Wal-Mart death

I cannot believe that yesterday an employee at a Wal-mart store in Long Island was trampled to death while trying to open the doors to the store. I just came across an article titled, "Wal-Mart death preventable, union says." Here is the link:

http://www.cnn.com/2008/US/11/29/black.friday.death/

The basic point of the article is that Wal-Mart could have had better security measures in place to prevent this incident from occurring. The president of the United Food and Commercial Workers Union Local 1500 said, "This is not just tragic, it rises to a blatant level of irresponsibility by Wal-Mart."

While I am no fan of Wal-Mart, I think the article fails to mention the responsibility of the over consuming American public. Do people really need to get in fights and trample over each other simply to get into a giant mega-store because prices are discounted even further from the already fairly cheap sweatshop labor products? Get a grip America. And all this the day after Thanksgiving, a day that is supposed to be about giving thanks for all that we have. Regardless of economic status, we as Americans have a lot to be fortunate for. Most of us have hot water and food on the table, things we take for granted everyday. Yet, this isn't enough. We have to go out and spend hours upon hours waiting in line for a chain store to open so that we can get our boom boxes, c.d.s, Sony Playstations, and other luxury items at a discounted price.

I think that American consumerism is out of control and that not only is Wal-Mart at fault, but so are all the American people who buy into this agenda of greed who waited in similar lines across the country for hours upon hours. Whether or not they actually trampled someone all I have to say is, "Find something better to do with your time and your money." If we Americans devoted as much energy to bettering our local communities and the world as we did to shopping, think of the difference we could make.

Waiting Tables

Can I just say that I hate waiting tables? I know that as a bartender in a restaurant I am still serving people, but there is an entirely different attitude with bar service. I can joke around with the customers, dish out witty sarcasms, and learn about who they are. When we know that it is going to be a slow night at the restaurant, I have started working the floor as well as tending bar. After tonight, I came to the conclusion that if I had to work as a waiter every day I would go crazy.

People sitting at tables are just plain annoying. Here is a recap of tonight's irritating events.

"How was everything?" I asked one of the tables as I was clearing away three completely clean plates (usually this is a sign that they liked the food). I don't usually finish everything on my plate if something about it is substandard.

"Well, I was really disappointed with the bun. I can't believe they didn't toast it. It tasted like it was still frozen," commented one of the diners.

Really, I thought. I'll give her the benefit of the doubt that perhaps the bun could have been better quality. I personally prefer not to eat our hamburgers for this very reason. But, why choose to tell me now? When you have already finished your meal, must you actually give your honest opinion to the server? It's not like I made the food. Keep it to yourself, critique the food in detail amongst your friends, but when the server asks how everything was after you have already finished, just lie. Say, "Great." give a pseudo convincing smile and move on.

Next annoying moment of the day happened with a three top of women. These are the kind of women who are all show and no real sophistication. Shopping at Cost Plus world market is probably about as worldly as they get. One of the women asks, "Do you have any Pinot Grigio?" When I reply, "No, sorry, we do not," she wants a recommendation of a wine that is similar to a Pinot Grigio. I begin to explain to her that there is a great Pouilly Fume that is actually quite different from a Pinot Grigio, but it is still light bodied and has wonderful fragrant qualities. The bottle that I suggested was $59. I could tell that she didn't want to spend this much when she inquired about the other Pouilly Fume which was $46.

"What is the difference between these two bottles," she asked.

"The difference is that the other bottle is a little more dry." Notice that I never said that it was a "dry" wine, I simply said that it was more dry than the other bottle. I didn't think she was entirely sold on the wine, so I was beginning to describe one other wine for her, a Licia from Spain, but she cut me off mid sentence and decided to order the cheaper Pouilly Fume.

When I opened the bottle and poured a little taste for her, she proclaimed, "This tastes sweet. I don't know, does this taste like Pinot Grigio to you guys?" as she offered a taste to her friends. "I don't really know what Pinot Grigio is, but this tastes really sweet to me, you said it was dry."

Stupid lady doesn't even know what she is looking for in a wine and then gets mad at me for saying it was dry, which I didn't even say, I said that it was drier than the other wine. The customer needs to know what they want before they have the nerve to complain.

