Runaway Future

26.4.2008

Searching for a former clarity

Filed under: The Daily Grind — forbes @ 0:17

Prior to my previous post (now there’s an opening line), I shut down the feed from this website to Facebook. I can’t really explain why, just sending all that stuff automatically onto Facebook has always seemed to bother me a bit. A lack of control.

It’s not really security concerns, despite the often publicized concerns about what the owners of Facebook are going to do with so much demographic information on that crucial 20-something set. Of course, there are reports that even advertising through Facebook has not been effective.

I’m not naive enough to think that anything posted on the Internet is immune from being accessed, crawled or otherwise registered and indexed in some sort of global database. In the same breath, I’m just naive enough to continue to believe that the intent of that indexing is not malicious, simply merely business.

In the end, none of that matters. I shut down the feed to try to kick start myself. If writer’s block doesn’t exist, then I’ve had troubles with just the appetite for words. Both here and elsewhere. I’m searching for a former drive.

22.4.2008

Can’t you hear me knockin

Filed under: The Daily Grind — forbes @ 20:28

A man I know from work passed away last week. He had been going through some troubles and was depressed so it appears that one night, when the pain was too much, he ended it.

It came as a shock. A co-worker called and told me about it the night after he died. The police took a day to rule out foul play because the nature in which he came to his end was done so precisely and so clinical that it must have at first appeared to be the doing of another hand.

We went to lunches together often. He introduced me to Bearly’s, got me hooked on Guinness. He didn’t work in the office, but was there often enough. One of those people who would email you a joke halfway through a difficult Monday, usually one of those jokes that you have to close your office door and lower your speakers for. Always a wry smile, a wink, a chuckle. Could actually talk technology, which at times was a godsend, just to be able to have someone understand that part of what I do.

He was well off in his life. Successful financially and more importantly wealthy in friends who cared about him. In fact, he valued the second so much that the first seemed to be unimportant. It was not unusual for him to pay for lunch. Hell, I witnessed him pay a waitress’s speeding ticket after he heard about her misfortune. No questions asked, just like that. If anyone needed anything, he would be there to give. My only hope is that he got back as much as he gave.

It’s hard to understand, it’s hard to rationalize. Prior to this, I always thought that suicide was a cowardly option, one of those things that leaves hurt and confusion to those around you, while you escape the troubles. I see it as being more complicated then that now. A lot of factors and I can’t even begin to grasp the gamut of emotion. I can’t pretend to understand how someone gets to that point, nor do I think I really wanted to.

In my search for answers, I watched the film, ‘The Bridge‘ over the weekend. It profiles people jumping to their death from the Golden Gate Bridge, focusing on half a dozen or so, actually showing their jump and then talking with their family and friends. It sounds morbid and maybe it is, as the actual act is caught on film, but there’s more to it then that. To hear people talk about how they dealt and how they understand is very helpful.

I wasn’t able to attend the funeral today, nor did I go to the wake yesterday. Too much going on, both around me and inside me, so this is my closure, this is my way of dealing.

I have this thought from that movie, something that has stuck with me for the past few days. It’s a father talking about his son who jumped.

He said whether some people believe suicide is a sin. He asked that a lot. I said, that’s something Man made up. At least he thanked me that I’m telling him the truth, it’s just, y’know, I don’t know. It’s just I don’t think God’s going to hold you responsible for something you can’t handle. And he said, well, whether I come back or not, he says, y’know, if I do, I’ll see you again, Dad, if not, just know that I’m at peace.

7.4.2008

Tacky, yet unrefined

Filed under: The Daily Grind — forbes @ 12:45

So on Saturday, I went to Hooters in Dartmouth with the family as sort of a going away party for my sister.

This Hooters was originally advertised in the Coast as opening on March 23rd (a Tuesday) but in fact did not open until Saturday…the day we were going. So there was a line to get in. The parking lot is in fact too small, as mentioned in some of the previous complaints about the building of the establishment, so we had to park across the street. After a few moments, we got a manager, got confirmed with our reservations and went inside. Despite the line, the inside was pretty empty, with maybe half of the tables filled up. It didn’t make too much sense on why there was a line, but I’m not too familiar with how a Hooters operates. Maybe they force people to wait 30 minutes, just to build a sense of anticipation…I’m jumping ahead.

So we get in and get seated, eventually we get a waitress to come take our drink order. The menus were on the table and there was enough discussion that it really didn’t seem like a long time for the drinks to come. A few drinks didn’t really come and some we had to re-order, but that was just the beginning of what was to come.

Eventually we ordered food. I ordered a burger. By now we had been there about 45 minutes, and I ordered my second beer. As we’re waiting for the food, natural tendency was to look around and there was a lot going on, with wait staff clapping and dancing, playing with hula hoops, encouraging patrons to stand on chairs while they sang. It was pretty cool until you realize that these wait staff were supposed to be…waitresses and be delivering meals and drinks and customer service and such. But hey, I’m not too familiar with how Hooters operates.

About an hour and a half after we arrive, they send some wings over to us, because our meals are taking too long. Around this time, I finally get my second beer. I watch UCLA lose on a TV, crushing my March Madness pool’s dreams.

Finally, about two hours after we arrive and a good hour and a half after we order, our food comes and I order my third beer. They have an interesting way of delivering food. Mainly, there’s a window that looks into the kitchen and when an order is up, there’s a girl (later on in the night it was a guy) standing on a box, who proceeds to yell for the appropriate Hooters girl to come pick up the meal. Usually, the Hooters girl is preoccupied with clapping or dancing or hanging around somewhere, so it takes a couple yells. Makes for a very loud atmosphere of people yelling at one another. But the food is pretty good. By now the whole group is pretty famished, so we polish it off quickly.

I made the decision to leave with my folks at that point instead of staying with my sister and her friends. So we ask for our bills. This takes a while too, culminating with the waitress returning to the table to ask us what we had so we can be billed appropriately. Finally, about three hours after we first got in there, we leave. I never got my third beer.

This is the first Hooters I’ve been to, and I’m no “restaurant” connoisseur so maybe I expected too much. It was their first day open and it was obvious that some of the girls were inexperienced or untrained. Maybe there was also some troubles in the kitchen, not expecting to have…orders…at all. Either way, some significant growing pains for sure. If they had been able to open on a Tuesday (like they planned with the 23rd) and sort of got used to the flow before being there on a weekend, then maybe things would have been better. I don’t know.
So, if you’re considering taking the trek to Dartmouth, I’d wait a couple of weeks, until they get a system of sorts in place. I don’t think I’ll be heading back anytime soon, frankly my experience wasn’t worth the buck-fifty to cross the bridge and back.

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