The first warning I took as a sort of “heads-up” type of thing, particularly because that's how the statement was prefaced.
The second warning I took as a “be mindful” type of thing.
The third warning was, “He pulled a knife on a guy.”
I’m just talking to her, that’s it. I talked to her while she was just some barista at Starbucks; it would be rude if I didn’t talk to her when she’s sitting next to me at a bar.
The thing of it is: the thought of getting a knife pulled on me doesn’t frighten me.
So, now I have to weigh talking to an acquaintance and the slight risk of getting stabbed.
I could probably get the guy thrown out of the bar if he did threaten me because bar owners do not like that type of thing because the Licensing Board does not like that type of thing.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Thursday, April 29, 2010
“So, this is the thing?”
Sometimes I just want to quit. I want to stop fighting against the ever coming tide. I’ll get tired of the
endless journey. I'll fail to see the point of it all.
There are other things that I could be doing.
“Yeah, just stop. Let it wash right over you. Drowning ain’t all that bad,” is what I’ll hear in my head and I
won’t disagree. But then I’ll hear, “So this is the thing that does you in? This is the thing that is going to
defeat you?”
And the ‘thing’ is not worthy of a victory over me, so I’ll just take the next step further and shut up about it.
Usually, the internal dialog is condensed to:
“I want to quit.”
“So, this is the thing?”
endless journey. I'll fail to see the point of it all.
There are other things that I could be doing.
“Yeah, just stop. Let it wash right over you. Drowning ain’t all that bad,” is what I’ll hear in my head and I
won’t disagree. But then I’ll hear, “So this is the thing that does you in? This is the thing that is going to
defeat you?”
And the ‘thing’ is not worthy of a victory over me, so I’ll just take the next step further and shut up about it.
Usually, the internal dialog is condensed to:
“I want to quit.”
“So, this is the thing?”
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
The manager came over and said, "Man, Timmy, all the crazy just seem to seek you out."
Monday.
It’s a bit of a let down. There is no drama. There are no last minutes things that need to get done with no time to do them. There are no possibly crazy people making problems at the front desk. All the computers seem to be working.
It’s no longer Rock & Roll.
Jimmy was at the bar on Sunday. He told a joke. And what follows is pretty much word for word how he told it.
There’s this priest and a rabbi and they decided to switch jobs.
The priest says, “You do the confessions and I’ll do whatever it is you do.”
“But how will I know what the restitution is for the sins.”
“Don’t worry about that. I’ve got a book there with a list of sins and what the restitution is for each so you just look it up in the book and if a sin isn’t in the book then just ask the alter boy, Johnny.”
So the rabbi agrees to swap jobs with the priest and he’s sitting in the confessional when a lady enters.
“Forgive me Father for I have sinned it’s been three weeks since my last confession.”
“What is you sin, my child?”
“Father, I kissed a married man.”
So the rabbi looks it up in the book and says, “Okay, say one Our Father and one Hail Mary and your sin will be forgiven.”
“Thank you, Father,” she said as she left.
A moment later, she enters the confessional again.
“Forgive me Father but I more than just kissed that married man, I gave him a blowjob.”
So, the rabbi, looks that up in the book and says, “Okay, say five Our Fathers and five Hail Marys and your sin will be forgiven.”
“Thank you, Father,” she said as she left.
A moment later, she enters the confessional yet again.
“Forgive me Father but there is something else. I also had annual sex with him.”
(I looked over at the bartender at this point and just smiled. Neither of us said anything and just let him continue)
So, the rabbi starts to look up annual sex in the book but he can’t find it. So, he calls out to Johnny the alter boy and asks, “Hey, Johnny. What does the Father give for annual sex?”
“Usually a Snickers bar and a soda.”
(I just rolled my eyes and the bartender just walked away)
“Ha HA HA ha. I love it when the jokes stick it to the priests.”
Jimmy then stepped outside.
“I don’t know if he got the joke wrong and doesn’t know what anal sex is or if he was trying to clean up the joke because you’re a woman.”
“Yeah, what’s annual sex, anyway?”
“That’s the kind of sex I usually have. Annual-ly.”
You always know when you hear the punch line on one of Jimmy’s jokes because he always laughs the loudest.
It’s a bit of a let down. There is no drama. There are no last minutes things that need to get done with no time to do them. There are no possibly crazy people making problems at the front desk. All the computers seem to be working.
It’s no longer Rock & Roll.
Jimmy was at the bar on Sunday. He told a joke. And what follows is pretty much word for word how he told it.
There’s this priest and a rabbi and they decided to switch jobs.
The priest says, “You do the confessions and I’ll do whatever it is you do.”
“But how will I know what the restitution is for the sins.”
“Don’t worry about that. I’ve got a book there with a list of sins and what the restitution is for each so you just look it up in the book and if a sin isn’t in the book then just ask the alter boy, Johnny.”
So the rabbi agrees to swap jobs with the priest and he’s sitting in the confessional when a lady enters.
“Forgive me Father for I have sinned it’s been three weeks since my last confession.”
“What is you sin, my child?”
“Father, I kissed a married man.”
So the rabbi looks it up in the book and says, “Okay, say one Our Father and one Hail Mary and your sin will be forgiven.”
“Thank you, Father,” she said as she left.
A moment later, she enters the confessional again.
“Forgive me Father but I more than just kissed that married man, I gave him a blowjob.”
So, the rabbi, looks that up in the book and says, “Okay, say five Our Fathers and five Hail Marys and your sin will be forgiven.”
“Thank you, Father,” she said as she left.
A moment later, she enters the confessional yet again.
“Forgive me Father but there is something else. I also had annual sex with him.”
(I looked over at the bartender at this point and just smiled. Neither of us said anything and just let him continue)
So, the rabbi starts to look up annual sex in the book but he can’t find it. So, he calls out to Johnny the alter boy and asks, “Hey, Johnny. What does the Father give for annual sex?”
“Usually a Snickers bar and a soda.”
(I just rolled my eyes and the bartender just walked away)
“Ha HA HA ha. I love it when the jokes stick it to the priests.”
Jimmy then stepped outside.