And finally, the most annoying man of the evening. This guy was just all around irritating. His jerkiest moment came when I told him that we were out of the desert that he wanted to order.

"I'm sorry sir, but the kitchen has told me that we are out of the peach crisp this evening. Is there any other desert that you would like to try."

"Jeez, every time I come here you guys are out of one of the deserts. Why do you even bother to have desert on the menu if you are always going to be out of something? What do you have then?"

Wanting to grab him around the neck and choke him and cry out, "Loosen up you crazy, high strung idiot. If you don't like that occasionally we run out of one of our eight different deserts, than go somewhere else. No skin off my back." Instead, I replied, "We have everything else, sir."

After dealing with him all night long, he only left me $16.50 on a $120 bill. I really hope I never have to serve him again. If I do, I'll be sure to tell him that per his suggestion we decided to take desert off the menu.

Thanksgiving board game

I always approach going home for the holidays with caution. There is no telling what kind of chaos will ensue. This Thanksgiving my family actually managed to hold it together for the most part. That is, until it was time to play a board game.

We sort of have a family tradition of playing board games on Thanksgiving and Christmas day. Why we choose to engage in competition and set ourselves up for fighting God only knows. My parents always buy us a different game every Christmas. Sometimes these games are a hit and other times they completely suck or are simply not suited to the nature of our family. One Christmas we got a board game version of those series of books titled, "Chicken Soup for the Soul." This game was called, "Chicken Soup for the Family Soul" or something of the sort. The premise of the game was to go around recalling beautiful family memories. We read the first card out loud and knew that it was too "feel good" for us. That game has still never been played to this day. We need a game about winning, a game where someone can be made to feel stupid if they are not good at it.

This Thanksgiving we played a game that we have never played before. It was called This vs. That. It must have been last years Christmas game and I'm guessing we probably got in a fight and were not able to round up enough people to play the game. The funny thing is that even though game playing is somewhat of a tradition, there is always a struggle at first to get everyone together at the table or in the living room to actually play the game. Rarely do we manage to get all five or six of us to sit down at the same time and listen to the rules so that everyone knows how to play and we can all start on the same page. Then there is always the straggler, the late comer to the game. This role is usually reserved for my mother, she likes to say that she doesn't want to play and then start throwing out guesses from across the room when she isn't even on a team.

This vs. That turned out to be quite a fun game. We had two teams of two. At first the teams were my mom and dad on one team and my sister and I on the other team. One part of the game requires one of the players to use verbal cues to get their partner to guess five words that are written down on a piece of paper. My poor dad was simply not wired for this type of skill. He had a hard time figuring out what to say, using a lot of confusing hand gestures, and saying, "Um...um..." quite often. My mom as his partner was furious with him, "Come on now, you need to give better clues. Your clues stink. You really stink at this. Stop flailing your hands all over the place. How am I supposed to guess these words?" she berated him.

At one point, she was saying all of this when the category of the game was "Things that are stressful." I was quick to point out, "Things that are stressful: being partners with mom in this game." My sister and I won this first game with ease and decided to switch partners. I chose my dad and my sister chose my mom.

This is where the hilarity began. First, my sister was trying to get my mom to guess the words, "old books." Kim used clues such as, "These are things that you read."

"Books," my mom replied.

Then Kim said, "Not new but...."

"Old," my mom got the answer right away.

"Okay, now put those two words together."

Out of nowhere, my mom started guessing some random things, "Literature, magazines" she called out. I could not contain myself with laughter. The buzzer rang signaling time out before my mom could simply put the words together and get "used books." We were all laughing hysterically.

A few rounds later and it was now turn for my dad to make the same mistake. The category was "things associated with barnyards" and the word I had to get him to guess was, "smelly manure." I started with manure. "This is another name for poop," I described.

"Manure," my dad answered.

"Okay," I said. "Now, if something stinks, you could say that it is...."

"Smelly," my dad guessed.

"Right. Now put those two words together," I instructed.

