Resolution For The Hell Of It

On December 29, 2013 By Terrapin - The JourneyIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

If you’re old enough you may remember Abbie Hoffman, counter culture activist who wrote “Revolution for the Hell of It” as a follow up to his “Steal This book” novel, then like me you have broken so many New years resolutions the only sensible resolution is to never make another one. For me that’s been a long running resolution, I haven’t broken it for six years now. But like records resolutions are made to be broken so this year I will break that one to make room for some new ones. The prudent and easy thing to do would be to just take my bucket list and turn it into my resolution list. There’s two problems with that, first what fun would that be, and second and most important is I have never made a bucket list. In fact until I saw the movie I believed a bucket list to be all legs and thighs from KFC. Either that or a list of available buckets from Home Depot when it comes time to kick it.
On the brighter side, it already gives me my first resolution. I resolve to have an honest bucket list by the time 2014 comes to an end. Relatively easy so far, what’s next? I checked with Google to see what the top resolutions have been so I have a reference point. It seems the top resolutions are losing weight, quitting bad habits, exercising more, eating healthier, drinking less, learning more, and vacationing more. Then I looked at Google for a list of the top broken resolutions, and yup, same list! Well that sucks, I guess I better throw out that list and get creative.
Holy crap, that means I’m already up to three resolutions. 1, make a bucket list, 2 throw out the other resolutions, and 3 get creative. Having been out of the resolution racket for so long I’m not really sure how many resolutions are typical, what’s the norm? Back to Google. Not much help, I got lists of ten, forty, and fifty top new years resolutions. Best to just pick out the most meaningful and go with that, lose weight, exercise, and eat healthy, which realistically is one resolution. Lose weight by eating right and exercising. Now I have four, I think one more will make it five and that sounds like a sensible and fairly attainnable number.
I have always loved to read so to make it an even more achievable resolution list I added read more books, specifically ones I loved when I was younger, one that helped to shape my young mind. A few I already have and others I can buy with the Nook gift cards I received for Christmas.
I believe I am now ready to make my list. I will make a bucket list, throw out unachievable resolutions like less drinking or quitting bad habits because lets face it, if I am serious about a bucket list it gonna be jam packed full with bad habits and alcohol driven antics. I’ll keep on writing which will help me become more creative, I will moderately change my eating habits and walk more, and last but not least reread some of the books that were so important to me in my youth. This is a much more fun list to make, the books I’m going to reread. Siddhartha, A Clockwork Orange, The Teaching of Don Juan (Carlos Castaneda), The Stranger, The Prophet, Brave New World, Breakfast Of Champions, Even Cowgirls Get The Blues, One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest, Electric Kool Aid Acid Test, Steal This Book, and Revolution For The Hell Of It.
I looked over the list, felt it was relatively comprehensive then began reminiscing on how each of these books changed my life. Before reading these important works I was a naïve follower who like water always took the path of least resistance. I never objected to anything, I conformed to everything, allowed my opinions to be forged by my Mom and Dad, and basically offered no resistance to any aspect of life. But with each book I became more and more aware of myself, and how screwed up the authorities around me were. I became a rebellious long haired draft card burning member of the counter culture, growing my hair and adopting a hippie fashion style to piss off my parents, attending peace rallies, workshops for yoga, meditations and astral projection. I smoke the devils weed and danced with danger. I ingested liquid courage and chemical mind expanders. Drugs and rock and roll took my soul through eminent domain. Because of those magnificent works of literature I turned on and tuned in. Those books taught me well. So well in fact, that I’m saying fuck this resolution bullshit, I refuse to conform to mundane practices of the mainstream that are meaningless in the end. I’m gonna do whatever the fuck I want to do without any stupid lists pushing me to be someone I‘m not. So that’s it, nor resolution lists, one resolution and one only. Do whatever makes me happy. I’m having a resolution for the hell of it…I bet Abbie would be proud….PEACE

Watch This Now

On December 27, 2013 By Terrapin - The JourneyIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

