Wednesday, March 4, 2009

The Cheetos Dilema





Full moon madness and Facebook suicide. It's been a good week so far and it's only Wednesday.

Oh the beauty of a full moon gives us all quite a show of human neurosis in one full punch. Human nature illuminated by a big pocked-faced glowing globe in the sky. It's entertaining and all free. I seriously gauge people's level of sanity by that moon. Today I looked up and saw it's looming fullness coming. I will judge tonight's level of emotional
retardedness by the crescent I saw today.

You can start to see the effects of a full moon by how people react to other people. Today, it's getting a blank eyed stare from what I believe was a vacationing
Midwestern couple after almost backing my bike into them. I didn't see them the way I was facing and gave a friendly smile and along with an "Oops, sorry!". The response was a death star stare like I was an alien life-force with glow in the dark snot.

The full moon is felt a lot more intensely down here. Makes sense for an island surrounded by water and a moon gravitationally controlling water based beings. You can see the effects about about a week out from a full on full moon and by the time you've realized it - it's too late. Thinking this I quickly flashed to Monday night at work.

It's been unusually cold and on Monday evening while covering an ailing co-worker's shift, the inside dining room fills up all at one time in about the span of four minutes. While I walk amongst the crowded guests settling them in with drinks, I can quickly feel all eyes bore into the back of my skull as a reminder that everyone wants their attention needs fulfilled. It was an odd feeling since no one was said anything but instead just stared intently whenever I visited another table like "When am I going to get mine?" That's just freaky.

Mid-juggle, I wigged out a bit because tiptoeing into that room made me feel like I was a caged animal fully aware of the possible slaughter that had yet to come.

People really want your attention. They NEED to be seen. I never quite understood this because if you're already in the company of someone you want to spend time with, what else matters?

So out comes the survival stroking and
everyone's happy. Since all of the people sat at the same time it's a friggin' feel good orgy. What is survival stroking? Imagine scratching a dog's butt in a place where the furry guy can't reach on their own. If you hit the right spot their head slowly points towards the sky, a leg manically kicks and maybe a tongue licks the air. It's essentially the same thing with customers. You gotta find the right spot and all within 5 seconds of meeting them. It's the seventh sense.

A fellow co-worker and I discussed the other day how waiting tables, in all it's
bizarre encounters, can keep you coming back for more. There are several reasons but the main one is it's a nightly study of the human psyche up close and personal.

Even at it's height of crazy, face to face with people still has that something that virtual life just cannot replicate. Must be why I decided to commit
Facebook suicide this week. I had already been thinking about closing my account and then I saw a comment from one of my Facebook friends that solidified it. In her status update she questioning defensively about how can someone claim you're on Facebook too much. Uh, that's an easy one, you're status is updated every 20 minutes and you place every picture you have known to man on it. Yup, it's officially time to quit.

Facebook is not for me. I admit it was really nice to quickly check in on my friends, see pics and what's going on with them but it always felt somewhat lacking. I much prefer the stopping by a friend's house to catch up or talking to someone so engrossed in conversation that you don't even realize it's 4am. That's the good stuff.

It's the difference between eating a really hearty meal vs picking up some Cheetos at the corner store. You're craving something, you know you need to stop but it's a hell of a lot easier to pick up a bag. You start to do it on a constant basis, feel like shit and wonder why you're fingers are
permanently orange.

I click to close my account. All of the sudden, profile pictures of friends pop up with messages saying
"Are you sure? Ryan will miss you. Mo will miss you. Jay will miss you."

Nice... Virtual guilt. I've had the plenty of the real stuff - the good Catholic kind - this is
nothin'. Click. Is it over?

"Please tell us why you want to leave?"

Shit, really?

"Yes. Please pick one : a) I don't have the time. b) I spend too much time on the computer. c) I'm ignoring my real life. d) relationship problems. or e) other.

God damn, you are
friggin' nosy. I pick "e) other" and click. The same screen pops up again and I click "other" yet again until I notice a message at the bottom:

"Please provide a written explanation in the box below."

I thought "other" WAS my
explanation. I start to think about how to explain why I want to leave and an easy way to condense the analysis of this experiment in one measly little box. And then it comes to me.

"I don't need to explain it but if you want to know, come find me and I'll tell you in person."


CLICK.









Friday, February 27, 2009

Little Things

Little things make me happy. like...



Greeting the morning with a cup of coffee and budding blossoms arranged in my favorite vase - a Kikkoman soy sauce bottle.



A road sign looking unnatural in it's natural setting.



Watching the sun bounce off tin roofs.



