Frozen Grapes...

Life is kind of tumbling out of control in the best possible way. For the next several months, I think I’ll be an incredibly busy person. Increasing responsibility at two jobs in two different boroughs, neither of which being the one I reside in, will be leaving me with what looks to be possibly one day off a week. Perhaps two if the odds are in my favor. Occasionally not even the one.

The Other Half...

This past Wednesday, I was presented with a unique opportunity which I am ever so happy I took advantage of. A friend of mine was asked to put together a serving team for a private party. Anyone working with him at his restaurant that he normally would have used seemed to be scheduled or riddled with prior engagements, and thus came about the initiatory text.

“I know we were planning to see the Hobbit on Saturday, but I have some news that may throw a wrench in that plan. Are you free?”

Well, seeing as I was already planning on spending the day with him anyway, my freeness wasn’t really in question. I asked what he had in mind.

What nice cabinets you have...

I have no fucking idea what it means to be a grown-up.

Is swearing a part of it? I’ve certainly had that covered for a while now. Then again, I can recall many a time hearing some awful little elementary school prick kid screaming obscenities at his mother in the middle of the grocery store. That being the case, my extensive sailor speak vocabulary puts me on par with that little shit. Groovy.

Open your mind, open your mouth, and stick it in...

If there is nothing else to be learned about New York City, learn this: living here is like living in every country on the surface of this beautiful blue-green ball all at once. Half of the time, especially in the outer boroughs, I can’t read most of the signs. And in a matter of blocks, I still can’t read the signs, but the language has completely changed. Quite often I find myself wondering if it’s a language at all. Then people walk by having some kind of debate in what I can only assume is the vocalization of the current set of hieroglyphs before my eyes. I’m not sure if you can call this city a true melting pot, though, as the cultural sections of town are pretty definite in their invisible and unspoken territorial dividing lines. But with so many different groups clumped together in such a tiny space, there is only one certainty.

The food here is the bomb.