I started this a while ago, just a few sentences, last night I was riffling through my story fragments looking for something to build on, hit upon it and it worked. I think I can go somewhere with this.|
Late afternoon, and the sun is angling in to where I sit in my chair. My throne, a rickety wicker piece. Next to me rests a five gallon paint bucket, water, ice, full and empty beers inside. The empties rest there because I'm too lazy to throw them in the trash can five feet away.
That is a blatant lie, shown by the three bottles lying around the can. The truth is I am long past the point of being able to aim.
Four o'clock on a Tuesday and I am drunk, the vicious, hot sweaty sort of drunk that only happens here in the desert. Heat reflects from the near molten street in front of me, the illusion of water in a land with none.
I hate the summer time here, daylight is a curse, only scorpions and cactus belong in this blast furnace. Sleeping is the only way to survive, and the only way to sleep is in drunken stupor. I heave myself to my feet, swaying, sweat dripping off my nose and stumble into the house. I collapse on the couch and close my eyes. Darkness and vertigo swirl up around my brain.
A few hours later the sun has set and I have risen. Sitting in the shower, water drizzling from the under-pressured pipes onto my head. Unexplained tears leak from the corners of my eyes.
Out of the shower I scrub myself with a threadbare towel and tug a pair of jeans over my still damp legs.
In the mirror my face is ragged looking, three days growth of beard, dark circles and the ever growing network of creases. Broken blood vessels add extra prominence to an already pronounced nose. I smile.
The street still radiates enough heat that my left shoulder is warmer so I cross the street every block to keep things even. I walk fast, or so people tell me, I simply walk and others are left behind. It's a handy thing and the half mile to the bar goes quickly.
As I reach for the door I notice that my hands are trembling, anticipation, lack of proper food, delirium tremens, it doesn't really matter.
The bar is mostly quiet, a Tuesday isn't the night for nine to fivers, and aside from the half dozen kids in the corner, they are drunks, disciples of the bottle, like and unlike myself.
"Chuck, you look like shit." The bartender sets a glass of pale watery beer in front of me.
"Chuck, chuck, banana nana fo FUCK! and that is why I hate that name."
"Ornery tonight Chuck? A buck and a quarter."
I dig into my pocket and extract a couple crumpled bills, fumbling with them to straighten them out and read the denominations. I lay a five on the bar. A sip of the beer and I spin slowly on my stool, surveying the room.
"Slim pickings tonight, the college kids don't have enough money and the rest of them are wise to you." Ham, the bartender is referring to what I call 'The Talent,' but most folks call 'scamming free drinks'.
"No need tonight my friend," and I smile again, "Here, let me know when this runs out." I've unfolded another of the bills, this time a hundred.
"You roll an old lady Chuck?"
"Three of them in fact. Get a round of shots for the house."
"You could drink for a week on that round."
"It's like a bank my friend. I take money out when I need it and put it back in when I have it. Pour the round."
Ham shrugged and shuffled off to pour.
"Don't forget the kids in the corner, they are the future, the ones that will save us all!" I called across the bar. Giggling into my beer I realized that my nap hadn't sobered me as much as I had thought.
When the shots were delivered to the crowd of young faces in the corner and Ham explained where they had come from their heads swiveled in unison to stare at me. A third time I smiled and even gave them a little two finger wave. A practiced move, calculated to be cool, reserved, the action of man of the world, full of confidence. Internally I chuckled to myself. These kids might not have money for drinks but tonight I did and there were other forms of coin for the talent.
It only took one more round before I had the whole group clustered around me, a royal bastard surrounded by his sycophants. Where the free drinks flow, so does friendship, or a fair facsimile thereof, if only for an evening.
