No no, don't crush XM.

BJ is asleep in my room after not five minutes of laying there. I'm waiting on the laundry to dry. We are fifty years old. It's 2006.

In a little while we will be embarking on a great trip, a great sojourn, wherein there will be civil war battlegrounds to inspect and whiskey to be distilled. Family will feed us too much and we'll kiss on the lips until our kids get embarassed. I have to go fold. We'll talk again soon.

My life as a belle and sebastian song, specifically: Funny Little Frog. (Without the ambiguity).

I sat down today and wrote out my budget for the months of December and January and I realized that for about two weeks of every month I am pretty poor, the other two I have expendable cash. Not the kind of cash wherein I fill a bathtub with money and bathe in it's glorious riches or plump up my pillows with fifty dollar bills. No no, nothing like that. All the bills get paid, all the money gets stuffed into it's respected envelopes or electronically transferred into another account, and I am left waiting for the 15th of the month. Oh Friday!
In other news, it seems that after this week end it will be just a hand full of us left in this town. Even Kansas is hitting the road. What the crap. What am I going to do for an entire week? Sure I have packing and Christmas present wrapping and card writing, but that only goes so far.

consumer reports are awesome

It's 42 degrees outside today and I only have one window. It wouldn't be so bad if I had an arm or hold across the center console or a warm hand on my leg- but as it stands it's just me. At least for a little while. The weather outside reminds me of that one time on the bench with frozen drinks and leggings. It was that time we watched boats go by and I left my sunglasses. Who would have thought that just sitting on a bench could change everything? Who would have thought cold air and frozen corn liqour drinks would go so well together?
Next weekend I'm buying the christmas gift I'm the most excited about. The biggest challenge is keeping it a secret, but I'm confident I can keep this one under wraps. pun intended.

Bringin' the demon

Do you remember the potatoes? The 140 degree nights? The carrot incident? Because I do. There are things that seem burned into my mind. But I can't remember at what point I realized that it was no longer mirepoix that I was cutting, that the tip of my finger had been put on the menu. I got the job because of a letter that I wrote. I started with a letter and it seems that I will end it with one as well. Saturday night we watched traffic crawl down one way roads and mothers with strollers weaved in and out of stopped cars on their way to the Christmas Festival. Down town had become a winter wonderland complete with lights, caroling children, and santa hats with red and green blinking lights. We watched it all walk by. It was Saturday and the restaurant was empty for the first time in forever. They shut down the street that ran by the front of the building and our measly ten car parking lot seemed to fill up with phantom customers- families on their way to the parade who slipped by the valet and took advantage of the squares of unoccupied concrete. We caught a carload of sword fighting kids and bundled up parents trying to sneak in and out.

Valet: Hey, you can't park here unless you are eating at the restaurant.
Big Man: You got a license that says yous a valet?
Valet: You got a license that says you're an ass hole?
Big Man to his brood: Kids, get back in the car. Daddy's gotta take care of something.

My boss (for some unknown reason) stopped the title fight that evening between the 250+ pound black man and the skinny hungover frat boy who parks cars for a living. He said something about how he didn't want to do it, but there were three line cooks, a couple of dishwashers, and Kate in the kitchen just waiting for something to do. When I heard this I immediatly put up those fists of fury. I'll remember nights like that. Nights where we sat at the bar until too late drinking red wine and asking the most common questions:
1. What would you want your last meal on earth to be?
2. Which food network chef do you want to bone?
I'll remember the white pepper and how it made the space between my nose and lips burn. I'll remember how carrot ginger vinegarette tastes and that I can order vennison ossso bucco without fear or trepidation, that I like my steaks mid rare, that beef carpaccio isn't something to frown upon, that my head chef can make anything out of creole mustard and some flour tortillas, and that if one drinks copious amounts of booz the night before- nothing quenches the next morning thirst like arctic ice gatorade. I'll choose to remember those and I'll do my best to forget what happened that night- the night I should have walked out. But for the next couple of weeks and until they no longer need me, you can find me with a gatorade thinking about fireworks in parking lots on fourth of july and a tuna tar tar in a tiny little potato cake basket.