If corporate America had its way this is how we would watch TV, like my good droogie Alex here, eyes forced open and head pointed squarely at the TV set. Drops of some drug in our eyes so we will absorb every message they want to impart in our brains. At least during the commercials because right now for a limited time we are in the viewer empowerment age of Television. We are not obligated to warch their commercials anymore thanks to DVR’s. The Golden age of TV was cool, a lot of fun and experimentation, variety shows, soaps, comedies, and the only price we had to pay was being subjected to advertising, subliminal or otherwise. A half hour show was about 19 minutes programming and 11 minutes of advertisement. They even snuck their slogans or catchphrases into our cultural vernacular. Taste great, less filling, a little dab will do ya, choo choo Charlie was an engineer, always after me Lucky Charms, sorry Charlie, Trix Are for kids, I can’t believe I ate the whole thing. They appealed to our grandparent love, I’ve fallen and I can’t get up, where’s the beef, and they even had us singing tongue twisting jingles, two all beef patties special sauce lettuce cheese pickles on an sesame seed bun. But now most of us record the shows and fast forward through the commercials. I haven’t seen a full series of TV commercials in over a year! I am empowered now, I watch the shows I like without that commercial interruption so its up to the stations to take full advantage of this by entertaining me with quality television programs. They have the opportunity to showcase some real creative shows and we aren’t forced to have our intelligence insulted by little men sailing boats in toilet bowls, women ecstatically happy during their menstrual cycle, or the reforming of the old high school rock band to sing about erectile dysfunction. What’s the best they offer? Shows about ridiculous people just being themselves, a number of updated versions of Ted Macks Amateur Hour, or dancing with the has beens.
I was raised to believe that hard work and determination would reward me with success but that’s bullshit. Those days are long gone, the rules have changed. The workplace isn’t the arena for making big bucks nowadays unless you can wrestle up a sexual harassment suit from HR. Legal manipulation is the easiest and most prolific path to the top today. Unless of course your idea of success is not just money, but fame. For many people its all about being on TV. Get yourself on one of the hundreds of talent competition shows. Do you have what it takes to make it in music? Don’t bust your ass playing at low income gigs and performing all week long dedicating yourself to your art,. get your ass on an idol X Factor Voice show. You can practice for your big moment at karaoke night at your fave pub. Hell, you don’t even have to be a good singer if you can whistle happy birthday through your nose or anything else ridiculous. Hell yea, that’s good enough to get you a talent challenge on any network. Fuck the winning prize money for coming in first all you really need is to get noticed. Be an asshole or a bitch and own that fact and maybe they’ll come looking to sign you up for or a show of your own. All you need do today is be a pompous ass and sell your shitty self absorbed personality. We’ll pay for it because Barnum was wrong there isn’t a sucker born every minute suckers multiply by the second and they watch reality TV. Just check out the prime time TV listings and choose where you fit in. A backwoods idiot, white trash toddler, a catty rich housewife or mob or rap star wife, bad girl, crazy masochist boy, Jersey Shore loser, the list goes on. Apparently our lives are so boring we’ve become desperate to peek in on the lives of losers who live in constant drama or are such assholes they give us self confidence because we aren‘t THAT bad.
I don’t know, maybe we just want to know that there are bigger assholes in this world than us. I must admit when I’m driving I’m often guilty of this. If the person in front of me pulls a dumb ass move I feel compelled extend my middle finger then stare inside their car as I pass. I need to see exactly what an asshole driver looks like so I can avoid looking like one myself. Or perhaps I need to be able to recognize the facial features of an idiot so I can avoid them off the road as well. Whatever it is the American television viewing public seems transfixed on other peoples lives whether its watching them get drunk and act stupid, have a meltdown in public, trash talk their friends and family, or just be out of place millionaires. We need to know how other people act in real life. Why?
As for me I have more than enough stress and drama in my own life to want to see someone else going through their real life problems, give me fantasy. I‘m much more comfortable watching serial killers, lawyers and cops, crime scene investigators, and horny doctors and interns. When I relax and vegetate on the couch I want escape from my world, not look at other people living theirs, but fantasy, a life as far removed from my own as possible. That’s why I never watch the Food Channel. I’m around food constantly in my job, why on earth would I want to see more of it in my free time? Unfortunately creative stories with actual professional actors is more costly and a lot more work so the networks are more than happy to fill prime time with bullshit competitions and real life drama they insist are unscripted.
Sit com? Here’s an idea for a new sitcom no one has, an idiot male for a husband, a suburban wife who wonders why she puts up with him, a smart mouthed kid, a gay family member (uncle or whatever), a minority marrying into the family thrown in for some mispronunciation of English laughs, and one brainiac precocious little kid. Um, actually it looks eerily similar to every sit com around today. never mind!
When I was a kid the TV was called an idiot box, or boob tube because watching for hours drained us of our capacity for critical thinking or cognitive thought. Now the kids that were transfixed by the pixilated screen are the ones creating B&I television. Not business and industry, boring and irrelevant. The idiot part is obvious (even to an idiot) but the boob part of boob tube today has become how much boob they can show and get away with under the guise of wardrobe malfunction. Young boys tune in hoping for a nip slip, teen girls hoping for some tight spandex. I love edgy stuff and I enjoy pushing every envelope passed my way but it pains me to see gratuitousness in television. I’m not a supporter of censorship but its sad to me that the artistic integrity of stretching our boundaries and placing us outside our comfort zone is slipping away. Especially because its only a matter of time before the sponsors figure out a way to get their sell, sell, sell, message into our brains. Perhaps they will team up with the NSA…….PEACE