“I don’t know if he got the joke wrong and doesn’t know what anal sex is or if he was trying to clean up the joke because you’re a woman.”
“Yeah, what’s annual sex, anyway?”
“That’s the kind of sex I usually have. Annual-ly.”
You always know when you hear the punch line on one of Jimmy’s jokes because he always laughs the loudest.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Brevity was not his strong suit
The best thing to come about out of last week was that I survived it.
That's not true in actuality but I think it makes a good opening line.
Anyway, work-wise, last week was a trial. We had one guy out on vacation and despite my busy workload, I had to cover about half of his work-load. He deals with people right off the street so you never know who or how many area going to show up. And every computer went down for a day and a half.
I was just trying to get to the end of the day on Friday when I overheard someone at the front desk getting a little loud. His volume was caused by frustration more than anger. My time filling in the desk of the guy on vacation had just ended and I was making sure that the next guy was as comfortable as possible when the loud discussion at the front desk began.
The lobby was full, which means about seven people were waiting in chairs; people who really have nothing better to do than to listen to what goes on at the front desk. The guy was getting no appeasement and not even a bit of courtesy, interjecting myself into the situation wasn't something I wanted to do but all of the people that normally deal with these issues were out and the front desk was being a very poor ambassador.
The guy was tall, about late forties or early fifties, clearly irritated and had a mountain's worth of papers to make his case.
When I was somewhat certain that the guy coming on was settled in, I took the couple steps to the front desk and stood next to the guy and listened.
"This here is Tim. He's one of the engineers here, maybe he can help you."
"Hi, I'm Peter Miller. I work helping people get by the scalpers at Fenway and the other day I was kicked out by the Police who were responding to a complaint by the manager at the Commonwealth Hotel but he was complaining about the other guys and not me but the police kicked everyone out and I have a letter from the manager that says I can be there..."
"Sir, I don't mean to be rude but we are very busy here," I said as I turned to the room full of people, "And I'm here to try to help you but I can help you better if you just tell me why you are here in this department."
"Well, that's what I was getting at. It's all kind of complicated and I think that the whole history of the situation is necessary."
"My problem is that this my not be the correct department to help you and if you just tell me briefly what you are trying to accomplish, then I can direct you better."
"I'm just trying to do my job and not have a repeat of getting kicked out of where I was and someone directed me to the Commissioner here. I was paid in advance and when I got kicked out I couldn't do my job and I could be sued if I'm unable to complete my job, and I'm here to see the Commissioner but I'm told that he is out and there is no one here that can help me."
"First off. That's true. The Commissioner is not in, the Deputy Commissioner is not in, the guy that usually deals with unique issues like you are talking about is not in. And secondly, it's a little unrealistic for you to think that you would be able to just walk in with all these papers and get to talk to the Commissioner right away without an appointment. But if I figure out some way that this department can help you, I will let the appropriate people know on Monday."
His problem boiled down to that he uses a Segway as part of his job because he has a disability. Segways are not approved to be on the sidewalks in my city but they are not explicitly forbidden either and I don't think that the police kicked this guy out for doing his job, they kicked him out for doing his job on a Segway, on a busy sidewalk, on one of the busiest days in the area - a Red Sox game day. The Segway is the problem, not anything else he was so emphatically trying to tell me about and if he had just said that at the beginning of the story I could have had him on his way but he knew that the Segway was the problem so he didn't want to bring it up because in other departments he got the bum's rush as soon as he said, "Segway."
He kept on trying to give me all sorts of documents and I kept on explaining to him that no one is going to read a mountain's worth of paperwork and that he should just compile a brief letter of introduction stating his dilemma and just submit that and then come in with all the supporting paperwork. He then informed he that not only does he have a physical disability but he also has a disability that makes it difficult for him to write letters.
So I picked four sheets of his information which included his I.D.'s, a letter from Hotel Commonwealth, his permit to hand out fliers, and something with his employer's information on it. I gave him one of my cards and wrote on the back the name of the guy that I was going to talk to.
It took about twenty minutes to get the guy out the door and at that point in time I pretty much gave up hope of completing all the thing that I needed to get done that day, so I stayed a little while longer at the permit desk to help clear the room of all those people who just witnessed the show.
I was complemented a few times on my patience by the folks that sat down, I would just shrug and say that it was part of my job and explain that there are people in City Hall that honestly will try to help you out, it's just getting the right information to the right people that is the tricky part.
Bottom line is: the front desk sucks.
That's not true in actuality but I think it makes a good opening line.
Anyway, work-wise, last week was a trial. We had one guy out on vacation and despite my busy workload, I had to cover about half of his work-load. He deals with people right off the street so you never know who or how many area going to show up. And every computer went down for a day and a half.
I was just trying to get to the end of the day on Friday when I overheard someone at the front desk getting a little loud. His volume was caused by frustration more than anger. My time filling in the desk of the guy on vacation had just ended and I was making sure that the next guy was as comfortable as possible when the loud discussion at the front desk began.
The lobby was full, which means about seven people were waiting in chairs; people who really have nothing better to do than to listen to what goes on at the front desk. The guy was getting no appeasement and not even a bit of courtesy, interjecting myself into the situation wasn't something I wanted to do but all of the people that normally deal with these issues were out and the front desk was being a very poor ambassador.
The guy was tall, about late forties or early fifties, clearly irritated and had a mountain's worth of papers to make his case.
When I was somewhat certain that the guy coming on was settled in, I took the couple steps to the front desk and stood next to the guy and listened.
"This here is Tim. He's one of the engineers here, maybe he can help you."
"Hi, I'm Peter Miller. I work helping people get by the scalpers at Fenway and the other day I was kicked out by the Police who were responding to a complaint by the manager at the Commonwealth Hotel but he was complaining about the other guys and not me but the police kicked everyone out and I have a letter from the manager that says I can be there..."
"Sir, I don't mean to be rude but we are very busy here," I said as I turned to the room full of people, "And I'm here to try to help you but I can help you better if you just tell me why you are here in this department."
"Well, that's what I was getting at. It's all kind of complicated and I think that the whole history of the situation is necessary."
