What to write about?  What to write about?  What to write about?


It’s 5:04.  Where did the night go?  I’ve been home for 2.5 hours.  I really don’t know what I’ve spent my time on.  I do know it’s all been spent sitting at my computer.  I should have gone to bed two hours ago.  I’ll be tired again tomorrow.

Adam and I are going to Detroit this weekend.  We are seeing Adam’s good friend Joe in a show this weekend.  It will be good to support him.  It will also be good to see really bad community theater.  We are seeing two productions this weekend.  And it will be more than anything, good to be out of the city.  I like being out of the city more and more.

Work has been sucky for the past two nights.  VERY slow.  Which is surprising.  We should be gearing up for the big push into summer.  But so far — nada.  Let’s hope it starts to get better.

This week is Fleet Week in NYC.

Thousands upon thousands of sailors descend on NYC this weekend.  This is a good thing…in theory.  Not so much in practice.

Here’s my take on the whole thing.

Soldiers/Sailors don’t tip.  They get a 15% discount.  But they don’t tip.  I’ve had people try and explain it, saying the don’t make any money.  I appreciate that.  But they make enough money to come into my restaurant and eat. Then they make enough money to tip.

Have you ever seen the movie Animal House?  That’s how a million sailors act when they invade NYC in one weekend.  They have two objectives.  To get and stay drunk and to get laid.  Not necessarily in that order.  They come into the restaurant drunk.  They get drunker.  And then get pissed when you tell them you can’t serve them any more.

They like to fight.  Last time I worked during Fleet Week I watched two female sailors go at each other, until the cops came and broke it up.  Girls fighting is not nearly as sexy as some would have you believe that it is.

They like to leave without paying.  I don’t really think they do this on purpose.  You get drunk.  You forget you have to pay.

Did I mention they get drunk.  You know what happens when they get drunk?  They throw up.  And it’s not always in the bathroom.

So although it sounds romantic.  I would pay to not have to work Fleet Week.  So for the last two years I’ve taken off.  It’s one of the reasons we are going out of town “this” weekend.  So that I don’t have to wait on HOT but very drunk sailors.

It’s sort of like this:

I don’t know…

As most of you know, I spent the month of July in Kentucy last summer.  It was a very long month.  Away from Adam.

The last weekend I was there Adam and I had lunch with a good friend of mine.  When I met her she was teaching high school.  She hired me to light Romeo and Juliet.  And then design sets and lights for Little Shop of Horrors.  The rest is history.  She has been my friend, mom, mentor, champion.  She is absolutely one of the most amazing people I know.  I knew that she was in my corner when she went out of her way to help me get through the Sam depression era.

As with lots of us.  We don’t talk all the time.  In fact.  We hardly ever talk.  Once every six/eight months or so.  However, it’s a given fact that if I’m home we will see each other.  Whether it’s lunch/dinner/drinks/wine at her house etc.  And we’ll talk.  Far too long.  About our lives.  Her kids (I’ve watched them grow up.  They are almost 30 now).  My relationships.  My work.  My family.  Her family.  We relive old shows.  And I always remind her how much I love her for always being there for me.

So when I was home last summer it was VERY important that she meet Adam.  VERY important.  So we had lunch at a Mexican restaurant in town.  A chain, that happens to be one of Adam’s favorites.  So over chips and salsa, she quizzed us on our relationship and we talked about the stuff you talk about at these events.

And then.

Out of the blue.

She asked us:  Do you really think it’s possible to be bisexual.

I don’t even remember what I said.  I’m sure it was how I think sure it’s possible but most of us are drawn to one or the other.



She began to tear up and told us the following story.

Toward the end of her college days she developed a friendship with a girl named Vicki.  Over time their feelings intensified. and she knew that it was much more than friends.  At the same time she was dating Eddie.  Eddie didn’t like Vicki.  Vicki didn’t like Eddie.  As you can guess there was a lot of competition.  Eddie finally told  her she had to choose.   And she chose him.

And so Vicki graduated from college.  And moved away.