A Festivus Visit (Twas the night before….)

On December 24, 2013December 19, 2016 By Terrapin - The JourneyIn Uncategorized1 Comment

T’was the night before Festivus
When all through the house
No computer was working
Not even with the mouse

The stalkers were hung by their necks with such care
In the hopes that the end of their peeping was near
The children ate Nestles they,d snuck in their beds
And bounced off the walls banging their heads

Mom in her sexy teddy straddling my lap
Had just bound my hands with a Festivus strap
When down in the kids room there arose such a clatter
Got dressed and untied to see what was the matter

Away to the window I flew like a flash
Dropped my baggie of weed losing my stash
It fell on the breast of the new fallen snow
I watched as my reefer was falling below

When what to my bloodshot eyes should appear
A hallucination of eight tiny reindeer
With a leprechaun in red so lively and quick
I knew in a moment my eyes played a trick

A rainbow of unicorns his coursers they came
He yelled at all eight as he called them by name
Yo Bashful yo Sleepy yo Doc and yo Sneezey
Hey Dopey and Grumpy and Happy and Sleezy

He opened the dresser where Mom hides her thong
Now dash away dash away and put back my bong
Then in a twinkling they all climbed up on the roof
A sled full of presents, this must be a goof

As I drew in a big toke and was turning around
I opened my hand my bong dropped to the ground
The dude dressed in fur from his head to his foot
Was laughing so hard and he was covered in soot

Bundles of medicinal buds were on top of his back
Just like a drug peddler he was carrying a sack
His eyes how they twinkled and dimples they sank
His cheeks red as roses yet his stare was so blank

His droll little mouth drawn up like a joke
His hair on his chin was snow white from some coke
The stump of a chamber pipe he clenched in his teeth
Second hand smoke circled my head like a wreath

He had a big broad face and a little round belly
I aired my first grievance and said he was smelly
He was also too chubby that right fat old elf
And I laughed when I saw him in spite of myself

With a wink of his eye and a twist of his head
He rolled a sweet fatty he’d bought from a dread
He spoke not a word but played his big Festivus role
In the middle of the room placed an aluminum pole

With a feat of strength placed a finger to his nose
An sniffed up more coke through a dollar bill hose
His grievances he aired till his team blew the whistle
And feats of great strength had broken the thistle
But I heard him exclaim the illegal drugs out of sight
Happy Festivus to all, and to all a good night

Enjoy whatever holiday you celebrate and take time to smile an share some love
PEACE

Rudolf the Drunken Santa

On December 22, 2013 By Terrapin - The JourneyIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

You know Dasher, Pole Dancer was Prancing with Vixen,
Used Comet on Cupid cuz Donner was Blitzed some,
But so you recall,
The sloppiest drunkard of all?

Rudolf the red nose drunkard,
Talked in a very slurry way
And if you could even hear him
You’d say the fuck d’he say

Oh how the other drinkers
Use to laugh an watch him drool
They never let poor Rudolf
Sit with them on a barstool

Then on last call Christmas eve
The bartender came to say
Rudolf with your ass so drunk
Help me get a dead bodies in the trunk
Oh how the other drinkers
Started slurring out with glee
Rudolf look at your own your leg
You should first have stopped to pee

Behind The Music, Stoned-henge Stock , 420 BC

On December 20, 2013 By Terrapin - The JourneyIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