Seeing the annoyingly slow Conch Train in a place that it belongs.



Witnessing irrational beauty on every Key West corner.

Thursday, February 26, 2009

Breathe



Breathe.




Reboot.



Launch.

Friday, February 20, 2009

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

Abbeth!!





My very good friends Angie and Abby are in town visiting and we've all been catching up and laughing A LOT. Cricket, Abby and I were roommates a year ago and it was the best.

Tonight we went to Louie's Upstairs for a couple bottles o wine and a little chocolate fondue.

Then took some stupid pics off the hood of Angie's car while Abby and I reminisced about how we chased a chicken out of the house one day. We were very determined not to let it poop on Cricket's bed. Mission accomplished.

We hardly knew each other at the time but together we were throwing Cricket's hats at it in a vain attempt to get it off the ceiling beams. We eventually ran it around the kitchen island and then out the door.

There's nothing quite like getting to know your new roommate by chasing a chicken.








Friday, February 13, 2009

Pretty Palms



Can't quite understand why they want to cut down all the palms at the cemetery.

Monday, February 9, 2009

Sunday is Funday

Why you ask?? Well, There are several reasons...



1.) Got to eat yummy food and drink Sangria as well as...



2.) see some cool art at Azur.



3.) Got to watch the sky turn pink, yellow and purple in the span of 30 minutes.



4.) Got to see Seava and hear Cricket read an excerpt from her new children's book at Studios of Key West.



5.) Got to hear the Barack Obama polka

Tuesday, February 3, 2009

What is Real?





What is real?

The reality for me is that this week has taken it's toll. People have been quite odd lately. Working too much has a price and that is exhaustion. Plus, a really good sign that it's time to slow down and assess is when you get in a fight with a homeless guy.

The question in question kept coming up for me in different ways this week. The continuing facebook experiment first birthed it after an offhand comment from a friend. When telling said friend what I do for a living (a question that is asked often), one of those things I mentioned was marketing. I was told in a joking way that it's good to have marketing to keep me in the "real world".

Really?

As we watch our "real world" institutions and structures crumble on a daily basis, it got me wondering "What is real"?. Is it the structured suburban family life or life on a trippy tropical island? The answer is both because we create our own reality.

I'm not sure everyone sees this but it is very empowering if you do. A lot of people think Key West is an unreal place and I say to that, it has it's own reality which can have a pressure cooker feel depending on who you are around.

Something I experience after listening to a co-worker who has a bad habit of blabbering on about what he doesn't have which tends to be a lot. He always feels stiffed in some way even though he has a thriving business and works at a good place. His reality is not mine.

I watch a revolving door of tourist neighbors come in and out of my compound. They sit poolside sipping on Coronas as I head off to work or to do whatever the day entails. I get strange looks while walking in and out, slipping into different outfits to match the person I need to be at which place I work. When I interviewed in college for an internship at Disney they called all their workers "castmembers". That's what this is, minus the furry suit, thank God.

Am I bursting the tourist bubble with the reality of work? Well, the reality is I need to work to pay my bills and there is a backside to every environment, even a tropical playground. POP.

Am I not considered "real world" because I don't sit behind a desk and shuttle myself back and forth to an office park? No. That's not my reality and I have made it that way for a reason. I farm out my skills and services to a number of businesses that I choose to be a part of.

I watch a group of kayakers struggle against a bit of wind and hear them wonder aloud "when will it all be over?". Did they not grasp the reality of a 2 hour tour or exercise for that matter? The best comment of the day was uttered after pulling a sea star out of the water to pass around for people to examine. A woman refused to look at it cause as she said she had already seen one on TV.

Really?

Is TV now considered more real than the actual thing? That's frightening and definitely not my reality.

Or perhaps consider a group of writers eating at the restaurant. It's quite interesting to listen to certain writers talk. This evening, it's mindless ego babble or as the chef I work for accurately described it as mental masturbation.

They discuss in verbose language about how writers who use computers don't really write. They all take pride in the fact that not one of them knows how to use a computer and writers who do aren't "true writers". It makes sense. I guess this assures you of one true reader since there will be a person who has to read your chicken scratch in order to transcribe it. Last time I checked, there wasn't a longhand written book at the library.

Is this reality? That question is quickly answered when the man in question who made these comments shows me he has not read the menu by ordering things we don't have. I guess "true writers" don't read either. Again, not my reality.

The dealings with people not dealing with their reality has been tough this week. As evidence by my verbal scuffle with a homeless guy who gave me a long disgusting stare accompanied by a very ungentlemanly comment.

Really?

Yeah, cause no one talks to me like that in my reality.