And my friend got married.  Went to grad school.  Had two daughters.  Started teaching high school.  Got divorced.  And lived her life much like any of us do, one day at a time.

Along the way she and Vicki spoke no more than four or five times.

Each time was difficult.  Each time they said their goodbyes and went on with their lives.

And then last summer my friend found Vicki on Facebook.  And after a lot of back and forth friended her.  And Vicki accepted the friendship.

And then my friend sent Vicki an email.   And then waited, like a teenager for her return email.

And they began to email back and forth.  Eventually daily.

I don’t know what they were about.  I don’t know how it progressed.

But somehow.  Along the way.  She realized that she had feelings for Vicki.

And that’s where she was when she asked us what we thought about bisexuality.  She didn’t think she was gay.  She said she’d always loved penises.  She’d never thought about pussies.  And that she was tormented because she had no idea what was going on.  She did know that she waited on pins and needles for those return emails.

We went home.  And over the course of the next few months.  They continued their emails.  And then phone calls.  And then eventually Vicki came to visit.  And in three seconds the time melted away, their fears melted away, and they both knew that they loved each other.

They of course had things to figure out.  Like my friend had never been a lesbian.  And Vicki was just coming out of a VERY long relationship.  And how do you tell your adult daughters that you are a lesbian.  And how do you do all of this when one of you lives in NY and the other in KY.

And figure them out they did.

Upon Vicki’s second visit, my friend had a coming out party and introduced Vicki as her girlfriend to all of her friends.

And they continued to talk.  And visit.

Adam and I had the opportunity to have dinner with them in December while we were home for Xmas.  It was clear to me that they loved each other very much.  They still had a long way to go, but they were getting there.

While I was home in April, I had drinks with my friend and she talked endlessly about her life with Vicki.  Vicki was putting her home on the market and was hoping to move to KY by the end of the year.  She talked about how difficult it was going to be to live with someone again after 20 years.  She talked about how awesome it was to have sex again after all those years.

And so after 35+ years they had managed to find each other, and start the relationship they should have started years ago.

And then.

I awoke to this email in my inbox today.


This is going to come as a shock, sweetie, but I wanted you to know that my Vicki died last week.  She had a massage aneurism that took her quickly.  I spent last Tuesday through Friday in New York.  Her body was shipped home to KY where they will have a wake and funeral this week.

My heart is broken. 

It took at least a full minute to register what I’d read.  And then I re-read it.  And then again.

I was in bed.  Holding my phone.  Not even breathing.  How could this be?  It’s not possible?  Not at all possible.

I of coursed called as soon as I could speak.  She is strong as ever.  Talking about how much love Vicki had known in the last year of her life.  And how much love and support her family and friends were giving her since the death.

It’s been almost 24 hours since I got the email.  I’m still in shock.

I still don’t know what to say.

God Help Us!!!

May 21, 2011.

The world is going to end.  Actually, I should rephrase that.  The world is NOT going to end on Saturday.  The RAPTURE will occur on Saturday.  It seems that at 6:00 p.m. on Saturday evening all those true believers in Jesus Christ will be raptured.  Taken to a special meeting place where they can be with god.

So let’s talk here.

First:  REALLY?  Is this really getting this much attention?  REALLY?  Some crackpot with a computer announces that the world is going to end and he is making more money now than ever in his life?  REALLY.

Second:  The rapture is going to happen by time zone.  REALLY?  REALLY.  Since Australia is 14 hours ahead of us, I suppose someone will call and wake me if it really is happening.

Third:  REALLY?

Fourth:  There are companies that have been paid to care for your pets in the event of the Rapture.  REALLY?  Another idea I wish I’d thought of first.  Which from what I understand is a good thing.  There was a news report earlier in the week of a woman who was having her four cats put down so they could go to heaven with her.

Fifth:  REALLY?

