Toshiba

I got a new computer! It's itty-bitty and really different from my last hunk of worthlessness. I adore it. I'm still figuring out how exactly to use it. I also got to absolutely rip apart my last computer to retrieve my hard drive and transfer things over. It still seems so strange to hold the little hard drive in my hand and know that within the metal and green, yellow, and red markings and weirdo little whatevers on it is everything! I can hold in my hand all my college essays, poems, stories, novel, Europe pictures, Portland pictures, my music, my everything, in my hand. It's magic. Ta-Da!

Vague Disclaimer's No one's Friend

I had a lengthy conversation Wednesday with a co-worker about how working in food service has turned us into very bitter people who hate and despise the human race.

Let me say that the majority of my regular customers are simply lovely, and nothing broke my heart more than having to tell them that the coffeehouse is closing down for good. I've developed odd friendships with some of them to the point that I know more about their lives than I feel I ever should. And, my day grows brighter when they walk in the door, and I already know their order by heart. However, there is that rare breed of a regular customer that I HATE.

For an example, I have this regular customer who comes in every day to get a grilled cheese and a smoothie, two of the things I am most unhappy to make. But, he was always polite, so I dealt. Then, he got too comfortable in his regularity. He now calls every day at the same time, and merely says "Hey, it's me (name)." As if I'm supposed to know only one (uber-common name) in my entire existence. Not only am I supposed to recognize his voice and name, I'm supposed to know what he wants to order and have it ready for him the second he walks in the door. I hate this. I am a food server, I understand. But, I am not your servant at your beck and call and I am most certainly not going to put your order on the top priority of my endless list of things to do at work. THEN, this kid has the nerve to give me an attitude if his order isn't ready when he shows up. Not to mention that I have never received a tip from him. It drives me crazy.

I've worked with the public enough to understand that the majority of people suck. But, how dare someone return on a daily basis and treat me that way.

As my coworker Sarah so elegantly put it, "I fucking handle your food, you fool."

Yes, I am a good person and would never damage someone's food like that. But, still, people continuously push the limits and honestly, how idiotic can you be. It's true. I deal with your food, and there are a myriad of ways I could mess with it. Are you really that keen to establish yourself as the smoothie asshole and continue to return to my food preparation every day? Why on earth would anyone push it? But, they do.

I need another job. The Blue Dog is forcing me over the edge.

My Fair Lady

This film is nearly perfect.

Henry Higgins is one of the finest characters ever created, and Rex Harrison plays him beautifully. The beauty of the story is that Henry Higgins is so desperately trying to reform Eliza into a lady and add refinement to her life, but the thing is that Higgins is just as crass and behind as she is. He has no tact, no manners, and is utterly childish in his dealings of personal relationships. So, while she seems like the young and foolish one, in the end, we realize that it is really the professor who has maturing and lessons to learn from the cockney "gutter rat." What's more, the lesson Eliza learns is not that she has anything to learn from Professor Higgins, she finds that no one is responsible for her fate, but her own self. It's a statement of self reliance. And, what seems to be such a misogynist film at first glance (I'm thinking of the song "Never Let a Woman in my Life" where he describes the idiocy of females) is in reality a film of the idiocy of men, just think of foolish young Freddie waiting outside the house for Eliza or Henry Higgins pathetic state towards the end. Plus, it is rare to find a film that so celebrates the English language, of which I'm very personally enamored.

Oh, and Colonel Pickering and Mrs. Pierce and Henry Higgin's mother. The songs! The flowers! Simply marvelous.

Sassyness and Nonsense on a Tuesday

I was lonely at work this morning, not a customer in sight and the sun barely grazing the horizon, when I remembered I had a blog! I made a resolution to myself to write in it as soon as I got home. It's 6:08 p.m. and the day is finally slowing to a halt. Here I sit.

I've been supremely loopy all day. My thoughts racing, my mind inconstant, and my emotions piling up and spilling over in waves. I tried to figure out why when I realized I have not eaten today. This is a dangerous game for me since I have hypoglycemia and not eating is a waiting game for when I'll either throw up or pass out. However, today was the first day in a long time that I felt well enough, I'm recovering from a cold, to drink my beloved coffee instead of tea. So, I downed it this morning like a heroin addict returning to the needle. I did not even put soy milk in it which I am apt to do at times, instead I gulped the blackness down, scalding my tongue and throat, not giving a damn.

I'm ODing on caffeine, but I am happy with that. It was in my poetry class that I realized my thoughts are far more abstract than usual. I had a GREAT idea for writing in my journal tonight. I finished my last journal on Saturday night and have been blocked to start my new one. I did not want to start the composition book with simple entries. I wanted a new leaf of writing, renewed inspiration as I've been drained from my efforts during National Novel Writing Month. I feel like an Indian squaw on a fasting vision quest, my coffee is my peyote, the Velvet Underground my spiritual guide. Jeepers, how overdramatic. But, nonetheless I never want to eat again, or at least not until my thoughts can fully flow through my pen and onto paper. I feel like everything around me is begging to be a poem, and pleading to be a metaphor.

"This shaking keeps me steady. I should know."
-Roethke.

I've been repeating that poem to myself every morning for the past two weeks. I adore it.