The Village Idiot

Once the bug hits you, its hard to get rid of it.

I’m gearing up (in a very slow, procrastinating, nonchalant way) for my trips to Australia and Peru next month, and I’m already wishing I was somewhere. Well, really, I’ve been wishing I had taken a trip that started only days after graduation for the last month, but I am still wishing to be on the move. Its hard to hold on until July 9th. I’ve been so many places, especially over the last four summers, that people just say “where are you going this time?” but having seen as much as I have seen, I just want to see more. And more. And MORE!

In the end, most museums look alike, a park or garden is just a park or garden, and no subway system is too hard to figure out, and there are always cathedrals and monuments to visit wherever you go. One could say that is gets rather monotonous after a while. But that doesn’t stop my discontent with staying in my hometown. Ironically, there isn’t anywhere else in America I would rather live, and I don’t know how content I would be if I settled down permanently in any of my favorite foreign countries. However, it has been far too long since I last set foot on a plane. (Its only been since the first week of March.)

Perhaps wanderlust isn’t like a virus that one catches and can’t get rid of. Perhaps it is more of a learned habit. Or perhaps it is genetic. Either way, I blame my dad. He is far more extensively traveled than I, and he is the one who taught me how to catch a plane, train, or taxicab anywhere I needed to go. And no matter where I am, it seems, he has been there, and knows of places to eat, what to see, and obscure questions to ask the locals about history or geography or both.

Whatever it is, I am like the rabbit, Der Hase, my last name implies, constantly hopping from place to place, twitching my nose at the new smells, and hightailing it back home only to hop away again. and again. and again.

I got the oddest spam comment the other day.

“Dump Trucks for Sale”
I wonder how the spambot knew that I would be more inclined to buy a Dump Truck than Viagra???

Looking at pictures of your childhood is an isolating experience.

No one else can look at them the same way you can becuase they weren’t there and thus they dont have memories to share.

I take that back. Family pictures are amazing when looked at by family. But trying to share your past in pictures with someone you know in a different context… not so much.

Before I went into high school, many people told me it was the best 4 years of their lives. As I suffered through high school, people told me that high school was actually the worst 4 years of thier lives, and after graduating, I figured out that high school is BOTH the best and worst four years of your life. People will mask thier words to make you feel better. THey will tell only part of the truth, and let you in on the rest of it only once you have experienced it. I wonder if it is not the same way with college. Graduation was by far the worst day of my hellish career at Regis. And I wasn’t the only one for whom graduation was a reminder of how much suffering the last 3-4 years involved. Nor was I the only one who felt completely derailed by the week after graduation. In a way, I am envious of my friend who left today for a few very busy weeks. Yet I only discover this by talking to those who were my classmates. Is it possible, perhaps, that graduation is one of those days that people don’t tell you about until you’ve gone through it and can commiserate with them?

Perhaps the world is just one grand illusion. Or one giant disillusionment.

And so I sit. alone. contenting myself with watching 5 dollar movies from Wal Mart in French.

I learned on Sunday that champagne makes me very depressed.

Having been through four years of college and

having learned nothing of what I thought I would

or what I ought to have,

I have concluded that  I do not care if I am here.

I have no place in such a setting.

Perhaps that makes me close-minded.

As I have been told by my professors,

close-minded people have no place in a university

Q.E.D.

“Snow in New York is like poetry, or clothes made of roses. Who needs it, what can you build with snow, who can you feed?”

~May Swenson “Snow in New York”

Having just gotten through airport security

And

Having realized that I forgot to take off my belt, put my plastic baggie of liquids out of my carry on, or turn my cell phone off

And not having been stopped

I really wonder if national security is really all its cracked up to be.

But then I remember that nothing bad ever happened when people were allowed to carry four ounce tubes of toothpaste on board.

Contemplating Hell by Bertolt Brecht

Contemplating Hell, as I once heard it,
My brother Shelley found it to be a place
Much like the city of London. I,
Who do not live in London, but in Los Angeles,
Find, contemplating Hell, that is
Must be even more like Los Angeles.

Also in Hell,
I do not doubt it, there exist these opulent gardens
With flowers as large as trees, wilting, of course,
Very quickly, if they are not watered with very expensive water. And fruit markets
With great leaps of fruit, which nonetheless

Possess neither scent nor taste. And endless trains of autos,
Lighter than their own shadows, swifter than
Foolish thoughts, shimmering vehicles, in which
Rosy people, coming from nowhere, go nowhere.
And houses, designed for happiness, standing empty,
Even when inhabited.

Even the houses in Hell are not all ugly.
But concern about being thrown into the street
Consumes the inhabitants of the villas no less
Than the inhabitants of the barracks.

I’m sitting in Spanish and the teacher begins by saying “we’re going to begin with a little review of something basic.”

My friend leans over and whispers “we always do something basic.”

I replied “we always review.”

Its really boring as heck.

I would like to express my deep gratitude to a few of my professors.

Despite the one instance in which a professor and I butted heads so severly that I am no longer allowed to take thier classes, I am filled with utmost gratitude to those professors who took me in, who respect me as an individual, and who treated me as a friend. Due to the fact that I feel like an unwelcome anomaly at Regis, who has since become very bitter, the mentoring of two professors and one staff member has given me confidance in myself I would not otherwise have had. Thier respect has challenged me to excel and thier friendship has helped me to discover who I am. Though I am still learning that I do have value as a student and a person, thier contribution to this self-awareness cannot be ignored. As I graduate, I want to say that I will miss chatting in thier offices terribly and I will look back on thier classes as some of the brightest points in my academic career. Thank you. You have no idea how much you have meant to me.

“Intellectual food is like any other; it is pleasanter and more beneficial to take it with a spoon than with a shovel.”

-Mark Twain

As I was closing at work the other night, the song playing on the dining room speakers was “All is well, here in hell.”

It sums up the job perfectly. There is nothing really wrong with the job. After all, other people can pull it off perfectly. However, little things keep slicing painful places under the skin.

The perfect example thereof would be tonight. We had a $2500 dinner, the best dinner sales we’ve had probably since before Christmas, and my runner, the hinge position -responsible for making salads, taking food out, etc - is a 16 year old, first jobber who has been doing this for two weeks now and hasn’t yet mastered the art of putting a corresponding amount of silverware the tray in preparation. She was hired by my boss who has a tendancy to hire everyone’s friends, relatives, spouses, or significant other without an interview. This gal would never have made it past the first interview if she were anything other than the little sister of the current assistant manager’s favorite employee. Needless to say, my frustration has blinded me but it cannot be denied that my kitchen CRASHED tonight and didn’t dig themselves out for nearly two hours, and I was powerless to help.

From 15 minute ticket times (which is BAD for a fast-casual restaurant) to unbussed tables, a floor that looked like something exploded, to a dishwasher who was 20 mins late, last night was hell on earth.

But, we have enough crew, sales were good for a day, and the new hire is friendly, to say the least. We missed the labor matrix for the day, are still missing budget for the quarter, and wont get a single congrats. But, all is well, here in hell.

Si Pancha plancha con quatros planchas, con cuantas planchas plancha Pancha? 

Its somewhere along the lines of “How much wood could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?

Or, a few variations on this one:

(don’t try it if you can’t roll your R’s, it just wont work.)

Erre con “”erre”" cigarro, “

“erre”" con “”erre”" barril.

Rápido corren los carros,

Cargados de azúcar del ferrocarril.