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“Some people look up and see gray skies…Some only see the silver.”

Sometimes, egotistically, I look back on my “social networking” threads just to see what a newcomer might think.  All I have to say is this…geography plays a tectonic roll.

It has been a minute since i’ve laid finger to key.  In summery; back in Detroit, working at Slow’s again, well fed and generally well to do.  I have a car which I use infrequently, I shave much less frequently than before, I cook much more often.  I have not worn a polo shirt in a long time.

I have dogs all of the sudden.  That’s pretty sweet.  One of them ( I won’t name names) need to stop shitting in the kitchen, but otherwise pretty rad pups.  They ate a cat.

Once my feet are firmly back on the ground, I’ll be re-focusing on the GRE and LSAT.  I figure the only logical conclusion to undergraduate studies is either failure or success in a higher level program.  To succeed and quit is just as useless as to have never succeeded in the first place.

Speaking of succeeding,  I have a social life again.  Pretty sweet.  My friends are all doing stellar.  I’m glad to be back to witness the progress.  Anything else is like following NASCAR via Twitter.

It is really nice to finally commit to text the warming normalcy which my life has become.  My student loans are getting paid and I have food in my belly.  I sing Bob Seger aloud on my walk home, I sing Stan Rogers along with my brothers.  My life is truly a journey, regardless where I end up.  I will never regret a choice or decision, however.

It’s really good to be home.

In rust I trust.

g3

“That’s how tough we are in Detroit, it was only a 5 inch blade…”

It’s been said many time, by me, that I go for interesting in the stead of successful.  I hardly ever doubt this decision, and almost never regret any move or mistake I’ve made.  Every crooked and non-consecutive step I make is just another punctuation mark on a great, open page.  Every weird couch I wake up on, every random beverage I drink in the company of strangers, these are all the colors of my palette.  However, and hidden well amongst empty 40oz bottles and countless cigarette butts, I have a trail of books and classes, studies and credit hours, which go completely under used and held back against the straining of being novelty to me.

When do these two goals collude, bringing for some form of illegal (at least it seems) advancement?  When will I take the Frank Sinatra record off and figure out if doing things  “my way” is always going to be the right way?  How am I even going to know if I do find the right way?

I’ve recently overheard a brilliant man degrading himself to levels which I’ve often found myself.  Levels of which I believed only somebody like I was capable of.  It’s sobering and nearly embarrassing.  I’ve only though that people like me, those who’ve removed themselves (as best one can) from the toil of success, might feel.  However shocking, I feel as though I need to remind myself that even those who have produced so much more than me, feel the same stupid and very human emotions.  Sadly, these emotions are difficult to harness and redirect towards a better purpose than self-loathing and pity.

I can’t say much for the colleague who’s having shaky thoughts, outside of his hard work and dedication to higher thought, with any expertise.  It does remind me, however, of my own situation and makes me wish to take a different view of it.

As an aside, today was the first time in 27 years I’ve celebrated my birthday in the way I would have liked.  No failed attempt at celebration, no gifts, just another early winter day.  It was wonderful.

I have a job interview in about 9 hours, to be a temp worker, for a tax agency in Hamtramck.  Not really where I’d like to be, not doing anything I’d like to do, but my other opportunities have dried up and turned away in the wind from me.  Hopefully it builds character.  If not, I’ll at least get a good grasp on Polish and Eastern European swear words.

Pending the success of such an event, I will begin to go door to door, address to address, pissed of restaurant manager to pissed off restaurant manager, looking for work.  It really must be some sort of masochistic thing, or some sort of curse; to fall in love with a line of work which does not care for overweight white guys, nor does it pay well.  Regardless, I don’t believe that I will be happy unless I’m bringing other people, who make much more than me, their food and drinks.

If somebody out there has a spare goal, I’d like to borrow it.  Maybe leave it in my tip jar at some point in the future.

In rust I Trust,

g3

Going going, back back, to detroit detroit

Well…I gave it a shot.  I moved down south, I even tried Ohio.  I can’t leave Detroit.  Like an abusive spouse or a comfortable addiction, i’m redrawn to something which does its absolute best to destroy me.

And I do not exaggerate this.

The scars which kris-kross (will make you jump) my psyche are almost entirely given to me by Detroit, and a few from my mother.  My apathy, my inability to trust strangers, the fact i keep a boxcutter in my pocket at all times, these are all side effects of this city.

And i fucking love it.  I love it like i’ve never loved anything else.  The kind of love which life partners can’t feel.  A love that a mother and child will never experience.  A love so deranged, damaging, and vulgar.