Sixth:  And what makes them think that god really wants them in heaven?  REALLY?  What makes them think this?  I’m not a biblical scholar.  Although I did take Old Testament and New Testament classes in college.  That being said there is a LOT written about self righteousness in the bible.  A LOT.  A LOT.  I wish I knew how to make this bigger in WordPress for more emphasis.  A LOT.  In fact it’s mention about three million times more than homosexuality is mentioned.  But that seems to be lost on the masses.  So REALLY?  What makes them think they are going to heaven.  If I were a betting man, I’d put more money on Dan Savage who has spent the last couple of years of his life championing the  rights of gay and lesbian youths over say Pat Robertson, Rick Santorum (Thanks to Dan Savage it’s still fun to Google Rick Santorum.  Go ahead.  Do it.  I’ll wait), or any number of other “righteous” men.  So it’s going to be fun to party on Saturday night knowing that although Harold Camping got the day right, he failed to realize that he would not be one of the chosen few.

Seventh:  Only 200,000,000 people or approximately 3% of the world’s population will be raptured.  How does he know this?  Based on what?  More than 75% of Americans say they are christian?  That’s 225,000,000.  What about the rest of the world.  There are 2.1 billion christians in the world.  There are going to be a lot of pissed off christians when their neighbors who gave more at church are raptured and they are not.  So really.  Who gets to decide?  god?  Do we know what he is really looking for?  Jesus liked the prostitutes more than the pharisees.  So does the tranny hooker on 42nd street have a better shot than Tony Perkins of the Family Research Council, or Maggie Gallagher of the National Organization for Marriage?

Eighth:  REALLY?

Enough counting:

The graves of the dead will be thrown open by the force of the cataclysmic (I just spelled that correctly at 5:03 in the morning) earthquake.  The born again dead will rise to be with Christ.  The unsaved dead will be reawakened to spend the next six months in the chaos of the world.  REALLY?

And what does it mean to be born again?  No really?  What does it mean?  That you’ve been baptized?  The world if filled with Atheist who’ve been baptized.  (See Maddog).  Does it mean you’ve walked up to the front of the church and taken god as your savior?  (See Maddog).  What about all those catholics who don’t get baptized, and by baptized I mean dunked.  And what if you kind of believe in Jesus but you are not sure.  And what if…you get the picture.

I’m still concerned about all those graves being thrown open.  This might explain why the Center for Disease Control issued a statement yesterday explaining how they would help control a zombie outbreak.

And why did they put up billboards and drive RV’s around.  There aren’t enough places in heaven for the people that already believe.  Why would they want to risk some of those valuable slots on people that decide they believe because of a billboard.  And does it count if you are on the fence and you realize as the earthquake is happening that you believe after all.  Is it too late to be saved then.

And then if the world is thrown into chaos and destruction…what do we do for the next six months while we wait for October 21 the day the world ends?  And what happens to all us poor souls left on earth.  All 6.5 billion of us.  It seems unfair that god would only have room for 200,000,000 when the devil has room for 6.5 billion.  Of course I realized as I was typing this that it’s 6.8 billion people LIVING in the world right now.  But this whole rapture thing which only has room for 200,000,000 includes all the dead people who believe as well.  That’s a whole new ballgame.

So in summary I’d like to finish with this.  It’s estimated that since the beginning of time more than 100 billion people have existed on this place we call earth.  And of that 100 billion people only 200 million are getting raptured on Saturday.  That means there are over close to 9.8 billion souls that are going to be released into the universe.  Which means that it’s possible that the rapture will occur on Saturday and no one will notice.  It just means that the dead christians are holier than the living christians.

Just my two cents worth.

FUCKING ASSHOLES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

It’s 5:01.

I should probably have already gone to bed.  But going to bed means going to sleep.  And going to sleep hastens the passage of time.  Which means that in five short minutes it will be time to go back to work.

And this was my night at work:

I had a lovely party of eight.

With a 325.00 tab.

That decided that they didn’t want to pay the 55 dollar gratuity that had been added to the check.  So they subtracted it from the bill and left me 332.00.  Let me get my calculator.  332 – 325 =  7.00.  Wait let me check my math.  Yes.  It’s correct.  They chose not to pay the gratuity and left me a 7.00 dollar tip.  After sitting at my table for 2.5 hours.

