realitybites

hung over but not hung up

2006-03-24T15:39:00.000-05:00

I woke up one morning from a nightmare and was greeted into reality with a splitting headache and the feeling of someone tearing my insides out. The sunlight pouring through the window was like salt pouring into the open wound that were my eyes; forcing me to curl up into a little ball covered in my sheets making me look like a snail. I could feel my heatbeat in my forehead and I could hear my own silent screams of dispair. The air was filled with the perfume of alcohol permeating through sweat stained skin... Another terrible hangover. My hands searched without eyes for my cellphone that must have been strewn across my mattress just beyond the safety of my blanket. Finding it with my fingertips, I pulled it into the darkness of my cave of fabric, its soft light illuminating the darkness I had created and showing me the time...12noon... No new messages.

It was the wine. I got suckered into drinking more than I should have and now I'm paying the price. Funny how it always makes me feel empty the day after. My mouth felt like a mouthful of dust like I had been kissing a sandcastle being washed away by the sea. I put my fingertips to my forhead and felt the clamminess of my own hands like the first time I reached out to touch her. I coughed up the taste of menthol cigarettes and the bitter taste of wine gone bad mixed with bile... Not a good taste to be left with. I wish I wish I wish... I closed my eyes and cursed myself for being so greedy... I fell asleep and dreamed of ships sailing in a distance and sunsets in the forefront. I could feel the wind blowing westward seemingly taking me away to somewhere I'd rather be, somewhere I belong. And I can't help but surrender to this unburdening...

I wake... its 5pm. No new messages. My head still hurts, my insides still feel shredded, I'm still hurting. But the pain has dulled considerably. I thirst. By sheer will I get up and into the shower, Perhaps the hot water will wash away my the smell of her from my skin. I brush my teeth to get that bitter taste out of my mouth and leave me feeling brand new. I need to start fresh. I towel off and grab my pedialite from the fridge... A sommelier's words of wisdom- When the going gets rough, its time to treat yourself like a baby. Hahahahaha. *sigh... Back to baby steps my boy... I look at the bottles on the dining room table before me... Not tonight I need to detox I tell myself. But then again its Friday night and I'm too young for this shit. I can hear Julian's rendition of an old Usher song playing in my head... You know the best way to cure a hangover is to keep on drinking... I pull out a glass and pour myself a drink. I look at my phone 7pm no new messages. I turn it off... I'm going to be fine tonight. I put on my clothes and head out the door, NYC calls.

I Remember You

2006-03-08T12:03:00.000-05:00

Decades have passed since that chilly fall day in 1985; when with my mother, I got on my knees and soiled my levi's jeans while pulling weeds from an old garden in front of our new home. The previous owner must have loved her flowers, there were remains of several types of flowers scattered by the cold winds that were heralding a brutal winter ahead. Thorny stalks rose from the ground like hands reaching out for mercy; that's all that was left of what was once a blossoming rose bush. What looked like a family of skinny bald men huddled in the corner trying to keep warm was actually a bed of sunflowers whose most radiant crowns of gold I later found gnarled into little curls on the black gardening soil. The air was heavy with the scent of onions or was it chives? I couldn't distinguish the difference between the two at the tender age of five. As I pulled weeds and dead flowers from the soil I pulled a few of them here and there further filling the air with its pungent perfume.

Somewhere in the corner of the garden I found what looked to be another wild onion stalk growing from the ground. I reached out to pluck it out of the earth and discard it on to the pavement with the rest of my pile of unfortunates when something inside me told me to stop. I did. My Mother called out to me "Son, go on and pull that onion out." I looked at her after a moment of contemplating and replied "No Ma, this isn't an onion... It's a rose." My Mother laughed and told me roses have thorns. She was right about that but I knew this was no onion. She told me one more time to throw it out and to this I turned around and defiantly said no. "This is a rose Mommy you just don't know it, but I do." looking back at this memory I'm not quite sure why my Mother didn't reprimand me for my insolence, instead she smiled one of her big smiles and said, "Ok Son, if you say its a rose, its a rose. But its your job to take care of the rose and make sure it blossoms ok?" to this I agreed and we continued on weeding out the old dead plants and tilling the soil in preparation for those that were to come.

We collected dried leaves and I buried my goldfish into the soil. We sprinkled coffee grounds and tea bags over the garden and framed it with mulch. Day in and day out I would rake the garden floor till the ground was soft and forgiving and I watered my "onion" everyday. While my Mother planted her seeds I'd spend time talking to this "onion" telling her how beautiful she will be and how no one else but I could see this right now. My Mom poked fun at me for three long months giggling along with her friends that I was the best onion farmer she had ever seen.

On days that I acted my age my Mom would remind me that I had my "onion" to attend to. After awhile she would even sit on the front porch steps and smile with her big cup of coffee while I talked to this green stalk that jetted out of the ground. She helped my put up a plastic coating over it so the winter wouldn't give it frost bite. "So much trouble for an onion" she would say

Winter came and went, and though the groundhog didn't see his shadow, spring came rumbling along into the ides of March. On one beautiful spring day I came down the front porch in my tattered levi's knees now worn thin and stained with the paint of black soil and my pair of chuck taylors heavy with mud still caked to the traction underfoot. There in the early spring sunshine I had come to find that my onion had begun to blossom. From its green stalk peeked a sliver of springtime yellow. In a few days from that morning it would have bloomed into the most radiant tulip I had ever seen in my life. I screamed and jumped for joy in what must have been the gayest moment of my childhood. I woke my Mother and my Father and pulled her out of bed in her robe to see what at the time I thought was magic. "It's a rose it's a yellow rose Mommy! It's a rose!" I had my doubts. I waited and waited and waited for this "onion" to blossom and after a few weeks of the green stalk being a green stalk I began to question what it was I originally saw. Was the "rose" actually a "rose" like I had thought? Or did God transform this "onion" into a "rose" the way the fairy godmother transformed Pinocchio into a real boy because he wanted it so bad? These were thoughts that filled my young mind at the time, but I later found the simplistic lesson and beauty in the story above.

This is the way I remember the story. It may be wrong, but it is the way I remember it. Funny how we remember things the way we want and forget things the way we have to just to live.

You were always beautiful. You were always a survivor. You just needed someone to till your soils and shield you from some of the season's harsher climates. I took one look at you and saw more than what met the eye, I saw you blossom before you even imagined you could. When everyone laughed and said you were an "onion"- when you yourself thought that so, I nourished your roots with water and my love, with my faith and my trust and I prayed to God that the spring would come and put an end to the long bitter winter.

Now look at you. Radiant and beautiful, everything I said you were, everything I believed you would be. I look at you and see one of the most beautiful women I will ever see in my life. (after my mom) And again I feel like that kid in his tattered jeans and chuck taylors; dirty and tired but so full of joy at believing before seeing. Or seeing before seeing... Faith is a beautiful thing.

I Remember You. I'll always remember the day you blossomed- everything else like the winter before the spring I have forgotten. Stay beautiful my tulip

She is Terroir

2006-02-12T17:21:00.000-05:00

"This is a Chilean Merlot from Maipo Valley. What makes this merlot remarkable is that its from a vineyard that uses no artificial irrigation. All the water that the vines thrive on are rooted deep into the soil. What that does is it makes the vine work harder to get to its water source making the wine it produces more terroir driven than your typical merlot."

"You want to stress your vines. Extreme differences in temperature between the day and night add alot of character to the grapes. Its what gives the wine its fruit forward flavor. Older vines are typically heartier from extensive root networking and these roots add distinct earthy qualities to the wine. Its almost all about the climate and soil. What the winemaker does after the harvest is almost an afterthought."

Chace rambles on about the glass of merlot I have set before me. I look into the glass at pool of violet swirling around inside as I contemplate everything he's saying. I see nothing out of the ordinary. Maybe because I'm not really focused today. I feel lost in my thoughts and emotions and they're someplace far away. I nose the glass and take in its aroma. Dark. Heavy. I smell sadness. I smell roses wilting and dark cherries. I smell the autumn moving reluctantly into winter. I smell sunkissed leaves crumbling in the cold wind. I smell her. I open my eyes and look into the stemware and gaze at my own reflection. From above the wine looks like a black abyss. Like the eyes of her. Clouded. Guarded. Untrusting and unforgiving. Emotionless. Shrouded in mystery; not out of malice I feel but out of something else, but what? I put the glass to my mouth and feel the wine meet my lips. It feels surprisingly warm like a kiss from a lover. Not one that is timid nor one that is familiar, but one that is forlorn. One that is reserved. This wine has secrets. I take her in, I let her flood my senses. Eyes closed and my attention focused only on her I think of what Chace says about the conditions this wine was raised in. I think of all of its hardships. The days of burning hell and the cold desolated nights that thickened its skin and left her gaunt, leaving a hint of bitterness, burried beneath her rich chocolate kiss. I think of how deep its roots had to dig within itself to find its own nourishment. No water to quench her thirst, just deep dark earth that she had to claw at to survive. I think of how such a sad vine has produced such a sad wine. But it is beautiful. I can taste its pain. I can taste her pain. I understand that I don't fully understand this wave of dark crimson that now sits within me trying to tell me a tale without words. All I can do is feel. I feel a rush of mixed flavors and emotions. I taste the strawberries full of the promise of spring, cherries ripe with the passion of summer, followed by plums dark with the secrets of fall. I can taste the mud of rejection, the forest of uncertainty, and the river of hope. A sea of stories that chronicles the life of her in a mere mouthful. I try to concentrate and let the wine's story unfold but she's drifting almost as if she wants to keep some secrets intact. I open my eyes changed. I can feel what remains of the wine lingering in my mouth like her kiss from the night before. I take the bottle and pour a fresh glass. I missed something. Something I can't describe but know is worth discovering. I put the glass to my lips anew and await the warmth of her kiss, knowing I may never know or understand but I am content to search glass after glass, bottle after bottle for that dark ink of unknown that I find warm and beautiful.

The Hudson Speaks.

2005-12-18T02:04:00.000-05:00

"Oh winter has arrived!" I tell myself as a gust of wind races past me, cutting my face with the sharpness of its frigidness. Off it runs howling in frustration as it gets lost in the lattice work of streets and avenues that make up New York City... It is cold. I don't remember feeling this cold before. Perhaps I should have worn more than a sweater today. I was fooled by the sunshine into thinking that it was still autumn when autumn came and went weeks ago.