This had my dad completely turned around. He started guessing some different words and I had to redirect him, "No, the two words that you already got. Simply put those together one after the other." I was starting to get nervous as I heard the buzzer begin to speed up signaling that our time was almost up. We still had not guessed one word correct this round.

My dad guessed, "Manure smelly."

I couldn't help but laughing, "Okay, now flip those words around. You are having dyslexia, simply swap the order of the words." Beep. The timer went off and we were out of time.

My mom jumped at the opportunity, "And you were laughing at me earlier? You just did the exact same thing. Manure smelly? What is that?"

I guess the morale of the story is that maybe it's not always your partner's fault. Maybe you both suck. Better yet, maybe it doesn't matter, and it's great to simply be able to laugh at yourself, admit when you suck at something and move on.

Urinelle

I came home last night in somewhat of an exhausted stupor. I was working at the restaurant until around 10:30 pm, had smoked myself silly and spent a good forty-five minutes on the bus to get home. When I finally got to my apartment it was about 11:15 and my roommate's cocktail party was still underway, although most of the guests had left at this point. The first thing I had to do was pee. After waiting for a few people to use the facilities, I dragged my dazed self into the bathroom where I couldn't help but notice something quite strange on top of the toilet. Was I really looking at what I thought I was? All I could see was a bunch of pictures of a woman using some sort of device to pee standing up. Essentially, some entrepreneur finally understood that "penis envy" is real and materialized this Freudian concept into: "Urinelle, the urinating tube for women."

While I thought the product was ingenious, I couldn't help but wonder what it was doing on top of our toilet. Were these really put out here for our guests to use? I read the description of the product and it states, "Urinelle enables women to urinate in a standing position: easily, safely and hygienically. Handy when, for example, you are out of the house where hygiene is often lacking." Is our toilet really that unhygienic that our guests would actually want to use this?

I asked my roommate about it today and she told me that it represented an inside joke between her and some of her friends. She told the story of why the urinating tube was funny (other than all the obvious reasons).

"We were eating dinner and Susie's husband Jeremy was the only man at the table. He mentioned how when it snowed outside, he and his guy friends would go outside and try to write their full names in the snow with their pee. Only, he could never finish his entire last name. He would only get up to Schmee. And that's how he ended up with that as his nickname. All of us girls were jealous, talking about how we wished we could do that too. Finally, one of the girls found this product online used to help women pee standing up and she bought all of us a packet of them. So, I put them out as a joke and kind of as a dare to see if we could get anyone to use them."

I inquired, "Have you tried it? Has anyone?"

"No, no one's used them as of yet. They are just a joke."

I bet that woman since the age of time have wished they could pee standing up and now here is this product that helps us accomplish that goal, yet no one has stepped up to the challenge. Maybe it's because urinelle is made out of this kind of durable paper and the thought of holding it down there and potentially getting pee all over your hands is a bit frightening. Or, maybe it's actually a popular product in the Netherlands, where they are made. And, I wonder, do you still have to wipe after using urinelle? Plus, at $6.85 per 7 pack they aren't exactly affordable. It's already expensive enough being a women in this society, need we add on another cost?

I guess for now the squat will have to do for most of us women who aren't fortunate or gutsy enough to try urinelle. A friend of mine the other day said that some women actually have trained themselves how to pee standing up. I think it might be that their urethras are made especially for this skill, some kind of a natural design advantage that they have. Possibly these women are the ancestors of nomadic groups that needed to pee standing up while they went on long walking journeys from place to place.

If you think about it, it is kind of interesting how different cultures use the bathroom. In Japan, for example, women squat over a ceramic hole in the ground. It's just a different kind of toilet. When my family lived in Japan, I remember having to learn how to use this type of toilet properly. At first, every time I had to go I took off my pants and my underwear, I was afraid of getting pee on my pants. Once, I actually dropped my underwear in the toilet in the process of trying to use the bathroom. That really sucked. With a little time and a lot of practice, I finally mastered the art of this form of peeing.