"My problem is that this my not be the correct department to help you and if you just tell me briefly what you are trying to accomplish, then I can direct you better."
"I'm just trying to do my job and not have a repeat of getting kicked out of where I was and someone directed me to the Commissioner here. I was paid in advance and when I got kicked out I couldn't do my job and I could be sued if I'm unable to complete my job, and I'm here to see the Commissioner but I'm told that he is out and there is no one here that can help me."
"First off. That's true. The Commissioner is not in, the Deputy Commissioner is not in, the guy that usually deals with unique issues like you are talking about is not in. And secondly, it's a little unrealistic for you to think that you would be able to just walk in with all these papers and get to talk to the Commissioner right away without an appointment. But if I figure out some way that this department can help you, I will let the appropriate people know on Monday."
His problem boiled down to that he uses a Segway as part of his job because he has a disability. Segways are not approved to be on the sidewalks in my city but they are not explicitly forbidden either and I don't think that the police kicked this guy out for doing his job, they kicked him out for doing his job on a Segway, on a busy sidewalk, on one of the busiest days in the area - a Red Sox game day. The Segway is the problem, not anything else he was so emphatically trying to tell me about and if he had just said that at the beginning of the story I could have had him on his way but he knew that the Segway was the problem so he didn't want to bring it up because in other departments he got the bum's rush as soon as he said, "Segway."
He kept on trying to give me all sorts of documents and I kept on explaining to him that no one is going to read a mountain's worth of paperwork and that he should just compile a brief letter of introduction stating his dilemma and just submit that and then come in with all the supporting paperwork. He then informed he that not only does he have a physical disability but he also has a disability that makes it difficult for him to write letters.
So I picked four sheets of his information which included his I.D.'s, a letter from Hotel Commonwealth, his permit to hand out fliers, and something with his employer's information on it. I gave him one of my cards and wrote on the back the name of the guy that I was going to talk to.
It took about twenty minutes to get the guy out the door and at that point in time I pretty much gave up hope of completing all the thing that I needed to get done that day, so I stayed a little while longer at the permit desk to help clear the room of all those people who just witnessed the show.
I was complemented a few times on my patience by the folks that sat down, I would just shrug and say that it was part of my job and explain that there are people in City Hall that honestly will try to help you out, it's just getting the right information to the right people that is the tricky part.
Bottom line is: the front desk sucks.
Saturday, April 24, 2010
It was the last train home
I wasn't keeping track of time because I always leave before things become an issue but for some reason I thought it would be grand to visit all of my bartender friends that were working Friday night and that caused me to catch the very last train.
The pillars of Boston society do not ride the last subway train.
The dude that was chatting me up pulled out a bottle of rum that had about two fingers worth of booze at the bottom and offered me a shot. I told him that I was all set. He then moved on to someone more interesting. Someone with a back tattoo. Someone who insisted that the train waiting just outside the station was waiting because he just clocked some guy in the mouth and the authorities were waiting for the police to arrive. He also decline a shot of rum.
...
My regular bar is not my favorite bar anymore but I still feel some sort of obligation to visit. The place was busy for four o'clock Friday; all the chairs at the bar were taken. I was slid a beer and stood by the railing for the downstairs bathrooms. A manager stood beside me and asked if I wanted him to add a chair at the bar. I told him that I didn't mind standing.
There was only one customer that I recognized and he is disliked by the bartender and I find him to be annoying; but there was plenty of distance between he and me so I felt assured that any interaction with him would be brief.
I got the chair at the bar by the taps, four chairs away from the guy I knew but that didn't last too long as that guy relocated right next to me. I knew then that my running conversation with the bartender was over. She once joked that I wasn't even supposed to wave at the guy much less talk to him. But what was supposed to do? I could hear only half of what he was saying and I only asked him to repeat half of that.
He would wave at the bartender to get her attention and she was doing her darnedest to ignore his empty glass. He mentioned that he thought the bartender hated him. I just shrugged.
"Can I ask you something? And you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to but I've seen you leave generous tips and do you think it helps you get better service?"
"I don't know," I said as I hardened my outer shell.
"Because I've left generous tips and it doesn't seem to make a difference. I also don't want to just leave a big tip and have it seem - I don't know, weird."
"I tip on what I get or if it's a slow day. I don't care if the percentage is high. If you order two beers and leave a ten, that's over 150% tip but it's only six bucks. I tip to make me feel good; to make certain I'm doing right by them. I don't tip to get anything out of it."
I then put my elbows on the bar and drank my beer. He was quiet for a moment. I may have thanked God.
"That's a good answer," he said but I didn't hear him, I only caught it after I asked him to repeat himself.
"What is?" I asked.
"That you tip for you."
I heard, "Oh, we're still having that conversation?" from the smartassed part of my brain. I just shrugged, took a large sip of beer and got even more irritated because he seemed to be indicating that what I said were just words and not a part of my soul.
I out lasted him but by that time Janel was counting her cash drawer. We only got to talk for a moment. I had shown up to decompress from a busy week but I got no relief. So I headed over to what is probably going to be my new bar.
One of the owner's was smoking outside.
"Hey, how's this Friday going for you?"
He smiled and held out his hand and said, "It's better last week. No trouble but it's busy." I shook his hand and he then tossed his cigarette and lead me inside to get me a beer. I didn't see anyone I knew. I was looking for the best free chair at the bar when I was poked in the shoulder.
"Hey, Steve! I couldn't see anyone I recognized until you just got my attention. I was worried about were I was going to sit."
"Timmy. I have a seat right here waiting for ya."
The pillars of Boston society do not ride the last subway train.
The dude that was chatting me up pulled out a bottle of rum that had about two fingers worth of booze at the bottom and offered me a shot. I told him that I was all set. He then moved on to someone more interesting. Someone with a back tattoo. Someone who insisted that the train waiting just outside the station was waiting because he just clocked some guy in the mouth and the authorities were waiting for the police to arrive. He also decline a shot of rum.
...
My regular bar is not my favorite bar anymore but I still feel some sort of obligation to visit. The place was busy for four o'clock Friday; all the chairs at the bar were taken. I was slid a beer and stood by the railing for the downstairs bathrooms. A manager stood beside me and asked if I wanted him to add a chair at the bar. I told him that I didn't mind standing.