I looked down at my hands only to find them buried deep into my jean pockets, so deep that my left hand must have torn a hole in the pocket itself for I could feel the warmth of my own skin against my finger tips. Bleary eyed, I walked on towards the Hudson river. Each step battered by the western winds, testing my resolve to find serenity at the city's edge. My labored breathing came in sharp stabbing breaths as the icy chill of winter frosted my lungs or so it felt. All this to stand on the edge of a platform off of the west side highway and look not out to the Jersey shore but at the river that lay in between.

Now I have arrived at my inner city sanctuary. I watch the choppy Hudson waters batter the river's edge and chaotically find its way to the sea. Somehow I feel the same at times. Even when the surface is calm, I know just as the Hudson knows itself that it is running off to somewhere far off. Beneath that calm is a raging undertow that follows a path that it never knew was set before it. But today you can see its torment, or perhaps I can see my own. But seeing the Hudson find its way to the ocean somehow comforts me into knowing that I too will find my way into that vast ocean that is mine. I whisper to the Hudson to be calm, it will find its way and the Hudson blows my words back to me on the wings of its western winds.

I shall be calm.

All Hot Air

2005-06-05T00:20:00.000-04:00

I am squatting outside of HK passed the candle lights and music that sets the restaurant apart from the rest of the Hell's Kitchen wastelands. Haunched beside a huge flower pot I take a much needed drag off of my djarams and hold the sweet cinnamon flavored smoke in my lungs till my head spins out of control. I let out a bellow of smoke that stampedes through the evening air before it is whisked away into the night. I watch as the embers from my cigarette crackle then fade into darkness and I try to recall how I ever started smoking in the first place. Such a disgusting habit and one that I really do want to kick, but lately have felt powerless to...

"I wish I was a stronger man," I say to myself before taking another pull from my cigarette and watching the tip glow bright red as it races even closer to the two fingers that hold it in place. I can feel the warmth against my face as I consume its fire hoping somehow that it will replace my own. I feel my lungs grow heavy and my heart begin to pound. A feeling I have come to miss, and a great reminder that I am indeed alive. A slight tingling sensation overcomes me just before I let it out followed by a numbness that supposedly only clove cigarettes can provide. Such a great choice in vice. Out rushes the smoke and all my pain and sadness and weakness and frustrations and anger- leaving me numb, almost soul less but somehow happy in my resignation.

Pain is my friend. Pain reminds me that I am alive, for now that will suffice. Let me figure out how to deal with living. Perhaps I will find something warm to replace the numbness inside.

Confessions

2005-06-01T02:15:00.000-04:00

Ok, so I lied...

Shoot me Regina.

You wouldn't because you want me with you too...

To many more tomorrows and all my todays...

That's a promise I could very well keep.

reboot, reloaded...

2005-05-31T02:08:00.000-04:00

So there I was sitting in the setting sun of a late spring afternoon under the shade of some of the most beautiful trees I've ever seen in the city. I looked at her and listened to her and consumed the serenity I know I won't be able to keep in all of this. All this time to see the fruits of my passion wilt before they've even blossomed. How dramatic, how tragic, how beautiful.

With each moment, I greedily hung on to these feelings knowing that soon I'd have to let it all go. It is my greed for her affection that ruins all that I have in my hands. But it must be done. I thought that if I were patient my time would arrive, but I know better now... My time is not to come at all.

So we parted ways later that night without fanfare or elaborate goodbyes, just cold silence as goodbyes should be. Later while watching (of all things Star Wars) I realized my folly and I made my choice to rectify my mistake.

So now must come the fall after the slow rise and oh what a fall it will be. All that I have built must be burned to the ground and all that will be left will be what is essential. - Love.

Never mind that it never drew her to me. Never mind that it failed to hold me close to her heart. It was there. It is there and in the end it will be all that remains...

To the stars and beyond has my heart gone and in its crash it has burned itself to nothingness and sucked in all that was once my world...

Now I await the phoenix to arise from my ashes and for my love to begin anew.

On empty streets

2005-05-25T15:10:00.000-04:00

Finally.
I see you across an empty street
standing still like there's oncoming traffic.
I see you take a measured step
Not quite trusting the lights or signs
That light up above my head
You're safe... come to me.
But still you look both ways
At phantom cars that are out to get you.
So I step forward
One foot before the last in a chain of steps
That have no end till it meets you.
Seeing me, your face lights up
And its so bright it would stop everything
So why the fear?
We're all alone, its just you and me
Your fears, and my assurance crossing these
Lonely streets.

And now we meet.
Right here on the line between this way and that.
I offer my hand but instead you grab my sleeve
Kiss my lips but instead you kiss my cheek
The lights are changing.
Things aren't as they were before
Things aren't as they should be.
I'll follow you
But I'd rather you follow me.
Somehow I know this road ends with you without me.
We're all alone its just you and me
Your fears, and my asssurance crossing these
Lonely streets.
But somehow you get lost in the straightness of this road
And I am left with phantom cars chasing me
On these lonely streets
On these empty streets
There's nothing for you to fear
Its only you and me.

Punch Drunk Love

2005-05-21T14:28:00.000-04:00

I didn't want to get out of bed today. My throbbing head ached from the pains of too many nightmares coupled with too little sleep. I cracked the corners of my eyes open just to make sure that I wasn't going to be blinded by the midday sun but when I saw that it was a gloomy spring day my heart sunk. I was slow to rise today. I felt like I went one too many rounds with her and she's holding a grudge. A little stiff, a little sore, and alot of pain.

I looked over at my cell phone to see that the battery had died. I must have been talking to her in my sleep again. I hope I didn't speak too much of the truth last night I told myself as I plugged it into the charger and tried to get on my feet. I fumbled through the clothes on my floor for a pair of flip flops that matched and reconciled with the fact that I'd have to walk to the bathroom barefoot. My door squeaked as I opened it; a sound made by the cheap paint rubbing up against eachother on a door that was too big for its frame. I looked out into a living room covered with leopard print and thought that today wouldn't be a bad day to die.

Then there was the bathroom. The damn thing looks like a closet with a toilet in it. I closed the door behind me and entered a claustrophobic's nightmare. As I lifted the porcelain seat with one hand I turned on the shower with my other. The splattering of semi-warm water on my shoulder sent shivers up my spine and urine all over the toilet seat. Ahhh... its going to be one of those days... I took my tooth brush into the phone booth sized shower and pulled the curtains shut. Somehow I banged every part of my body on every side of the the booth. I must have sounded like I was being murdered in there with all the groaning and cursing... A few minutes later I started to feel a little more alive, or maybe a little less dead.

I sprinted back into my room after realizing that I forgot to bring a towel or a change of clothes. I just hope my flatmate didn't catch a glimpse of a shimmering naked asian man darting across the hall. That would have been the icing on the cake for me. I collapsed on my deflated air mattress feeling so fresh and so clean, yet so out of the game. And its not even past 1:30pm I told myself...

I rolled over belly up like a dead gold fish but this is where I made the change. I closed my eyes and imagined all I have to do today. One more day, I told myself. It sounded more like one more round. You'll wear her down, she can't keep this up... I just have to want it more, Fight smart, and above all use my heart.

I sat up eyes still closed and pictured the last few days. Beautiful they were though it hurt. Nevertheless its the pain that makes it real, its the pain that tells me I'm alive. And I should take it and drink it dry. I'm alive. I stood up ready for more of the same. But everyday I get up I get one step closer to the end. I'm not looking for a knockout, I'll settle for the decision. One more day I told myself as I opened my eyes and I could still see her before me. I'll take it one round at a time and when the bell rings, win or lose I know I wasn't beaten.

Love is one big fight.

Love tastes like...

2005-01-20T13:53:00.001-05:00

It's finally winter. The snow fell profusely last night, carpeting the manhattan streets with a blanket of virgin white for a good ten to fifteen minutes before the gotham traffic turned it into a sludge of grey. The temperature dropped off the thermostat dramatically. It was definitely a stay in night. It didn't look like it would be busy. Bad news for me since I was scheduled to close last night and I'd rather it be busy as too much time alone with one's thoughts can drive you crazy.

As with all slow nights, I tend to watch my tables more attentively when its slow, not in the name of good service, but for entertainment sake- I think watching people dine is more compelling than watching the slew of reality tv that is in our face 24/7. Tonight I was focused on two couples. Both were on dates but that was all they had in common. The stark differences were apparent at first glance.

The first couple were in the dawn of their relationship. You could see the sun rising in each other's gaze. Searching hands found famiar fingers waiting to weave themselves into underneath the table. Their voices were hushed and secretive, their tones warm and honeyed, a sharp contrast to the wintery stage set around them. I almost didn't want to disturb them, they were like a perfect picture that I didn't want to put my hand on, lest I ruin the artist's handiwork. They ordered without looking at the menus set before them. I was surprised that they took their eyes off of each other long enough to notice me. They later complimented me on the brilliant flavors of the food, the smooth ripeness of their wine, and the modest sweetness of the chocolate souffle. Their perception of everything around them was an exact mirror of each other- flawless, intense, and romanticized. I fell in love just watching them be in love. Watching them was like feeling the first rays of a spring sunrise, it was welcoming.

The second couple were facing the dusk of their union. Overly familiar, they seemed to read too much into each other- and not like what they were reading. There was nothing left to be discovered, no mysteries to uncover between them. They had stars in their eyes. Lights quickly dimming, just a pale reminder of the love that once burned so brightly but now is forever gone. Only the hollow shell of what once was. They held each other's hand, not out of love or desire, more out of habit. A show of solidarity, and consolation- a show that they were not alone in their union of utter misery. Their conversation fluctuated between terse and measured-depending on who was losing their temper. It was sad to watch. I almost wanted to intervene to break the heavy mood that hung around them. When their ire wasn't on each other's short comings, it was focused on me. The wine was bitter, the food was too salty, the dessert too small to fill their appetite for sweetness. They were the embodiment of a winter solstice. Cold, barren, meloncholic.

Truly love (or the lack there of) changes the way we take the world in. I never want to see the world in such bleak colors when there are hues that can not be named and flavors that cannot be described. Love feeds the soul. Bon Appetite.

Its been awhile

2004-12-24T01:55:00.000-05:00

Its been awhile eh guys? So much has been up that I can't even begin to tell you all the stories. All I can say is that work is taking the forefront to my writing. Not a bad thing I guess considering that my stories are based on my life at work.