I actually think that squatting over a hole is easier than trying to squat over an American sitting toilet. At least the hole in the ground is made to be squatted over whereas the American toilet is made for sitting. Only thing is with all the germs out there, you can't actually sit on the public toilet without feeling icky and gross all over. I personally am a fan of the toilet seat cover. Something about that thin layer of paper protection gives me the comfort of mind to sit on the toilet. I recently did this in a public restroom with my friend in the same stall. "Gross," she exclaimed, "Why don't you just squat over the toilet?"

"Because it's really uncomfortable and that's what these paper things are made for." I replied in my defense.

She couldn't believe that I would actually sit on the toilet. Seriously, what the fuck? Why would we make a toilet for sitting on when we can't even sit on it? I think the Japanese have got it right and at least the Dutch have come up with an expensive ass alternative to the discomfort of squatting over a toilet (it seriously is a strain on your thigh muscles) in the product of urinelle. Maybe one of these days I'll give it a try and see how it goes. Or maybe not.

Tobiko

Is the customer really always right? Why is this the motto with which the American customer service sector is governed? I am pretty sure the customer is not always right. In fact they are sometimes and oftentimes wrong, partially correct, rude, and downright obnoxious. Don't we, as restaurant workers, have an obligation towards people to help them learn their manners? When you have children, it is common practice to teach them how to behave at the dinner table. Well, adults of America, isn't it time that you started to learn some manners yourself?

Yesterday night at La Terrasse I was working the entire floor of the restaurant on my own. No host, no manager, no busser, no runner, and no bartender. The restaurant is really not that big, and there were only 7 people in the books on this particular night, but there were about eleven other people in the restaurant beginning their meals at the same time. The largest party size of these eleven was two. Needless to say, I didn't really have time to deal with anyone's bullshit, or indecisiveness, or any other of the many general displays of rudeness common amongst customers.

One of my guests ordered our smoked salmon pizza. On the menu, this item is described as having, "red onions, creme freche, and tobiko" in addition to smoked salmon. This customer never asked me what kind of "tobiko" came on the pizza. If she was such a connoiser of this ingredient, than she should have known that there are three types of tobiko in addition to the traditional ingredient. These types are "colored" with different ingredients: wasabi (green), ginger (pale orange), and squid's ink (black). She never did ask this question. Apparently, she assumed that we were using the traditionally colored tobiko, which happens to be red-orange in color.

When I deliver the pizza to her, she exclaims without hesitation, "This is not tobiko. Tobiko is orange, it's the stuff that comes on the outside of the sushi rolls." Feeling like I was just given a spanking from my high school history teacher for not remembering what day in July our country celebrates independence, I replied, "Um...um...yes, I think this is tobiko. It's Japanese black caviar." The customer pounced on me like a lion and growled, "No, this is not tobiko. It's not tobiko. It has squid ink in it which gives it the black color. I can't eat squid ink." Whoa there mama, I thought. Hold your freakin horses, I can get you a god damn stupid fucking pizza without those black things on them, whatever they happen to be called. Of course I couldn't actually say what I was thinking. Instead, I got her a new pizza, made fresh from scratch. Just because she didn't really know what she was talking about. She was only half right.

Inner spirits

Have you ever met someone and felt that you could see inside their soul? The type of person who radiates an inner warmth and spirit of kindness and love that is enrapturing. I feel that I can get drunk amongst these individuals. When I meet an inner spirit I want to spend all my time indulging in their pleasures.

I want to thank all of these people out there for making the world a more beautiful place to live. And thank you for helping me to look at my own life differently; to make me want to live a more healthy, full, and happy existence.

When to help vs. when not to help?

It is especially easy when you live in a city swarming with people on the streets asking for help to become fearful of your fellow citizen. Thoughts such as, "If I even look at this person and offer a smile, they might think that I am going to offer money and follow me down the street," or "Why should I waste my hard earned pay to feed others drug and alcohol habits" may creep into our psyches causing us to keep our eyes rooted firmly on the grounds and our heads shaking side to side in a firm "no". These thoughts and actions become somewhat of a self-preservation response when you live in a city filled with people who have run out of luck and found themselves living on the streets. Many of these people have serious mental conditions that impair their judgments and therefore it is wise to maintain a certain distance. However, does this conditioning prevent us at times from reaching out to strangers who truly need help?