A couple hours of traded stories of debauchery, the common coin in cheap bars and I took all six of them back to my place. We stopped at the corner store for a couple cases, cheap cigars and a bottle of some overly sweetened crap popular with the nubile ladies. I had my eye on one particular blonde, tall, a bit haughty and obviously the alpha female. I wanted to break her, but her ego presented a challenge, hence the hooch. On the other hand, there was the chubby girl. An obvious hanger-on, probably someone's roommate, tolerated out of necessity. She desperately tried to join in, her interruptions brash and often greeted with blank stares and silence. She was easy pickings but I worried what she might be carrying. Anyone with that 'once kicked and coming back for more' puppy dog look had been used and many times.
With one case beer gone, drunk, spilled, sprayed about the room, it was obvious to me that the alpha girl was more intent upon insinuating herself between an obviously established couple for whatever Machiavellian reasons. I felt a bit sorry for the girl being culled, a plain jane sort but with an honest gaze and a pleasant smile. I wondered how she had earned the displeasure of the reigning queen as I caught her eye. I winked and nodded at her but she only turned away, gulping hurriedly from her beer, eyes bright with unshed tears. She knew well what was happening and that she'd already lost the battle. Sympathetic feelings rose inside me but I shook my head and brushed them aside, involving myself in the woes of others was no place to go, experience spoke that and loudly.
Morning and the attendant trauma of being alive and hung over came with the suddenness of the flash floods in the surrounding desert. My stomach roiled and my head spun in different directions. I groaned and slid from the bed to the floor, resting on my knees for a moment before crawling to the bathroom. There i was confronted with a scene of devastation, cans scattered about, vomit streaking the seat and sides of the toilet. I grasped the edge of the sink and hauled myself to my feet. A wave of dizziness swept me and I clutched blindly for the towel bar. Using a toe to lift the befouled toilet seat I kept my eyes open only long enough to insure aim and guided the stream of piss by sound after that. The sink and walls provided support as I stumbled back to the door. There I leaned on the jamb and stared down at the still sleeping form of plain jane, and I couldn't even remember her name.
the soviet souffle hunter is fighting a chimp to the death.|
My work partner that rolls with me every day for the past 10 years has been let go today. I don't want to go with any details but she's gone and that's that.|
Now I have to pick another work partner to roll with and I don't want to. In fact,I want to roll alone with three of my guys. I have six guys now. They can be pretty bad,but I love them all.
I told them to pick any three. They will have a third meeting with me tomorrow.
Yes. Third meeting. I already had two today. Basically my bosses as always would like to pry into my mind and wonder what is going on in there. But this time they want my opinion!
My opinion. Yea I'll give them my FUCKING OPINION!
My truck payment.
I need my job.
So I suckered up.
I feel awful.
FUCKING SUCKS MAN.
So you have a Linux Live CD, but it doesnt have that particular|
program you need to have and you must edit the CD. Just to make it interesting, we are going to do it all by command line, including
burning the ISO to cdrom:
1) Boot up a Linux Box (I used WhiteBox Enterprise with 2.4.21-27 kern)
2) Insert CD into CDROM
3) mkdir /cdiso
4) cp -av /mnt/cdrom/* /cdiso
EXTRACT and EDIT INITRD.IMG (The Linux Filesystem)
5) mkdir /cdinitimg
6) find the initrd.gz or initrd.img in /cdiso
7) gunzip -c /cdiso/isolinux/initrd.img > /cdinitimg/initrd.img
- believe it or not the image is compressed
8) cd /cdinitimg
9) mdkir point
10) mount initrd.img point -o loop
11) mkdir /cdimgextract
12) cp -av /cdinitimg/point/* /cdimgextract
13) umount /cdinitimg/point
14) rm -rf /cdinitimg
15) make any changes you need to the initrd.img in /cdimgextract
REMAKE MODIFIED INITRD.IMG
16) mkdir /cdinitrd
17) dd if=/dev/zero of=initrd.img bs=1k count=60960
18) mke2fs -i 1024 -b 1024 -m 5 -F -v initrd.img
19) mount initrd.img cdinitrd -t ext2 -o loop
20) cp -av /cdimgextract/* /cdinitrd
21) umount /cdinitrd
22) gzip --best initrd.img
23) cp initrd.img /cdiso/isolinux/
24) rm -rf /cdinitrd
25) rm -rf /cdimgextract
REMAKE MODIFIED ISO
26) cd /cdiso
27) use this shell script:
-note: you may have to edit it a little to fit your ISO.