The reinvention of a classic american folk hero -or- how Daniel Craig as the new Bond is the manliest bond of all time

We all sat around the table, the same one that countless dinners had been set out on, names carved into the surface, insults traded across (all in good fun of course). I had sat at that table so many times I can't even begin to remember them all. Once, Hunter made a dinner for a small group of us that seemed so out of place for our college dining experiences. It must have been lamb medalions over polenta with sauteed asparagus or something. Micah and I used to eat cereal late at night and talk about the future because mens health said it was good for you (the cereal, not the conversation). It was the first piece of Micah's house that I was acquainted with at the bar b q that week I moved to Tallahassee, I sat at it in awe of these people that I had fallen into meeting. So many times, and yet those people surrounding it have come and gone- new faces seem to pop up around it. We all sat around the table, Micah, Kansas, BJ, me. There was hamburger to be eaten and salsa to critique. I sat and listened as the boys talked about their girlfriends as though they had been in love their whole lives with these people. We had changed. We are all becoming the people we wanted to be as opposed to the people our parents warned us about.

Photographs and Memories

Written Snapshot from October 4, 2005: I suppose some things never change.

This weekend was ridiculous. I discovered a new cousin. Stay with me because this going to be good. My Aunt Debbie was married to a man named Alan, who left her for another man named John, who had a sister with a son named Matt, who loves to drink Vodka and Cranberries and dance all night long. Bri and Tyler were hysterical as always and we stayed at my uncles' house (That's two uncles- Alan and John) off of bay shore boulavard the most bougouis neighborhood in all of Tampa. They had a floating stair case with black and white pictures accentuating their obviously swedish dinette set. The best part was when I woke up the next morning and trudged into the kitchen, the only thing to read over a bowl of cereal was Out Magazine. And that's not an exaggeration plugged in for comic relief. All night we talked about, "ahhh, those gays..." So thank you Uncle Alan and Uncle John for taking a three week trip to Europe and that bottle of Absolut. But sometime between being breakin' it down to throwback music in a scene bar and passing out on the couch downstairs, Bri and I had the most stereotypical drunken conversation on the back patio. She would say, "You know what fuck it man, fuck the drama, I'm so wasted right now" and I would say, "Yeah, man whatever right? I mean, it's almost as if she asked me to punch her in the mouth. I mean, that's what it sounded like to me." And Bri would counter with, "Isn't my cousin cute... I mean I'd totally hit that if we weren't related. And you would totally hit it if you weren't a closet homosexual." And then silence. Because we just went too far. But what came out in the end was this massive understanding that the world is formed by two sets of people. Those who embrace sadness and those that just say fuck that. We all know them, the girls who seem to always be sick. Who's life is always falling apart. They bitch and moan about school and work and bros or lack thereof. I'm not saying one is better than the other. All I'm saying is that night ended with me holding an empty glass and never once telling Bri not to sleep with her cousin.



Observations:
1. Family never changes.
2. Ideas about optimism must be remembered and recalled from time to time.
3. Sleeping with non blood related cousins is something that I do not endorse.
4. Bring it on, Thanksgiving.

Don't you want to come with me, don't you want to feel my bones on your bones.

Yesterday was the first day back to the old 9-5 after a week off. Not a vacation, but rather a forced time break due to my inability to close my hand into a fist or carry anything with my left side. My fingers bend again, my wounds have healed, and so I returned to work just like the first day I started- with my backpack and butterflies. It took a while to feel comfortable again but eventually it happened for me and I eased back into the rhythm of a kitchen. I have to say the most exciting part of yesterday was learning that we at Cypress restaurant will be CLOSED on Wednesday and Thursday of next week. That's thanksgiving eve and day for those of us who are keeping track. That's one more day of straight hanging with the fam both in Melbourne and Tampa. One more day to play flag football and eat Turkey. One more day to give BJ the kisses he deserves and talk to my sister about how much it sucks to be a teenager. These are the first holidays for a lot of us. And I think we should enjoy every sam adams passed our way, every awkward family questions, every glance across the room, every unwarranted smile. Because of the best of times and the worst of time, these are the latter.

The quest for coffee begins

Despite the fact that there isn't much of a chance that any one is actually going to read this, I suppose it's worth a shot. Something to do between classes other than searching for christmas gifts for relatives on the crate and barrel website.
I'm on a quest today with $1.42 to find a cup of coffee, something other than the folgers that I have at home. The temperatures are decidedly autumnal, I get to wear my pink sperrys, I have what used to be enough money for a cup of coffee and now find myself without said beverage despite the weather outside being perfect for it. What ever happened to coffee being a cheap alternative to booze? Because with the change in my pocket I could pick up 32 oz. of malt liquor, something to make the walk home interesting. I'm either going to continue the search or settle for the Natty Ice.
Thanks a lot America.