A couple of months ago, I was walking across the street in my neighborhood when I was approached by a rather disheveled looking man. He was wearing what looked like old, faded blue hospital scrub pants and a dirty white t-shirt. I pegged him for one of the many homeless people living in San Francisco. As I began to cross the street, he followed after me, crying out, "Excuse me, Excuse me." I didn't even want to look at him for fear that I would have to explain why I didn't want to give him any money. Keeping my eyes planted in front of me, my conditioned response of shaking my head while answering, "No sorry. No sorry," came meekly yet firmly out of my mouth. But he was determined for help. While rushing to keep up with me, as I had increased my walking speed in hopes of avoiding the encounter, he explained "Is there any way that I could use your cell phone? I just got out of the hospital and my buddy is coming to pick me up, but he doesn't know where I am. I just need to call him and let him know."

How could I continue walking and ignore this plea for help? On the outside, I had pegged him for a homeless man asking for money, he certainly looked the part. When he asked for something entirely different, I felt awful that I actually had some fear about letting him use my cell phone. I thought, "What if this is some scam and he is using my phone to call some number where they will get information about me and use it to start stealing money from my bank accounts?" or "What if as soon as I hand him my phone, he steals it and runs away?" How horrible that because of the way he looked, I couldn't simply complete an act of kindness because it was the right thing to do. I did let him use my phone, but I put it on speaker phone, so that I could hear the conversation and I knew that there was no chance of him running off with it.

By definition it was an act of kindness, many other people had passed him and continued towards their destinations. However, I didn't feel that great about it because in my mind I harbored judgments about who he was.

When I began writing this post, I meant to write about an incredible act of kindness bestowed upon me and my friends this weekend, but I let the writing process take me another direction. I am still going to tell the story from this weekend, but I suppose the act of receiving kindness has actually had me going back and thinking about my own views as to when I do and when I don't react to the requests of strangers. Do I (or even we as collective citizens) go through some sort of internal processing in determining when to help and when not to help? Do we simply listen to our instincts regarding when it is safe for us to do so? Or, do we help others because they pass our tests of who looks safe or who looks "normal?" I think that it is definitely important to be aware of what kind of risks you are putting yourself in by helping someone, however, at the same time it is so sad to me that we live in a world where people themselves are the danger. I think that this "kindness of strangers" topic is something that I am going to revisit again and again. Let me know what you think.

Eeyore visits the bar

I just got home from my wonderfully awesome job as a bartender at a French restaurant and today was simply filled with such great material. That is what I love about my job, it's essentially social hour all day long with a little (or a lot) of booze thrown in the mix.

Today, I had the most depressing costumer yet. My friend pointed out that he was like "eeyore" from Winnie the Pooh. (I think I need to go back and watch that show. I was never old enough to actually understand the genius and social commentary of the story.)

At about 3:15 pm today, the bar was completely empty and I was essentially killing time until 4 pm when the evening bartender begins her shift. Utilizing the free time to my advantage, I began reorganizing and dusting off some of the shelves when my "eeyore" sat down at the bar. I can't remember his name, but for some reason Eddie is sticking in my mind, so that is what I am going to call him.

Eddie: "Can I have a Sierra Nevada."

Me: "Sure thing."

Eddie: "Man, this economy really sucks. I mean, it really, really sucks."

Me: "Yea, it's pretty tough right now."

I continue with my dusting as his phone rings and all I can hear is his angered voice. I have no idea who he is talking to; however, it sounds like he is speaking to a controlling wife or girlfriend.

Eddie (on the phone): I am in the Presidio. (pause) I don't know where, at some bar near my work. (pause) I'm having a beer. (pause) I don't know the name, I think it's cafe something or other. It's a restaurant.

He hangs up the phone.

Eddie (looking at the latest news headline which reads, "Clinton may receive Secretary of State Appointment) : "Clinton? She's going to be the Secretary of State. I guess she'd be good. I mean, she's better than her husband, so she'd probably be good. But, man this economy sucks."

Me: "Do you work here in the Presidio?"