Woodstock is considered to be the first ever mass gathering of a rock an roll concert although many, myself included would argue it began at The Monterey Pop Festival during the summer of love. But recent discoveries by archeologist show that we are all wrong, the true first weekend of peace love and music was put on by the Pagans in the UK at a place called Stone-henge in 420 BC. Before Alan Freed the rebellious music wasn’t called rock and roll, it was called stone and stumble and it was a big part of their counter culture. Take this recently found papyrus music sheet with song lyric scribed by Lady Joni of Mitchell for the popular Pagan harmonizing genius’s Crossbow, Whiskystills, and Nash-hash:
Stonehengestock
I came upon a child in the fields
Whilst walking along the path
I enquired “where dost thou walk to”
And this is what he told me
I walk along to Maximus Yasgurwoods farm
To join in a stone and stumble band
Set our camp along the henge
To seteth thy soul free
(Chorus)
Thou art starburst
Thou art goldstone
And we got to plant ourselves back in our garden

By the time we got to Stonehenge
We were a couple thousand strong
And everywhere was song and celebration
And I dreamed I saw a sun god
Riding shotgun in the sky
And we all turned into whippoorwills
Above the nation
(Chorus)

This relic was found with other ancient artifacts including a lute believed to be owned by Jimi Henbicks which he played with his teeth during a searing rendition of “Castles Made Of Sandstone”, and a clown nose belonging to Wavy-Ravey. The discoveries hve led scientists to believe that Stoned-henge was originally built as a stage for Stone and Stumble bands across the UK back in the day. WAY back in the day, 420BC, The Flintstone years, 10 million strong…. and growing. The Stoners Age when Bedrockpalooza and Occupy Rock Quarry were popular. Archeologists now believe that the Stonehenge ruins are all that’s left of an enormous soundstage which played to thousands of young partying Pagans, some who danced naked and took to frolicking openly, many while under the influence of barleycorn weed, a popular and tasty intoxicant when smoked. That weekend celebration of love, life, sex, drugs and stumble and stone music changed their world forever. Well actually it changed it only until the brutal Roman soldiers invaded the lands of the Pagans forcing them into chains of Roman rule but that’s another documentary. Before that devastating event the only event anyone spoke of was the three days of Love, Peace, and Music (and rain) on Maximus Yasgurwoods sheep farm known as Stoned-henge Stock.

Stoned-henge Stock was the brainstorm of childhood friends Ian Kellerlay and Declan Mc Intyre of Brea Scarra Off the coast of Scotland. They had the incredible insight to create a venue that could unite all the various pagan music styling’s of the UK. With top acts like the blues singer Janus, Canned Campfire, Dublin Bay Dirtwater Revival, Countryside Joe McDougal and the 12 fishermen, Bronze Zeppelin, The Ungracious Dead, Jefferson Chariot, The Immobile Stones, and The Salisbury Hill Stompers, nine music scenes in all would be represented. Each of the nine music scenes were represented by a giant stone indicative of its region to “represent“!

It’s believed the festival lasted three days and nights showcasing some 30 Stone and Stumble acts to almost 40,000 jubilant attendees. The crowd was so large the New English Chariot Thru-way was closed. Lotta freaks man! Tremendous efforts were made to feed the crowds, nearly 500 pounds of haggis was prepared for crowd consumption. Breakfast in bed for 40 thousand! Two children were born, a number of rug burns and other sex related casualties occurred, and one person died but all in all the festival was considered a life changing success. Or disaster, depending which news media you paid attention to. This is Behind The Music, the truth behind Stoned-henge Stock 420BC, The two part series presented by our sponsor, “Be My Bud“, the leaders in the legal marijuana industry. “We grow em so you can roll em.” So set your DVR for the upcoming mini series. Watch hundreds of pagans drinking, smoking, and flipping out on pebble peyote, get the inside story from some of the acts, and find out what happened to this sheep farming community when the music stopped.