# make the new iso and put in root.
mkisofs -o /new.iso -b isolinux/isolinux.bin \
-c isolinux/boot.cat -no-emul-boot -boot-load-size 4 \
-boot-info-table -J -R -V disks .
28) now you have a new ISO named new.iso in your / directory
BURN THE NEW ISO IMAGE
29) eject the old cd, and pop in a blank
- make sure you have cdrecord
30) cdrecord -v -pad speed=1 dev=0,0,0 /new.iso
NOTE: For the record, I had to edit a G4U CD to add dolly client
(a peer to peer client for clustering) for a project here at work.
This is the documentational(?) output.
It took me everywhere.|
It left mean fucking burnouts.
From a rolling start.
On dry pavement.
It was fast.
It was ugly.
But that was ok.
Cause no one wanted to steal it.
I just bought 2 10 inch woofers in an enclosure and an amp for it.
So it would thump as well.
And it did.
People were wondering if those sounds were really comming from that piece of shit truck.
And it was.
I let my boy use my truck today. He liked that it had a system. It sounded nice.
But when he bought it home,it went CLANK CLANK CLANK CLANK.
I knew it was comming. I heard this sound just yesterday.
This is the sound of DEATH RATTLE. Con rod let go. Compression test showed it. All cylinders fine but the #5 cylinder showed no reading. Not even a blip on the gauge.
Used engine looking at $400.00. Popped the hood. So many rusted bolts especially around the headers. No time to work cause I can't really leave my client down here alone for hours on end while I wrench that motor out. Then there's the engine lift and other unforseen things. I haven't changed a motor in years although it's gravy work in a truck. But it's alot of rusted bolts and bruised knuckles. You see,ANYONE can change a motor if every nut will loosen with little effort.
But with only hand tools,one nut will ruin the whole day.
Is it time to retire ol' "Big Red"? Rust everywhere,5 or 6 coats of paint speckled about everywhere.
Real fucking ugly. But that's my baby. $600.00 and it was mine. 3 years of joy. NO. I'm saving you! I CAN FIX YOU!!!! There I was. Sobbing like a baby. Out on the street. In front of my house.
Neighbors looking out their windows. I didn't fucking care.
So I took my wife's car for a drive and pulled in to a buy here pay here lot. These are nice cause they up the price some but no interest in payments.
I walked around and there it was. A black Ford F150,1992. Dual tanks,2WD (preferred) 5 speed. I really don't like the straight 6,but I haven't owned a manual in a while and the interior is a whole lot nicer than my truck. Exterior got's one minor dent on the bed,no rust and a bed liner.
I casually walked in and said "entertain me on that truck right there." $500.00 down,$200,00 a month for 14 months was all they said."well shit then" is all I said. Took it for a test ride. It drove nice. Pretty peppy for a 6 cylinder but not quick like Big Red was. I arranged to pick it up Wednesday when I could give them the down payment. Pics later.
When I came home though,I got in my truck. I started it up. Clank Clank Clank. Turned it off.
I said "Thank you Big Red for 3 years of pure joy"
I had plans for it man. I was gonna paint it stealth bomber black. Basically the darkest primer I could find. But it was nearing 300,000 miles. I realised then it was time to go.
I'll part it out and sell it to the junkyard like the way my ghettobird went.
I'm sure gonna miss that truck.
My daughter turned 14 yesterday. She get's like 50 text messages a day. She's got school friends and friends from dancing school. And she's kicked so many boys to the curb lately,it's been a weekly thing. New boyfriend every Monday and shit.|
She's in accelerated classes,in the Honor roll,and other things to fucking brag about.