There was only one customer that I recognized and he is disliked by the bartender and I find him to be annoying; but there was plenty of distance between he and me so I felt assured that any interaction with him would be brief.
I got the chair at the bar by the taps, four chairs away from the guy I knew but that didn't last too long as that guy relocated right next to me. I knew then that my running conversation with the bartender was over. She once joked that I wasn't even supposed to wave at the guy much less talk to him. But what was supposed to do? I could hear only half of what he was saying and I only asked him to repeat half of that.
He would wave at the bartender to get her attention and she was doing her darnedest to ignore his empty glass. He mentioned that he thought the bartender hated him. I just shrugged.
"Can I ask you something? And you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to but I've seen you leave generous tips and do you think it helps you get better service?"
"I don't know," I said as I hardened my outer shell.
"Because I've left generous tips and it doesn't seem to make a difference. I also don't want to just leave a big tip and have it seem - I don't know, weird."
"I tip on what I get or if it's a slow day. I don't care if the percentage is high. If you order two beers and leave a ten, that's over 150% tip but it's only six bucks. I tip to make me feel good; to make certain I'm doing right by them. I don't tip to get anything out of it."
I then put my elbows on the bar and drank my beer. He was quiet for a moment. I may have thanked God.
"That's a good answer," he said but I didn't hear him, I only caught it after I asked him to repeat himself.
"What is?" I asked.
"That you tip for you."
I heard, "Oh, we're still having that conversation?" from the smartassed part of my brain. I just shrugged, took a large sip of beer and got even more irritated because he seemed to be indicating that what I said were just words and not a part of my soul.
I out lasted him but by that time Janel was counting her cash drawer. We only got to talk for a moment. I had shown up to decompress from a busy week but I got no relief. So I headed over to what is probably going to be my new bar.
One of the owner's was smoking outside.
"Hey, how's this Friday going for you?"
He smiled and held out his hand and said, "It's better last week. No trouble but it's busy." I shook his hand and he then tossed his cigarette and lead me inside to get me a beer. I didn't see anyone I knew. I was looking for the best free chair at the bar when I was poked in the shoulder.
"Hey, Steve! I couldn't see anyone I recognized until you just got my attention. I was worried about were I was going to sit."
"Timmy. I have a seat right here waiting for ya."
Friday, April 23, 2010
I'm rather charming
I'm rather charming or so it seems.
People tend to like me.
I worry when my charm doesn't seem to work.
I think that I'm a pretty understanding guy. I would like to say that I'm easy going but I'm too argumentative for that statement to be true. "No, I see your point but I don't agree so let's move on," - that's me. But when I'm trying to help you out and you are making it difficult, I will get a little impatient. I also know: not to kill the messenger.
The young guy that comes in every day as part of his job and has a list of locations that needs permits placed a Dunkin Donuts gift card in front of me and said, "Thanks for all your help." I know that the regular guy, that usually sits at the desk I was at, gets things given to him from time to time. We are allowed to accept gifts from an individual that total under $50.00 for the calendar year. I told the guy, "Thanks."
I like Dunkin Donuts but I don't often go there. I'll go to this small local place or I'll go to the Starbucks that has the barista that I like. When I had a moment and I was sitting back at my own desk, I checked to see how much was loaded on the card. There was $25.
After work, I crossed the street to the other bar that I now go to. I figured that a bartender that I know would be working and the last time I saw her there, she walked in with a tray of large coffee's both hot and iced from Dunkin Donuts.
I handed her the card.
I was sitting with regulars when I noticed someone to the right of me. It was the barista that I like. She's always quick with a smile and has honest eyes. She seems like she's from Middle Eastern descent; she has such the slightest accent.
She asked if the seat next to me was available. I said that it was. We started talking and I could hear over my left shoulder, "It looks like Timmy has a friend." I was going to explain to those folks that I actually knew this person but I just kept my attention on the barista.
She told me that her name was Cece. We started talking about this and that, which included some of the things we talk about when I'm getting things at Starbucks and some other things that you usually don't get involved with talking about at Starbucks.
"It seems like you've lost your hat," I said. There was a time that I had never seen her without her Starbucks hat and because I am a charmer and wanted her to know that I have been paying attention, I mentioned it.
"Yeah, the manager has been away so we've all been doing some things like not wearing hats or not covering tattoos," she said as she pointed to the tattoos on her left arm.
"So, are you going to remember my name tomorrow?" she asked.
"No. Tomorrow I'll probably have to ask you what it is again." I lied.
People tend to like me.
I worry when my charm doesn't seem to work.
I think that I'm a pretty understanding guy. I would like to say that I'm easy going but I'm too argumentative for that statement to be true. "No, I see your point but I don't agree so let's move on," - that's me. But when I'm trying to help you out and you are making it difficult, I will get a little impatient. I also know: not to kill the messenger.
The young guy that comes in every day as part of his job and has a list of locations that needs permits placed a Dunkin Donuts gift card in front of me and said, "Thanks for all your help." I know that the regular guy, that usually sits at the desk I was at, gets things given to him from time to time. We are allowed to accept gifts from an individual that total under $50.00 for the calendar year. I told the guy, "Thanks."
I like Dunkin Donuts but I don't often go there. I'll go to this small local place or I'll go to the Starbucks that has the barista that I like. When I had a moment and I was sitting back at my own desk, I checked to see how much was loaded on the card. There was $25.
After work, I crossed the street to the other bar that I now go to. I figured that a bartender that I know would be working and the last time I saw her there, she walked in with a tray of large coffee's both hot and iced from Dunkin Donuts.
I handed her the card.
I was sitting with regulars when I noticed someone to the right of me. It was the barista that I like. She's always quick with a smile and has honest eyes. She seems like she's from Middle Eastern descent; she has such the slightest accent.
She asked if the seat next to me was available. I said that it was. We started talking and I could hear over my left shoulder, "It looks like Timmy has a friend." I was going to explain to those folks that I actually knew this person but I just kept my attention on the barista.