I spent 10 months away from my abuser, save some conjugal visits for a few weekends here or there.  It has always been in the back of my head, though.  Coloring my thoughts and tainting my views on other people and such effects.  It was a rust colored filter for when I lived amongst those who carry rose tinted shades.  This remnant from a greater time in American history, with it’s stunning and empty buildings, has damaged me.  I am a son of this slum village, and an abused one at that.

But this week i return.  Not with my tail between my legs or with cheeks blushed from shame.  It’s my time.  I have every opportunity to relocate to another city.  I could find somebody else’s couch to sleep one while establishing myself.  I could move back to the boring comfort of North Carolina.  I could join the army and go fight Afghan militants.  Instead, and unabashedly, I will pack my soon to be stolen or molested convertible and pick up where I left off.

I return with some new skills and a resume fluffed with part time jobs here and there and a short management stint.  Most importantly I return with something that I left without; a yearning to be there.  A need to be lost in a city with so many starving souls.  I do not belong anywhere else.  My particular ghetto lifestyle can only exist there.  A place where people don’t look at you like a leper because you sleep on the floor.  People from Detroit would guess correctly on two counts:  I can’t afford a bed and It would just be one more piece of furniture to move every year.  It’s a place where I’m not the only one who’s hungry that night, not the only one cold that night, and mostly, not the only one lonely that night.

I have made friends in Tiffin, good ones at that.  I feel as though I’ll be remembered when i come to visit.  It lacks a soul, however, and this is something off of which I need to feed.  I need to be somewhere that breathes and suffers along with me.  Tiffin continues to plod along at its own pace, generating little but undereducated college students, while i stand by and wait for something exciting.  It twiddles its thumbs and whistles a fight song while not fighting anything.  Detroit brings the fight to me, like a drunk at the bar who thinks I’m looking at it wrong.  It generates its own excitement as its people steal from and kill each other.  It has a vibrancy and vitality which can only come from dark, gray, and damp living.  Tiffin is the high school cheerleader, Detroit is the slut with too much makeup that cuts herself when she’s stressed out.

And I fucking love it.  I’m going to be desolate and miserable no matter where I am. It’s the nature of my beast.  Misery loves company and Detroit is an orgy of malcontent.  If i’m going to suffer, I’m going to suffer amongst those who can legitimately tell me to shut my whiny mouth and get to work.  It offers a tough love, abuse as I’ve stated, which hardens the gaze of my eyes and digs into the furrows of my brow.  Being cold in Tiffin makes you an idiot to everybody else; being cold in Detroit makes you just like everybody else.

I believe i’ve lost what I had hoped to be my theme, here.  So let me start over.  I’m moving back home where I’m going to get my ass beat like a little bitch, and I can’t wait.  I can’t wait to laugh through my own tears while watching others get beaten.

I can’t wait to be me for the first time in 10 months.

In rust I trust,

g3

Shoe elves and the rise of entropy.

These eyes have seen a lot of love but they’re never going to see another love like they have in you…

Let’s roll the dice.

In Rust i Trust.

g3

I don’t go for successful, I go for interesting.

I’ve said that so many times in the last few months, I might as well tattoo it in my skin.

My apologies for not updating regularly, but when you don’t even have hot water for 6 weeks, blogging falls to the side.

So, where to begin?

I’m now Director of Operations and Customer Service Manager for Camden Falls/Carmie’s of Tiffin, OH.  I’m nuts deep in a small oasis of culture and activity amongst acreage of corn.   I live in a house bigger than the one in which my parents live.  I have absolutely zero furniture besides a few milk crates, a toaster over in which I’ve not prepared any food, a vacuum cleaner I’ve used once, and a small beer fridge which holds 3 bottles of water and a bottle of hot sauce.  I’ve been back to the motherland 3 times in the last 3 months.  I smoke cigarettes again (sorry, mom!).

I’ve learned so much in the last handful of months.  So much so, that committing it to text would be committing a crime.  I will say, however, that my determination, germinated amongst empty 40oz bottles and dirty socks, is something I’m learning others respect and value.  This is becoming an incredible event for me.  The small flame inside of me which I always chalked up to only child smugness or overactive ego is much more of a personality trait, non-evident in many, which I am thankful to have.

Note to everybody behind a bar, ever:  Glass, ice, liquor.  That’s the only way it works.

That’s about all I have for now.  Trust this will be one of my last furloughs of self congratulation and auto-criticism.  Btw, follow or friend CarmiesOnline on either Facebook or Twitter, it’s more of an insight into my life than one may think.

in rust i trust,

g3

I’m the only person in the world who moves with less stuff each time.

Going back to the mother land.  The rust belt beckons to me and I’ll be only a short drive from a Great Lake, once again.  To any NC people who might be reading this, a Great Lake is much larger than your lakes by multiples of ten.  There are shipwrecks in Great Lakes.  There are floatation device problems in your lakes.

