My first shot at this was going to be full of piss and vinegar.
And for those of you that were expecting that I promise you there is much more of that to follow in the coming posts, but after the events of the week and tonight I cannot bring myself to be but so angry. As we are all guilty of from time to time, I forgot about the bigger picture when drafting the first editions of this blog. As with all things in life, it's important to take things in context, or with a "grain of salt." If you know me, context means "soundtrack." So tonight's soundtrack is "On the Wing" by Owl City, and if you don't like that or have anything negative to say fuck off (ok so maybe some piss and vinegar).
Someone who I respect told me that I should write a book and keep track of my experiences while working in the restaurant industry.
This is it.
I have no apologies.
Bar-stool philosophy is a strange and terrible beast.
Like I mentioned before I had a mildly entertaining rant about those in my profession that claim they are chefs without the know-how or training to make such outlandish claims. And although I've never been one to shy away from the cheap laugh, I have more to offer, I hope. For those of you unfamiliar with "bar-stool philosophy" take three shots of rail liquor, and down two draft beers in the course of an hour and then you'll be in a similar state of mind to understand the kind of logic that comes from such ventures. It also helps if you have worked in a stressful and physically demanding environment for anywhere from 10 to 14 hours continuously. You could also add in extreme hot and extreme cold temperatures, the occasional "hot boxed" cigarette, and if you are like some of the coworkers I've had in the past a "bump" off the back of a dirty toilet seat wouldn't hurt either. To further complicate situations you could be fucking a co-worker or have fired someone earlier that day. But it's pay day and you sat down in that mighty comfortable stool and the first sip of beer is as refreshing as it is cold and you for several seconds forget about the daily rubix cube of personalities. A song comes on the jukebox that we all know, probably mid nineties alternative, Blind Melon or maybe Smashing Pumpkins. It takes you back to a simpler time. For me it's always the first album I bought at Tower Records in Richmond, it was Green Day's Dookie and I couldn't have been more enamored. And when "Longview" comes on I'm sorry but I'm gonna tell the story of when I heard that song for the first time and how it lead to the musical nirvana that I currently reside in. I'm sorry but I listen to really good fucking music, and I won't compromise on that point.
I digress.
This is when the concept of "bar-stool" philosophy comes into play. Inevitably someone will bitch about something. In our ultimate wisdom we well wax poetic about how you should do the necessary things to better yourself and not get trapped in the soul killing venture that you're currently wrapped up in. You'll continue for one maybe two drinks until you realize that you're giving advice that applies to you as aptly as it applies to the victim of your alcohol induced, self serving rant. The question then presents itself in your slightly inebriated, drug addled mind, am I arrogant enough to offer advice that I myself am too scared to take?
If you answered yes this blog might be for you...
I'll quote something from my self-serving, new age bullshit, New Year's resolution...
Maybe the human soul is kept alive by knowing that no matter how bad we fuck up, God willing we get another shot at it tomorrow. And if I get that shot I have a resolution.
Stop Being Scared.
I have many things to comment on, about things that are not that important. However, it is in the minutia that we find the true pattern of life's workings, and maybe, just maybe I won't be scared enough to have something to say...
