finger push ups and food history

Exercising every day is a good way to keep the body strong. Today, I want to work my fingers. Ok, and my noodle. So, though nothing comes to mind yet, other than the multitude of condiments I used to rotate and combine to flavor up the ramen noodles (back in college), I sit to write for an hour.
My good friend Dave is playing his piano here, and calling it homework. I should be so lucky. I'm
on the mission to make my play into my work. that is the dream of most artists and writers i guess. I read my mother's story today about going to school for the first time. It was fun. Her mom would put notes and poems in the bottom of her lunch bag every day. Fortune lunches! I think my mom did that for me and my siblings a few times too.

Thinking back to the foods we ate in school--and the coincidence of mentioning my noodle doctoring in college--it would seem that I have found a theme. At least for two paragraphs.

I have worked with food quite a bit, and never written down the whole list of places I have worked before. Should be a good exercise in memory. Granted, I only worked at some places for a few nights as a waiter. I would try out places at times to see what kind of money I could make--and if it wasn't good money, i was gone... so I might even forget a name or two.

Anyway, let me see...

At:
16-- Roy Rogers. fried chicken, biscuits, eggs
17-- college dining hall. prep. salads, jello, very basic etc.
two different nursing homes as dietary aide--niether of which had a name I recall right now.
18 bussed tables in a Polynesian restaurant until a knife fight broke out one night between the owners cousin and a dishwasher. decided that was enough of that...
20
busboy in Olive Tree restaurant in a tourist town. sometimes there would be like 600+ dinners served in a single night . That's a heck of a lot of plates and glasses. I still remember a certain angry waitress who was notorious for making other waitresses cry. She was pure vinegar. One night, in an unplanned move or a total slip on the floor, she sent a tray of dinners up in the air and fell. One plate landed on her back I think, and she had her white tux shirt covered in red sauce. Not a good look. I actually felt sorry for her that night. Prior to that I think I just about hated her. One of the bartenders there, known to his friends as "Ski", was a good friend to me. We got to playing pool every night after work and drinking allot of free Gran Marnier and Budweiser. It never ceased to amaze me, night after night, how my game would get really strong after the second beer. By the fourth or fifth however, my game would go down hill pretty quick. But i never, ever played as well sober as I did with a mild to medium buzz on. One time the staff of the restaurant had all planned a beach football game. We were drinking before the game. Maybe that wasn't such a good way to warm up. On the kickoff to start the game, Ski and I were both running to catch the kick off, and pretty oblivious to the fact we were both going to arrive at the same spot at the moment the ball came down. Our heads collided, and we both cracked 'em pretty good. I now have a scar under my left eyebrow, while he has one above his right eyebrow. We were pretty buzzed at the hospital as we got stitched up. One of those odd bonding experiences. Not my best football moment I guess. Well, I worked at the Olive Tree for two summers and through two fall seasons and one spring. There are more stories to that place...but not enough time to go into all of them.

Rosko's Grille. My friend Peter "Rosko" opened one of the all-time coolest local restaurant/pubs in the Salisbury area. I was lucky enough to get to design the logo for the restaurant which he used EVERYWHERE! It was a great time working there. I felt really lucky to have that opportunity.

Ocean City
The Shanty seafood. I bussed tables there in Salisbury. I didn't like that place too much.
Crab Alley Another seafood dive run by rednecks. Bussed there too. This place smelled awful. Not a job I stayed at for very long.
Nick Idoni's House of Ribs. Man people can eat allot of those things. Nick Idoni was a small man with a big attitude and a mean mouth. He turned up years later in a field. Some strange people owned restaurants on the Eastern Shore.
Tony's Pizza my first experience with pizza. I have had many since, and never found another genuine New York pizza master like Tony. You can see everything in the mix and it might seem the same--but something was better about it. I never figured out what Tony did better than anyone else. It might have been a combination of the kinds of flour he used with the heat of the oven--who knows? I bet he will never tell. He was probably a millionaire after so many years at the boardwalk in Ocean City. That window was always visited by smiling return customers.
Pizza...that reminds me.

Four Seasons in Yosemite
Ahwahnee Hotel
Rolling Road Country Club
The Wharfside
Eagles Nest Country Club
Rudy's 3000
PJ Crickets (or something like that)
Some restaurant out near Columbia. I helped them open. It had very little volume. It just was too far out there.
Russel's Ltd.