Regardless, I’m moving to Ohio next week, less than 100 hours.  It’s 2 hours from Detroit, 2 hours from Cleveland, 4 hours from Chicago, and 4 hours from Pittsburgh.  It will simply be music to my ears to not hear any southern twang come from anybody’s mouth (especially the children).  Regional food?  Yes, please.  I’ll take some Tony Paco’s until I can get to some real-deal, nasty, Coney Dogs.  By the way, Bar-B-Q down here…not so good.  In the words of a fantastic Public Enemy track, “Don’t believe the hype.”

I’ll be back in the restaurant setting, doing what I’m best at, and working with an incredibly generous and trusting friend.  This is the big break I’ve been silently pining for the last few months.  My skills will be challenged and sharpened.  I’ll be put in a situation where I can use the things many great people have taught me, and hopefully pass these abilities on to others.

Finally, as well, will i be put into an isolated situation for the first time.  I have some personal goals which I would like to achieve, but somehow being social has hindered my ability for this.  I may not be an author the caliber of Brad Kelly, but I have some words which I’d like to put to paper.  Whiskey and loneliness are going to pull something out of me…can’t wait to see what it looks like!

g3

…And we’re back.

It’s been nearly a month since I’ve put finger to key here, and I apologize.  With the loss of my second job, I actually found myself more occupied with the remaining, along with some other “fun” distractions.

I’ve now spent nearly 1000 dollars on a car that’s worth about 500.  This is the beauty of not being able to stack all that money at once;  you end up paying for so many minor repairs instead of just buying a new car.  It’s all good, though.  I’ve bonded with that little white Cavalier.

Recently visited a doctor for the first time in my adult life.  Seriously, 9 years since my last time.  I acquired a pilonidal cyst, fun stuff.  It had me bedridden for about a week, with no way to lay down that didn’t hurt like all hell.

Regardless, now that I’m back, I’ll be on this a bit more.  It’s important for me to keep my thoughts in line and in the public or else I’m going get caught up in my thoughts and lose what precious momentum I have.

g3

The differences between working for a restaurant, and working for a NEW restaurant are vast…like an empty dining room.

Now that my employment based embargo on my thoughts has been lifted, ever so graciously via telephone, at 8:30 a.m., I may commit to record what scrutiny I have of my latest learning experience.  This is not out of sour grapes or anything of the sort, but because I endeavor to open my own establishment one day and this is a side of that I am new to.

In Detroit, I had the dumb luck of walking into 2 of the best establishments in that city, and quickly was taken into the gears, given a close look at what makes a place work and work incredibly well.  This was my first experience seeing what really doesn’t work, and what not to do.

The Vivios, through  hard work, unparalleled character, and good old grit, sculpted an establishment which still thrives after 40 years.  They hired (mostly) only the best, who in turn made me one of the best.  High quality food, proper preparation and amazing portions got people into the front door, where they were met with employees who had been with the family for 10 years or more.  Solid and affordable drinks, home infused vodka and creative draught selections kept butts on barstools.  Above all, this is a formula I hope to emulate not only in a restaurant setting, but in any setting where I am afforded a modicum of control.

Slow’s Bar-B-Q, which needs no introduction, was a veritable all-star cast of servers from the city, matched with the best food on the planet.  The rock-n-roll attitude was simply a cover up for superior dispensation.  The staff here needs to be knowledgeable in 21 beers on taps and countless bottled beers.  Although the menu was simple, the virtues of each cut, each sauce, and every side needed to be in the arsenal of the server at the table.  This was an incredible thing to see in action.  If it wasn’t for people like Katrell, Andy, Liz, and either of the Kevins, it could all just become a blur to the guest, and they would miss out on the opportunity to get exactly what they wanted.  I never got my hands dirty in the kitchen there, but I think the hundreds of reviews can stress how good that food is.  The genius of Brian and Mike cannot be understated.  Most importantly, however, is the management there.  I have never seen cats herded so well, with such grace, and with such a smile.  The voices of Tara, Josh, Terry and Jason still resonate in my head when trying to make a snap decision on the floor or behind the bar.  I am still humbled by the fact that I have worked with such great people.

The experience of a new restaurant, is one that I will never forget.  My personal situation of being in a new city and state, with a COMPLETELY different culture may cloud some of the things I’ve learned, but also offered some unique experiences.

Firstly, advertising and event planning.  When I open my doors for the first time, there will be 2 months worth of events and at least a month’s worth of ads.  A “soft” open is a sure fire way to have people standing around your restaurant…just not paying customers.  Programming in general, even for just a restaurant, more or less a bar/restaurant has taken on a whole new importance to me.  The food and basic bar menu at Lebowski’s was great.  Sadly, it’s almost too well kept of a secret.  Two large events happened in Charlotte while working for Lebowski’s;  at neither event was there any promotional material.  Not even menus or simple fliers.  That’s wasted potential.  A joint like Vivio’s or Slow’s, where word of mouth is already so strong, I can understand.  An infant restaurant, however, needs all it can get.