She told me that her name was Cece. We started talking about this and that, which included some of the things we talk about when I'm getting things at Starbucks and some other things that you usually don't get involved with talking about at Starbucks.
"It seems like you've lost your hat," I said. There was a time that I had never seen her without her Starbucks hat and because I am a charmer and wanted her to know that I have been paying attention, I mentioned it.
"Yeah, the manager has been away so we've all been doing some things like not wearing hats or not covering tattoos," she said as she pointed to the tattoos on her left arm.
"So, are you going to remember my name tomorrow?" she asked.
"No. Tomorrow I'll probably have to ask you what it is again." I lied.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Until Death Proves Me Wrong, I Will Continue to Think That I'm Immortal
There are times that I literally do not know what day it is. There are times that I do not know what week it is.
My confusion is usually a product of too much shit to do and working through the weekends. Lately, I've been trying to do the very most pressing thing. I haven't had time to plan things out.
I can't quit on things though because I feel that that would mean I'm admitting that I'm a mere mortal.
"So, you think you think you can have that by the end of the month?"
"Yeah, sure. That should be no problem. Oh, wait. What's today?"
"Thursday."
"The 15th?"
"No, the 22nd."
"What?! Really? No, I'll get it done."
My confusion is usually a product of too much shit to do and working through the weekends. Lately, I've been trying to do the very most pressing thing. I haven't had time to plan things out.
I can't quit on things though because I feel that that would mean I'm admitting that I'm a mere mortal.
"So, you think you think you can have that by the end of the month?"
"Yeah, sure. That should be no problem. Oh, wait. What's today?"
"Thursday."
"The 15th?"
"No, the 22nd."
"What?! Really? No, I'll get it done."
Monday, April 19, 2010
I was drinking Newcastle, draft.
There was some changes at my usual bar, so I dropped by the bar she was at. Woody was there so I sat next to him and he explained all of the reasons on why he was no longer a regular at the other place and then Tony, another regular from the other bar, came in.
We all talked for awhile and then the bartender hand wrote a note and asked me to give it to the bartender at my regular place. I left, did some things and then went to my regular bar and delivered the note. That bartender in return gave me a hand written note to deliver as well.
When I went to deliver the note both Woody and Tony had left but Bob was there.
"Tim!"
"Hey, Bob. Good to see ya."
"And it's good to see you. Woody said you were here. He said, "You'll never guess who was here, the famous Tim"."
As opposed to the other guy that is named Tim that nobody really likes mostly because he's a bit of a creep.
We all talked for awhile and then the bartender hand wrote a note and asked me to give it to the bartender at my regular place. I left, did some things and then went to my regular bar and delivered the note. That bartender in return gave me a hand written note to deliver as well.
When I went to deliver the note both Woody and Tony had left but Bob was there.
"Tim!"
"Hey, Bob. Good to see ya."
"And it's good to see you. Woody said you were here. He said, "You'll never guess who was here, the famous Tim"."
As opposed to the other guy that is named Tim that nobody really likes mostly because he's a bit of a creep.
Lessons Learned
too many 2010
I was standing on the traffic island that was overrun the previous year but before the island could become a problem the runners took over the whole roadway. They were only supposed to be on the left half.
go 2010
Most people gathered at the finish line. I stood right at the start.
2won 2010
Unceny won the race. Hall came in second. Donohue came in fourth.
again 2010
I remembered this photographer from the year before.
5kmedia
This is the year before.
I pretty certain he knows what human flesh tastes like.
I'll be back later
It will be after a little something know around town as the Boston Marathon. I've actually wanted to write some stuff but over time has been getting in the way.
"The famous Tim"
"Jimmy Cooghan"
I thought there was something else I wanted to talk about too.
I nearly forgot how to embed a photo
"The famous Tim"
"Jimmy Cooghan"
I thought there was something else I wanted to talk about too.
I nearly forgot how to embed a photo
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
She called me "Blue Eyes"
I try to make myself available to listen on occasion.
I think that I'm a pretty good listener.
Two bartenders had left at the end of the prior week so I went in on Monday. I'm not usually there on Mondays and one of the surviving bartenders pointed that out to me.
Only one bartender left on her own accord.
While I was there, a regular from days gone by came in. He was followed by a dude and a girl. He's a bit cocky and he speaks in a soft voice. He's a know it all but I don't mind him much. His name is Matt.
The girl that walked in with him said her name was Tracy when the bartender asked. The bartender only asked after Tracy inquired about the bartender's name. I never caught the other dude's name.
The story was that they all just got fired so they were celebrating "National Unemployment Day." They actually didn't all get fired that day, just one of them did. Tracy was fired two days prior and Matt was about to quit.
At first it was just the four of us and then two tourists walked in. They were retired from some job that I missed hearing, and then an unpopular regular walked in, who was also without a job. Tracy then pointed out that everyone sitting at the bar was jobless. The waitress corrected her and said, "Timmy has a job," I corrected her and said that I actually had two.
Tracy looked down the bar to find me. I was waiting for a question but what she said was, "You have pretty eyes." I bowed my head slightly as I turned up the palm of my left hand and said, "Thank you."
I haven't done anything to get my blue eyes but I have tried to keep sharp objects and corrosive chemicals out of them so I do accept credit for having them.
I mostly just listened but occasionally I would contribute to the conversation and whenever Tracy would refer to me she would call me "Blue Eyes."
After sharing three shots of Patron and a few beers with Matt and his friends, they decided to continue celebrating elsewhere. They left after Tracy returned from the Ladies Room; as she was walking by my stool she put her left hand on my right shoulder and said, "See you later, Blue Eyes."
I don't actually think that I will every see her again.
I think that I'm a pretty good listener.
Two bartenders had left at the end of the prior week so I went in on Monday. I'm not usually there on Mondays and one of the surviving bartenders pointed that out to me.
Only one bartender left on her own accord.
While I was there, a regular from days gone by came in. He was followed by a dude and a girl. He's a bit cocky and he speaks in a soft voice. He's a know it all but I don't mind him much. His name is Matt.
