If I knew I was gonna live this long...

...I'd have taken much better care of myself!

I don't quite know why that saying comes to mind right now, but it seemed appropriate.

How about, "When it rains, it pours". I've gone from many free hours a day on my hands to the negative column of the time management graph. No time for photography. No time for blogging. No time for sleep. The long and short of it is...I've been working 16 hours a day 7 days a week getting this restaurant/pub up, open, and running. And, after being open for business for just over a week (it seems like months), I now have the personnel and opportunity to start cutting back on "floor time".

Ironically, everyone around me, owners and employees alike, have been getting sick. The irony is that I have not! I'm knocking on wood at this very moment. Maybe it's my extra layers or fat. Maybe I'm just saving it all up for a really nasty Spring flu or cold. I'm not complaining about not getting sick, just bewildered.

This coming Sunday will be spent at home, playing my new guitar, doing a bit of writing (in this here blog), and sleeping more than 4 hours. Believe it or not, I may do a bit of cooking as well. What am I, crazy? I work in a restaurant!

Assuming nothing drastic transpires at the pub between now and Sunday (causing me to make an appearance at the pub)...talk to you from here then.

Cheers!

Large breasted cleavage and late night informercials.

What do large breasted women and late night infomercials have in common? Plenty, it appears.

I couldn't sleep past 3:00 a.m. having hit the sack at 8:45 last night. My wakeup call was supposed to be 4:45 a.m. anyway, so I got up, made the coffee, and checked my email. Nothing new from last night at 8:30...no shit! So, I popped on the TV, and there it was. Or should I say, "There they were!" Two large breasted women, sitting on a couch discussing the merits of the new internet business they had just purchased. These two hussies were not only well-endowed, they were both wearing tank tops of some sort, with necklines down to just north of their navels. And, they were sitting on the edge of the couch leaning their elbows on their knees. Voila! Tits all day (an old restaurant management term)! Big ones.

I figured since this ploy had gotten me to stare at the tube for at least a minute or two without surfing, the "titty infomercial" was not concocted by accident. I continued to watch.

"I can't believe how much money I am making with my new internet business", coos one to the other.

"Me too", came the response from the other cleavaged woman, "and, I make that money 24/7, even while I'm sleeping!" (Hmmm...now, I'm picturing them languishing in bed, under silk sheets, pensive, squirming, thinking about their internet business). They both let out a small chuckle, just enough to get their pendulous mammaries to jiggle a bit.

Then, a geeky-looking male announcer in a short sleeve shirt and dockers comes on and starts blathering about this "can't-fail-money-making-system". Flashy, blue screen graphics dancing behind him showing DVD's and computers and pamphlets and manuals for this package of home-business drool. I continued to gawk for a few more minutes, hoping to get another shot of Thelma, Louise, and their respective twins. Nothing. I switched the TV to TCM only to find some old movie filmed a few weeks after sound was introduced to the cinema. I never switched back to the "Titty-fomercial". Now...at 3:30 am...I'm writing this dribble.

Maybe Thelma and Louise are back on by now. Have a nice day.

Pre-Super-Bowl-Favorite-Commercial

At the dawn of Super Bowl Sunday, I just watched my favorite TV commercial that may or may be included in the parade of outlandish commercial offerings during the game.

Scene opens with shot of a fast food counter clerk (complete with headphones and paper hat) at the counter. He speaks to an unseen customer.

Clerk: I can't accept that. That's not real money!

Shot of dollar bills on counter top, obviously counterfeit, funny money. Cut to shot of customer who happens to be Tony Sirico, Paulie from The Sopranos, dressed in a pin striped, double breasted suit.

Paulie: (With a scowl) Well, that's not a real breakfast! (Doing his signature hand pointing)

Shot of typical fast food breakfast in a plastic To Go container.

Cut to Denny's logo and announcer voice-over extolling the virtues of a "real" Denny's breakfast.

What a crackup! Well, maybe you have to see it for yourself.

Lost: Confusing television is bank.

After the season premier of Lost the other night, I am not entirely convinced they (the producers) are going in the right direction. Considering the whole concept of this bizarre story is precipitated by the fact that it never seems to go in the right direction, thus its massive, cult-like following, that observation by yours truly is a bit ambiguous at best. Like the grandfather character in Moonstruck, through streaming tears he confides, "I'm so confused!". For one thing, I really hated the voice-over narration from that Ben character (at least it sounded like Ben...before I dozed off). They should all take turns beating him to a pulp.

Truthfully, Lost is, in the most general terms, a hybrid of several TV programs from the past and present...Fantasy Island, The Twilight Zone, and Survivor...with heaping teaspoons of The Prisoner and Scooby-Doo thrown in for good measure. I have no doubt that the writers and producers draw from their experiences with psychotropic substances ingested during the 70's. Lost is one big, continuous LSD-trip-bad dream in HD.

Despite my tearful confusion with this addictive program, I will continue to watch the new season with interest. I've yet to grow tired of watching Evangeline Lily cavort through that Oahu jungle in various forms of tank-topped sweatiness. Jack's grubby, bearded craziness and substance abuse back home is getting a bit tedious. Shit, man...you're back home with soap, showers, a medical degree, iPods, and Kate...get your act together!

When the ratings begin to dip, here is my suggestion for closing out the saga of Lost. If Ricardo Mantalban is still alive, bring him and Herve Villachaise on for a cameo in the last episode. Make the ending rival the disappointing lameness of The Sopranos "don't stop" ending. "Boss...the plane, the plane!" Snap to black...roll credits over music, "Strawberry Fields".