The past month has been rather surreal for me. The holiday season always brings about such intense feelings for me that I could never really explain. I guess its because I've been celebrating the holidays either alone or with other people's families and not my own. Lately I just don't feel that I belong- ANYWHERE. But for those who really know me, they'd know that I never really felt I belonged anywhere anyway. Hahahaha. The guys invited me to Christmas dinner at their home, but I don't want to be around other people's family again. On the same note, I don't particularly enjoy the thought of being alone for the holidays. That would make me feel like a real loser. So I've decided to help run a soup kitchen on Christmas day for all of the poor and homeless. Giving to the less fortunate is a great way to sort of put my issues in perspective to the grand scheme of things. My problems aren't all that. I live a charmed life. Full of circumstances that build character. On that note, I refused to play the victim in this entry.

Work is challenging. Its probably the bright spot in my life right now. I find myself rolling out of bed, or off the couch just rearing to get to the restaurant and begin dealing with people. This past month has been a tough one on the guys. They had to let go of their original chef and find a new one, alot of staff are taking off for the holidays and so we're understaffed, and there's the ever looming fear of the the slim months ahead just after new year's... But for some reason I feel ready for the challenge. I'm ready to help out. As a matter of fact I've been working every day this month. Whether its on the floor, behind the bar, or in the office writing up service manuals, ordering wine, or putting together a liquor description manual for the waitstaff... So I can confidently say that, yeah... I am helping out.

I've started spending all my free time trying to soak up as much knowledge about the industry as I can. I've been buying wine and spirit books to get my knowledge of the bar up to speed with my fierciest competitor... myself. I've been flipping through cookbooks and service self-help books. In a way I've become a lot more serious about what I do, I've definitely taken it to the next couple of levels. But I will be managing soon, so its best that I'm ahead of everyone else that will work under me. I just hope that I don't come off as a snot nosed know it all. Because I'm not. I just firmly believe that knowledge is power. I feel that I'm good at what I do because I've armed myself with the know how to help me succeed.

And that is my first objective as a manager. I want the staff to succeed and for this restaurant to succeed. And that means a more discerning eye in screening staff, more attention to details in training, better group dynamics, constant education, proper motivation and lots and lots of hard work. I'm a firm believer in rolling up my sleeves and doing some work. I want everyone in the team to have that outlook.

I'm believing in something. I'm putting all my energy into this restaurant called HK. In it is a chance for me to build an icon. I built Pigalle's overnight into a latenight empire, I intend to do the same here. I think that this is what keeps me going- the thought of building something bigger than a little restaurant on the corner of 39th and 9th, in a part of NY that is like the desert Bugsy Seagal looked out upon before Las Vegas was more than a vast sand box. The trick is getting others to share this vision, to invest in this dream...

Its taken its toll on other parts of my life. Lets just say that my relationships with people are strained and that I couldn't hold down a serious relationship if I needed to save my life. But then again, love has always been the focus of my life... Its good to see it take a back seat to something.

So that's what's up with me in a nutshell... Tomorrow I'll resume my usual writing style.

Pay it Forward

2004-12-24T01:50:00.000-05:00

I can't exactly say that this is the most financially sound Christmas I've ever had. The economy has been in dire shits as of late and its really taking its toll on the restaurant and my pocket. I'm glad I don't have an ark full of friends because I sure can't afford them. Hell, I don't think I can afford a single friend for the holidays hahahaha.

So instead of blowing my already maxed out credit cards on my friends and total strangers that I choose to treat with a random act of kindness, I've decided to do little things to make their lives a little better. (This is only for the month of December- after which I will revert to being an asshole.)

First up is my plan to help feed the poor and homeless on Christmas. My friend Brendan came up with the idea and I thought it would be nice to return to my catholic school boy days of reaching out to the impoverished.

I cleared out some of my wardrobe and donated some sweaters and jackets to the poor... I figure some people need the clothes more than I do.

And for the people I work with... I found a unique way of extending some yule tide generosity- by working for free... For the past couple of shifts I've picked someone to give all my tips to. I first got the idea to work for free when I gave Kate a bunch of tables one afternoon and decided to just go ahead and give her all my tables... Why work for free? I don't know but it felt good. Serving others without any desire for compensation can be so liberating. I had so much fun. I didn't care about how much people spent, I wasn't trying to win their favors, I just did my job and had my fun doing it. By knowing that I wasn't working for money, I automatically decided that I'd enjoy myself. I began to talk more freely with guests, I stopped looking at them as paychecks and started seeing them as equals. Funny noh? What was most satisfying was seeing Kate and Molly's face light up in either thanks or disbelief at what I had done. I'm sure Kate thinks I'm a real idiot, but that would be her loss. I'm doing my good deed for the week, and I just hope it gets passed on...

Good deed number four... I'm dog sitting for Angela. Its a feat all in itself considering that Penny is as hyper as a toddler on crack. I swear to god, I already have pictures of her to put up on milk cartons just in case I lose it and bury her alive. Or maybe I'll be nice and use that last booklet of stamps I have to mail her to Abu-dabi. Hahahaha. Strangely enough I seemed to have grown attached to the little teacup yorkshire terrier. I kinda find it cute how she tries to wriggle in between the sheets to cuddle with me and she's not a bad movie date... She never bugs me to read the subtitles or repeat a line she didn't hear or understand. So maybe my picking up warm nuggets of turd off the cold concrete sidewalks of Queens isn't a good deed towards Angela but more of a kind deed towards myself... Its bringing out the more domesticated, more nurturing side of me. I feel like I should whip out a nipple and breast feed someone... Any takers? hahahaha

Thanksgiving

2004-11-25T02:34:00.000-05:00

Hey its the eve of Thanksgiving and I'm sitting in front of a computer screen instead of getting wasted with the boys at Deep. (Some club in Chelsea- I think) I don't know why but I just don't feel like partying tonight despite the fact that I have no work tomorrow and I normally love to party. Hmmm... I must be getting old.
Well I don't know what tomorrow will be like. To be honest I'm not familiar with how Greek Americans celebrate Thanksgiving... But from what I do know about Greeks, I know that I won't be hungry... For a week at least! I guess that's why I chose to stay in... I'm gonna need my strength to stuff myself silly tomorrow. So I guess you can look forward to "My Big Fat Greek Thanksgiving" Wish me a good appetite!

Couch Surfer

2004-11-24T02:34:00.000-05:00

Hey dudes...

To all of the people that take the time to read about my misadventures (all 4 of you... yes mom, you too...) I'd like to apologize for being delinquent in my postings. As some of you might have heard, alot of screwed up things have happened in the past few weeks rendering me homeless... (flatmate got laid off, couldn't find an apartment, we're all broke...)So now I'm officially a couch surfer. Its actually quite an art form. There's so much that goes into it... Planning your wardrobe, packing the essentials in the right bag, managing your resources. Not overstaying your welcome... Believe me, its a science!

So much is going on away from the restaurant that its difficult to focus on what IS going on in the restaurant. So with things a bit on the stable side, I will continue on with my posting... Thanks for staying tuned...

Never Have I Ever...

2004-10-19T14:37:00.000-04:00

Have you ever heard of the game "Never Have I Ever"? Its a drinking game that normally finds its way into a group horny drunk highschool kids and people who've hit their mid 30's and want to gauge just how bad they've been.

Last night a group of gorgeous Brits came marching into the restaurant and made camp in my section of the floor. It was like manna from heaven. seven beautiful London girls with their cute little accents and a knockout from North Carolina with her sultry southern drawl. They drew so much attention with their doll like features and their decidedly european fashion sensibility. They ordered dinner and a couple bottles of white wine which did very little but whet their palate for more alcohol. (a bottle of wine holds enough for 4 glasses of wine) After dinner they enjoyed a couple rounds of cocktails, mojitos, margaritas... the whole nine yards. By the time they were ready to leave they had spent almost $300... not much considering they were eight people, but they were pretty enough and spent enough for me and Alex (my other boss) to send over a "few" rounds of drinks.

We couldn't let these girls go off to some other bar on such a slow night- it would have been morally wrong! So playing the party instigator that I am, I had those little birds downing shot after shot after shot... Each round making them shed more and more of their inhibitions, each round making them act less proper. To be honest I think I gave them too much as towards the latter part of the night they were more like gremlins with english accents. Yes they were still ridiculously cute, but they were noisy and almost out of control. Their charming little giggles turned into cackles and their victorian countenance was beaten down by the cockney whore in them. At one point I found myself listening in on their conversation and I heard one girl mention that they should play "Never Have I Ever" My ears perked up and I tuned out the rest of the restaurant and the Yankees/Red Sox game that had everyone else enthralled.

Never Have I Ever is a drinking game where in you say "Never have I ever..." and then add on a sexual exploit that you might have or might not have done. If anyone at the table has done the stated exploit, they must drink a shot or take a gulp of their cocktail. So I listened in and tried not to smile or look at them as they went around the table.

"Never have I ever had sex with two guys at one time" says one. Two girls down their shots. "Do you mean a threesome?" asks another. "Yes" says the first. OOops make that four girls down their shots. I think I like this game!

"Never have I ever gone down on a girl" says the next girl... One girl takes a drink. Everyone kinda looks at her like they weren't expecting it. "She shrugs her shoulders and says, "Oh bugger off, I was drunk and curious and it was in highschool! Besides you wenches wouldn't even be my type!" They began to cackle again and it sounded like bats shrieking out of a cave.

So girl after girl made their comments until they were on their second round of proclaimations. By this time I didn't even conceal my efforts to listen in, I stood right behind them laughing along with them. I even took a few drinks here and there. Then an innocent looking little brunette in the middle of the table took her glass and raised it up. With a commanding presence she somehow got not only the attention of the table but of the entire half of the restaurant as she stood up and stated boldly and all too clearly, "Never have I ever had sex with a relative!" She smiled at everyone and then drank up the remainder of her drink in one fantastic gulp and sat down looking at everyone else's glass. No one else touched their drinks. I'm assuming no one else ever had sex with a relative. The restaurant was so quiet you could hear the sound of a starving guest's stomach on the other side of the room. The look on people's faces were of shock, disgust, and disbelief. Then almost as if it were manipulated by a masterful director, the juxtapose snapped back into the scene and six English girls and one from North Carolina stormed down the stairs to the bathroom to vomit.

