A Possible Project

So I got up early today and rode the train downtown, accompanying my fabulous girlfriend to work part way, because I wanted to stop by this book store I love. Well, the store was closed. Apparently the hours of operation I'd gotten off the internet were wrong. So I wandered around for an hour then headed back.

They didn't have the book I wanted; the second in a five book series which I've decided to read consecutively. I can't find it used anywhere and might have to just suck it up and buy it new. Anyway, I browse the store for almost an hour, reading book jackets, selecting one or two only two return them minutes later, and before I know it an hour has past and I decide that maybe I should just go home and start 1 of the 8 books that are on my 'Books I Have To Read... Eventually' List. Great, case closed!

A chance sideways glance as I'm exiting the store leads me to a stack of pamphlets advertising a writing contest: 3-Day Novel Contest. In a nutshell, the writer has 72 hours to write a novel of any possible length. The honor system is in full effect and the grand prize is publication of said novel. (For more information go to www.3daynovel.com ) The only problem is the deadline for entry is this Friday and the contest starts at 12:01 AM Saturday. I also work Saturday Morning and Sunday Night, sucking at least 12 hours out of my possible 72 hour allotment. Hmmm, should I attempt it anyway? I do like working with a deadline. All my other writing projects are currently beating their collective heads against a brick wall the size of Kirstie Alley's butt! This might be a fun little exercise. This might get the old creative juices flowing. Hey, maybe I'll even get a novel out of it that I can use to brag to my friends, "Yeah, I wrote a novel. I might even get it published someday.". I've even got a premise that I could write about.

Hmmmmmm?

Believe It Or Not

Some people still dance THE ELECTRIC SLIDE at wedding receptions! It's true! I saw it first hand. I was brutally mauled by nostalgia!

Congratulations C & C! It was a beatiful wedding and a bacchanalian fun-fest of a reception.

Corona Means Crown, Right?

Tonight after work I went for a beer with some folks from work. (As I said before in the restaurant industry it happens all the time.) Anyway I find my self sitting next to a fairly new busboy, an older gentleman named Gustabo. Nice enough chap, anyway I make the msitake of asking him where he is from and I get a whole diatribe about French colonies in Mexico, Cinco De Mayo and European kings.

He then turns to me and asks, "And you?"

I reply, "I'm from Maryland. The Baltimore/Washington Metropolitan Area."

This really excites Gustabo who, with his amazingly thick accent says, "Ahhhhh, Maryland. Thats where Albapreswweigh is from, no?"

Without flinching I say, "I'm not sure"

He repeats, "Albapesweigh. You know who is Albapreswigh?"

I use the bars volume level as an excuse for missing the exact name. "Who?"

"Albapressweigh. Rock and Roll? Alba - do you understand my english - Albapressweigh."

"I'm sorry I can't really hear you," I explain, "It sounded like you said Elvis Presley."

"Yes, Albapresswweigh. That is who I said."

"Oh, no I'm pretty sure he's from Tennessee, Alabama, something like that," I offer.

Gustabo is confused. "I thought it was Marlyand."

"Maybe you're thinking of Graceland."

"Perhaps. I need a beer."

So I bought him a beer, because that is what the King would've wanted.

You What?

"Can I get a beer?"

"Sure. Can I see your I.D?"

"Oh, you know what? I didn't bring it. Is that going to be a problem?"

"Only if you want to drink."

"Really?"

"Sorry."

"Aw, come on man, I'm 25 years old!"

"Then you should know better. I'm 30 and I never go out to a bar/restaurant without my I.D. I think it's called 'common sense'."

My Day Off?

An extra hour in bed, with my eyes closed just fighting the waking hours.
A leisurely walk.
70 pages of high adventure.
A new hair cut.
Happy Hour at my brother's work.
A watermelon-flavored Jolly Rancher soda.
A pigeon pecking away, voraciously, at a Peanut Butter Cup.
Tiny little bald guy sitting on the El next to a big tall bald guy. Funny sight gag.
Relaxing...

HOOOORRRRAAAAYYYY!!

The Air & Water Show is in town!

That means no sleeping in and no midday naps. Who can sleep with fighter planes buzzing the lake starting at 10 in the morning? That means constant fly-bys every 2 minutes or so, when you least expect it, when the most important line in a TV show is being uttered, when your nerves are frazzled by the constant bombardment of sonic booms! Isn't that fun? That means an amazing amount of tourists stampeding to the Old Town neighborhood to crowd the beach and crane their necks to the sky, before running off to neighborhood restaurants and throwing down 9% Tips. I hope we get some spill over.

I guess it could be worse. It could be The Taste Of Chicago.

Can't Sleep

So I'm putzing around with my blog at 3AM. (Hey, we can't all be banging strippers! Thanks for the IM, RR! Sleep well!)

Look to the right.

What do you see?

That's right a link to yet another site of mine. People sometimes say to me, "I'd love to read one of your scripts." Now they can. It's a one act, far from brilliant, but a nice a sample of my writing style, dialogue, and subject matter. It's a rough draft and I'm having a hard time transferring it over from my writing software; the format's all screwed up. Soon, though, soone enough you'll be able to sit down and read one of scripts with just the click of the mouse. Let me know what you think.

