon well done? you are a god damn moron. go next door to the liquor store and buy yourself a beef stick.
5. oh, you can't eat cheese? you didn't realize the cheese ravioli had cheese in them? you perceptive sonofabitch! no surprise you lived this long.
6. double dressing on the side? afraid i might under-sauce you, fatty?
7. that's not what you ordered? well it's what you asked for--what you really mean is "i dunt speek IIItalyen"
8. do i have a cocktail menu? do you have ID?
9. you don't see a kids menu? you also, apparently, can't take a hint.
10. you're a twenty-something dining out with twenty or so of your "friends" and you are surprised when i add an 18% service charge. cute. get used to it you cheap fuckers. the world doesn't owe you shit and neither do i.
Saturday, February 27, 2010
did that really happen?
no. it did not. it was a dream.
a fucking work dream.
being partially employed i spend just enough time at work to have it stalk and harass me while i'm unconscious.
in my dream i was taking the closing shift and instead of slowing down for the night the restaurant got steady business with the occasional large party until the sun had come up the next day.
we had run out of plates and glasses since the dish washer had gotten off at an appropriate time. they was no busser. we were running out of food and at some point my boss presented me with a hi-tech gizmo (for god knows what reason) that looked like a food processor, but when i turned it on it shot cheerio-sized copper rings into all the food i was just about to serve. tracy, my co-worker appeared and we started pulling these metal rings out of a large baking sheets worth of linguine pomodoro con cozze e vongole with our bare hands
i would try to tell people they couldn't sit and that we were done serving and they would tell me that they were hungry so i could go fuck off. they would order drinks that i had never heard of with ingredients i didn't have (or had just sold the last of)
there was a brief segue where i was trying to wash my hands in the bathroom at my elementary school but the sinks had been removed.
just as i was getting that overwhelming sense of failure. i woke up.
i either need a new job or a fucking vacation.
a fucking work dream.
being partially employed i spend just enough time at work to have it stalk and harass me while i'm unconscious.
in my dream i was taking the closing shift and instead of slowing down for the night the restaurant got steady business with the occasional large party until the sun had come up the next day.
we had run out of plates and glasses since the dish washer had gotten off at an appropriate time. they was no busser. we were running out of food and at some point my boss presented me with a hi-tech gizmo (for god knows what reason) that looked like a food processor, but when i turned it on it shot cheerio-sized copper rings into all the food i was just about to serve. tracy, my co-worker appeared and we started pulling these metal rings out of a large baking sheets worth of linguine pomodoro con cozze e vongole with our bare hands
i would try to tell people they couldn't sit and that we were done serving and they would tell me that they were hungry so i could go fuck off. they would order drinks that i had never heard of with ingredients i didn't have (or had just sold the last of)
there was a brief segue where i was trying to wash my hands in the bathroom at my elementary school but the sinks had been removed.
just as i was getting that overwhelming sense of failure. i woke up.
i either need a new job or a fucking vacation.
Friday, February 26, 2010
golden
today was the day i broke out of the winter funk.
it's been an entire winters coming. i get very hobbity and secluded when the days get short and dark, but not today.
today i skipped, i pranced, i sang, i played games with my sister, admired tulips for sale by the waterfront, talked san francisco politics with my favorite local journalist, made fun of really good-looking actors filming a really crappy t.v. show, saw a bollywood motorcycle scene shot on the same street as an episode of myth busters (apparently everybody got film clearance on the same day) and ventured through chinatown to pick up fresh bathroom accessories. i even stopped to compliment strangers on their choice of strange small dogs
i went with my manfriend to the ferry building to get lunch. i ate a hot dog--the best fucking hot dog i have ever had. 3inches of bun and 8inches of wiener. handmade saurkraut with caraway seeds. rough chopped dill relish. spicy stone ground dijon mustard.
manfriend had a burger. he is not in the habit of specifying doneness when ordering his meat. his burger was rare. he said it was the most delicious burger he had ever had. he just woke from a dead sleep to vomit. profusely.
apparently it is just not his day.
it's been an entire winters coming. i get very hobbity and secluded when the days get short and dark, but not today.
today i skipped, i pranced, i sang, i played games with my sister, admired tulips for sale by the waterfront, talked san francisco politics with my favorite local journalist, made fun of really good-looking actors filming a really crappy t.v. show, saw a bollywood motorcycle scene shot on the same street as an episode of myth busters (apparently everybody got film clearance on the same day) and ventured through chinatown to pick up fresh bathroom accessories. i even stopped to compliment strangers on their choice of strange small dogs
i went with my manfriend to the ferry building to get lunch. i ate a hot dog--the best fucking hot dog i have ever had. 3inches of bun and 8inches of wiener. handmade saurkraut with caraway seeds. rough chopped dill relish. spicy stone ground dijon mustard.
manfriend had a burger. he is not in the habit of specifying doneness when ordering his meat. his burger was rare. he said it was the most delicious burger he had ever had. he just woke from a dead sleep to vomit. profusely.
apparently it is just not his day.
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