Chef Jekyll and Mr. Run And Hide

On December 18, 2013 By Terrapin - The JourneyIn Uncategorized2 Comments

Pot Sink Diaries
J.T. Hilltop

Working for a manic depressive chef can actually make life in the restaurant more interesting. I say manic but I mean maniacal. Granted if you were the target of his demonic wrath it was not interesting, but frightening, but overall it added to the experience. Chef Jimmy could be unbelievably paternal one minute, handing me a bowl of beef bourguignon and offering sage advice (not the herb), and showering me with spit as he screamed directly at my face loud enough to insure everyone in the restaurant heard my total dehumanization the next. Could never figure out why he felt he needed to get nose to nose to communicate his displeasure, I was well within earshot and fully capable of understanding what a dumb godamn Ben Dayho I was. When he got pissed his evil twin Chef Jekyll came out and everyone else ran to hide. When someone angered the Chef he morphed into something non human. His face got all weird and contorted, taking on a smoky red hue. The wrinkles in his face turned into evil scales, his teeth rattled, veins popped out from all over his forehead and neck, and while this part was probably my imagination little horns protruded under his chef hat. His words found their target escorted by a military formation of saliva to make soggy strikes with surgical precision. All I could do was cower in fear like an abused puppy hoping that my trembling wouldn’t piss him off even further. From the corner of my eye I can see everyone else in the kitchen moving slowly and deliberately away trying to get as far as possible from ground zero. When the painful barrage of rapid fire insults dispensed at uzi speed subsided, the chef walked away mumbling as my comrades came to comfort me. By laughing! “Whew, you really pissed him off this time JT, chef giving you big ole cigar today.” “Ew we baby, cigars coming like grapes today boy, you getting them in bunches.” Wasn’t bad enough I just got eviscerated by the chef, now my co workers come over to gloat that it wasn’t them. When ever a chef or manager bitches you out in the industry we say we’re getting a cigar. It goes back to an old saying about someone being so mad they had a baby, but to be more cryptic restaurant people call it getting a cigar, which the angry person passes out after the birth of their tirade.
The best defense from receiving cigars is keeping the chef mentally balanced. I was skilled at creating such a delicate balance by virtue of subtle ass kissing coupled with schmoozing the hell out of him with my witty youthful charm. Holding up a mixing bowl of seasoned ground beef, putting on a sly smile saying “Want me to roll you balls chef?” Or “Chef, here’s the filet mignons. By the way, I heard they call you Mr. tenderloin.” To which he would give an approving chuckle and begin bragging. Little things like that kept the chef feeling good and when the chef feels good I don’t have to worry about flying knives or being stuffed in the meat grinder. I never witnessed any of that but the rumors abounded.
But fuck ups were like little ghosts all over the kitchen hanging out waiting for their chance to be called out for a haunting, and try as I did all too often I was possessed by the spirit of screw up. Sometimes it comes out of nowhere, during an otherwise uneventful shift. Jimmy had a thick Spanish accent an called me Gay Dee, having problems with J’s. Even his own name was pronounced Himmie, short for Jimenez, but he went with the traditional English pronunciation of Jimmy. He used a drawn out Ahhhhh so he could think about the right enlish word to use….Ahhhhhh, Gay Tee? You feel ahhhhh, hungry?” Sometimes took him over a minute to ask a simple question. On One particular shift started out as a quiet night and Chef was prepping something when I got the call. “Ahhhhhh, Gay Dee…Make me one favor por favor.” I immediately abandoned my post of suds busting by my sinks and ran over, “Yes chef, what do you need?” Ahhhh, Gay Dee, go a downstair anda getta me ahhhhh one case ofa gripeece.” Okay, chef needed something and I was the one he called on. Time to build some kitchen creds. It was considered an honor to do the chef a favor, get on his good side. “Yes chef, right away.” I ran down the stairs two at a time.
When I got to the bottom I began to think, “What the fuck is gripeece?” I looked around first in the storeroom, then the walk in, nothing even remotely close to gripeece. Shit! Now what? I ran upstairs as fast as I could an ran up to Jimmy, “Um chef, I couldn’t find the gripeece.” Believing I showed enough disappointment for the both of us I gave him my “what so you want me to do now” sad eye stare. “Gay Dee, please, ahhhh no fool around. Please go a downstair anna get me ahhhh one case of gripeece from frisser.” A light went on in my head, “Oh, the freezer, okay, be right back.” Back down the stairs I ran and directly to the walk in freezer. I scoured the shelves, all kinds of frozen things, ice cream, veggies, puff dough, pasta’s, meat product, but nothing even close to a gripeece. I double checked. Nothing. Triple checked. Still nothing. That light in my head dimmed as nervousness began to settle in. Now I have to go tell Jimmy we are out of gripeece and I don’t even know what a gripeece is.
I trudged up the steps in a state of severe gloom with a side order of fear. I walked up to the chef to give him the bad news, that we have run out of gripeece. “Um, I-I don’t think we have anymore gripeece chef, I checked everywhere.” Then it happened, almost in slow motion, the face contorted, the veins began popping, the scales showed up on his face and his chef hat moved slightly to allow room for the evil horns. “God a dammit Gay Tee I’m a tella you one more time.” Not good. No drawn out ahhh, the octaves rose as the decibel increased dramatically. Smoke rose off of Chef Jekyll’s neck and I could sense the hidden smiles on the rest of the guys as they anticipated evil Chef unleashing a pit bull of fury at me. “You go a down stair, go a to the frisser, and ona da tird chelf you get a me one case of a gripeece okay? Grie…..Peece.” The light went back on as I trembled under his wrath.. GREEN PEA’S!! “Sorry chef, right away chef” A ran to the basement in record time, flew into the walk in freezer and there on the third shelf, big as life sat a case of green pea’s. I tore back upstairs, brought him the pea’s then just stood there like a dog waiting to be rewarded for giving its paw. “What da hella you want Gay Tee? Huh? Getta you culo back to work you Ben Dayho.”
Knowing I dodged a round of bullets I returned back to my familiar soapy space, took the helm over my three compartment sink where I was more comfortable and commenced to scrubbing away, eagerly awaiting the next opportunity to kiss ass and maybe atone for the stupidity of not understanding my mentor. The chef was mumbling all kinds of shit, mostly about me I’m sure so I decided it was not the time to ask him why he called me and the other guys Ben Dayho. I just assumed it must be the name of the biggest asshole pot washer in restaurant history until one of the guys explained it to me. As soon as he told me what chef meant all I could say was, “God damn, I am such a vendejo!”