Trust your employees.  As somebody once told me, “It’s like they trust everybody else, but us.”  That was surely the case.  The people who have the most invested in the establishment, those who work daily and represent your venue, are what keeps the gears moving.  Regardless of how great everything else was at either of the previous places I’ve worked, the servers were trusted with the ability to make the guest happy and were the building block of service.  More importantly, those servers were comfortable and felt that their success and that of the restaurant were one in the same.  I know I felt as though I was walking on thin ice from my second month, and even if subconsciously, I’m sure that passed onto my guests.  Even though they were MY guests more than Lebowski’s guests (at least to me), my uncertainty of employment, and the feeling that I was just a small pawn in somebody else’s chess game probably seeped right out of my skin and onto my guests.  I will never put my servers into a situation like that.  It’s not fair to them or the guests, and certainly offers no benefits besides a slight feeling of being in control, which is either fleeting or false.

The Bar.  I am first and foremost a bartender.  Being a waiter was an experiment to me, and a good one at that.  However, my place is in the well with bottles behind me.  I learned from the best.  Cheap and stiff drinks keep people in seats and bring them back.  I’ve never heard people complain about the cost of drinks so much in my life.  This includes working at a bar that  offered 12oz bottles that cost over 8 dollars.  The trick is, they were still a hell of a deal.  This latest experience has cemented that idea so much.  If your bottles are collecting dust, it doesn’t matter what your cost per is, you’re getting zero return.

Anywho, these are just a few things that were constantly banging around my head in the last 4 months.  There are more, but for the sake of not being assumed slanderous, I’ll stop here.

The terms of my termination are shaky and based on hearsay, but it’s a business and I know that it needs to be run as such.  However, if all it takes is one phone call from an anonymous caller to get somebody terminated legally, there were underlying and unsaid issues.  In my early morning phone call I heard more compliments than damnation, more thanks than anger.  I hope the Weaver’s the very best in their latest venture.  The food is great and 90% of the service there is spectacular.  A little support from ownership/management would go a long way.  To be a bit vulgar or common, growing a pair would help as well.

g3

Feeling some momentum for my motivation, finally.

The idea of a Masters degree in Public Administration, Public Policy, and/or Nonprofit management is sounding more and more like a reality to me.  I have much faith in my ability to do well on a GRE and the admissions process involved in acceptance.  I am, however, slightly waylaid by my GPA (2.98) which is so very close to where I should be.  I might take a few community college classes to get that up and to get back into the idea of homework and studies on a schedule.  The idea of getting an associates degree in something business related (to counteract the oh-so-ivory tower PS degree) is not entirely out of the question.

Speaking of this perpetual student thing, and being broke;  Why is this my only option?  I often wonder if the European model would have benefited me more.  I wish I could say I valued my B.A. degree as much as people say I should.  I like the idea that I can understand world politics and the idea of justice better than many others, but the practical usage of this is still veiled to me.  In a large hand-full of other democratic countries, I would have been herded into either a trade school or University.  There is no question to me, I belong in an academic field, however the University across the pond seems much different and strict.

Ouch, right?  Not something you should say on a blog which you are hoping (if only slightly) will help to net a job, but hear me out.  I’m not easily distracted once I’m given a goal.  When I’m just thrust into a playground full of bohemians, books, and dozens of fun sounding PS classes…I get lost in my own wide eyes.  My options were too many and my direction was never given the slightest guidance at WSU.

I wanted (and want) to “do” politics.  I may not have the attitude to be a career politician, at least for now, and my right of center liberalism leaves me too conservative for the Dems and too liberal for the Reps.  So, I ended up studying what was interesting which ended up leaving me with a focus on “Justice, Gender, and Reproductive Rights”.  This is not marketable.  Had somebody grabbed me by the collar a few years ago, and told me, “If you want to do this, you need to get out of the books and into the streets,” I’d be in pretty decent shape.  But that didn’t happen and here I am.

This graduate school idea offers me that focus.  I would rather burn money for heat than to spend any more on a Masters of Political Science, but the options available to me through my B.A. in PS seem truly empowering and enriching.  It is, after all, my last chance to be something great.  If you cannot act as a man of great influence, your last option is to influence others.  I’m running out of time to truly change the world, but I may have enough time to get myself into a situation to influence somebody who will change the world.  Hopefully, that person will name a street in Detroit after me.

g3

Scratch that…

We’ll see where this new educational motivation takes me. No limits, just new locals; looking back looks like a dust cloud.