The Barber and the Butcher

When I lived in Queens, there was a little deli that was across the street from my apartment. It wasn’t the greatest, but it was close, and when I am in a new place, I work my way out in concentric circles from my home base, exploring in baby steps like Bill Murray.

I got to know the kid that worked there most nights (we tried dating but the chemistry wasn’t there). Being scared to venture to far to get food or beer, I defiantly wasn’t venturing out to get my hair cut. I looked like Shaun around super bowl time.



One day I asked the guy "Is there a place around here where I can get my hair cut"





He repeated it back as a question "Is there a place that YOU can get your hair cut? Yeah, YOU can walk about 15 blocks down Steinway"

This was the first time in my life that I was on the receiving end of racism. I was ok with it I guess, but completely confused, because I was White, he was Hispanic, we were in a Greek neighborhood, and he sent me to get by hair cut at a barbershop owned by two Italian guys. I am not sure why I couldn’t get my haircut at any of the other places that I passed on my walk, but deli guy was clear, "Yeah, YOU aren’t going to want to go to any place closer than that"

I did end up liking the barbershop and I continued to use it the whole time I lived in New York. Plus it was right next to Sac's pizza, which was the best pizza in NYC as far as this fat guy’s was concerned.

I sat down in the chair and the old straight-off-the-boat Italian barber (picture Geppetto in appearance and accent) asks me "So, what is it that I can a do for a you?"



"One on the sides and the back, shorten it up on top" (one men’s regular)...



Barber - "You a sure you a want a one eh?"



"Yes"



Barber - "You a sure?"



"Yes, I’m sure"



Barber - "Ok, well a here we go"



He puts the clipper to my cheek and starts to run it up my sideburn. He could have been using a straight razor. My sideburn was completely gone"



"Wait, wait, wait!!!"



Barber - "ah ha.... I a told you.... (now he sits down in the chair next to me like a grandfather giving advice), a son, let me a tell you a something that will a do you a lot a good" You a go to da barber, or you a go to da butcher, make a sure you know what you are a asking for, or you will a get a something that you a don’t a want"



Maybe it was because it is the only advice I have ever gotten from an old Italian guy, but I have carried it around with me ever since. I sometimes take it out, and think about it, wonder if it has a greater meaning in my life. Wonder if the barber was racist and would have refused my Hispanic friend if I would have brought him along.



This is all going somewhere.... stay with me...



So last night I went to Tops to get stuff to make dinner. Tub has been a little sad since Jezebel left (he has been keeping up a gruff exterior, but I hear him weep at night... it haunts me). So I thought I would make him something a little special.



So I went up to the butcher (see it coming back around). I told him;



"I want two fillets 3" thick."



"You do" (said as statement - oh really ra-tard)



"Don't I?" (said as question - is there a reason I don’t want that? is that too thick)



"Do you?" (said as statement - There you go, you know something isn’t quite right)



"No.. I want them..... 2"? 2" thick?”



Butcher - "Thaaaaat’s more like it"



He was right. In my head 3" inches seemed like a reasonable thickness (thick, but not too thick), but in retrospect I guess I didn’t really know what I was asking for.



I made a half-assed attempt to share Geppetto's proverb with him but what came out was "I went to the barber...." Realizing that I had already fucked it up, I stopped and just stared at him. He had no idea what the hell I was talking about, nor how long it would take to explain it all. He seemed content that I had just gotten my hair cut. I made some remark about meat, and lying about an inch, then I winked and went on my way. He very well might have thought I was coming on to him.

After all of that, Tubby didn’t come home from work until almost ten. I sat like a disgruntled wife from the 50's when he came in. I was careful to let him know that I had slaved over a very special meal for him, and now it was cold, without stepping over that fine line that would get me a backhand and a speech about how he has to work to put food on our table.



I went to bed so I could get up extra early to make bird noises out side his window.

Tubby Allen Poe

My Iphone plays the "bell tower" tone at 5:40 am on weekdays. I roll out of what was once known as Ron and Jess's spare bed, now is known as Dan's bed, and will one day be known as Dan and Gabourey's bed.







After a quick shower, teeth brushing, and a self motivational talk into the mirror, I head to the living room to have a cup of coffee, watch sportcenter, and see what Robin Meade is wearing for the day. I enjoy this alone time. I find it peaceful and it has a calming influence on the rest of my day.



Two weeks ago, I began my morning routine as usual. Bell tower, shower, teeth cleaning, "you are the best at life" into the mirror, and down the stairs to Newman’s extra bold, channel 1052, and my lovely Robin.



As I turned the corner I started looking at my work phone, or the socks in my hand, something to distract me. I am about to throw my socks into Tub's recliner and turn to the kitchen as per usual, I look up to see Tubby sitting in his chair, wrapped in a white afghan, looking disturbingly like the virgin Mary. Luckily I hadn’t yet put my socks on, so I did not need to put a clean pair on.