Say It Loud!

Have you ever seen a black squirrel?

No, this is not the beginnings of a racist joke. I'm serious.

They look just like normal squirrels except they're black, or as close to it as possible. I just saw one in the street. I was picking up my dry cleaning when I glanced over into a yard and there, not two feet away, was a black squirrel.

I know what you're thinking. So What?

Here's the thing, the only other time I've ever seen a black squirrel was in Toronto. I was there, 1998, taking part in a medieval pageant play festival and the town was over run with squirrels... black ones. When I asked someone, a Canadian, what kind of squirrels they were he looked at me like I was a stupid American. (Which of course I was!) Anyway, apparently squirrels in that part of Canada are black, or darker than their cousin squirrels one nation south.

I could be completely wrong about this, but I started wondering if the black squirrel in my neighborhood was one of these Canadian Squirrels; a new breed of squirrel that has been transplanted to Chicago. Maybe it's just a freak of nature. Or maybe I am just an idiot and black squirrels are as common in this town as black labs. Who knows? I was just wondering.

I'd Almost Forgotten

Sitting in a lounger, fully clothed, beer in hand, watching a beach ball make lazy circles in the pool. Leaving for the airport soon. Why is vacation time so much quicker than normal time?

Then the dream comes back to me...

I'm in a house, I'm not quite sure whose, and suddenly the light goes out in the stairwell - one lone bulb suspended high above the steep, twisting stairs - and it's understood that my duty is to change the light so I climb up into a nook close to the outlet, a cranny high up in a corner, there is a small window looking out into a grey evening, and I am reaching out, stretching my arms, groping for the bulb that remains just out of reach, when suddenly an old lady starts to descend the stairs (I am immediately aware that she is one of two ancient crones who reside on the top floor) she slowly creaks and grunts her way down a few steps when I shout out, 'HEY' the woman shrieks, scared out of her wits, and loses her footing, pitches down a flight of stairs slamming her fragile skull into the wall, crumbles and then continues to topple down the remaining stiars, apparently, lifeless and all I can do is stare at the body as it rolls out of sight and wonder why I shouted - maybe it was out of a concern for the woman fumbling in the dark, maybe I just was alerting her to my presence and current chore, or perhaps my childish pleasure in frightening others got the better of me- either way I'm to blame

Then I wake up with a small start, and the dream starts to fade, forgotten, pushed aside, until later in the morning as I stare at the reflections in the tree's underbelly, dreading the flight back to everyday.

A Little R & R

Heading up to Minnesota tonight. We sure could use a vacation. Floating in the pool, sweating in the sauna, and then a nice little stroll down to the Cup & Cone. Looking forward to it.

Maybe I'll send you a postcard.

The Plaque

Don't forget...

Fall seven times, stand up eight.

$2 Martinis And A Jerk Named Charlie.

So last night we decided to meet up at a local Italian restaurant and take advantage of their Wednesday Night/Two Dollar Martinis. The resident stud bartender was working, but he was being followed by a cutie-pie, recent hire. I've been in the restaurant business long enough to recognize a trainee when I see one.

Anyway, we were sipping on our third round and waiting on our entree when the owner, Charlie,(Charlie had pulled up earlier with his young daughter and her friends in tow. He set them up in a corner booth and made sure they were pampered all night.) starts chatting up the new hottie. He tries to show his knowledge on all things by reciting her schedule from memory, and he was wrong on almost every day. He ask her what her availability is, and apparently his recollection of the interview process wasn't too accurate either. He thought he was hiring a bartender who could work whatever shifts he needed, when, in actuality, he'd hired a real estate agent who was just looking for a few shifts a week. Charlie was not happy, and he let the bartender know as much.

Not My Business!

I'm a paying customer, a client, a guest, what have you, I do not want to have my dining experience tainted by a confrontation between a boss and his staff. Don't talk down to your employee in front of a couple who's just trying to enjoy a few martinis at the bar. We could hear every word. We could see the embarrassment in the bartender's face. It was her second day and already the boss comes close to making her cry? In front of her guests? What a prick? Take it to the back office. Discuss it after the shift.

I was tempted to say something to Charlie but I was sure it would only make the situation more awkward for the new bartender. Bosses like that really get to me. So disrespectful. I'm sure he thinks he's a cool boss, everybody's buddy, and he may be normally, but the guy I saw arguing with his staff in the middle of the shift is no one I'd want to work for. Oh, but I did hear him make a "Charlie's Angels' reference to a few of his waitresses, and it was pretty sleazy.

Maybe we won't frequent that restaurant anymore... well, not as much... maybe only on $2 Martini nights! What can I say? After a few martinis I'm a little more forgiving. Aren't we all?

Waiter? There's A Hair In My Seafood Stew!