Feeling embarrassed for her drunken revelation, the girl decided to down the remaining drinks on the tabel and stumbled out into the night, but not before puking in front of the restaurant in full view of all our patrons (HK is made of steel and glass, you can see the entire block.) It was a terrible sight to see such a pretty woman, dressed so nicely squatting outside on the corner of a busy street in front of a nice restaurant puking her guts out with the wind blowing her mohoganny brown hair into the strings of saliva that seemed to anchor her to the curb. She kept this pose just long enough for her friends to pay the check and get her out of there. The last I saw of them, they were dragging her home, her heels scrapping down the sidewalks and a trail of vomit littered the streets so that she may find her way back here another day and walk on by, trying to forget the embarrassment she caused herself and the little asian man that fed her frenzy.

2 Filipinos walk into the bar...

2004-10-14T13:23:00.000-04:00

So two filipino women come in. Don't ask me how I know, I just do. We all have a way of smelling our own. They were probably in their mid 50's. One had glasses the size of magnifying glasses and a sweater that looked like a throw back from the 70's. The second wore a blouse with big print and a scarf around her neck. She was smart enough to put a black blazer over her ensemble to hide the loud print of her shirt that made her stand out like a neon sign. They sit down in my section and begin to go over the menu. I watch intently as the back waiter delivers water to them and I make my entrance.

RED: Good afternoon ladies, I will be your waiter. Would you like anything to drink while you look over the menu?

Filipina1: Oh I would like to have a... (scans through the menu, squinting hard with her eyes as her bifocals turn the blur before her into words...)

Filipina2: Sus dalian mo naghinhintay siya! Nakakahiya para kang di marunong bumasa!
**hurry up, he's waiting. Its so embarrassing, its like you don't know how to read.**

Filipina1: Ah pakialam ko, bulag ako noh?
**what do I care, I'm blind!**

Filipina2: Oh ako nalang o-order para sa iyo. **I'll be the one to order for you** Could we have one cosmopolitan and one apple martini?

I normally have two ways of confronting these kinds of situations. Sometimes I let them know I'm Filipino too so I can talk to them in tagalog and share news and insights about Filipino hot spots in the city... Other times I pretend to be Chinese, Japanese, or Mexican so I can listen in on their conversations and laugh. As you're probably guessing I kept quiet. I took their order looked around like I wasn't interested when they would squabble between themselves at the table while I patiently stood there waiting for their decisions.

F2: Anong klaseng pagkain nito?
**what kind of food is this?**

F1: German! (with much authority)

I smiled and tried not to laugh as the food is actually a mixture of french, moroccan, greek, and american. She said it with so much conviction that I couldn't find it in my heart to correct her.

They finally order their entrees and look up at me for the first time. The first lady smiles up at me and pretending like I'm not there asks her friend

F1: Uy Pilipino kaya ito?
**do you think this one is Filipino?**
F2: Ssssssh hintayin mo umalis, baka pinoy nga...
**Ssshhhh wait for him to leave, he might be...**

As if on cue, I turn with the menus in hand and walk away, just in time to cover my smile. Its so strange because from that point on they were watching me like hawks. Discussing every inch of me, disecting every feature. It was almost scientific

F2: Instik ata!
**I think he's chinese**
F1: Pwede, pero baka meksikano, tignan mo nage-espanyol siya oh. Medyo kamukha niya yung isa, baka magkapatid!
**he could be a mexican, look he's speaking spanish. He kind of looks like the other guy, maybe they're brothers.**
F2: Boba, kung magkapatid sila ba't isa weyter, at isa tagalinis ng mesa?
**stupid, if they are brothers why is one a waiter and the other a bus boy?**
F1: Aba malay ko, baka bobo lang yung isa...
**I don't know maybe the other one is stupid**
F2: Ikaw lang ang boba dito hahahahaha
**you're the only stupid one here hahahahaha**

So all through their meal I would catch glances and measuring looks. Two pairs of eyes trying to fathom my ethnicity. I was surprised they just didn't ask me, I wouldn't have denied it...

F2: Itanong mo itanong mo, di ako makakain eh
**ask him ask him, I can't eat!**
F1: Kakahiya eh, para tayong namboboso... natatakot ata siya sa atin eh.
**its embarassing, its like we're peeping toms. I think he's getting scared of us.**
F2: Ikaw kasi parang kakainin mo siya pagtumingin, dapat pasimple ka.
**its because you look at him like you're going to eat him, you have to play it simple**
F1: Kamukha niya kasi apo ko eh...
**he looks like my grandson**
F2: Lahat ng mga nakikita mo, kamukha ng apo mo. Basta't lalaki, itim ang buhok at singkit, kamukha ng apo mo. Tumatanda ka na bruha!
**everyone you see looks like your grandson. As long as they're male with black hair and slanty eyes they look like your grandson. You're getting old witch!**
F1: Tahimik ka diyan puta!
**be quiet there bitch!**
F1 and F2: hahahahahahahahah!
**hahahahahahahaha!**

And just like that they gave up on the mystery of my origins. I think they both decided I was chinese based on the mahjong tiles I was wearing on my wrist. Another table asked me about them and I explained to them what they are.

F1: Galing mag-espanyol tong intsik na to. May halo siguro, baka half spanish siya.
**this chinese is good at spanish. He must be mixed, maybe he's half spanish.**
F2: Meksikano siguro, tignan mo kulay niya, laki pa ng ulo.
**Mexican I think, look at his color and his big head**

After they paid their check I smiled and waited for them to walk out the door. Just as they were stepping out I said. "Salamat Po!" **Thank You** The look on their face was priceless...

Black Holes

2004-10-05T19:24:00.000-04:00

Brendan and Alison came in to see me last night. Not together, but united in their despair. I sat at the bar a beaten man. I was just about to finish a double and I wasn't in the highest of spirits. All is not well in the world, so much opposition from the most unexpected of places, the stress of moving, of making rent and then having enough to pay deposit and advance at the new place, family drama, Regina drama... drama drama drama... I thought I had problems... I guess misery loves company.
I sat and I listened to the pains of Alison's new job, the rigors of her work, her unhappiness with the whole set up, and the stress of being the new kid. I was sad for her, but knew that it was something she had to do- to survive. I strained my ear to hear the torment of Brendan's sorrows through his silence, as he downed shot after shot, drink after drink. It doesn't take a genius to see Brendan has problems, but it seems to take a real messiah to get it out of him. I listened to his slurred sentences about debaucherous nights of past and looked down at my drink while he tried to muster up enough sobriety to hit on a girl at the bar. I looked over to my right to see Alison talking. She was talking to me, and I realized that I had inadverdently tuned her out. I realized that I was tuning everyone out, I was taking in everything and yet nothing at all. I was in limbo. Paralyzed by my own apathy towards their problems, since I have been so apathetic to my own. I watched as her mouth opened and closed, looked at her teeth clench and her face contort in bitter agony just before she dropped her face in resignation into her hands. All of this in mute, but the message was too clear for words.
Everyone seems to be going to some quack doctor or taking some magic pill to make it alright. And those who haven't the medical insurance for it resort to pint glasses of beer, and shot glasses of tequila or 151. It doesn't make it better, maybe it makes it worse but somehow it makes the moment tolerable, like morphine to soften the blows of death. For a short while I regained my hearing and Alison asked me "RED, why do you drink?" I look at her, but not really at her and say, "My father once told me that people should drink to remember, and never to forget... So I drink to remember all the good times, or all the wrong choices I made in life..." Alison nodded she too wasn't really listening. We were talking simply because we're friends and we're supposed to talk, but in reality we had our own battles to wage inside our heads... "I drink to forget. I drink because I like myself drunk more than I do when I'm sober." I snapped out of my self involvement. That had to have been the saddest statement I've ever heard from her. "You have problems woman. You might want to take time off from the pubs and figure stuff out." She nodded. She knows just as well as I that she's messed up, but I doubt she's ready to save herself. I shake my head in dismay as I watch her wallow in self pity. I feel a tap on my shoulder and I find Brendan staring at me with his eyes glossed over and his face flushed red from the alcohol. "Come come... we must go through to my place now and drink some wine before we go to Le Souk." My heart felt heavy. Even worse than watching a friend wallow in their turmoil is to see a good friend sink into the black hole of self-destruction without a fight, or even a tear of sadness for his loss of spirit. Brendan is totally clueless as to how close he is to the edge, and my suspicion my fear is that if he knew how close he was, he'd actually jump.
I can't save them, they have to save themselves. But I can't sit here and watch them any longer, I can't tell them to stop drinking and partying too much without getting hurt by their failure to listen. They're so stubborn... And this numbness I am starting to feel is indifference. I looked back at the amber ale I was drinking... I looked at the ripples in the beer as the suds gathered around the lip of the pint glass like it was trying to escape and I realized that I need to distance myself before I get sucked in to the undertow of their miseries. I took one last gulp and patted them both on the back and left them at the bar that night. If there is anyone I'll be saving it'll be myself- while I'm still lucid enough to see that I'm worth saving.

To Letting Go.

2004-09-29T01:24:00.000-04:00

Rear View Mirror
(By Pearl Jam off of Vs)

I took a drive today
time to emancipate
I guess it was the beatings made me wise
but I'm not about to give thanks, or apologize
I couldn't breathe, holdin' me down
hand on my face, pushed to the ground
enmity gauged, united by fear
forced to endure what I could not forgive...
I seem to look away
wounds in the mirror waved
it wasn't my surface most defiled
head at your feet, fool to your crown
fist on my plate, swallowed it down
enmity gauged, united by fear
tried to endure what I could not forgive
saw things
saw things
saw things
saw things
clearer
clearer
once you, were in my...
rearview mirror...
I gather speed from you fucking with me
once and for all i'm far away
I hardly believe, finally the shades...are raised...
saw things so much clearer
once you, once you...
rearviewmirror...
saw things so much clearer
once you, once you...
rearviewmirror...

I think the song says it all for me. Some people just look better when you're leaving them. I know this isn't like my normal entries, but it seems like Regina's Ex is going to be the thorn in my side. Any suggestions as to how I get her to step on the gas and leave his cheating ass behind?