I Think There’s A Rat In This Bitchin’ Kitchen

On December 15, 2013 By Terrapin - The JourneyIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

Pot Sink Diaries
I stood proudly over my pot sink ready to clean anything and everything the chef could throw at me. Literally throw. My gastronomic voyage had officially begun and I dove in to the trip with a work ethic beyond reproach. I scrubbed and cleaned pots and pans until my fingers acquired the same status Mother Nature naturally assigns to prunes and raisins. I happily scrubbed and mopped the floors, scoured the ovens, and enthusiastically awaited orders from ….well just about everyone else in the restaurant. No worries I was willing to perform any thankless task sent my way. This night I learned about one of the mysterious qualities found in any great chef. A great Chef has the keen acumen of understanding the dynamics of the driving desire of a young pot washer’s eagerness to please. Jimmy picked up on this rather quickly informing me of a special “time” in restaurants, a time when things were “quiet.” He called it “downtime”. Downtime sounded harmless when I first heard it escape from Jimmy’s lips, and I thought it might be cool. JT my boy” came the words from my illustrious leader, “Ees a little slow tonight. Looksa like a we have some downtime.”
Well I could barely contain myself. An opportunity had arisen for me to show everyone how gracefully I would be able to handle this newfound downtime. It never occurred to me that the word itself could enlighten me as to what may be in store. The Chef planned to put me “down” and keep me “down”, by assigning me an assortment of unmemorable chores that will get me down in the dumps. As for the “time” portion of my endeavor, it actually meant time consuming. Flagrantly left out of the phrase was tedious. It should be called tedious downtime. This inspirational portion of the evening I get to perform seemingly insignificant time consuming tasks. There are various levels of joy associated with downtime tasks. It could range from the somewhat mindless variety peeling 50 – 100 pounds of potatoes, to the absolute joy depleting role of shrimp peeler. Peeling shrimp is somewhat misleading as well, because chef hands you a ginourous pan of shrimp which you are require to clean. Remove the outer shell, put a lice sown the back of the tine morsel of future deliciousness and remove the incredibly objectionable digestive track that looks like small black sludge. Then rinse it and ass it to the other couple hundred shrimps. How many shrimp can people eat anyway. Don’t they know you are what you eat? Inclusive of all these food related tasks, are a mysterious set of non food thankless jobs given the official name of maintenance. I say mysterious, because I could never figure out how washing the Chef’s car in any way contributed to the dining experience. But wash it I did, along with every piece of kitchen equipment, and every floor within a 5 mile radius. On this particular evening, I was mopping the downstairs. A serene and peaceful place where all foods and food products reside to meditate. They remain at the Storage Inn, a kind of bread and breakfast for the grocery set, until they are summoned upstairs to become part of something monumental. In a back room, seldom used, was where I was sent. Upon arrival, my keen observation noted two non-moving members of the family rodentia lying on the floor. Damn they looked gross. Summoning all my energy to keep my dinner where it belonged, I walked into the next room and informed Edwin, the Chefs nephew or “senior potwasher” whose true job and intellect were yet to be determined. He was however, my supervisor and assisting me. His having been here so long gave him a queer aura of authority. “Hey Edwin man, there are two dead rats in the extra room.” Edwin’s English was worse even than Jimmies, and he just repeated what what what and stared at me puzzled. So of course I motioned with my hands as I said very slowly, for some reason believing that would help him understand, “Next ..room….dead ..rats, two of them!” This is too fucking tedious, and I needed a cigarette so I lit up and walked into another room to chill. Seconds later I heard a blood