So we went out to dinner at a nice restaurant tonight. I'm working again, I can pick up extra shifts yah dah yah dah yah dah... spent more than I had planned but it's good to go out and eat every now and then. Anyway, after dinner I'm waiting near the front entrance for my beautiful girlfriend to use the powder room and I glance into the kitchen. The wall has these little portals/windows so you can observe the kitchen staff. There's this young kid, buzz cutt, ratty T-Shirt, with an eyeball tattooed on the back of his neck cooking and jamming along to the music. He's fun to watch when all of the sudden I notice these blonde wisps of hair around his ears. At first I thought maybe he was Hasidic, maybe 'Hair Cuttery Challenged' or maybe I just haven't been watching MTV and am behind in the styles. OH NO, these hairs weren't around the ears, or behind the ears these were growing from his earlobes. Now I know men sometimes grow ear hair, especially as they age. This kid couldn't have been older than his late twenties, and it wasn't like he had a few errant hairs. I admit I even have a few, but it looked like this MoFo had glued Corn Silk to his lobes. Maybe he decided earrings were out and produce was the next accessory. He looks like a Muppet! Did you ever see Labrinth? Those guys who could pull their own heads off and switch limbs and such, that's what it looked like. I'm not kidding. These hairs were 2 inches if they were a millimeter, and I'm pretty sure he bleached these buggers to make them blonde! WTF? It was amazing. I was entranced, and then when my better half joined me I asked her to look into the kitchen at the young dude cooking. She started to ask what she was supposed to be looking at and then stopped abruptly and bolted out the door to hide her laughter. Okay, so it wasn't just me. It was odd. Good restaurant. Great Food. Pricey Menu! Mutant Tamarine Marmoset working the Hot Line! Is that sanitary? Shouldn't Ear Muffs be required? Young children could swing from this line cook's ear lobe hair and he's entrusted to prepare my Sweetheart's steak? The man can't handle a pair of scissors but he can work a gas grill? Plus he bleaches the bad boys?

(By the way, dinner was excellent. I did, however, promptly purge myself upon leaving the restaurant. Passersby were quoted as hearing, "Bleeechh! What is wrong with the world? Guplump Raesft! What's next? Neon Mole Hair? Rrrraaalllppphhh!!!!")

Pick A Peck Of Pickled Peck!

His message said I sounded like I need someone to talk to, that I sounded down.

That's funny because I always feel like I should be doing more as his friend.

Sometimes I feel like he's feeling down.

Sometimes I feel like he needs someone to talk to but when I call him just to say hi and apologize for missing his birthday he's concerned for me.

It's hard missing a friend.

It's hard waking up one day and not being able to remember the last time you saw that friend in person.

I miss many friends but only a very few make me smile, and laugh just saying their name.

I guess that's part of the fun of missing someone.

Johann von Goethe once said,

"He is happiest, be he king or peasant, who finds peace in his home."

Now, I'm no Buddha and I'm sure not a Lennon but I think this quote is cool. I, often times, become restless, unfulfilled, and frustrated with the random directionless path I meander down everyday. Then I stop, look at my snail and remind myself to be patient. I also focus on the positivity, and support I have in my home. When all else is crap, most times, I can walk through my door and receive a heartfelt hug and a smooch on mi boca and my troubles start to melt away. Sometimes they don't but it's nice to know that I have a place in the world where I can just be.

Of course, our AC window unit is crap, there's water damage in the bathroom, my laundry pile would intimitate Edmund Hillary , and my TV reception is bad, but it's where I hang my heart!

The Hot Question

After 30 minutes of waiting for the bus in the scorching hot sun, I was covered in a layer of sweat. The breeze that stirred up the exhaust fumes from the passing traffic was absolutely no relief. The August heat was oppressive, and still no bus.

Then a heavy-set, black woman walked up the bus stop and took a seat beside me on the bench. She was deep into a conversation on her cell, and didn't even acknowledge my presence. After less than a minute of sitting on the bench I hear her complain, loudly, "I wish this bus would hurry up and come. I'm hot as hell." (I actually heard the whole conversation due to the fact that the woman was speaking in a ridiculously loud voice the entire time but this comment was extra loud.) She went back to her conversation and I tried my hardest not to eavesdrop. Several minutes later the same woman whines into the phone, "Damn, I'm burning up. I wish this bus would get here soon. I can't take much more of this."

3 minutes. 6 Minutes tops the woman had been at the bus stop. Other peoples were there twice as long. I had been there for over a half hour! What's going on?

"You been here long? 'Scuse me, I said you been here long?"

I answered that I had, indeed, been waiting for a long time. She cursed to herself, in my direction and then went back to her phone call. She relayed the information to her caller, denounced the public transportation system, and then went on to complain for several more minutes. I, deciding I needed to find a way to pass the time and possibly shut her up, stood to stretch my legs. I then crossed to the curb directly in front of the boisterous woman, dropped my CTA card, and bent over to pick it up giving her a front row seat of the spectacular spectacle that is a man's sweat-soaked, swamp ass! I'd been sitting on the bench for 30 minutes, moisture pooling, cheeks clenching. It couldn't have been pretty.

"Have you been waiting long?"

"I guess that depends on how you look at it."