The Long Ride Home

2004-09-23T04:09:00.000-04:00

I didn't have a plan, not even something that resembled one. All I knew is that Regina dreads the long hours spent on the train late at night, and I desperately needed to be alone with her, where no one could listen in on our conversation and put meaning into this and cheapen the meaning of that... I needed time to see if we could stand being alone together, to see if she was really all I've imagined her to be. So I pulled strings to get off work early and with the confidence that belied my frayed nerves I asked, no I told her I'd bring her all the way home to the Bronx. It worked.
I found myself following her through the dark streets of midtown. It is around this hour that the city is starting to fall quiet, with only the tourists and late night revelers roaming the sidewalks. The sound of her heels clicking against the pavement sounded like the hands of the clock ticking forcing me into urgency. She led the way through the shadows and traffic lights, down the tunnels and past the turnstiles. I could only follow not fully knowing what I was getting myself into. We talked, but very carefully. Each measuring their words like a new cook would measure his ingredients. I reached within to find the words that played so smoothly in my head, only to find myself fumbling with them making me sound like a stuttering retard. My only consolation is that she didn't seem to mind, she listened attentively and smiled graciously at everything I said. Knowing I was failing myself miserably, I search my pockets for a letter I wrote her at 1:45am the earlier evening. She unfolded it and read the short note with such interest that I was sure I was turning the tides. Her eyes lit up and she smiled uncontrollably while her eyes ran down the words on the paper and her mind and heart deciphered what they meant. I enjoyed watching her lips form the words as she read to herself, it was almost like she needed to hear it. I can only hope she could hear my voice in the entry and save me from this sudden flare up of foot and mouth disease that I seem to be experiencing. When she had finished she looked up and smiled and carefully tucked the letter away in her bag. She thanked me and asked for more. I could only agree to her wishes. I felt a bit more comfortable now, with each revelation I feel I've gotten one more burden off of my shoulders.
By the time we arrived at her apartment it was a little before one. The trip to her home seemed too quick, but I knew that the trip to my home would be so long. I walked her to her building door as promised and said goodnight with as little fanfare as possible. After hugging me she walked through the door as I watched till she turned the corner and went up the stairs. I must have walked home backwards, at least until I got to the 4 train. I kept wondering what she must think of me now. I kept wondering what I thought of myself.
As expected the train ride home was a long and tedious one. Filled with train delays, train transfers, and train no shows. But my short stint in hell was well worth the price for my time through heaven. As the train rumbled down the tracks and creaked and bellowed, I looked across myself at the blank wall and just pictured everything that took place earlier that night. Stop, fastforward, rewind, slow motion... it was like digital tv projected on the subway walls.
I got home at 2:47 exactly. I was dead tired but I knew the moment I layed my head down I would not sleep, too many pretty images would keep me awake. It would have been nice to close my eyes and dream, for now I'll have to dream with my eyes open.

Lucier's words of wisdom

2004-09-15T11:25:00.000-04:00

I was in little South Africa last night. Evidently a little convention was being held again at Brendan's. Brendan lives with two other guys- Lucier and Henry; in a two bedroom apartment, but I've seen him pack this tiny space like it were a refugee camp. It's kind of amusing how these South Africans stick together. For some reason I am convinced that their home is South Africa's embassy to NYC. As a matter of fact I've never seen the apartment with just the three of them in it. There's always someone's friend, cousin, friend's friend twice removed or whatever lodging with them. Evidently last night was no different.

I walked into the flat as usual like it's the first time I've ever been there. This is partially true since everytime I come over there is always some new face that keeps me from developing some sense of routine with the place. Tonight there was Joe, another guy whose name I forget, Marissa, and Hy-no along with old friends from Pigalle that were also visiting. I make my rounds of introductions before navigating my way to the coffee table; being very careful not to disturb the metropolis of empty beer bottles and cans that were laid out with the fresh six packs. Finding one that was fairly chilled I took my wine key out and listened for the rush of the carbon up the bottle neck as I lifted away the crown.

Across the room Lucier smiles to me and waves me over to the window where the fire escape is.

I walk through the makeshift dancefloor/performance stage/livingroom towards him and duck under the window sill and outside. We sat there alone in the most tranquil spot in the entire building looking down at 9th avenue and the endless stream of cars that raced by at 2am. "I hear you met a woman." he says to break the silence. "I have." I say trying not to give away too much. "Henry tells me you two make a good looking couple, dancing the night away and having fun." I smiled at that thought. He continued "You know Red, when you feel this strongly about a woman... you shouldn't feel awkward around her." I thought to myself that Lucier must have had one beer too many, "Because she feels the same way... when a woman falls for your charms, you know. You deny it, but you know, because you feel it yourself." All of a sudden he sounded like he was making sense. I was hoping he was at least. "Love is like an energy, it can only be seen or felt if it is returned like cycle of electricity." I looked down at the embers in my cigarette glowing before me and I thought about what he said. I've been thinking of it still and its been two days later.

Absolutely Gorgeous

2004-09-14T14:33:00.000-04:00

I missed the train again. This time I actually saw the doors close and the cars pull out of the station. That's always a frustrating sight. When I finally got home at 5:30am I had to sit outside on my stoop because I had accidentally left my keys at work. Luckily Kyle, Brian's old college buddy from Indiana was sleeping on my couch so I tapped on the window so he could open up. He peeked his head out of the apartment door, he must have been naked. He seemed to be mouthing the words..."One Minute" I must have been reading his lips wrong because he actually took an hour to open both doors.

When he finally did, He let out a tall, skinny black woman in heels... I didn't want to know if she was someone he met the two days that he's been here or if she's a hooker, I just hope he didn't make any stains on my couch. You'd think that I'd be pretty pissed off at all of this... Ha! I had one of the best nights I've had in a while.
I guess it would start at work. Regina and I worked the floor together. It was a slow night and so we got to talk about our childhood and stuff like that. She seems like a well grounded young lady. She spent time in the Dominican Republic and naturally picked up some good qualities while she was over there. We were making some breakthroughs until Ruta, the bartender got sick. I told Peter to send her home and I'd work the bar for her. I ended up behind that bar and somewhat caged back there like the asian white tiger; keeping me from making any further progress in the "getting to know you phase" Peter made his play more out of jest than any serious attempt to hook up with her. She was gracious and played along, but she'd shoot me worried looks and I on the other hand would motion her to come to me so she can tell me what's up. Earlier that night Peter asked me for a quarter and pulled me into the office. "Red, call it. If you call it and get it, I won't mess with her. If you don't she's mine and you can't talk to her." Oh boy. There's a fifty fifty chance here that I'll get my way. I wish it could be a seventy thirty chance because I really like the girl but hey whatever. Taking a deep breath and trying to say 100 novenas to God in several languages within that time, I exhale and call heads. Peter flips the coin and I can see it spinning through the air, tumbling and falling without knowing or caring how it lands. I could feel the sweat beads on my forehead. He closes his hand the instant the coin lands in his palm. "Do I flip it over or do I open here." "Flip it over," I say without hesitation. I pretty much resigned myself to fate. He opened his hand slowly, like a magic trick and revealed a quarter- heads up! Thank you God! "Ok... you win, but you're fired heheheheheheh!" Of course he was kidding, wasn't he? So the rest of the shift he was just shaking his head and frowning... it was actually pretty funny to me. During our staff meal, she sat in front of me and talked to me in a lowered voice, "They're trying to get me aren't they?" I looked her in the eye and said, "You're a big girl, what do you think?" She looked back at me and said, "I'm only going out if you go out too." My heart skipped a beat. "Of course." I replied trying to contain my smile... "Promise you won't leave my side?" she gushed. "I promise. There isn't anyone I'd rather be dancing with there anyway."

And so it was, the entire night I had her all to myself, lost in candle lit world of music and sweaty dancing bodies. It was lovely. To watch her little body move before me and with me made me feel at ease. And the quiet moments in the corner where we caught our breath after every fourth song was like coming home. At one point Peter and her had a good talk. I left her there and danced the night away with Brendan, Abdoulye and Alison. As I danced I caught glimpses of her surrounded by men, but I didn't worry. I wasn't the least bit jealous... I was at peace. It's always good to feel that. To feel secure in a bond that you have.

Later Peter pulled me aside and told me that I had better hook up with her. "She's really into you. If you don't fuck her I'm gonna kill you." Before you call him an asshole let me just translate what he really means. "Red if you snatch this woman up and take care of her, you'll regret it." That's what he really meant.
The club filled up with people to the point where I thought Le Souk looked like a popcorn bag filled with bursting kernels. It looked like the club was going to explode from the number of clubbers within minutes. I watched as the scene peaked and then dipped... And made my way to the exit with Gina before last call at the bar. Walking out I turned to find Regina holding up a rose to my face.

"Here. It's for you." I was smitten. So smitten that I decided to ride home with her in the cab just to make sure she got home safe. It was a lllllooooong cab ride. $60 round trip. Pretty damn far. But with Gina leaned up against my shoulder and the cool breeze rushing through the passenger windows, I didn't mind. I didn't want it to end. "I'm glad I met you babe." I tell her suddenly. "Me too." she said almost instantly and that's when I knew that I was HAPPY. When was the last time I felt like this? I don't remember. "How long will I feel this way?" I thought... I looked to my shoulder at this little woman curled up against me and I thought. "Hopefully for a veeery long time."

Mi Corazon...

2004-09-13T01:01:00.000-04:00

Here are some pictures of Regina. Haaaaaaaay... She's so adorable.

Here is a picture of her stuffing her face... awwww...

Here she is asking me if she has anything in her teeth... awww cute....

Here she is after I handed her a tooth pick... awwwwwwww... (I'm a little obsessed huh?)

And here she is looking at me, knowing fully well that she has me hook line and sinker with that brilliant smile and sparkling eyes. I don't remember being this cheesey in a long time, but I could care less. Look at her... awwwwwww. she's a heart breaker. She can break mine anytime.

Rachel Lives!