I was so mad I was shaking.  I counted the money three times.  And then three more times, thinking that I was miss counting.  But no.  It was correct.  I closed out the check.

And went to the locker room and called Adam.

I needed someone to talk me down.

I get stiffed all the time.  It happens.  But to actively subtract the gratuity from a check and then leave 48 dollars less than you are supposed to…well I’m still speechless.

So in case you are late to the game.

I have to tip out my “staff” 5% of my sales at the end of the night.  That amounts to a little more than 15 dollars I had to pay to wait on the assholes.  Oh.  But to add insult to injury.  I closed the check out as soon as I realized what had happened.


Which means that as far as the restaurant is concerned…I made that money.  So.  It will be reported to the IRS.  So.  I will have to tip out 15 dollars AND pay taxes on the money that you DID NOT leave me.


Attend the tale of Sweeney Todd.

It’s 4:54 a.m.  I should be showering and going to bed.

But instead I’m blogging.

I got my hair cut on Saturday.

At The Blind Barber.

Hands down it was the best hair cutting experience.  EVER.

Adam who is a reader of all things NY Times found an article on barbers about a month ago.  It probably wouldn’t have caught his attention but his ex-boyfriend David was in the photo.  David has been a constant conversation in our relationship.  Okay.  I might be exaggerating a wee little bit.  In reality Adam has asked a couple of times, mostly when we first started dating, if I’d mind if he went to David to get his hair cut.  I said no.  That was then.  I really wouldn’t care now.


I would never get my hair cut in a Supercuts, or Hair ________________.  (Fill in the blank).  I like barber shops.  I like sitting in the chair.  I like the smell.  I like the atmosphere.  The biggest reason though is that I LOVE straight razor shaves.  I got my first one about 10 years ago and I’ve done it a ton since.  And I know it’s sexist, but I don’t want my hair cut by a woman.  It’s not that I don’t think she’ll do a good job.  She probably will do a great job.  BUT I want a man to cut my hair.  I will if forced get my hair cut by a woman.  I will NOT get a shave by a woman.  It’s a man thing.  It’s not even a gay thing.  My barber for years has been an Edward, an old Russian Jew who immigrated here years ago.  He’s great.  Unfortunately he smokes and I have really hated the shaves he’s given me the last two or three times because I can’t get past the smell of smoke on his hands.

I like barbers.

Which has been great, until recently.  I wrote about my hair a couple of weeks ago.  When I got my hair cut on Saturday it was the longest it’s been since 1987.  I got a flat top in 1987 and my hair hasn’t been long since.  On Saturday it hadn’t been cut in more than three months.  My bangs reached my nose when I pulled them down.  Which is especially long when you consider that my hair line isn’t where it used to be.  And I’ve really been struggling with what to do with it.  Do I buzz it all off.  Do I get a John Boehner cut and convert to the GOP?

So when Adam told me about the barber and then asked what I’d like for my birthday almost in the same sentence, I told him I’d like to go there.

So he made an appointment for both of us.

We went on Saturday.

It was FUCKING awesome.

We were running a little late because of the subway so we hopped in a cab going cross town and got to our appointments about five minutes before they were scheduled.

We walked in and were asked if we had an appointment.

We said yes.

We were then escorted through a sliding door into a “backroom.”

There are photos on the website.  The room was an old school bar.  Dark paneling.  Leather covered banquettes.  Old paintings on the wall.

We were checked in and told to get a drink at the bar.

We grabbed a stool and both ordered drinks.  It’s a barber.  And an old bar.  I had bourbon on the rocks.  Adam had something in a martini glass.  Because that’s how he rolls.

We’d just taken our first sip when I was called back in to the barbershop.

I sat down.

And Gogy, my barber and I had a nice long chat about how to cut my hair.  I explained that it hadn’t been cut in a while.  I explained that I had no idea what to do with it.  I wanted something fresh but didn’t want to look like an old many trying to pull off a 20 something hair cut.  He told me what he thought would work.  And then handed me my drink and got to work.