Eddie: "I just started a part time job here about a week ago. I had a really lucrative contracting business down in San Bruno for the last ten years or so, but I lost it recently because of the economy. I have a lot of friends who lost their homes. Actually, I lost my home over it. Almost became homeless. Good thing I have an R.V. though. That's what I have to live out of now. I have a kitchen, bathroom, and a bedroom. But it's still an R.V. Some people have told me that I'm lucky. I don't see how that's being lucky though."

Me (trying to think of something to say after taking in this splurge of depressing news): "Not too much like luck, but I guess it's fortunate that you have somewhere."

Eddie: "Never thought this is where'd I'd be. And it's my birthday today. Can you believe it? I'm 53 and I am working as a janitor after having a successful business and going to school and getting two degrees. Um, can I have another Sierra Nevada. It's my champagne I guess."

Me: (I can't help but feel bad that this guy is actually buying another beer.) "Are you going to do anything else for your birthday.

Eddie: "No, it's just another day really. I can't believe this has happened to me."

This post is dedicated to all of those people who have been displaced from their homes as well as to those who have never known the luxury of a home in the first place. I do have sympathy for you, but I also have some advice to give: Try not to barrage the poor bartender with all the news of your desperate financial situation. If you are looking for some free drinks, it's not going to happen. Hey, I've got to make a living too. Instead, you are only going to make me feel guilty for pouring you a $5 pint when I know that we only paid about $60 for the whole keg. At least if you are going to drink, go to Costco or Bev Mo or something and buy your drinks for a more reasonable rate.

People's Court

I think that People's Court may be one of the best shows on television these days. The crazy dramas between the people in the court are priceless. You can't make up this stuff, it's so good.

I'd like to see Saturday Night Live do a People's Court skit - have they done that before? Or, even better, that gay sketch comedy show could do a gay version of People's Court. One gay could sue another gay because he spilled a cappuccino on his new Prada shoes or something like that.

I had the rare pleasure of watching the People's Court today on television. Odd hours - another great perk of the restaurant/bar tending business. The court case that I saw today hit so close to home, that I think I need to make up my own version of the trial. The case was the assistant manager of a bar (who started out as the bar manager) suing the owner of the place for not paying him overtime hours while the owner was away. I nearly peed my pants when I heard what the case was.

Only a couple of weeks ago, the owner of the restaurant where I work was summoned to small claims court from the former assistant manage (who also started as the bar manager) who was suing him for unpaid wages. I think it was to the tune of $2000 or so. I don't know many of the actual details of the case, just what I've heard from the gossip around the restaurant. Oh, and when the guy served the papers to Antoine, he wasn't around so the paper's were left with the morning barista. I did manage to get a glance or two at the papers.

So, I don't think that I am very good at writing dialog, but I thought I should give it a chance by writing my own People's Court scene.

Plantiff: Javier Duran, suing $2500 for unpaid wages.

Defendant: Antoine, claims that Javier is a whiner and that he walked out on the job, and never actually performed the functions of the assistant manager.

Judge: "Javier, tell me what happened. "

Javier: "Well, when I first started working at this restaurant, it was clear to me that it needed help. The staff were all a bunch of lazy idiots and the manager was kind of a clown, more interested in talking about politics than bettering the restaurant. Naturally, since I have many years in the industry and extensive wine and spirits knowledge, and people love me because I am one sexy Venuzalean, I did what I could to help the place. "

Judge: "We get that you have a big head, but what did you actually do that causes you to believe that you did not receive proper payment."

Javier: "When I started kissing up to the owner and manager, they quickly made me the assistant manager and they told me that on the days that I worked when the manager was not there that I would receive an additional $150 plus my usual salary and tips."

Judge: "Defendant, did you in fact make this deal with Javier?"

Antoine: (Denote, here that the man speaking has a distinct French accent, a belly that never ends, and a huge face which fluctuates between the color white and red). "You see, the thing is that I gave Javier a job. It was not a very hard job. He needed to do his job and he needed to be where he was supposed to be when he was supposed to be. And he didn't come to work, in fact, he walked out. Can't have that at my place. I only want people who are happy, happy to work, no bad attitudes. You know, I have other restaurants where I have had the same employees for 10 years or more. I'm not a bad guy, I just want everyone to be happy. And I have to clean house when there are people who are not helping the team."