I'm very proud of her. She is my life. My joy.
But I'm proud not because of her achievements.
But because she loves me too.
My son will be 17 in June. He's been thru 3 girlfriends that I know of. He's always away,but he keeps in touch. His grades are average. The occasional "A" but mostly B's and C's.
He found a job on his own. The owner I'm told gave him a promotion from fryer to something else. Owner tells me he's doing good and he's barely been there almost 2 weeks now.
His first real job. And above minimum wage.
Half a year now driving on his own.
And smart enough to stay away from trouble.
He's turning into a man.
I'm very proud of him. He's my life. My joy.
But I'm proud not because of his achievements.
But because he loves me too.
It is cold this evening, a vicious and bitter cold that has nothing to do with the weather. It emanates from deep inside the people passing on the street, sinking deep into my bones. Even here inside, I feel the chill, keeping my coat tight around me, as though a bit of hide and fibers can hold back the bite of human indifference.|
I hate them, they are repulsive, these sacks of dung, I might feel pity for them if I were not one of them. Arrogance is my primary trait, virtue and flaw, all at once, and I combine it with a twisted sense of humility. A paradox, contradiction in terms, oxymoron, mostly moron.
I am cognizant of the fact that my significance in the universe is nil, an absolute zero. Sometime in the distant future there might exist a device that could calculate the overall impact a single person has on the greater whole, but I can not imagine a more worthless endeavor.
And yet despite this knowledge, my narcissism continues unabated, I am thoroughly convinced my plight is a hill of beans worthy of counting. Though I have no special insight, I feel quite confident that I am not alone in this. With this in mind, I marvel at the massive indifference we present to each other. Are we all so sure that our little pile of legumes is that much taller, some sort of edible tower of babel, stretched out into the fabric of reality, therefore taking precedence?
It is suggested that perhaps our very reality is shaped by our perceptions, which would in fact catapult our hill of crap into a position of utmost importance, but the trouble with this stems from the fact that then we need only change our eyes, perhaps gouging them out, to change plight into flight. If so, why do so many choose to wallow in in shit, suffering and bleeding, when it is a simple matter of thinking differently?
Either way, I fail to understand the world I live in, the scurrying of ants and the shitting of apes. We are all mad, criminally deranged. Fierce demons, sin incarnate, a blight in the sight of god.
So let us dismiss god, what does that leave us? Excrement, feces flung about, primates are the new deities, and pardon me while I pick the lice from your hair and eat it. Oh but we are evolved, a higher being, and in the case of the pot smoker, hail the new saint, but really the sociopaths, and even a step above, the psychopath are the true gods, evolved past the ridiculous neo-primatical rules that bind us. Abberation is a survival trait. Manson was a doomed prophet, washing us in the blood of the stupid, the Unabomber was a saint, and I am full of shit.
This is not a cry for help. I just want to clarify.|
When I post here it comes from my heart.
When I say I don't know,I really don't know.
I really like Dr Suess books.
It really gives me joy.
I really wanted to know what was in everyone elses noses.
Yet it turned into an "all about me" thread.
I really believe in Santa.
And god damm it I really saw him on my roof that night.
And when I say EEEEEEEE!!!!,I'm actually saying it before I type it in.
To relieve stress,every morning at work,I really do run around the halls,
Shake my hands and arms around and yell AAAAAAAAYYYYYYEEEEEE!!!!
No one else is there so it's ok.
But my boss told me to behave.
I said ok.
It's too much fun.
I can't stop.
But I like learning.
And I'm getting smarter every day.
And it's all because of you guys.
- mise en place|
MEEZ ahn plahs
A French term referring to having all the ingredients necessary for a dish prepared and ready to combine up to the point of cooking.
April 1st, springtime begins. Atleast on the new menus. After a week of talking about what dish is selling well vs. poorly and what different ingridents are coming into season, any good resturant will adjust it's main dishes for varitey sake.