Park City

Giorgios
Gamekeeper's Grille (disgusting pig ran that place)
Wolf Mountain pub
Park City Resort- I just loaded food into a cage to go up the mountain via gondola, and it was a thankless job
Bankok Thai I liked the place and loved the food, but wanted more money so I moved. I later regretted that move.
The Mediterraneo--probably my favorite restaurant experience. I became a good cook at that restaurant after starting as a waiter. I loved the food there so muc
Pizza Hut was another place I worked for a while. I always liked their pizzas allot too
Chez Betty-snob food attitude, run by a drug addict and his way cooler chef brother

Ojai

Wheeler Hot Springs
Nora's
Grey Gables Retirement Community
Sam's Place--actor who thought he could bluff as a restauranteur--I worked about 70 hours a week for a few months there and almost lost my mind.
St. Joseph's Retirement Center
catering

Dollars and Sense

Though this might sound to some like some glib hippie dribble, and not seem even worthy of writing, I find myself pondering in my logical wandering of the standard devotion of our precious lifetimes to laboring. This wage enslavement, in a monetary system that yields less and less benefit per cent, according to an apparent plan by a Federal Reserve Bank which is alarmingly not run by our U.S. government, is not what freedom was ever meant to be about.

I find the many contradictions of the word freedom and its definitions in relation to the great land I live in more than a little bit taxing to my natural, logical mind. I consider myself to be free-thinking. And yet I am beginning to wonder if I might be labeled as liberal. If I remember correctly; before cable news was plugged into my viewfinder, liberal used to mean generous, and liberate meant to free. But now, when the word liberal is mentioned--it evokes negative responses in people and is condemned hundreds of times a day on a certain brand of television that has reared its ugly horns over the past few decades.

I can't get over the inherent feeling, or is it truly just a naive belief, that we were created to be free and equal, and that by liberation of each other from our sufferings through simple, humane generosity, we might actually be able to have what we were destined to create on this planet in a truly free and more peaceful coexistence. In God I do trust. But in public schools we no longer mention God. God is printed on our money. Are we to associate our trust in God with money? Or is it to keep us in the mindset of money being good for us? That seems foolish doesn't it? I need to make a buck. We all do. But what does it have to do with God?? Wasn't Jesus of Nazareth the Son of God, God in the form of man on Earth, who tried to separate the money lenders from the temples? Wasn't the problem then the same as it is now? Spiritual life is anti-capitalistic in nature. It is based on the Golden Rule or on simple kindergarten consciousness. And as I speak of the need to look at the hell we create for so many by the soulless allowance of rule by money--I yet feel as a blasphemer for the sacrifice of some brainwashed idealism about how good capitalism is supposed to be for the world. If it was so good, there would be no need for social security, or health care coverage, or welfare systems, disability insurance, pensions, or any of the problems we face for our infirmed, elderly and disenfranchised or discriminated population.

We have been so tragically brainwashed to live with the lie that time is money here in the land of the free. And our commercially stone-washed spirits think we need so much more to be happy, to be successful, than we ever did before. To earn our vacations in the great outdoors we mostly toil away our years in our decorated offices, gilded cages and polished automobiles. It isn't a choice to work for money. We must chase this elusive animal we call "financial security". As our years go by and we slow down physically, we must be wise to "stay ahead of the game". The game. What is it really? Is it a game like Monopoly? The "Game of Life"? Seems simple enough. Are we just allowing ourselves to be used like the game pieces, while only the financially elite actually get to play freely?
Time doesn't equal money. It is worth far, far more. Money, by the way, will not buy you another minute in reality. People can help people to live longer--that is true. But buying time isn't possible in the miracle of life. So while money actually equals less and less time as time goes on, it still has no real worth if there is no one to accept it. It is merely the tool we were given, that some originally chose for the masses, to decide who gets what on this shining ball of blue. Surely I believe in working one's way up, and that no one should get a free ride while others pay for it. But I see the clockwork of this society and the time is running out for it. More and more people are disenchanted, disenfranchised and disillusioned with the snake oil panacea of the capitalist definition of freedom here.
Money gives one a false sense of freedom. Poverty is very close however, to actual imprisonment. Unfortunately for the free impoverished, the basic needs of food, clothing and shelter aren't readily supplied las in our prisons. One must find shelters, food and medicine through charities and under-funded institutions that are paid for by the taxation of those fortunate enough to make good money, who live in the system. The rapid downward spiral of the dollar leaves me puzzled and more and more disenchanted as I consider the lives of every truly free animal left on the planet, whose numbers are dwindling because of corporate greed and unwise capitalism moreso than any other reason.
Though I immensely enjoy the comforts and technologies of the modern human endeavor, I see clearly that our impact on Earth is unsustainable for much longer. Population is not the problem. Sharing of resources and wise use of land would make all of the difference in the world. America has so much unused land for living on...and yet it is practically all privately owned, or otherwise controlled and not truly free for use. America's Declaration of Independence was something very different that we used to revere as Americans, not so long ago. The "right to pursuit of life, liberty and happiness as it reads". Without our own land though, this isn't easy. Even if we own land, we must pay taxes on it. If we do not, we lose this land of the free, and are subject to the dangers, stigmas and struggles of homeless living.
Near my old home is an island that is free to wild horses, and deer among many other creatures. Though deer and rabbits, birds and burrowers and swimming beings of the sea are expected to roam free--horses are decidedly not. Why, when one can yoke them up to plow a field, pull a cart, carry someone across the continent for the price of fresh foliage and water, would a horse ever be allowed to roam free, left basically homeless and without a job to do for people who care for it? Having to find its own food, and having to fend for itself, the wild horse is not much different than a wild dog or cat. Wouldn't they want to be domesticated and taken care of? Of course, if they were thoroughbred Arabians they could be worth millions of dollars to someone. But these horses are not so trainable. They are wild and free and high-spirited, with no desire to be yoked or broken. They might be considered dumb to a horse trainer, not suitable for much, as they don't have the genetics or the horse sense of their cousins who were born in pens and on fenced in pastures.