I think that's enough for right now. I need to go do some cleaning up in my room. I just want to say one other thing about my last post. I was reading in a book about writing today and it reminded the reader that lots of people want to write novels but that not many ever will or, if they do, they will not get published. This reminded me to not get ahead of myself in thinking about writing a book. And I'm just joking about becoming famous. I think it's important to note, because I need to remind myself that I want to write for the enjoyment of writing. For the expression, the creativity, the art. That's that.

Blogging obsessed

I thought a lot about blogging today. I'm starting to worry that maybe I am becoming obsessed. Don't get me wrong, I think that blogging is a perfectly legit and even creative obsession; however, I am worried that I might over do my blogging crave and burn out quickly.

Kind of like when you start exercising again right after the holiday season. Admit it already, everybody does it. The television starts playing even more diet and fitness ads than usual and all of the gyms have beginning of the year membership specials. Must be a crazy time for that industry.

So, my concern, is that I will do with blogging what I do with holiday exercising: hit it real hard and strong for the first two weeks and than completely lose the motivation. And yes, I do know that I could have put the colloquial term "hit it and quit it" there but it just didn't seem appropriate. I didn't check the box for "must be over 18" to read this blog.

For now, I can only hope that I can turn this writing dream of mine into a habit. So, stick with me. Me and my one follower. We can be like Jerry McGuire and together the two of us and our gold fish can make it. Or, rather, what I really mean is that when I happen to finally publish that novel that I will let all of my millions of screaming fans know that you were my first blog follower (sorry that I can't remember your name at the moment). Such a show of devotion right there.

Today, my obsession with blogging was constantly in my thoughts. All day long, every observation I made, every conversation I had, I wanted to put it in the blog. If I did that though, I would be here writing all night. And, honestly, I have a pretty bad memory and can't even remember many of my so-called brilliant observations. They were brilliant at the time anyway. So I made a "best of" list for the day.

Stupidest question I heard:

-- customer at the bar asks Sam the other bartender, "Do you know the name of a beer that doesn't taste like beer?"

Bleakest dating scene:

--My gay friend lived in Urbana-Champaign where there was one gay bar. And by one gay bar, he meant for all the towns within a 50 mile radius. Talk about not being able to get away from your exes like in that country song, "All my exes live in Texas."

Yummiest food eaten:

--Some amazingly wonderful type of brie cheese left over in our fridge from my roommate's dinner party. Wish I knew the name of it, damn, so good. And I am not even a huge brie lover, I think there are many, more complex cheeses. But, damn, it was good.

Funniest blog moment:

--At the bar with my friend who introduced me to blogspot and she was laughing about how she actually had a follower, some random person according to her. What she didn't know was that the follower was me. I still had not told her the name of my site. She said she thought my posts were funny, but couldn't figure out who this African woman was!

My friend says, "I don't mean to be stereotypical, but when I was reading it, I just couldn't picture that an African woman was writing it."

Cheers blog. Thanks for being here.

Forgetting Sarah Marshall

Do you ever find yourself touched in some way while watching one of those fluffy, cheesy, romantic comedies? When I rent a movie like Philadelphia or Blood Diamond, my emotional response to the film is not unexpected. However, it definitely sounds a bit odd to talk to your friends about how when you were watching a film like "Jerry McGuire" you learned so much about yourself and felt deeply touched. I just watched Forgetting Sarah Marshall, and perhaps I should keep this information to myself, but even though it was fairly predictable at times and full of laugh at loud ridiculous moments I felt somewhat inspired by the main character's journey of self. Ultimately, I came away wanting to get over the last person I dated and devote myself to working on my dreams. Cazy, huh, from such a cheesy film to want to spend more time on improving myself (writing, exercise, etc.)?