2004-09-10T04:32:00.000-04:00

It's 0331hrs. I just got home from a looooong night at HK. Alex forgot to shut down the computers and patch out the system the night before and so my sales from yesterday and today were combined. We had to go through each transaction to settle the account properly... It was a major pain in the ass, thank God for the free bottomless glasses of wine.
I got to the train station at exactly 0200hrs. The station was filled with semi-sober people. I figured the train would be rumbling down the tracks at any moment... It took 48minutes for the train to Journal Square to arrive. Thank God (again) for a good book and another chance encounter with Rachel.
Yep there she was walking down the platform straight towards me. Like myself she has the car position down to an exact science such that when the train pulls up at her station (Hoboken) she gets off right where the escalators are. She had a happy bounce to her step tonight. She wore her stained work pants and shoes but wore a tiny pink tank top exposing her muscular arms and deep tan. She was totting along a bag in one arm and craddling a new book in the other. "Well look what the cat dragged in!" I say to her as she comes within shouting distance. She smiles and walks a bit faster now, almost skipping her way towards me. "How long have you been here?" she asks with a big grin on her face and a little twinkle in her eye. "About 45mins" I tell her. "Good, the train will be here in about 2mins. It must have been waiting for me!" To my surprise, the train arrives 3mins later. We board the car and sit beside each other leaving a seat between us so we could turn towards each other and talk. We did some catching up. She told me about her terrible credit history, and I told her about Gina. She offered me advice and I pointed out some good night spots for her to take her friends. "I'm throwing a party at my restaurant on the 19th" I tell her. "You should come." "Wait, is this the place?" She opens up her book and pulls out the business card I gave her the night I met her. I felt all warm inside... Awww how sweet she kept it. hahahahaha! I smile and nod. She lets out a little giggle and tucks it away in the pages of her book. "So this place Le Souk, you go there alot?" she asks. "I do, I'm normally there every Monday if not Sunday." I respond. "Well maybe I'll see you there. I have a guy friend that I've been meaning to take out and so I guess I'll have him meet me after work and we'll meet up with you in Le Souk." "Sounds like a plan," I say. The train pulls up and she gives me a hug. I look up as she pulls away and smile. "See you when I see you?" "See you when I'm looking at you" is what she replies. "Oh and Red" she turns and says just before she steps off the train... "You better make your move before she thinks you're gay and just want to be friends." I could only smile as the door closed.

Shenanigans

2004-09-08T11:13:00.001-04:00

I haven’t been out to a club since I started my new job. I don’t know why, you’d think I’d have more time to now that I don’t have to work ungodly hours. I also thought that I’d have time to meet more people too… Guess I was wrong.

It didn’t surprise me then that I jumped so eagerly at my friend Angel’s invitation to go out last night. I rounded up the troops while Angel concocted some serious alcoholic beverages and proceeded to get everyone in the proper state of mind.

Walking passed the cordoned entrance where the bouncers put on their best St Peter impersonations I stepped beyond the door and ducked into the velvet curtain leading to my night’s misadventures. As expected Le Souk was busy.

The rooms were so dark you could hardly make out the clubbers, just a mass of shadows moving about to the sound of the bass. Not much has changed. Dimly lit rooms with several dark corners where the candle lights seem unable to reach serve as the mating ground for NYC’s party crowd.

House music blaring in my eardrums confuses my senses… Everything I see and smell would tell me I’m in a Moroccan hookah bar. The adobe walls, the cobblestone floor, the smell of hookah pipes, the Persian rugs and lush throw pillows… But the music is decisively European, which may explain the two Swedish girls in the corner blowing smoke my way…

I walked over to the two ladies with Brendan and Angel literally at my heels. I introduced myself and my two buddies and took a few photo ops. I didn’t stay to even hear their names, I wasn’t interested. Not even remotely. I WAS interested in someone else.

Her name is Regina, a waitress that works with me at HK. She’s half Puerto Rican and half Dominican, full on gorgeous. Long black hair, dark brown eyes framed with long lashes. She’s almost doll like with her innocent face and perfect little body. I met her almost a month ago when I trained at HK for the first (and only time hahahah thanks guys). At the time she had a boyfriend and I had a rule to follow… (I can steal from the register. I can drink all the alcohol I want. I can eat all the food I want. But if I fuck any of the girls before Angel does, I’m fired.) Those aren’t bad rules. I still have the rule to follow, but I wouldn’t mind turning in my two weeks notice to spend time with her. Anyway, she went off somewhere for vacation for a couple of weeks… California I think it was. In any case she found out upon return that her boyfriend of two years was cheating on her. (He’s a total idiot but hey, god bless him) By that time I had forgotten about this little girl with a slight lisp (it sort of grows on you… hmm infatuation is a funny thing) so you can only imagine my delight upon her return and more so with her news of being single again. When she told me, I was trying desperately not to smile. I put on my best poker face (mediocre at best but hey I play with the cards I’m dealt) and expressed my regret. We talked briefly on and off about the subject that entire shift.

Before you tell me I’m aiming for rebound sex, (Rodman is back in the building!) let me explain… I love damsels in distress. Regina is just that. For the record, though I am currently very happy with my single life, I do miss caring for someone. Regina can be that someone. I’m not looking for a quick fix; I have to see this person almost everyday… That could be costly! So shut up and let me take care of this one. I can honestly say that I have noble intentions…

Let’s get back to the story. We get a table, we get our hookah pipes, and we get our bottle service… Now its time to get our drink on and our freak on. And that’s exactly what we did; we rocked out like rock stars. Cocktail glasses clinking, smoke unfurling in the air and settling into a fog around our table, and the sound of laughter and merriment cutting through that misty wall. Through smoke and candle light, I saw her looking up at me smiling. It was quite a feat getting her to come out. It was a slow night and nobody made any money. Plus she was depressed; she wanted to go home… But I know that broken people never really want to spend so much time alone. Nobody wants to sit and realize just how alone they are now that their partners are gone. So I didn’t let her take that cab ride to the Bronx, instead I got her to hop in the cab with us, people she didn’t really know and trust that we could show her a good time. I was proud of myself. I felt like I did something good. Before I could extend my hand to pull her out to the dance floor, she took the hookah pipe from out of my hand and started smoking. “For someone who doesn’t drink or smoke, you’re doing a great job pretending… Didn’t you say you love to dance? Let us see how well you do something you actually enjoy!” Reaching for her hand I pulled her up off the couch she was sitting on, and then she dragged me off to the dance floor.

For a while it was just me and her. I couldn’t help but think of it as a mating ritual. Each person dancing their own style and then subtly changing a few moves here, a few moves there until suddenly they’re dancing alike. I remember watching national geographic as a kid and remembered that some African bird does a similar mating dance where both male and female mimic each other’s movements. I was definitely feeling her. She could dance and even more importantly you could see she loved to dance. Her eyes lit up, she had the biggest smile plastered on her face and she was all over the place. For a while it was like we were in our own little world, I couldn’t even hear the music anymore, I was just dancing along to some other soundtrack playing in my head… Ok this is the part where the record scratches… (Record Scratching SFX here…) I blink and out of no where Angel cuts me off and does the Dominican two-step. Damn he’s fast! Somehow I was shocked and awed by his performance. Not only did he cut me off like a bad driver in traffic, but he whisked her off to the table for more drinks and goo-goos! (Boxing Bell ringing SFX)

Oh it was on like Donkey Kong now! The entire night was all about getting better position… When Gina had to go to the ladies room I was her escort, and I stayed by the door like a prison guard. When she’d venture away from the table to see what was happening around the club, Angel and I would split up and comb the fields of shadows to find her each trying to get to her before the other. If I found her first, we’d resume the mating dance. If Angel found her, he’d bring her to a dark corner where they would talk while he pumped her full of alcohol. I remember at one point Angel comes up to me and asks, “Hey Red, you seen Gina?” I take a drag from the hookah pipe and hand it to him, “Here take a drag… What did you say?” Angel took the pipe (that is connected to a hose which in return is connected to a very big bong that’s set up on the table) and before he could answer, I took off! Hahahaha that was the kind of night it was. Towards the end of the night we were all in a circle dancing with our arms around each other. My arm over Brendan’s shoulder, my other arm around Gina’s waist… Beside her was Ricki, and beside Ricki was Angel. Somewhere in the middle of the dance I could feel hairy knuckles brush up against my forearms… I looked over and Angel was doing his best impression of Plastic Man! You have to laugh at that.

In the end though, Brendan jumped into the fray and everything went down hill… it was too difficult to keep her attention for very long. She had to tend to three little boys vying for her interest. We called it a night with no clear sign of who she likes more, but I assume that in time we’ll find out.

Trendy Rebels

2004-09-01T05:53:00.000-04:00

Tonight I forced myself to go out. I refuse to live in fear. That is what the bad guys want, and they are succeeding. They are succeeding because New Yorkers and some of America are playing into their hands. We're living in fear. Its been a couple of days and business in the city is dwindling. Half of the people are protesting, and the other half are staying at home, far away and in their mind safe from the fray. The bad guys are winning because we're divided. New Yorkers pit against fellow New Yorkers simply becuase they can't agree on who would make a better leader for this country given our bleak immediate future. They don't have to exert any effort to destabilize our economy and our social dynamics, we're doing it to ourselves. It hurts and it makes me sick to my stomach to watch this. Activist that think they are making things better are only making things worse. A few pied pipers with strong convictions leading a mindless throng of gen y'ers that think its cool to be anti establishment. These activists claim to be raging against the machine, not knowing that they ARE the machine being set into motion by our country's enemies. These past few days have seen NYC's economy drop. Everything is at a stand still. The only people making money are the vendors selling anti-Bush shirts and buttons with attacks so brutal (and so unwarranted by the way)that it makes me wonder who hates America more, the world, or Americans? And this is sad. It is sad for me to hear Americans who live in the lap of luxury, who have never spent a night out on the street starving, or seven years waiting for a phone, or two months in a third world prison, or much less sit in thirty minutes of traffic speak of how America is evil and should fall. I'm not claiming that America is stainless. What superpower isn't, as a matter of fact what country isn't? Everyone fucks someone over, its the cruel reality of life, but I think America has tried to balance its evils out with generosities unseen before its rise to power. All this anger from within, dividing a nation that needs to stand united NOW. What is even more frustrating is that more than half of the protesters don't even know what they're fighting for. I will admit there are a few that have opinons and are fighting for it. I salute them. It is your right to express yourself, but the others follow just because it's cool. It has become fashionable to hate Bush. It has become fashionable to hate America. We are being torn apart from within by people that are misinformed and don't really have their own opinon. This must stop. We have to stop pointing fingers at each other. We have to stop blaming ourselves. We have to come together, and the best way to do that is not by taking to the streets and beating the crap out of the police officers who are there to protect YOU. The best way to come together and change things is to VOTE. There is no need for civil unrest when the solution is right in front of you. Register and vote. Let your voice be heard not from the cries in the streets but by the choice of the ballots. Proudly show your thumbprint as a mark of your allegiance to your cause, rather than hide the blood on your hands, blood from the bodies of your own people. Democrats and Liberals cry out that Republicans are warmongers but here and now is one that is pleading for everyone to give in to peace.