As so many people sit in cubicles day after beautiful day, dreaming about the things we would rather be doing with our lives--don't we too still have the freedom to decide for ourselves to stay or go? What about this bit and bridle we call the 'almighty dollar'? And how long would we actually survive if we had to eat it? If we had to build our own homes, which would be safer? Pennies, nickels, dimes or paper dollar bills? Would we still enjoy our lives as much if we chose to live closer to the land, and farm for our own subsistence without selling off our crops? There are folks who still do this today. Folks who live relatively comfortably, healthfully, and peacefully. Many people around the world are very happy in their natural lifestyles, while still being civilized to each other and living long lives. Though they may depend on other animals as do we all, to live our lives...we separate ourselves intellectually from them here in the "land of the fee". We consider our lives--if not ourselves, better in some way. Does our concept of living better somehow equate to happier? Mustn't it? Isn't it NATURAL? Isn't it a better life for a horse that lives in a large heated stable with fresh bedding every night and a loving owner to brush and bathe and feed them? If we gave a horse the choice to live in on a ranch, sleep in a stable and eat the standard diet of a horse in captivity ('domesticated' as we like to phrase it) and live with regulated meal breaks and responsibilities, whether riding, pulling a cart, racing, etc... OR the option to live freely in the land it was designed for, free to choose its bed, its meals and mealtimes, its friendships and where it wants to go....what would the horse choose? What choice would be more rewarding? Security of shelter and free meals, or freedom to choose? One choice leaves the horse very few choices afterwards. The other choice opens the realm of possibilities and the uncertainties of being a prey animal in a landscape that changes and where food and water may not always be easy to come by.
The range of terrains, foods available, and the experiences of freedom as a wild horse must greatly outweigh the amenities of a captive life. I have worked on a well-funded horse ranch, and have spent my time next to the fence, inside the stalls and in the pastures. I know for sure that an animal of this strength and spirit is meant to run free, just as sure as the bird with wings is meant to fly, and the fish are born to swim where they will.

The human is born with hands and feet and a mind to create what it chooses, and the spirit to explore life's possibilities and to embrace and increase. Why we chose to stay locked in our financial pens leaves me befuddled and while not yet broken. I have not the means to continue to write as I wish as I feel a sense of impending crisis while the financial clock of my lifetime ticks quickly in my head. But here I am feeling pent up and fighting to remain free. Ironic as it seems, wild horses couldn't drag me away from my pen...just yet.

In vast green waves of lush marsh grasses flowing,
lives a breed of unbridled power and grace
So close to distant cousins, waiting pent up, never knowing,
a sense of true purpose, destiny or place.

Freed from her bonds generations ago,
an old mare is yet noble and wild.
as another son rises on the Neigh Boring ranch
with alfalfa flake hand-outs to her child.

Though each in each wild clan lives truly endangered,
Their whinnies speak louder than words,
and as another sun sinks behind the wonder-full manger,
Is it 'the good life'--apart from their herds?

Tomorrow's sun sparkles on fresh spicy mustards,
and the clover's as sweet as Spring water,
as our broken horse dreams, still, before it awakes,
to break fast on what we would call fodder.

Today it reigned hard for the herds without roofs,
huddled close under trees kept them warm,
while "Lucky" was treated to freshly trimmed hooves,
to the tune of rain drumming down on his dorm.

Free or broke not one may choose in this world so equine,
though all may still prance, muck and/or muddle.
We truly lucky are only confined, as we are so inclined,
and need not stand in our own smelly puddles.

Whether alone or in herds,
like swimming seals or caged birds,
We can "reign in" our wayward courses.
For each sentient being here on Earth,
from the first moment of each one's birth,
Let us re-embrace the good senses of our horses.