The girl that walked in with him said her name was Tracy when the bartender asked. The bartender only asked after Tracy inquired about the bartender's name. I never caught the other dude's name.
The story was that they all just got fired so they were celebrating "National Unemployment Day." They actually didn't all get fired that day, just one of them did. Tracy was fired two days prior and Matt was about to quit.
At first it was just the four of us and then two tourists walked in. They were retired from some job that I missed hearing, and then an unpopular regular walked in, who was also without a job. Tracy then pointed out that everyone sitting at the bar was jobless. The waitress corrected her and said, "Timmy has a job," I corrected her and said that I actually had two.
Tracy looked down the bar to find me. I was waiting for a question but what she said was, "You have pretty eyes." I bowed my head slightly as I turned up the palm of my left hand and said, "Thank you."
I haven't done anything to get my blue eyes but I have tried to keep sharp objects and corrosive chemicals out of them so I do accept credit for having them.
I mostly just listened but occasionally I would contribute to the conversation and whenever Tracy would refer to me she would call me "Blue Eyes."
After sharing three shots of Patron and a few beers with Matt and his friends, they decided to continue celebrating elsewhere. They left after Tracy returned from the Ladies Room; as she was walking by my stool she put her left hand on my right shoulder and said, "See you later, Blue Eyes."
I don't actually think that I will every see her again.
Tuesday, April 06, 2010
Yeah? So sue me.
I’m trying to be happier.
I should be happier.
…
I put off doing the quarterly report until midnight and I didn’t finish until 1:25AM; and that was probably a mistake.
I didn’t feel tired, so I started reading a book, Charles Bukowski’s Women. I started at where I had left off.
I’m not Bukowski’s biggest fan. I’ll read his stuff from time to time to try to see what the big deal is all about. I like his poems and prose better than his novels. I haven't read any of his short stories. Or at least I don't think I have.
I read a lot more than I think I do, mostly because I don't think I read much at all.
...
I missed a deadline.
The world didn't end.
I think I might miss another.
...
I'm not certain how much sleep I got last night. I can't remember waking up so conversely I can't remember going to sleep but I can't imagine that I could just lie there for four and a half hours without my inner voice driving me crazy. Maybe I was half asleep.
...
I should be happier.
I should be happier.
…
I put off doing the quarterly report until midnight and I didn’t finish until 1:25AM; and that was probably a mistake.
I didn’t feel tired, so I started reading a book, Charles Bukowski’s Women. I started at where I had left off.
I’m not Bukowski’s biggest fan. I’ll read his stuff from time to time to try to see what the big deal is all about. I like his poems and prose better than his novels. I haven't read any of his short stories. Or at least I don't think I have.
I read a lot more than I think I do, mostly because I don't think I read much at all.
...
I missed a deadline.
The world didn't end.
I think I might miss another.
...
I'm not certain how much sleep I got last night. I can't remember waking up so conversely I can't remember going to sleep but I can't imagine that I could just lie there for four and a half hours without my inner voice driving me crazy. Maybe I was half asleep.
...
I should be happier.
It surprises me when I look back on it.
The next batch of bread, after baking a huge amount of loaves, are always better.
I've been baking bread with some success for a couple years now. I'm not baking everyday like some folks do but I probably average a loaf a week if you don't count the days when I bake a lot of bread for others. My average might actually be higher than that but who cares?
Anyway, I bake consistently and I find it interesting that I always seem to learn more when I bake dozens and dozens of loaves than when I'm just baking a couple loaves.
I figure that I would notice more subtleties when loving creating a couple of loaves rather than hustling to finish that last batch before I have to rush from the house with bags and bags of bread.
The two loaves I gave away on Easter where the best two loaves that I've ever baked. They looked great on the outside and the inside and they tasted great. I've achieved that flavor and crumb before but I hadn't always had a lovely looking loaf. Those two were great and best of all: I know how to recreate them.
And I will lightly write in pencil the change in the recipe in the cookbook that I use, which is a big deal because I don't like writing in books. I don't like dogearing the pages or highlighting or doing any other thing that changes the book. I don't even like it when my mother, who used to work in a library covering books, tries to put a cover on one of my books.
"But it might get ruined, someone might spill something on it, while they are cooking."
"Well then so be it. I don't want a cover on it."
It seems rather practical covering a cookbook especially but I rather live on the edge than to have my book sealed up in plastic.
I've been baking bread with some success for a couple years now. I'm not baking everyday like some folks do but I probably average a loaf a week if you don't count the days when I bake a lot of bread for others. My average might actually be higher than that but who cares?
Anyway, I bake consistently and I find it interesting that I always seem to learn more when I bake dozens and dozens of loaves than when I'm just baking a couple loaves.
I figure that I would notice more subtleties when loving creating a couple of loaves rather than hustling to finish that last batch before I have to rush from the house with bags and bags of bread.
The two loaves I gave away on Easter where the best two loaves that I've ever baked. They looked great on the outside and the inside and they tasted great. I've achieved that flavor and crumb before but I hadn't always had a lovely looking loaf. Those two were great and best of all: I know how to recreate them.
And I will lightly write in pencil the change in the recipe in the cookbook that I use, which is a big deal because I don't like writing in books. I don't like dogearing the pages or highlighting or doing any other thing that changes the book. I don't even like it when my mother, who used to work in a library covering books, tries to put a cover on one of my books.
"But it might get ruined, someone might spill something on it, while they are cooking."
"Well then so be it. I don't want a cover on it."
It seems rather practical covering a cookbook especially but I rather live on the edge than to have my book sealed up in plastic.
I deliver
After a couple moments she was saying how much she was craving a meatball sub.
"I want a meatball sub! I gave up red meat for lent and now I want a meatball sub but nobody cares about me."
"I care about you just not enough to get you a meatball sub."
"Timmy!"
"Meatball subs are tricky, some are good and some are bad. Where would you get one if you could."
"Al's has good meatballs. I don't get cheese on it and about half way through I take the meatballs out and cut them into smaller pieces and eat them with a fork. I then tear the bread into little pieces and eat the pieces."
I think she stated her craving four more times while I was there for lunch. At one point, she added that maybe a cheeseburger would fill her craving.