The Divided States of America

2004-09-01T05:16:00.000-04:00

Its been a while since my last entry. So much is going on in NYC that its taken me some time to distill all of my thoughts and emotions into a coherent message. For those of you who do not know, NYC is hosting the RNC- Republican National Convention. Strange that it should be the host city since NYC is rabidly liberal and everyone should have known that the event would be the center of much unrest in the metro.
I guess my story begins with my arrival into the city Monday afternoon at the 33rd street station in Midtown. I walked up the stairwell to the ground level to find a ghost town.

The streets were eerily empty, almost like that scene from 28 days later. The only people on the street were uniformed policemen and they were in full gear. Sweat started to form on my forehead, I got a chill down my spine as I felt like I was someplace I should not be. I tried to hail a cab, but the streets were blocked off, I totally forgot about the convention and what it would mean to my commute. I hurriedly walked up the street heading towards work. To give you an idea as to why I was suddenly hit with this feeling of fear, let me illustrate my situation like this- I work on 39th and 9th ave. The Republican Convention, a major terror target is located at Madison Sq Garden on 34th and 8th- just five blocks away from me. Time Square, another major target of interest is on 42nd st. three blocks away from me. The Port Authority, and Path Trains are also targets and they are my only means to get home. If anything should happen, I would be in the middle of all the chaos. Looking back the sight of all the police officers in uniform should have relieved some of the tension, and it did... Until I read the papers. "Two suspects arrested after attempting to bomb the D train at 34th station" I'm glad that they got caught, but I'm a bit scared that they even tried given the amount of security. All afternoon long the restaurant was quiet, but the streets were busy. Just blocks away angry mobs numbering in the thousands had come to disrupt the convention and air their disdain for the Bush administration and the Republican party that backs him. Police precincts were calling all uniformed officers from the field to quell the protesters who were getting violent.

News of officers being attacked by hoodlums in the crowd spread all over the news, fueling much anxiety among everyone. Anarchy was taking form and the NYPD seemed underhanded to control it. NYC had to call in the National Guardsmen to help out the police whose resources were being strained. Everyone around me was afraid that there may be an all out riot. Protesters getting out of hand and looting local stores and setting cars ablaze. I was afraid for another reason. I was afraid of that one terrorist that could have snuck passed the lines and into the crowd because the security was too busy watching the protesters to watch for the real threat... the fanatic terrorist who is out to kill Americans. Quite possibly me.

Harana

2004-08-25T01:09:00.000-04:00

I've been playing the guitar again. An ex-girlfriend taught me a few notes and a couple of songs on a red guitar that she bought for me on my 22nd birthday. Two years later, I buy a second guitar for my 24th birthday. Its sort of an ode to my lost love. Everytime I touch the strings I think of the woman who so patiently introduced and instructed me to the beautiful world of music. I can close my eyes and see her watching me ever so tenderly like a mother watching her child take his first steps. She would encourage me, and nurture me no matter how slow I would pick skills up. Painstakingly she would lift every finger and place them on the fret board until I could do it on my own. Secretly I hated it. I normally pick things up rather quickly and to be schooled like a retard was a bit of a blow to my pride. Having her take so much time and put so much effort and give so much praise turned me off to playing. Whenever I could I would stash the guitar in a closet and happily let it gather dust.
Two years later for reasons unknown I retraced my steps and picked up the guitar anew. Without anyone poking and prodding me to practice I've been learning chords, songs, and to some extent creating my own music. I find myself looking out into the distance as I pluck away at the strings knowing deep down inside that I need not look at my hand for my fingers will find their place on my guitar's neck. I can close my eyes and play and hear the love in each note. I can hear the frustration too. I can hear two years passed and an infinity in front of me. How beautiful is it to strike that chord?
Lately, since I'm trying to sleep when the rest of the world does; I've been sitting out on my stoop in downtown Jersey City at around 2am or later just strumming my guitar. I look up at the night and listen as the sound of Isabel (That's what I've christened my guitar) floods the silence much like stars drown out the darkness. The sound of her voice brings me peace. The sound of Isabel puts me to sleep.
But in all honesty, as much as I play for myself I want to play for someone. I have a chest full of emotions and guitar that can sing of my wanting. Often I look across the street at the brownstone fronting mine. Up on the third floor is a light that stays on when all have turned out.

I imagine my Rapunzel is there and the sound of my strumming is the call to her freedom. I play for that light, for the idea of a woman, that can hear my heartbeat in the chords that I strum. I imagine that she can hear each note, loud but hollow, needing just a little more warmth. I seek a woman that can inspire me to make music and not just play a series of chords in longing.

Can she hear it? Whoever she is, can she hear me? One day that light will go out, but the door will open and I'll find out that she's been listening to the sound of my loneliness all along. And when that happens my calloused fingertips will reach out and know the softness of her flesh from the cold cutting strings of my Isabel.

Red's day off

2004-08-23T09:03:00.000-04:00

Even I need a day off. How convenient that my first day off in a loooooooong time be spent watching the Yankees play the Angels in Yankee Stadium. The sky was dark with looming rainclouds just beyond the horizon, but it seemed like the brightest day I've had in weeks seeing the people gather towards the entrance with such anticipation. I've never gone to a baseball game so the entire vibe was new to me. I'm glad that Alison was there to introduce me to the experience. Alison is a die hard Yankees fan and all of her rah-rahness started to rub off on me. I heard that Yankees fans are something else, now I know for sure. Stepping out into the box seats overlooking home plate and first base, I took my first look at the plush green field marred only by the baseball diamond and entrenched by a sea of people. It was beautiful. If I were a lesser man I might have shed a tear. (Thanks mom.)

I'll never forget the sound of the Star Spangled Banner being played by the Marine marching band echoing across the field and into the stands. It seriously made the hair on my arms stand up. How much more American can you get? Baseball at Yankee Stadium with the Marines playing the national anthem, followed by a gourgefest of hotdogs and beer and screaming a slew of profanities at the visiting team. It was seriously a patriotic good time. Early in the 5th inning with the Yankees down 4-1 the storm clouds gave way to an outpour of which I've never seen in NYC. It rained like a typhoon from Manila. Fierce, unforgiving, and relentless the water came rushing down upon everyone forcing a rain delay that left everyone scrambling for cover and soaking wet. Luckily, Alison bought us official Yankee ponchos to keep us dry during the downpour. It worked to some extent. And so like the diehard fan that I was for the day I sat in my seat through the rain soldiering on patiently for its' finish so that the game could continue.

That was not to be. It rained like it was its' job for about two hours. Finally Alison and I decided to call it a day and head back to the city, but not before taking a photo opt behind home plate.

Overall it was a wonderous experience, one I'll never forget and will partake in regularly in the years to come.

Rachel

2004-08-21T09:17:00.000-04:00

How amazing?! A day after I meet Rachel, I trudge my way down to the Path after a long drinking night and sit on the platform to find myself right beside her again! "Well isn't this funny? If I didn't know any better I'd say you were stalking me." She looked over at me and laughed. It was a good laugh. "How was your night?" she asked under her laughter. "Can't complain, worked hard, partied harder..." She wore an oversized white t-shirt with a gecko on it to hide the black tank top she must work in. It had to be a trick she used to conceal the fact that she's a bartender and is loaded with cash. The oversized shirt only made her stand out more. It looked like one of those cheap tourist shirts you'd get from your aunt after she got back from some place exotic like... Australia. (Ok ok so that's not so exotic but its several timezones away!)Taking everything in I looked down at her shoes and pants which weren't as messy as the night before. "Slow night?" I asked "Yeah, how'd you know?" I smiled and gave her a mischievous look as I replied "You don't look as dirty. Last night you had so much white gunk on you, I could have sworn you were a milkmaid. Or a really nasty woman." How could she not laugh at that? Luckily she did, because getting slapped across the face at 4am can't be fun. We got on the train and talked more. It was nice. The 20mins we spend together underground is a perfect way to unwind for the night. Before she got off I said to her. "Look, you're cool and all but if I find you on the platform tomorrow night I'm gonna assume you're a crazy and run for the hills." She laughed again (no surprise there, women's standards for humor fall dramatically at this hour)"Well then don't look for me till Monday because I wouldn't want you to think that. I work from then straight until Saturday." And again we parted ways quite abruptly. I smiled to myself the rest of the ride home. Looks like I have a commute mate.

The Fellowship of The Spatula

2004-08-20T08:52:00.000-04:00

People never seem to notice how kitchens everywhere are run by the Mexican Mafia. Waiters and managers give them little regard since they speak little or no english and have a job that is less glamorous then theirs. What seems to have slipped passed their bloated egos is that the food ultimately makes or breaks the restaurant. My kitchen bretheren are starting to take notice if they haven't already. Now is the "Time of The Kitchen"- where the cooking staff can say no to everyone and nobody can do anything. I've seen them do it in other restaurants and I think this trend is more than a fad. This very well could be "The Dark Ages of the Culinary Arts" if they so wanted it to be. Being the chummy guy that I am, I've always taken a liking to the kitchen staff. They work long stressful hours in front of a hot grill, stove, oven, salamander, or salad station with little ventilation and even less human contact.

Watching them put together a dish is like watching an Indy 500 pit stop. The precision, the timing, the team work. It's beautiful. What's not to admire?

Everything is orchestrated. One small mishap- Someone forgot to put the temperature on a steak, someone forgot to leave out the onions- any minor glitch and the whole system can come crashing down like doomsday. (Not a pretty sight)You have to show these guys some respect. They deserve it. I've taken it a step further- I show these guys love. Over the years I've been learning spanish. All of the spanish I've learned in fact, I've learned in the kitchen. I'll come in when it's busy and ask them how they're doing, if they need a drink- anything. We'll joke around about how their mothers and sister's are my whores or what not. (These are popular "bonding points" in the kitchen. Strange but true.)I've actually been inducted into their secret society. One day I asked a line cook for some grub as I was so hungry. To which he responded by handing me a huge raw jalapeno pepper. "You hungry? You have to be a Mexican to get food. If you have hunger, eat this." I knew this was a test, a test I could not afford to fail. I love jalapeno peppers. I love anything spicy, besides I was so hungry I'd eat anything. He didn't know that. But for theatrical effect I feigned the desire to try such a respectably spicy vegetable. Just when he was about to take the jalapeno away in disgust, I took two and ate them whole right before his eyes without flinching! From then on I got to eat whatever I wanted whenever I wanted. Every restaurant has an initiation. That was mine in French Roast. Not so bad. Here's a look at what I had to eat for some respect at Pigalle

Looks bad? Tastes like fish. That is a roasted Peruvian Cane Rat- a delicacy in South America. I walked into the kitchen late one night and found them roasting a few of them. Curious I asked them what they were eating. They laughed. They told me I wouldn't like their food. I told them I am the Asianic Mexican and so they stepped aside just enough for me to see what they had on their plates... "Hmmm I definitely bit off more than I'd want to chew this time," I thought to myself. While I was contemplating where I'd want to barf.