The main character is this guy who gets dumped by his famous tv actress girlfriend and in his attempts to go on vacation and forget about her, he ends up at a resort in Hawaii where "coincidentally" his ex-girlfriend and her new, famous singer boyfriend are also vacationing. Lucky for him, there is an extremely attractive woman (played by Mila Kunis - check her out on line, trust me, you won't be disappointed) who works at the resort and they begin hanging out and eventually she helps inspire him to return home and finish writing his rock-opera about dracula and involving puppets. Sorry if you haven't seen it, then I kind of ruined a bit of the plot line for you. It's such a generic plot line though that I really think the distinguishing features of the movie must be seen for yourself.

Maybe I connected with the movie because I recently have been going through yet another dating disaster (if you read the last blog, then you will see that I am a bit focused on the same topic right now). This time, I thought that I really liked the girl, only to have her stop returning my calls for a week, then she came back all apologetic, I fell for it, and then she did the same thing again. While going through my whole process of getting over her (it wasn't a long relationship, but there is always some time needed) I had to come to the point where finally instead of being so sad about what had ended, I started to look at the reasons why she wasn't the best for me anyhow. I think that I tend to put my blinders on at the beginning of dating someone new. It was kind of nice to look back and realize that I actually was fairly irritated by many things about her. Like how she once told my friend that she didn't want to live on the East Coast because the people there didn't care about recycling. Then later she got all self conscious about it telling me that she felt stupid for saying that. Well, you know what, it kind of was a stupid thing to say.

There was a super, super funny scene in the movie where the main character is trying to have sex with some girl to forget about his ex-girlfriend, and the girl keeps saying "hi" to him over and over again. You know, that kind of sweet, look at me, I'm so cute and innocent version of "hi." This girl actually did that. And I had to crack up when the character in the movie responds finally with, "Could you stop saying hi already?"

Over the course of the movie, as the main character meets a new girl, he realizes the ways in which the new girl actually appeals to him and complements him much better than his ex-girlfriend ever did. She encourages him to follow his dreams and write his rock opera, which, of course, he finishes by the end of the film (you know how in every movie, everyone eventually goes on to accomplish their dreams?)

Anyhow, the film spoke to me in the same way that my therapist did the other day: whatever good feelings you have had with someone that you are sad about not having anymore can be found and more with someone else.

Can't someone get a phone call anymore?

I definitely do not consider myself to be an expert in dating life by any means, but I have to say that advances in modern day technology have really added a level of complexity to the so-called "scene." What I'm talking about is more than all the various ways that the internet has added for people to meet each other. These self-willingly created databases of online personas have of course given today's "single and availables" one more course of action with regards to how they could potentially meet their next partner. Whether or not this is positive for the dating community is not a question that I am particularly concerned with. However, what I am concerned with are the ways that modern day means of communication (other than the perfectly fine time-tested and continually improved method of the telephone) have led more to frustrations and miscommunication between two people in their journey to determine whether or not this relationship will or will not work out.

I don't think that people actually pick up the phone to ask someone they are interested in how they are doing as often now as they did in the past. Apparently no one has the time anymore to indulge in this behavior when they can simply send a text message saying "Hi. Thinking of you. Hope you are doing well," or something of that sort. With the addition of one of those manufactured happy faces at the end of the message, of course the recipient is to be more than satisfied with the gesture. There is also the sad face and the wink, with such brilliant graphics determining another's emotions has never been easier.

Adding to this complexity, is the concept of chatting with people online. A good portion of dating singles in their 20s and early 30s spend a significant amount of time on the internet researching articles or simply expanding their facebook friend lists. With gmail chat and facebook chat, you can now talk to the person you are dating online. Wondering whether or not this girl or guy is into you? Of course this can be determined while reading the other person's words on the computer screen. No longer do we seem to have a need to see each other and hear each other to communicate in order to fully understand the other's intentions.

Why must we continue to guess when we could just pick up the phone and call? Why spend five minutes typing out a message with your thumbs than simply use your mouth? I don't think that opening and closing your mouth expends much energy.

For now, thanks for being my first entry. I am hoping to use this blog to create a spark in me to write more. I think I hesitate to write because I think it has to be too meaningful or that my hand gets tired and ironically, in this case as opposed to the case of dating, I am hopeful that the modern day technology of online blogging will help.