I cashed out and left by way of Al's, which was a block away. I bought a small meatball sub for $5.50 and then walked back. I handed the waitress the sub and then told the bartender that I would have gotten her something as well but that I figured having the waitress shut up about meatball subs would be gift enough.
"I want a meatball sub! I gave up red meat for lent and now I want a meatball sub but nobody cares about me."
"I care about you just not enough to get you a meatball sub."
"Timmy!"
"Meatball subs are tricky, some are good and some are bad. Where would you get one if you could."
"Al's has good meatballs. I don't get cheese on it and about half way through I take the meatballs out and cut them into smaller pieces and eat them with a fork. I then tear the bread into little pieces and eat the pieces."
I think she stated her craving four more times while I was there for lunch. At one point, she added that maybe a cheeseburger would fill her craving.
I cashed out and left by way of Al's, which was a block away. I bought a small meatball sub for $5.50 and then walked back. I handed the waitress the sub and then told the bartender that I would have gotten her something as well but that I figured having the waitress shut up about meatball subs would be gift enough.
I deliver
So, I sent her an email that stated that I was going to try act like less of an angry prick to her. I also mentioned that we would probably eventually need to talk about things.
Thinking things over, I came to the realization that possibly I ended up doing some menial tasks because she could trust me to keep things under wraps, and even though I felt that she could have assigned the less critical things to someone else, I couldn’t fault her for trusting me.
We have some things that need to be worked out but I’ve decided not to get angry about them.
We were having a guest over for Easter dinner so baking bread was on my agenda. I figured that I would bake a couple extra loaves to let her know that I wasn’t angry at her personally just at the way she was having me do things. I know she usually has folks over on Easter and having homemade freshly baked bread is something special.
I had sent the email on Friday and still by Sunday, I had no reply; that worried me a little but then I asked myself how would someone reply to the message I had sent. I know that I would have trouble, so I let it go.
I planned on delivering the first two loaves from the oven as soon as I could; which turned out to be 4:00PM. I called her house and after a few rings the message went to voice mail; that worried me a little.
I finished a couple other things and then drove over to her house. I needed to check something in her neighborhood anyway. She wasn’t at home, so I drove by her mother’s house which was a block away. Her car wasn’t there, so I drove to her aunt’s house which was three blocks away. Her car was there. I called her cell phone and it went to voice mail; that worried me a bit.
I worry about a lot of things that have to do with interpersonal relationship. I worry that I’m going to screw things up.
So, I was double parked outside her aunt’s house with two loaves of bread and she wasn’t taking my calls. I figured that I did all that I could do and that I should just drive home with my bread. But I had plenty of bread at home. I had just baked two loaves of ciabatta for myself, three baguettes and also eight little loaves of French bread that I was going to use for bruschetta.
I then figured that I would just knock on her aunt’s door and hand the bread over. I know her aunt and I know a lot of her family. I looked in the rear view and noticed someone had just opened a first floor window. There were people I knew sitting around a large table.
I walked over to the window and passed the loaves through. I said, “I have something for you.” The cousin of the person I was looking for started talking to me. I explained that I baked the bread for her cousin. Then the aunt came to the window. I was invited in but I said that I had to be leaving soon because I was expecting a guest bake at my house.
Then the person I baked the bread for came over to the window. She squatted down so that we were more at eye level.
I could tell that I struck a pleasant chord; and we agreed to talk later.
Thinking things over, I came to the realization that possibly I ended up doing some menial tasks because she could trust me to keep things under wraps, and even though I felt that she could have assigned the less critical things to someone else, I couldn’t fault her for trusting me.
We have some things that need to be worked out but I’ve decided not to get angry about them.
We were having a guest over for Easter dinner so baking bread was on my agenda. I figured that I would bake a couple extra loaves to let her know that I wasn’t angry at her personally just at the way she was having me do things. I know she usually has folks over on Easter and having homemade freshly baked bread is something special.
I had sent the email on Friday and still by Sunday, I had no reply; that worried me a little but then I asked myself how would someone reply to the message I had sent. I know that I would have trouble, so I let it go.
I planned on delivering the first two loaves from the oven as soon as I could; which turned out to be 4:00PM. I called her house and after a few rings the message went to voice mail; that worried me a little.
I finished a couple other things and then drove over to her house. I needed to check something in her neighborhood anyway. She wasn’t at home, so I drove by her mother’s house which was a block away. Her car wasn’t there, so I drove to her aunt’s house which was three blocks away. Her car was there. I called her cell phone and it went to voice mail; that worried me a bit.
I worry about a lot of things that have to do with interpersonal relationship. I worry that I’m going to screw things up.
So, I was double parked outside her aunt’s house with two loaves of bread and she wasn’t taking my calls. I figured that I did all that I could do and that I should just drive home with my bread. But I had plenty of bread at home. I had just baked two loaves of ciabatta for myself, three baguettes and also eight little loaves of French bread that I was going to use for bruschetta.
I then figured that I would just knock on her aunt’s door and hand the bread over. I know her aunt and I know a lot of her family. I looked in the rear view and noticed someone had just opened a first floor window. There were people I knew sitting around a large table.
I walked over to the window and passed the loaves through. I said, “I have something for you.” The cousin of the person I was looking for started talking to me. I explained that I baked the bread for her cousin. Then the aunt came to the window. I was invited in but I said that I had to be leaving soon because I was expecting a guest bake at my house.
Then the person I baked the bread for came over to the window. She squatted down so that we were more at eye level.
I could tell that I struck a pleasant chord; and we agreed to talk later.
Saturday, April 03, 2010
No Butter?! You Gotta Be Kidd'n Me?
I quickly read the posts below to find out where I am chronologically in this whole posting thing.
When I'm heated, more errors arise. You can read where my mind was racing and I changed the way I was stating something but didn't eradicate all of the previous thought.
But new day and all. There are still things that need to be worked out.
So, I was told that sixty people would be there after I asked the question and after I committed myself to baking the bread.
How much bread are you supposed to bake for sixty people? I still don't know.
It was billed as a simple supper of soup and bread. The whole point of the event was to get people to interact like they were at a family meal.