It really is the best haircut I’ve ever had.  Adam LOVES it.  He keeps touching my hair and telling me how awesome it is.

As I was getting my hair cut every time he’d stop to change combs/scissors/clippers he’d hand me my drink so I could take a sip.

Next came the shave.

Getting a shave for me is very relaxing.  It’s better than getting a massage.

And the shave was nice.  It was not the best shave I’ve ever had.  That being said, it was far from the worst shave I’ve ever had.

Long story short.

I need to figure out how to pay 40 dollars ever four weeks for a hair cut.  My normal barber with tip is 17.00.  With tip at the Blind Barber it would be 50.  With a shave thrown in it would be more than 80.   Maybe I should have you guys pitch in 5 or 6 dollars a month so I could keep going back.

If not, I’ll end up with a flat top by the start of the summer.

I’m tired now.  And it’s 5:23.  And I don’t have the energy to proof this.  So please forgive any err

A Touch of Glass.

My five day work week is done.

I know, I know.  Everyone works a five day work week.  But I challenge you to come follow me around one night.  You’ll see what I’m talking about.  In fact Connie, the know it all at work, won’t work more than two days in a row.  And Tsatianna at work tonight was giving up her shift tomorrow night because she didn’t want to do four days in a row.  It’s very taxing, both mentally and physically to wait tables.

Tonight was okay.  I switched out of my regular station because for some reason management has decided that replacing the bar stools that are broken is too expensive.  So with both bars open I would have three chairs each at my four tops and NO chairs at my counter.  If I do the math correctly that’s 13 chairs less than I’m supposed to have.  Which means 13 less paying customers.  Which means 13 less people leaving me tips.  I knew that I would be aggravated all night, so I asked if anyone wanted to switch.  When “sage” said that he did, I didn’t argue.  In the end he probably made more money than I did, but my night was far easier.  I estimate that I made about 60 or 70 dollars less than I would have but I think it was worth it in the end.

I did have one little bit of drama.

Toward the end of the evening, a lady found a piece of glass in her margarita.  I have no idea why, or how.  I immediately took the drink away, told the bartenders to burn their ice (dump) and then went to the other bar to get a new margarita.  I apologized profusely, asked repeatedly if she was okay and she assured me that she was.


On the way out, she complained that although she was fine, she was VERY upset that I did not get a manager to visit.  So she wasn’t upset about the glass, she was upset about not having a manager visit.

I got reprimanded for this.

Here’s my take on the whole thing.

She said she was fine.  She did not cut her mouth.  She did not swallow the glass.  I apologized.  I got her another drink.  I checked back several times to make sure she was fine.  What was someone else going to do to fix the situation…unless she wanted something free…which is my guess as to what she wanted.

I tend to treat my guests the way I want to be treated while dining out.   I don’t need the manager to come fix things.  Get me a new burger that’s cooked appropriately, apologize and leave it at that.  I don’t need a spectacle created.  Even something stupid like a bug or something.  I’ve worked in enough restaurants to know that if you go digging in the kitchen you are going to find a roach or two.  My god, with all the boxes, and bags, and crates, and cartons, not to mention people that come through the door everyday, your lucky you don’t see more of them.  There are also going to be days where you find a hair in your soup.  It happens.  God knows more and more of my hair falls out everyday.  It ends up some place.  Might as well be your soup.  Apologize and get me a new one.  I don’t need a discount.  I don’t need a free dessert.  I don’t need you to fawn all over me to “right” the situation.

So that’s how I approached my table tonight.  Clearly, SHE wanted someone to fawn all over her.  And it really is my guess that she wanted something for free.

Which she got.

A nice shiny piece of glass in her margarita.

PS.  She ordered the “Lovely Rita” because her name was Rita.  Ugh!

Day two of pissing off your waiter.