My Jefe, the main man Roman asked, "You want to try Rojo? Let's see if you are a true Mexican." There was no backing down to that, so I ate it and again I got treated like royalty.

Now I work for Oscar at HK, he's my new "Jefe". Slightly older than most of the chefs I've worked for, Oscar is a master of french cuisine. He has an uncanny ability to fuse french with asian influences. Because of this we have something to talk about in the kitchen. He displays his culinary deft, and I give him some asian insight that he can't find in books. Despite his jovial disposition and our great working and non-working relationship, I am preparing myself for my next initiation. Hopefully it won't be anything like Alison's trial by fire...

Hahahahahaha! What ever it is I'll have to eat, my stomach is ready because when push comes to shove and you need the kitchen, its better they look at you as family then as a stuck up puta madre.

Conversations Between Two Night Shift Waiters...

2004-08-20T04:24:00.000-04:00

Tonight I met Rachel... Actually I met her three months ago in Hoboken on a long drinking night with Allan and Brian. (See more of the details later)The thing is I was sooooooooooo plastered that I had forgotten the pretty dirty blonde that sat next to me with the greyish blue eyes and firm figure. So totally forgotten that I contrived my sitting next to her on the platform. To be honest I saw her come through the turn stiles. I noticed her all black ensemble, (A dead give away for someone that waits tables) and dirty shoes and knew instantly that she would be someone I should talk to while waiting for the train... So like a hawk I followed her every step until she found herself a comfortable spot and I made my move. I walked deliberately down the platform like a man on a mission and sat but two feet away from her. At the time she was reading a book trying with much deliberate effort to keep awake. I made no effort to hide my gaze. I waited for her to look up to which I smiled gently and asked... "Long night?" She returned the gesture with a toothy grin and said "Yes. It started out great but fizzled out waaaaaaay too early." I thought to myself, "Now I have someone to keep me from drooling all over my shirt and if I play my cards right we might even chat it up on the train ride home..." Strangely enough it came too easy, there were no cards to be played... "I know you from somewhere," she said. "I don't think so," I said. To which she ran down a litany of clubs and bars, none of which seemed familiar to me until she said... "You came in with two other guys and left them to eat..." Then it all came to me like a bolt of lightning! I did meet this girl, how could I have forgotten? It had to have been the Bacardi 151... (never again that traitor!) From then on the conversation just flowed. Effortlessly we talked of the long hours at work and the lonely commute home. We spoke of learning new languages just to communicate to the kitchen. We dabbled in restaurant fashion and how black is the new black! (I doubt the popular unifor color will ever change) No awkward silences... A very interesting conversation. I tried desperately not to check out her physical features. This was too good to let my libido get in the way... I looked in her bag to keep myself from looking down her blouse and saw a book- Drowning Ruth. Sounds morbid, but morbid is interesting. My curiousity peaked I asked, "What are you reading there?" genuinely concerned... She pulled out the book and I took a picture of it. Maybe I wasn't really taking a picture of her book, but more of her mind. I like to think you can tell alot about a person's intellectual and emotional state by the types of books they read. "I like psychological thrillers, it gets my mind all worked up." Hmm interesting reply. Sounds like a possible serial killer. She's cute though.

Our little conversation was cut short as the train came to her stop. "I'm really glad we talked, you made my train ride home so much shorter," I gushed. "Yeah me too," she said. "Hopefully I'll see you on the platform again and we can continue our talk," I said. "I'll be looking for you," was her reply. "Hey I never caught your name," she said. "Red, nice to meet you. I never got your name..." "You never asked... It's Rachel." "Rachel," I said under my breath as she walked out the door and looked back in the car to wave good night. And just like that she got off of the train and I was left with but a pleasant memory and a picture of a book to let me see what lurks in her mind.

Closing Time

2004-08-19T02:18:00.000-04:00

It was an odd night tonight. Strange people. Strange requests. Strange demands. Definitely tried my patience. I was ready to get cut and leave early tonight, I wasn't feeling the vibe. I had bouts of near insanity where I was conspiring to feed a guest soup with chicken stock in it because he was an annoying little vegan brat; or fill another guest's cup with regular coffee just because she kept bugging me to bring her decaf- in spanish! I hate having to sit there and take it. I'm not used to it. Its a learning experience for me. Actually one of the best things about my last waitstaff job was that I could throw people out no questions asked... But its an occupational hazard. We are here to please, sometimes at our own expense.

All night I looked longingly at the exit sign and wished I could just throw my apron in someone's face and walk out that door and out into the night. Oh and I would have taken all the cash I had on me too...

Just when I was ready to lose it, pfffffffffft... they all vanished like a puff of smoke in the night, never to be seen again. Then it was just me and my thoughts and the rest of the dinner staff

Finally closing time came and I made a dash for the path... Everything was in fastforward, lights and sounds whizzing past me as I made my way through the NYC streets...

I felt like everything was on autopilot... "just get home... just get home" I kept telling myself. I dragged my tired feet down the stairs and looked up to a beautiful sight...

Now the tough part... The unknown wait... It seriously feels like purgatory... Its hot, its uncomfortable... There are alot of drunk people paying for their sins at 2am in the morning below groundlevel. Waiting for a train that may come in five minutes or not at all... There are also some hot chicks... They look like shit, since they're either drunk out of their minds or halfway sober from whatever it is they were on, but pretty none the less...Another time, another place...

I sit at the edge of the platform looking down at the tracks that is litered with chip bags and ticket stubs... I see a sign that I never paid much mind to... it says:

But I don't want to. I want to live on the edge, feel the rush, feel life! LIVE LIFE That's what my being in new york is about. Its finding myself in a place where you can easily get lost. But to do so you have to flirt with danger... I stood up... walked passed the yellow line and looked at the oncoming light that was rushing toward me...

I didn't see my short life pass before me, I didn't feel anything... Just the slight breeze caused by a ton of steel headed my way... No I wasn't thinking about killing myself, I was thinking about not being so afraid... Not following ALL the rules. Not trying to be agreeable and perfect and pleasant. Does that make sense? I'm no saint, why try to be? Maybe I should just be me. Tonight was a good wake up call... A good gut check.

I will walk the line. And I will find myself and in it I will be free... Not here to make you happy here to just be me.

Going Home...

2004-08-18T10:12:00.000-04:00

I realize that I've been taking my commute home for granted. Too tired to look around and take everything in. I'm more paranoid that I may get mugged around the corner than afraid that I'll miss something uniquely New York... Believe me it won't happen again.

I climbed to the roof of the building my restaurant is in... Looked around as far as my squinty eyes could see... The view was amazing... I took a long drag off of my clove, held it, and spat it out at the world... Not exactly the best way to show an appreciation for the view but to me it was like seeing my breath fade into the city. I am one with this city. I am a part of its' vibe. Now does that sound so funny?

Pedestrians from a cab's point of view

No offense but this is where my commute sucks, being stuck underground for supposedly 15mins. (it can take anywhere between 15mins to 1hr.) Everytime I pick up the phone at the path and ask when the next train arrives, a sleepy voice answers- "One will be there in 15mins..." Always... Without fail... (laughter dies down)I feel I have reached the point where I'd call her out and call her a friggin' liar! Its not like I'm gonna take a different train home and they'd lose business by telling me the truth... There's only ONE way for me to get home! It doesn't matter if I go straight to JC, or spend another friggin' 15mins in Hoboken, I have no choice, I'm their captive. The path is an evil monopoly... Believe me, when I save up enough of my tips, I'm building my own commute system!

Its been hard day's night... and I've been working like a dooooog...

2004-08-17T14:07:00.000-04:00

Didn't make it home again. Finished working at HK at around 12mn last night but was greeted at the bar by my three good friends and some extras. As in typical fashion, I proceeded to catch up to their level of consciousness by using alcohol (make shift long island ice teas... tastes like gasoline but hey, it gets you there) to bend my mind like a spoon. Thinking a few drinks would make it even steven I TRIED (the operative word being tried) to head out to path trains. That was not to be. With a little encouragement from Alex (my friend and boss) and a promise of a warm familiar couch (Brendan's couch has become my bed of choice through the months... I always wake up feeling like I had a wild night, smelling of cigarettes and other people's sweat... even if I was at his place all night playing video games) I was persuaded into forging on into the night. We ended up at Brendan's. It was Alex, Brendan, Moosie (AKA Alison) Natalie, and myself. Joining us at Brendan's was his flatmate and good friend Lucier and their old pal Mardene. What happens when you mix a Greek, three South Africans, a Frenchwoman, a Filipino, and a Jew together and add alcohol and instruments? The strangest musical ever! We all took turns singing in our native languages... it was a very united nations moment... I guess it was in tune to the olympics... Oh shit, I'm late for work... more on this later!

Gotham At Night

2004-08-16T12:53:00.000-04:00

The streets of 8th Avenue at 4am

They only come out at night... a brief look at NYC's insomniacs gathered in force... kinda like the night of the living dead, but some of them are pretty hot...

Ah... another photojournalist

Episode IV: A New Hope

2004-08-16T10:43:00.000-04:00

Hey People.... Looks like I might not have to change this blog afterall. I have since retired from my late night shifts in favor of a real life! Hahahaha... No worries, from here on in you'll be getting confessionals of an insomniac waiter with the prequels litered about my blog so you can see how this quiet catholic school boy turned into the mess he is today! Cheers... Now if only I could get my pictures up online....

Ah here we are! This is "HK" short of Hell's Kitchen. We're at 39th and 9th. Drop in around midnight, I'm the only chinky eyed guy there getting sloshed for free... hahahaha.

Welcome to the Restaurant Confessionals

2004-07-12T16:21:00.000-04:00

Welcome to New York City- the city that never sleeps! Come see the city through the eyes of a late night waiter. See the sights, meet the people and somehow feel the vibe that makes this city the biggest stage on earth!