I pictured the event in my mind; people talking, tearing at a piece of bread while they were listening.
I think that eating bread puts people at a certain ease during a mealtime conversation; it's gives a person something to do to be involved even if they don't have any words to contribute. They are engaged in the process by merely eating bread and who doesn't like good homemade bread?
So, I thought ample bread would be needed and to gauge what quantity ample bread would be, I thought of how much bread I eat once I've baked a loaf.
I can easily eat half a loaf and often do. Sometimes, I have to make what seems to be a great effort in to limiting myself on the amount of fresh baked bread I eat, mostly because I know that the lean breads I bake will not be nearly as delicious on the following day.
But, thirty loaves is a lot of bread to bake in one day using one oven; and walking in with thirty loaves would surely look a bit excessive. But I thought back to the previous year, when I baked for the same event. I wasn't happy that I was given a bad estimate on the amount of people that might show up and even though I baked what I thought was extra bread, I didn't feel that there was enough.
But, thirty loaves? It seemed like a lot. I think the most that I ever baked in one day was sixteen; and I thought that was tough.
But, I thought, if that I could pull it off, it would be something I could look back on and say, "Remember that day you baked thirty loaves? That was crazy."
I was a better baker than a year ago and I felt that I would be able to better handle all that dough rising at different times; I would better handle the temperature of the dough by moving it to cooler rooms in the house if needed. I had a plan.
When I thought the deed was possible, I decided to do it. I wanted a lot of my favorite loaves, the ciabatta but I felt that I had to bring a variety, so I added French, and a Vienna wheat bread to the mix. I then added wheat pita bread.
The day before I needed all the bread, I made all of the starters and I made the dough for the pitas and at the proper time everything went into the second refrigerator.
The next morning I started at 5:30AM and pulled the last loaves out of the oven at 4:50PM for the 6:30pm event. I left three loaves of French bread unbaked because I ran out of time; rush hour traffic and all and plus I think someone said that set-up was going to be at 5:30PM so I didn't want to be too late.
I left the house right at five. I had fourteen loaves of caibatta, twelve loaves of French, eight loaves of a wheat Vienna, along with twenty or so wheat pita breads.
Thirty four loaves, not counting the pita. I was impressed.
At the event, there was not one sharp knife. The best of the lot was an original Ginsu knockoff but I managed to filled every basket for every table and then a half sheet tray so folks could refill their baskets.
I sat at my assigned seat. I noticed that there wasn't any butter. I thought, that without butter, there was too much bread, that most of my effort just went for naught because someone either forgot, or didn't think it was necessary or didn't want to pay for butter.
Whatever, at least no one left the dinner table wishing that they had more bread.
There were six ciabatta, three Vienna, and three French loaves left which were all given away at the end, but I did wonder how much would have been left if there had been butter.
Because, come on now. Who doesn't bring butter to a simple meal of soup and bread?
When I'm heated, more errors arise. You can read where my mind was racing and I changed the way I was stating something but didn't eradicate all of the previous thought.
But new day and all. There are still things that need to be worked out.
So, I was told that sixty people would be there after I asked the question and after I committed myself to baking the bread.
How much bread are you supposed to bake for sixty people? I still don't know.
It was billed as a simple supper of soup and bread. The whole point of the event was to get people to interact like they were at a family meal.
I pictured the event in my mind; people talking, tearing at a piece of bread while they were listening.
I think that eating bread puts people at a certain ease during a mealtime conversation; it's gives a person something to do to be involved even if they don't have any words to contribute. They are engaged in the process by merely eating bread and who doesn't like good homemade bread?
So, I thought ample bread would be needed and to gauge what quantity ample bread would be, I thought of how much bread I eat once I've baked a loaf.
I can easily eat half a loaf and often do. Sometimes, I have to make what seems to be a great effort in to limiting myself on the amount of fresh baked bread I eat, mostly because I know that the lean breads I bake will not be nearly as delicious on the following day.
But, thirty loaves is a lot of bread to bake in one day using one oven; and walking in with thirty loaves would surely look a bit excessive. But I thought back to the previous year, when I baked for the same event. I wasn't happy that I was given a bad estimate on the amount of people that might show up and even though I baked what I thought was extra bread, I didn't feel that there was enough.
But, thirty loaves? It seemed like a lot. I think the most that I ever baked in one day was sixteen; and I thought that was tough.
But, I thought, if that I could pull it off, it would be something I could look back on and say, "Remember that day you baked thirty loaves? That was crazy."
I was a better baker than a year ago and I felt that I would be able to better handle all that dough rising at different times; I would better handle the temperature of the dough by moving it to cooler rooms in the house if needed. I had a plan.
When I thought the deed was possible, I decided to do it. I wanted a lot of my favorite loaves, the ciabatta but I felt that I had to bring a variety, so I added French, and a Vienna wheat bread to the mix. I then added wheat pita bread.
The day before I needed all the bread, I made all of the starters and I made the dough for the pitas and at the proper time everything went into the second refrigerator.
The next morning I started at 5:30AM and pulled the last loaves out of the oven at 4:50PM for the 6:30pm event. I left three loaves of French bread unbaked because I ran out of time; rush hour traffic and all and plus I think someone said that set-up was going to be at 5:30PM so I didn't want to be too late.
I left the house right at five. I had fourteen loaves of caibatta, twelve loaves of French, eight loaves of a wheat Vienna, along with twenty or so wheat pita breads.
Thirty four loaves, not counting the pita. I was impressed.
At the event, there was not one sharp knife. The best of the lot was an original Ginsu knockoff but I managed to filled every basket for every table and then a half sheet tray so folks could refill their baskets.
I sat at my assigned seat. I noticed that there wasn't any butter. I thought, that without butter, there was too much bread, that most of my effort just went for naught because someone either forgot, or didn't think it was necessary or didn't want to pay for butter.
Whatever, at least no one left the dinner table wishing that they had more bread.
There were six ciabatta, three Vienna, and three French loaves left which were all given away at the end, but I did wonder how much would have been left if there had been butter.
Because, come on now. Who doesn't bring butter to a simple meal of soup and bread?
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