Sunday

An Old Consolation

I've been living down the street from Honest Tom's Taco Store (Store? Shop? Place?) for nearly eight months now. Reviewing ye olde posts, I discover I never made it to Tom's honest wagon. If his store shop place is any indication, however, I missed out on a good thing a long time ago. Vives los Tacos de Tom!

Sound [still] Off!

It [still] bothers me.

Nothing says Trash like Yum!

POTENTIALLY SOPHISTICATED:

Ingredients: Cucumber, pasta sauce, spices.

Warm moderate portion of pasta sauce in sauce pan. While it simmers, cut cucumber into desired number of round slices. Arrange on plate. Top each slice with a measure of the heated sauce. Spice to taste; recommendations include Parsley, Basil, Garlic Powder, Cayenne Pepper, Ground Pepper, Marjoram, Paprika, Parmesan, etc. Sky's the limit.

NOT SOPHISTICATED:

Do all of the above, but put a layer of mustard or mayonnaise between the cucumber and the pasta sauce.

BONUS ROUND:

Lick the plate when you are done.

Monday

Sound Off!

Acts that have become Incalculably Influential with just Three Albums:

The Stooges
The Jimi Hendrix Experience

Nirvana
Alice In Chains

(i'm missing a big one here and it's going to bother me for a while.)

History is Irrelevant

I think young souls are lucky souls...

Stupid, but lucky.

On tonight's bikeride I decided that history is irrelevant. It's fascinating, but has very little bearing on the present. Now, some say that we learn from our History, which I believe to be true. Mistakes we have made in the past, as a society, a humanity, and as individuals, have been significant lessons. But, my opinion is that you can only prepare for the present by experiencing it - reading about what once was can inform your decision, but ultimately won't affect the outcome beyond your ability to execute your intentions.

This is supposed to be a deeper philosophy but I'm less capable when it's hours later and I'm not on my bicycle. I think I should get a tape recorder, especially since I had another thought on the ride home and I've lost that one entirely. Oh, Restaurants should hire contractually. That wasn't the thought I lost, but as a separate idea from earlier in the shift tonight it's a thought I want to record. "What if restaurants were like baseball?" I ventured to one of my comrades. You are hired for a salary, for a certain period of time, and you can be traded to other restaurants. Just like they do in the major leagues."

It's not an awful idea. It would be a lot like shipping out on a seafaring voyage, like Ishmael does in Moby Dick. At the end of three years you resign or find a new ship. New team. Whichever metaphor you want to go with. A restaurant is a lot like a sailing vessel, and less like a baseball team, although I can make the pitcher/catcher/infield/outfield comparison last through at least seven innings.

Tuesday

Wave of Mutilation

Last night's dream weighed anchor in unchartered waters: the oceans of metaphorical interpretation. I start as a passenger aboard a commercially-designed clipper; even the guests wear old fashionede rags, to keep the voyage somewhere in the vicinity of the authentic. I was wearing teal. Through a series of misfortunes and by the commander officer's extreme dislike for me, however, I turn from happy-go-lucky modern passenger to archaic, brig-chained prisoner - in teal underwear. I'm not so sure about the teal, but the dream is definitely a subconscious poke at my feelings toward the restaurant, and my boss. Hmph.