The menu I work from can change on a daily basis. We run a Fish(poisson), Salmon(saumon), Pasta(pate), Chicken(poulet), Liver(foi), Salad(salade), Soup and Sandwich, "Du Jour". Really though we plan for most items to run a week.(Soup and Salad change everyday)
So when it comes to menu overhaul its quite easy for us. Just the stables are in need of fine tuning. Instead of Pears on the Endive Salade, we go with grapes. We remove wintery items like a Terrine or a Trout salade and replace them with more inventive items.
At any rate that was what today was, and it was busy. Here's an item from today's mise en place.
Saumon Salade with Roated Cumin and Honey dressing
Salmon (we use a 7oz portion)
Citrus Fruits (Lime, Orange, Blood Orange and Grapefruit)
Vegtables (Aparagus, Green Bean and Brocolli)
Whole Cumin 1tbsp
2 egg yolks
White wine vinegar 1oz
Roast the whole cumin in a pan, you'll notice it's done with your nose. It smells great. Bust it up! A coffee grinder works great for this things. Into the blender with the 2 egg yolks, add just a bit of salt and the paprika. Blend away on high. When its good and mixed add the honey, then the vinegar. Here it takes more paitence, slowly add olive oil until you have a good thck dressing, careful too little and it wont hold the flavor and too much it's gonna taste like oil! Add more salt if you like at this point. Give it a Taste? Does it need more love? perhaps some more honey or cumin you be the judge it's your love.
Your vegtables should be cut into eatable sizes, removing unessisary parts. Blanche them, don't over cook! You want a crunch still not soggy mess. For a single portion I suggest about 10 green beans, 5 Asparagus (cut in half) and palm of brocolili. cool them in ice. All this goes into a mixing bowl.
Your fruits need to be peeled. I bet you guessed that though. cut them into whats called "supremes", think about the canned variety of pinneable you get on a pizza...thats "supreme". For a single portion its about 1/4 of each fruit. Once they are clean and cut, into the bowl with them.
Then into the bowl goes the dressing. A decent amount here, when you mix the fruits and vegtables everything should be covered well with extra sauce for the Salmon. Hey throw some love in that blow! Salt to taste, diced parsley, or cilantro, maybe sage if it kicks you that way.
I suggest grilling your Salmon with olive oil, salt and pepper. This can be down in a pan as well, finish the cooking in the oven until its the desired texture you like your salmon.
That's it, simple.
On your plate place a nice heeping of your salade mix, on top of this stack your salmon. Hopefully it impresses someone, if not yourself.
Tomorrow, because it's the weekend, we'll take about brunch food.
Feel free to hit me up with any questions.
Perhaps something a bit more mundane since you’re all so high and mighty.|
So Dacarlo some time ago asked me what kind of pet I’d like to get. He’s a cat person, he figures that cats make less mess and take less work to upkeep than dogs and other than those two choices everything is weird and outlandish.
I told him I’d have a robotic dog, no mess, no fuss, just hours of having spent way to much money on a robotic dog. That said despite setting you back a pretty penny it’d probably be cheaper in the long run than a real dog. I hate living in a house with animals. Everything and I mean everything gets covered in hair. It saturates everything. Dogs smell bad as well, fact. Not to mention when the proud duty of walking the little fuckers comes around guess who gets lumbered.
It wouldn’t be so bad if the damn things didn’t have a death wish. I swear the smaller of the pair is sexually attracted to car fenders or something and the big one just wants to tear the face off of everyone and everything it meets, that or fuck it stupid. So picture me getting dragged down the road by a pair of unruly mutts simultaneously trying to attack, fuck and get killed by their surroundings. The bottom line is that I’m responsible for this nonsense if it all goes tits up so I’m not happy.
In closing kids don’t ever get a pet because far from being a source of fun and larks they will piss you off no end.