My Sunday friend (and everyday) blessed me today. She gave me two gifts. The first was physical. It was an inflatable hamburger that, when soaked in water, grows to 600% its original size. Perhaps I could take a video of that… ya think?! Thank you nice, beautiful lady.

The second gift was that she tried to meet me at “my office,” today. That would Bukowski, where I rewind and fastforward through brunch looking for improvements every Sunday with an eye towards improvements, all whilst reading the Sunday NYT for free… I had just emerged from the Women’s Room in the corner of the building, toting the Week In Review, when she showed up with this, and the inflatable hamburger. Let me just say, you are the the gift-bearer! Thank you. Enjoy, internet:

My cellphone stopped working the night the I lent it to my friend Kiki. I didn’t blame him specifically, although I guess I did kind of blame him specifically when I saw him that night and immediately yelled into his face, “I know it was you, specifically! It was literally just working!” I was working and he was drinking beer. He said that he had not been able to get it working. I believed him. The blaming blew over.

That still left me to deal with the dead thing. Every time I plugged it into the electrical outlet, the screen would light up and this message would appear, “Unable to Charge.” What a horrible thing, I recall thinking, for an electrical device. Thats pretty much the end of the road, unless you’re a toaster. A toaster can just plug into a wall. If that doesn’t work, a toaster can be placed on a space heater, or inside the hood of a car on top of the engine, and when the bread goes in, it should have the same effect. But a cellphone needs to charge. For a cellphone needs to roam.

Though technically I suppose a “dead” toaster could roam without battery power if it were properly installed on top of a car engine. Except cars still use a battery. Electric cars use batteries, but they are rechargeable. And here we are back to the start of our circuit of logic. Batteries in and of themselves do not create energy, like a wall plug. Batteries simply hold energy thats made by the wall. You see… one time I read in the Boston Globe’s Crime Report that a criminal, dubbed, “The Energizer Crime Bunny,” had been nabbed. Their exact wording was, “Hopefully this arrest has finally pulled the plug on the Energizer Crime Bunny.” I was outraged:

“Pulled what plug! The Energizer Crime Bunny……. The God damn Energizer Crime Bunny…. doesn’t not NEVER plug into a wall! No homey, n’uh uh. That motherfucker runs on BATTERIES, PEOPLE. Motherfucker runs on batteries. That’s all I know.”

Fast forward. If my cellphone was unable to charge, I figured I’d bring it to a Verizon Wireless store and fork over a couple hundred dollars for a new phone. Ain’t no dead phone no damn good to an accomplished businessman like myself. Not when I need to be calling folks! I thought it over and I drove to the nearest Verizon store in Connecticut, about sixteen miles away, with credit card in hand, the other hand driving the damn car. Dying, nonchargeable cell with AC adapter on the passenger seat.

Upon entering the store I was told by the Verizon “hostess” who was expediting “all the people” that my problem could be solved at the “Technical Center.” The Tech Center was a desk about five feet away from the hostess. Three or four other people were in the store, mostly looking at phones. The presence of the Verizon “hostess” bothered me. I was expecting this process of me explaining the problem and then shelling out several hundred dollars for a new gizmo to be quick and easy. It was as if I ran right into the number dispenser at a deli counter.

Was I going to have to wait hours and hours to pay hundreds of dollars to replace my defective product? I approached the Technical Center with unease. Behind the desk sat a girl, younger than I, with buckteeth and pigtails. Next to her, a ruddy faced (maybe it was acne?) guy, greasy hair, also younger than me. I explained my problem: “The problem seems to be the battery. When I plug the phone into the wall, instead of charging, the screen displays a message. The message says, ‘Unable to charge.’ I think that its not getting electricity from the wall. I need a new phone.”

“Roger!” she yelled at the guy, “Get me a Motorola adapter!” I was about to show her that I had also brought my own adapter but the fast and brutish movements of the ruddy faced guy shocked me into silence. In three or four seconds he had come up from the base of the desk with a new Motorola adapter, ripped through the heavy plastic, and was cinching a rubber band off with giant, ruddy hands. I remember thinking, this guy is like a serial killer. For brand new AC adapters. The bucktooth girl plugged my phone in and the screen glowed. “You’re right,” she said. “It is unable to charge.”

“From the wall,” I interjected.

“Correct,” said the bucktooth. “It charges from the wall. Let’s have a look at the battery…” She was prying off the back of the phone and I leaned in closer and closer to the desk. “What is it, what are you looking at?!” Her eyes were glowing, and both buckteeth were visible. I think she was smiling a secret idiot smile. I started feeling foolish, stupid, anxious. “I think I found the problem…” she uttered, not looking up. “TELL ME WHAT IT IS!” I breathlessly exclaimed.

“The battery is in upside down.”

Spent some time organizing a box of my mom’s old photographs today. Here are a couple I found that I hadn’t seen before. From the 80s.

First beach trip after the divorce… Just my mom, aunt, sister and me.

