Waking up in the morning to realise you've created a fresh crop of enemies and don't have the certain stamina to withdraw another breath reminds you of the beauty of life. If you could speak, and remembered that you have a mother, her name might be whispered as you force that one breath out. You're glad to be alone, since you can't bear the sound of your heart beating, or if you live in the city, traffic.

When I used to end up sick, I'd hurt more from the traffic than anything else. 4th Ave. & Warren. Horrid times.

Catch me, Motherfucker.

Chocha Pelon: "Don't cry for me Hialeah"

Ok.

1. Death
2. Blood, Broken Glass, Police, and Stupid Gift Games
3. Leases, Deposits, and Other Next-to-Impossible Challenges (for the half-feral)

Not the best week. I didn't drink, I didn't get high, I just slept and worked.

I have no money, I have no clean laundry (because 4. the Washing Machine Broke), I don't really have anything to eat, and I'm tired of being nice. I'm trying to convince the people I work with that I was born without a sense of Guilt. Like I just don't have one. It's a total lie, but in trying to prove it I've been able to be a total dickhead and smile and they're amused when I remind them that I am actually right and that I was born without a sense of guilt. I'm not sure it's a winning game but it's been fun today.

I was also told by the person that I asked if they were in a better mood that I was the one with an attitude problem not them. And that she'd heard it from more than one person that day. I was like, "Oh yeah, right, whatever."

Anyway, Chocha Pelon died last week. She lives on in Spanish vulgarities. Every time you call someone panocha, chocha, maricon, co~no or whatever, she lives.

Also, bunnies have a funny way of dying. Witchery?

Tom Waits makes me feel like a strung out Psychopomp

It's 7:30 am.  I found out last night how my dear waiter colleague Chocha Pelon had an accident and is in the hospital.  He had brain surgery.  I was just tweaking his nipple the day before yesterday.  The Haitian food runner accused me of being gay.  He's a small man.  I've seen him eyeing up the coconuts in the trees at work.  Literally.  There is no figurative language here, he was actually staring at the coconuts with longing.

I took a train last night to West Palm Beach.  I shared a few things about what happened to me in the past year.  Someone thanked me for it.  I was grateful to be able to share it.

I fell asleep last night after two, yet woke up at 6:50 this morning.  I woke up because I had a working dream where I had two restaurant checks in my hands.  I was all disorganized about my tables and who had what.  It had started raining.  A man came up all angry demanding his check.  I said, "Well, what did you have to eat sir?" which is strange because I normally would ask him where his table was or who his server was.  He refused to tell me.  I suspected that his check was one of the two that were in my hands.  Neither were for much money.  It's not unusual that some bastard orders an english muffin and a glass of water and then acts like he's been drinking Dom all day.

I was smoking a cigarette, also strange, then had to ditch it so I could run into the restaurant to find his server / a manager.  There was a waiter taking a crap with the bathroom door open so I threw my cigarette between his legs.  He was like, "YO!" Heh.  That shit's funny. 

I went back out to the man and asked him to wait a minute.  He walked out of the restaurant.  I ran up and had an impulse to kick him in the back of the head.  But I didn't.  I said, "Sir, you're going to have to pay your check."  He ignored me.  I ran inside and found Vittorio and he lumbered down the steps and around the restaurant.  As I was coming round to the imaginary parking lot I saw taxis and a feeling of dread that this bastard escaped came over me.  I looked in a frenzy at all the people standing around and none had his stupid moustache.  I looked again at my two checks, still in hand, and woke up.

So tell me, Doc... what the hell does it mean?

Bless you, Chocha Pelon.  We're all singing "Don't cry for me, Hialeah".

Stop being condescending, Joshua

Does anyone else have this sponsored link in their gmail account?  This is fucked up:

Stop Condescending - www.YourBadHabits.com - Learn How To Quickly And Easily Stop Condescending

WTF?!  Am I just paranoid?  Do I feel guilty about being a pretentious fuck all the time?  OR IS GOOGLE TRYING TO TELL ME SOMETHING ABOUT MY EMAILS?!

St. Joshuan Feastus of Beastus

(17:13:43) LexAnd125: i'm preparing a feastus.
(17:13:48) LexAnd125: as we speak.
(17:15:58) LexAnd125: it's a feastus of beastus.
(17:16:11) LexAnd125: yesterday i made a scallops and basil omelette.
(17:16:20) LexAnd125: it was the best thing i ever made in all my days.
(17:16:35) n1c0l3tt4108: dang, that sounds amazing
(17:16:41) LexAnd125: 'dang' is right.
(17:16:55) n1c0l3tt4108: i gots a huge kitchen and almost never cook
(17:16:58) n1c0l3tt4108: shame
(17:17:54) LexAnd125: i think that if i were a saint there should be the saint joshua feastus of beastus every september 25th.
(17:18:12) LexAnd125: and you all should celebrate.
(17:18:54) LexAnd125: it will be customary not to check your mail on this holiday.
(17:19:04) n1c0l3tt4108: haha
(17:19:10) LexAnd125: and also, if the holiday falls on a sunday, it will be observed on the following monday.
(17:19:21) LexAnd125: in terms of postal service.
(17:19:49) n1c0l3tt4108: no one shall be able to check mail even if location of key is known
(17:20:54) LexAnd125: absolutely.
(17:22:53) n1c0l3tt4108: good luck with that key situation
(17:23:01) n1c0l3tt4108: i gotta get ass up and print some shirts
(17:24:35) LexAnd125: get ass up then.
(17:24:42) n1c0l3tt4108: gettin!

What?! A dollar?!

Let me advise you on how to tip your waiter the next time you go out to eat.  In a word, ask a New Yorker for counsel.

• 20% is fair.  Not good, fair.  Fair as in just; appropriate.  In the order that g-d would have it.



• If there is a tip included in your check, it is not a plot against you.  It is a conservative estimate to balance out all the horrible tips left by Europeans and Latin Americans.



• If you are European or Latin, you should understand that in the U.S. a waiter makes their living on tips, not on some salary like in your country.  That means you should adopt the American custom of tipping so you do not rob people every time you go out to eat.  I am sure that however stubborn you are, or unable to glean local culture & custom in your travels, that you can understand that it displeases g-d to leave 11 cents on a table as a token of your appreciation for service at a restaurant.  Revenge may be best served cold but Justice is a fine dish coming hot-out-the-kitchen.  And remember that every waiter is able to see your food before you do, but not every waiter follows the golden rule.



• I may not smile, but it doesn't mean I don't like you or like my job.  I may also smile but I may be smiling because I'm amused at your pretense or some other graceless characteristic I notice.  Don't worry about how I 'feel' to you, just figure out what you want to eat and ask me politely for it.  I will make sure as best I can that it comes as you request it and try to make sure any other reasonable request is met as soon as possible.



• You can help me to help you by being organized in your request.  Understand that if I approach your table with silverware and you are with three other guests, it is -not- the time to tell me that you want a ham sandwich.  I will ask you what you'd like to drink so that the four of you can discuss your options and we can synchronize the presentation of the food. 



• If you are in danger of starving or dying of thirst, perhaps you should consider an emergency room.  Not one of my tables.



• I'm not your mother, and my own mother was never so patient.  Please don't expect me to be.



• Remember, 20% is fair.  You are not going to make my cup overflow by adding a 5er here or there.  I will maybe be able to afford to live and do laundry.  15% is a slight, and 10% is an act of aggression which will not be taken lightly.

Be blessed, and remember to say grace.

Your waiter,
Giosue