curdling scream followed by a pounding of wood to wood. I ran to Edwin fearing the worst and there he was still screaming and beating those two already dead rats as if they were zombies. Hard as I tried, the sight of Edwin clutching a broom and beating the shit out of two dead rats took over every rational bone in my body and I broke out in a laugh so fricken hard if Jimmy and Didier had seen me upstairs they would have felt like rank amateurs. Tears forced their way across my cheeks like rivulets of saline. I had to hold my stomach and fall to the floor in an epileptic fit of uncontrollable laughter. To date this may have been the funniest thing I had ever seen in my life and I wasn‘t even high. This is restaurant life. Now my mood was great. Hope it lasts.
Just when I thought Ed couldn’t make me laugh any harder he moved into action. At first I was repulsed and grossed out to the max. With his bare fucking hands he grabbed one dead rat in each, looked at me with a dopey smile that had me wondering if he smoked my hash as he said, “Come witta me JT. We godda bigga sue-prize forra da cheff.” With the rats dangling at his sides he climbed up the stairs like happy from the seven dwarfs. When he reached the top he made room for me to stand next to him and he held these two dead god damn rodents as high as his arm would allow and yelled loud enough so the entire kitchen could hear. “Hey Cheff…..Lookit a what we gotta for you soup!” As the chef and company began laughing wildly I looked on in horror. “Jesus shit Ed, you can’t bring thee disease ridden mother fuckers in a kitchen!” Mortified I looked around and everyone was laughing except Laura. Oh Jesus I thought, she’s the only other one grossed out besides me. Jimmy yelled back, “getta Jense inna here, we gotta special entrée tonight.” The laughter continued and Edwin took the rats back downstairs’ and no sooner did he get to the bottom when he tripped and fell letting the rats fly in the wind. I ran down to see if he was okay and he was frozen on the ground looking up in horror. Across the room was our illustrious asshole manager with a face so red I thought the beets were embarrassed. Over one shoulder a dead rat, the other at his feet. His eyes were exploding volcanoes and if had found the dignity to speak it would have flowed a molten lava of pissed off. I had to leave because my head was about to pop from not laughing at the sight and air was forcing its way through my nostrils. I knew if I let my tears of joy flow I would have lost my job, and I was thinking Edwin may already have lost his. I will never forget the look on Didier’s dead rat slapped face.
Damn that was a rough night I thought as I stopped at the corner of my block that had once served as my bus top. I reached to the bottom of my front pocket and pulled out the tiny piece of aluminum foil Ken had left me, then pulled my trusty hash pipe from my other pocket and unraveled the leftover piece of black hash. “One or two more hits before heading home.” As I lit the hash I thought about how funny it was that I was talking to no one, yet it felt like it needed to be said. I held the smoke from this sweet relief in my lungs and smiled at my ritualistic behavior. As I exhaled I let out a chuckle, remembering the dead rat and Ernie beating the shit out of it with that broom. Can’t wait to tell Ken all about it tomorrow. “But for now, one last hit before going inside.”
Feeling like my legs were on their own path and my brain in a downward dog trance I glanced up and saw the lights still on. Fuck, I thought, the old boy is still awake. Man I was hoping to go to my room, put on my headphones and dig on “Aqualung” the new Jethro Tull album I just bought. I took an extra two minutes to get my head together, a few squirts of Visine to “get the red out”, and repeated my little mantra chant that helped me appear not stoned. “Om Mani Pardre not too high, Om not too high” My good mood would not last long.

Oh Three Kings of Orientar (a sick bastard parody)

On December 15, 2013 By Terrapin - The JourneyIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

Oh three kinks of Orientar
In our space ships we traverse afar
Cosmic Fountain, Galactic mountain
Following yonder quasar