I am officially off the Subway diet, because I lost 5 pounds. I know thats not a gigantic number of pounds to lose. But it feels right. That means no more turkey every day, thank the Lord. Turkey, also known as, the sleepy chicken, can rest easy now. Flightless, with an obscene gobbler, the sleepy chicken can afford to relax and hit the snooze button. “Why is turkey called ‘sleepy chicken’?” I asked my roommate Adam, as we walked across the Target parking lot on the way back from Gold’s Gym today.

“Because it makes you sleepy,” he replied. Then continued, “The animal does not want to besmirch its good name with the connotations to the nation of Turkey.” I was puzzled. I’ve always had a good relationship with Turks. Then I remembered, after work the previous night, toasting a beer to the end of turkey with the sous-chef. That forced me to reconsider. Just because its the end of the road for Subway, that does not mean I am fully at peace with all turkeys everywhere. I love to eat the sleepy chicken.

Apparently, chickens eat babies:

Sometimes there happen to be bears. I watched a Nature program on TV Sunday night… NATURE! and it was all about bears. Grizzly bears, to be particular. The ones living out West. I saw a Mama Bear try to kill a baby antelope and the Mama Antelope stampede and try to stomp out a baby cub. I know that baby cub is redundant. Perhaps the most interesting part of the program was when my roommate brought up the idea of a “grizzly proof” suit.

In the film, “Project Grizzly,” Troy Hurtubise creates a special suit of armor that theoretically allows him to get as close to a live grizzly bear as he likes. It is a documentary financed by the Film Board of Canada, and endorsed by no less than Quentin Tarantino. I can’t wait to see the movie and learn about how I too can get up close to bears. On a bear-related note, I want to apologize for being a bear on the post “Chick Magnet.” The girl that I wrote about wrote back to me, in comments, that she doesn’t appreciate my attempt to make fun of the story:

alysha (dalek) says…

you freak!

haha! i wasnt hitting on you but i could see how you think i was, i hit on everyone indiscriminately… btw, im BI but dont screw everything, eggman!

only 2 things come outta texas: steers and queers, and you dont look like no steer to me!

maybe we can meet up again sometime so i can fuel your mean, nasty blogs!

p.s. i do NOT drawl

I am truly sorry. I was just trying to make jokes not trying to hurt feelings. I can be a bad bear. It helps to have a Japanese mech-style robot suit to wear into the wilderness, at least when in bear country.

Okay look, IP address whatever-that-only-I-have. You’re right. I took some kind of exotic painkiller, had 2 glasses of wine, and wrote a grandiose post about my mind and its future. You win. But thats out-of-place in this forum, where I cater to you. This is my state, and I am pleased to entertain. Sometimes to challenge, but never to conquer. Except when a coworker makes me a DVD called, “Arthur – Music to Conquer By.” Thank you, Lindz.

Thats another post. A deleted post. And its totally true. But that deletion just had to happen. Moving on, today, at brunch, for the first time in 12 months, I was a server who sold appetizers to all of my tables. For this accomplishment, I received and devoured a free brunch entree: John’s big-ass smoked pork burrito. It was John, the new cold side brunch dude. It was the same big-ass pork burrito I’ve paid full price for for each brunch for three weeks previous to today. That is my new favorite dish and it freaks me out how good it is. But so does the rest of brunch. The Lord is so wicked…

Deleted headstrong bullshit post or not, I am kind of a big deal. IN MY MIND, at least. And so is that burrito. It too is a big deal. The difference, to my senses, is that burrito is grounded in reality. The difference is, in my experience, after brunch I am still delicious to other people. No, I do not lick myself after brunch. I am loopy, but I love that burrito.

And I want to say goodbye, good luck, and much love to former manager Erik, last seen managing peeps at the East Coast, as he watched the Red Sox:

Chefdog, Brisket and I got into a USAVE.COM van and drove a kitchen out to a house in Lexington. It was my first catering job, so I rode on a crate between the front two seats. They did not USAVEMEASEAT.COM. It was my first catering job, so I did the chores that the two men did not find satisfying. I did them adequately. I had a good time. It was a humbling experience and I have much respect and admiration for the kitchen.

On unloading the van, at 11:30PM Friday night, illegally parked so as to use the alley behind the restaurant… I have a dolly that is packed fulled of kitchen equipment. So does Mister Brisket. Chef cautions, “Brisket you got some serious weight stacked up on the front, and on top you’ve got a box of knives.” I am struggling to pull my dolly through the alley when Chef asks if I can take the tent “tambien.” He throws it atop my piled high dolly, and I take three or four more steps before everything crashes to the ground. Mixing bowls and service platters clang and crash to the ground. I look at Chef and say, “I was right there with you until that last ‘tambien.’”

