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".

The 59th Year

There really isn't anything too awful special about someone's 59th year. No pre-determined landmarks, just a signpost or two. Some are fortunate enough to be able to officially retire in a year and half I suppose. Unlike the 17th year, the year we turn 16 and climb behind the wheel solo for the first time, the 59th year is rather mundane. Turning 58 doesn't really mean much in the scheme of things...unless you choose it to be special.

For me, the simple fact that I will celebrate this birthday above ground is quite consequential. I try not forget that, along with all the other things and people I am fortunate to have surrounding me.

Tonight, Loretta and I will go out to dinner at a popular, local Italian restaurant (not the O.G.!). We will be going compliments of two new found friends who also happen to be my employers.

Yesterday, another new found friend surprised me with a birthday present...a new electric guitar. I sold my old guitar last year because I wasn't playing it, a decision that became regretful as I missed the diversion it provided me.

A couple of weeks ago, Loretta bought me a new "smart" cell phone, something that has made my new endeavor much easier to manage.

I spoke to my cheerful Mom, Betty, via that new cell phone last night. We always wax nostalgic around my birthday, me being her first born. "Geeze", she often says, "If my son is that old...how old does that make me!" And then we laugh together. I usually retort with, "If I'd known I was going to get this old, I would have taken much better care of myself!" And then we laugh some more.

My best friend, Bob, calls me several times a week. I'm sure I will hear from him today as well, "Ya' feel older?", he might say as I answer the phone. Or maybe, "Man, you're an old fart!" Then I remind him that he is nine months older than me, and we laugh...and trade a few more old man jokes.

So, I choose to make my 59th year on this earth the best it can be...by savoring the good and calmly dealing with the bad. As I pledged on New Year's Day...to try to do anything better this year than last.

There will be a date, probably sometime in May, that will most likely come and go without much fanfare. That will signal the beginning of my 60th year of life. But, since that date also coincides with my parents wedding anniversary, I just may tip a glass or two to that red-letter day!

Joe DiMaggio...where have you gone?

With a San Joaquin Valley winter blowing just outside the window on this dark, early morning, maybe it's time for a few random thoughts...

I don't know about you, but I've kind of had enough news about the presidential race. This whole Hillary/Obama squabble has gone overboard. Now they both look more like grade schoolers on the playground, trading insults and throwing parts of their lunches at each other. I suppose it will always be that way in the political arena, some years are just worse than others.

The Heath Ledger thing. A sad state of affairs, especially for his family. Even though everyone is claiming it wasn't suicide, who knew he was so depressed? I guess I'll never understand the celebrity depression epidemic. Unfortunately, I am quite familiar with the disease. Too bad his epitaph will include playing the role of The Joker in the new Batman movie.

I tried to watch The Number 23 last night (for the third time). Didn't make it through to the end again...fell asleep. I'll try again some other time, it's on cable now.

I'm getting burned out on watching Andrew Zimmern scarf down Bizarre Foods. The manner in which is chomps and savors immense worms, goat brains, gastropods, and other food items found under rocks or destined for the garbage is getting tedious to watch. Even Bourdain ventures into that cuisine much too often. What's wrong with normal food? Are they simply bored of the mundane? The answer is "Yes". And it makes for sensational television we cannot turn our eyes from. Kind of like a car accident on the side of the road. I just wish Simmern would stop saying, "That's absolutely fabulous!" through a mouthful of crickets or potato bugs!

Did you know the Number One most popular beer in Canada is Coors Light? Number Two is Bud Light. Those facts were the most disturbing things I discovered when in Toronto a few weeks ago. And Canadians are a beer-drinking bunch, but not so much their own brews evidently.

I have never enjoyed January...December neither for that matter. I lost my fascination for the holiday season long ago. My birthday is in January (tomorrow, the 26th). And that date has lost its luster for me as well. No one wants to get older after the age of 25. I remember my mid-20's as being when I had the most self-confidence as well as the most self-doubt...in equal amounts I think, a very ambiguous time in my life. It was kind of like Autumn, not really Summer anymore, not quite Winter. The Equinox of my life. Sure, there have been many moments of joy and satisfaction since I was 25. But I just don't want to get any older. The old man in the mirror just ain't what he used to be. I must keep reminding myself that there is nothing I can about the passing of time. I must keep trying to be little better as each day and year goes by. My 59th year starts tomorrow...maybe it will be my best yet!

Where have you gone Joe DiMaggio?

remissitude

Actually, the word that comes to mind is remiss, showing neglect or inattention. From the Latin, remissus, from past participle of remiterre, to send back, relax.

e.g., "Skippy, it appears you have been remiss in taking care of your aquarium, indicated by the motionless fish carcasses floating near the surface".

e.g., "You lazy, thoughtless S.O.B. How could be so remiss as to not write anything in your blog for almost a week?"

True. I have exhibited much remissitude of late. In blog writing, phone calls to relatives, emails to same relatives and friends...I have been remiss.

The lame truth of it is, not much time or brain processing space left over for such activities.

The new pub/restaurant is almost complete, staff training begins in two weeks. Hiring and pre-training begins in the next few days. Most everything has been built, installed, painted, wall-papered, glued, hammered, and screwed in. Only a few details remain (100 or so) including plugging in the equipment, lighting the burners, uncorking the valves, and cleaning off the rest of the sawdust, metal shavings, and dirt. Literally tons of restaurant "smallwares", pots, pans, silverware, spatulas, plates, glasses, cups, and doo-dads are due to arrive this week...all needing to be unpacked, washed, and mis-en-placed. After that daunting task...we only need await the arrival of cases and cases of chicken breasts, burger patties, steaks, produce, soft drink mix, kegs and kegs of beer, bottles of alcohol, and margarita mix. It's almost time to start "playing restaurant" for real.

Bear with me, my blogmotic remissitude is inexcusable. I promise to do better. Photos of the above project in its splendiferous completed form forthcoming. If I haven't been institutionalized first, that is. In that case, I still may be able to blog a bit, as I have become very adept at typing with my feet.

We'll be firkin open soon!