I just finished Day #4 of work this week.  I think I’m going to die before I finish work tomorrow (tonight).  It takes a lot of you to do this five times in a row.  I’d love to sleep in tomorrow, drink coffee, and then veg on the couch the rest of the night.  Can someone please call Adam and tell him to let me do this.

Speaking of work, this is another thing you can do to piss me off.

Buy a drink from the bar.  One drink.  Two people.  Move from the bar to my table.  And then sit there for two hours.  With your now empty drink.

This actually happened tonight.  Just as I was going on break I watched the guy buy the drink and move to my table.  Since I was already off the clock I didn’t feel like I could say anything to them.  They were still there when I got back.  And they were still there at  11:30.  And I really don’t care how big your muscles are.  Or how much your girl friend is in to you.  Or how hot you think you are.  It’s not cool.  If you want some place to make out, go home.  Of course it’s my guess that you aren’t at home because your girlfriend might not like the girl you are canoodling with.  Just my opinion.  So next time, drink your drink and get the fuck out.

Oh.  And it’s not cool to leave me a dollar on a 165 dollar check.

And don’t be all nice to me and tell me what  great waiter I am and how awesome a time you are having at my restaurant on your vacation from Texas and then leave me five dollars on a 100.  You know what kind of awesome time I want you to have now.  I want you to take cab home, drop your wallet in the backseat and discover tomorrow that someone/somewhere has used your credit card to order 5,000 dollars worth of porn.  That’s what I wish.

Now I must go to bed so I can do this again tomorrow.  (TONIGHT!)

A VERY pissed off Maddog!!!

These are the steps you should take if you want to RUIN your waiter’s night.

1.  Arrive at the restaurant just as the kitchen is closing.

2.  Seat yourself.

3.  Tell the waiter that you know the kitchen is closing and that you’ll eat fast.

4.  Insist on getting your drinks before you order your dinner.

5.  Then place your order a good five minutes AFTER the kitchen has closed.

6.  Complicate things by ordering appetizers before your entrees.

7.  Pretend that you don’t know what I’m saying when I say that it’s all going to come out together.

8.  Continue to pretend that you don’t know what I’m saying for the rest of your visit.

9.  Be VERY unappreciative that I managed to get your nachos to you, BEFORE your burger.

Okay.  I’m getting annoyed with my list.

The fucking Brazilian women came in at 12:10 and asked if there was time to order.  I told them yes, but it had to be fast because the kitchen was closing.  I handed them menus and said I’d be back in two minutes.  When I go back they are NOT ready to order but ask if they can get drinks first.  When I return with the drinks they are full of questions.  It’s now almost 12:20 and the kitchen’s been closed for five minutes. And then they  PISS me off by ordering appetizers and entrees.  In case you don’t know.  The kitchen guys aren’t going to wait around for you to finish your nachos before they make the rest of your order.  I did however manage to get the nachos ASAP so that you had about five minutes before your entrees hit the table.

It’s now 12:35.  We are giving last call at the bar.  I ask them if they’d like another drink.  They say yes.  I get them.

Flash forward to 1:00 fucking a.m. in the morning.

The lady with the burger hasn’t touched the burger yet.  She’s nibbling on the nachos.  Both of them have full drinks in front of them and we’ve been closed for almost an hour.   The lights are at full.  The music is off.  The TV’s are off.  The only sound in the restaurant is the sound of the bartenders finishing up.  The ENTIRE rest of the wait staff is finished and is in the office cashing out.  I’m sitting at the cocktail table around the corner from them waiting.

At 1:15 I drop the check.

They don’t even look at the check.

At 1:30 I ask them to pay.   They are still eating.

I go back and the lady hands me a 100 dollar bill to pay their 93 dollar tab.

You can read the writing on the wall as well as I could in the moment.

It’s actually a 93.07 tab.  I take back the seven dollars.  I go to the computer and close out the check.  And come back out.  The seven dollars are gone.  I go run my report.  I come back.  There is NO tip.

The goddam motherfucking CUNTS have kept me at work for 90 minutes longer than I needed to be and then stiffed me on a 100 dollar check.