Now, the pictures… this is me, in white chef coat and apron, behind the grill. I did not grill anything on the job, but I did slice vegetables and open oysters. I tossed a salad. I dalloped whipped cream. None of that is apparent from this shot. But I look like an angel because of the lighting:

Here is Brisket rolling a charcoal burrito out of the grill at the end of the night. Looks like he is smoking it:

And here is Chefdog himself, in the tent at night, taken from the van:

No this is not going to be the biggest nerd-fest post of all time, regardless of that title. Its the time of year when there’s a bit of a chill in the air. Some people take out their air conditioners. I have to take out the Galaxy window fan that dominates half of my year. It was free, found in the closet I used to live in on Tremont St. Since I only really deal with it twice a year, I thought I’d honor my Galaxy fan by putting it up on the web. Not for sale!

Look into the spiral arms of the Galaxy!

Hit the warp-drive button!

Me posing, with a 2 liter of soda, and a burning cigarette. Just too damn cold. No I’m not thinking about crapping in my room.

I woke up with a start. It was still dark outside, I noticed. “Oh my,” I said aloud, glancing at the clock. It was nine thirty. I’d gone to bed just before midnight. Pleased that time had begun to flow backwards to yield me more sleep, I ducked my head back under the blankets and back into unconsciousness.

The boat should be tossing and rocking more. Knowing this made the situation all the more perplexing. The seas were frothy, volatile. The boat was calm. Puzzling.

A flying fish flew past my head, teeth chattering. It must be cold, I reasoned. Another one flew by, pausing midair to speak plainly to me. “Rex,” it said, in a strong masculine voice. Rex, I thought.

The Captain was a middle-aged man, and an angry one at that. “Chicken?” he asked repeatedly, but got no response. And it was clear, just by the expression on his face, that the Ram-Horned Hippo had become fed up.

“Rahble gumpella toofer melon,” said the Ram-Horned Hippo. At the same time another fish flew by my head.

“Rex.”

“I can’t understand you,” I told the Hippo, but he didn’t so much as acknowledge me.

“Rahble gumpella toofer melon.” This time he was much more insistent.

The Captain thought this over. Pondered it. At long last, he formulated his reply. “Chicken?” Intervention was clearly needed before a melee broke out between the Hippo and the Captain.

“Your words are too muddled to be understood,” said the moderator, Jim Lehrer, as he climbed out of the Hippo’s mouth. I felt relieved. Lehrer had shown up right at the crucial point. Relaxing, I closed my eyes. When I opened them I was back in my bed.

Workers were all over my room, buzzing with activity. “Buzz, buzz buzz buzz,” said the first worker that saw me.

“Very well,” I said in return.

Some were cleaning, others were doing my homework. There even seemed to be some sort of laundry squad forming. Finally, I thought, things are getting done.

I made the rounds, checking in on everyone. “Looks good, looks good,” I mumbled as I inspected the group doing homework.

“Buzz buzz buzz,” they said, and we all shook hands thereafter. The looks on their faces told me plainly that the praise had been appreciated.

“I’m going back on the boat now,” I told them, and they saluted me off.

The Captain and the Ram-Horned Hippo were engaged in a full fledged sword fight. Seagulls circled their heads in swarms, or flocks, or whatever kind of group seagulls travel in these days. Jim Lehrer was nowhere to be found and the birds were clearly anticipating the sort of bird-feast that immediately follows the death of a large mammal. I motioned one down from its lofty position and asked, “What’s going on here?”

“Rex,” it diligently replied. Again, I thought, Rex comes up. The flying animals in these parts must stick together.

“Stop the madness!” I yelled, waving my arms. “This is only going to lead to death and destruction!”

“Actually, chicken,” the Captain rudely interjected, dodging a swipe from the Ram-Horned Hippo.

“No, not chicken! Death! Destruction!”

Disenchanted with the whole boat ride I dove into the sea. The flying fish’s chattering teeth had been a salient detail. The water was freezing. In the end I think it was probably the temperature that tore me away from the dream.

I woke up with a start…

In Rainbows, Radiohead’s 7th LP, is on my computer and I’ve been listening to it since 3AM last night. Not continuously of course. Some people need to sleep a bit. But here are my thoughts, my review:

The band has managed to move forward with their sound in every way. The only disappointment for me was less of an experimental sound in-so-far as integrating the horns that I found so lovely on previous tracks such as, “The National Anthem” and “Life in a Glass House.” But there is plenty of piano, lots of strings. The garbled sound of electronic angels singing that mirrors the white noise created by millions of slot machines whirring at once in the endless night of a casino makes a triumphant return on the “OK Computer” throwback, “Nude.”

The sound of looping instruments, perhaps playing them backwards, that first debuted with “Like Spinning Plates,” has found a way on In Rainbows as well, although now it seems used more for percussion, as on “Videotape.” There is much more slide guitar, and riff driven tracks. I listened to it at full volume on headphones at 3AM the night the download came in, and its not as much a headphone masterpiece as “Hail to the Thief.” The sounds here want to be opened up across the entire room. Thats all the criticism I have… this album is one nice cup of tea. And the fellas seem happy. I will play the hell out of it and wait for the rest of the tracks to be released on vinyl in December.