Let’s hope NONE of the bad things that I’m wishing on them right now come true.

PS.  The rest of the night wasn’t so awesome to begin with so this was just adding insult to injury.

“today I am a man”

I’ve spent the last 30 minutes distracting myself because I didn’t know how to start my post.


What would you do with 500,000 dollars?


I’d buy a house.  Well, an apartment actually.  If I were staying in the city.  It would buy a nice two bedroom apartment in my neighborhood, that’s probably been renovated.  If I were moving out of the city, well I’d buy a house.  Something with a deck and a formal dining room.

Do you know what I would NOT do with 500,000 dollars.

Spend it on a thirteen year old’s birthday party!!!

Bar/Bat Mitzvahs.

Adam and I have discussed this many times.  He sometimes does one off graphic design work for a woman who provides tchotchkes for bar/bat mitzvahs.  You know, sweatshirts, water bottles etc.  He creates the graphic art that ends up being used on the items.  You’d be surprised how well he duplicates Ed Hardy t-shirts.  So he’s aware of the insanity behind these events.  According to Adam if you think brides are difficult you should really take on Jewish mothers.  They can be insane.

Adam’s boss is also Jewish and he did the cake for her son’s bar mitzvah.  It was a very small affair with about 50 kids or so held in a sort of janky night club in midtown.  That being said, the day of the actual bar mitzvah he and his friends spent the afternoon making sandwiches for a food bank.  So it was somewhat redeeming.

Now let’s talk about:

Seth’s Bar Mitzah.

His family rented our entire restaurant for the night.  And by the entire restaurant I mean we were closed for the evening so that Seth and his closest five or six hundred friends could enjoy themselves at my restaurant.  They didn’t like our food choices so they brought in their own catering.  All the bottles of water supplied during the party had his name on it.  They had waiters that walked around doing nothing but offering candy to kids.  One whole section of the restaurant was “adults only” where it seems the father got VERY drunk on Patron.

In all.  The little party cost:


I want to scream.  I think 1,000 dollars on a party for a kid is too much.  How does anyone really think that spending 500,000 on a party — for a kid — is sensible.  Do you know how many homeless people that would shelter?  Or feed?  The amount of supplies that could be provide for under funded schools?  How many babies could get vaccinations?  How many elderly citizens could be driven to doctor’s appointments?  How many?

I know, I know it’s their money to do with what they want.  And god knows we all spend money of stupid things.  BUT.  It’s one thing to throw a big party for an adult.  Who has perhaps earned some of the money being spent.  But what kind of message is being sent to a kid that young?  You just memorize a few lines of Hebrew and be able to recite it in front of a small group of people and we’ll buy you the world.

It makes me mad.

Unfortunately it’s 5:04 and my ability to rationalize has gone out the window for the night.

So we’ll leave it with.


How much do you think is appropriate for a party for a teenager?



It’s me again.


Let’s see.

I’m back in NYC.

I was gone for almost three weeks.  I got home a week ago today, after spending the weekend with my mom in Kentucky.

It’s good to be home.  I worked my second shift tonight since April 11th, at the restaurant.  It’s still the same.  Nothing has changed.  I work every day this week.  I’ll be angry and tired by Friday night at this time.

My hair is long.  VERY long.  The longest it’s been since 1987.  I got a crew cut about five minutes after I finished college and my hair has been short ever since.  I now have a head full of hair.  Well sort of.  It’s thinning in the front but it’s still a lot of hair.  It hasn’t been cut in almost three months.  I was going to get it cut before I left for Iowa but then Adam suggested that for my birthday he would get me a haircut and a shave at a “fancy” barber downtown.  So I said yes.  So my hair is long.  And will be long till this weekend.  When it gets cut.  The big question now is:  Do I get it cut short again or do I leave it a little long?  Adam says cut it all off.  However, a number of people have told me I look younger with it longer…so.  I’ll keep you posted.

There’s not much else to report in the being back home category.  I’ll think of something fun to write for tomorrow night.