"What the fuck are you doing" I question as I heart resumes a normal pattern and I pick myself off the floor.



"That fucking Bird"



With a sympathetic tone "Ronnie, what bird... What bird are you talking about?"

"There is a “Fucking Bird” in the tree outside our bedroom window. It starts making “Fucking Bird” noises at 5am every morning"

Apparently there is a “Fucking Bird” that sits in the tree outside their window that starts making “Fucking Bird” noises at 5am every morning (see above). I have heard the afore mentioned "Fucking Bird". I think it may be a mocking bird, not that I know that for sure, as I am not a bird connoisseur, but my pal Dale once pointed out a mocking bird to me, and it sounded the same, plus it apparently changes its tune every 15mins.

I am afraid that the "Fucking Bird" is slowing driving Tubby mad, "The Shining" style. I am afraid that I am going to come home one day and tubby will be sitting Indian style on the floor with a spaghetti strainer on his head typing nevermore over and over again in the laptop.



Plus, I don’t want to say this for sure, but I believe this to be the reason that Jess moved to Albany (the “Fucking Bird”, not the spaghetti strainer fears). She told me that she had putt cotton balls in her ears and a pillow over her head, and could still hear it over a fan and a noise maker (actual noise maker, not Tubby staining to breath in his sleep).



Tubby jammed hotdogs in his ears and bit his pillow, that didn’t work either.



Tub has now moved to thoughts of violence against the “Fucking Bird”, which I am all for, if it curbs his thoughts of violence towards me. So until that day when he snaps and climbs the tree at 5am in his boxers, with a golf club in his teeth, I will keep the knifes and strainer safety tucked away, and sleep sounding next to Gabourey with the door locked.

Your Baby is an Asshole

I went to a diner next to the plant last week by myself. There weren't too many people in the place, and yet the waitress sat me directly next to one of the only occupied booths. It was occupied by a mother, her two little dick sons, and her father (the dick son’s grandfather). Obviously I didn’t know the family dynamic before I sat down, but I did have a pretty good idea that the kids were little bastards, as I assume this of all children of that age until they prove themselves otherwise. My mediocre taco salad was ruined by having to listen to these kids talk back to both the mother and the grandfather, talk with there month full, put way to much ketchup on their fries, and other stomach turning nonsense.

I went back to this diner today, and there were even less people in it.



The waitress sat me off in my own little corner so I didn’t have to be a part of society, just the way that I like it. As I studied the menu, I glanced over to the salad bar area (not that I was thinking of getting a salad), and noticed a rather nauseating family sitting in the booth adjacent to it. To my horror, the child sitting threre reached behind herself, and grabbed a handful of croutons directly from the bowl thing on the bar. (All I could think of was when the puddin head at Clarkson licked the knife and stuck it back in the egg salad and Jason Babcock stood up, pointed, and screamed). The mother scolded the kid "Stop doing that, its gross". Do you think so??? WTF... You think it’s gross and that accident belongs to you, how do you think the other salad bar patrons feel about it. "Yes i would like a salad with grilled chicken, tomatos, and croutons covered in small cheeto's fingerprints.



As I sat, mouth agape, the waitress invaded my little corner haven and sat a family with a 2 year old (I’m guessing at the age, I didn’t ask for ID) right next to me. The baby sat for my entire stay and shook a rattle for a minute or so and then threw it on the ground. The mother would pick it up, give it back, make some cutesy comment, and it would start again. Except one time the mother actually said "good thing that he doesn’t have that good of an arm, I don’t have to go that far" Well that’s nice, way to encourage your child. If he doesn’t throw that well it is because you are a horrible mother, and you have doomed him to a life of being picked last at everything.



Now I know some of you are reading this and thinking, oh poor Dan, you had to sit looking all fantastic and sexy and listen to a baby play with a rattle. That’s what babies do. You know what, I know that’s what babies do, i just don’t want to have to be around it while I am eating (or doing anything else).



I think that there should be a separate room for families with couch pissers under the age of 10. I know this isn’t a new idea. My twist on it is this, and I think I would make it fairer for families who want to sit with the happy people with no children. If you want to sit with everyone else, that is fine, but if three people complain, you have to squirt your baby in the face with your table’s ketchup bottle.



They didn’t give me that option, plus my tomato, mac, and beef soup was some sort of canned job with the big fat macaroni’s that have been in fluid too long, and the little round meatballs that are in Spaghetti-O’s (it was actually pretty good, but it’s the idea of it), therefore I am resurrecting the boycott restaurant list, and until I get to see a bad mother Heinz up junior’s face, this place is on it.

The British are coming, and Jess is leaving.

This past weekend will go down in history for three things. 1775 - Paul Revere warns "The British are Coming", 1853 - The first train in Asia goes into service, 2010 - Jess Simmons going away party.

Apparently seeing how i live was to much of a temptation for Jess, and see decided to do the work in one town, live in another on the weekends. She is headed to Albany today. I didnt get to say goodbye, so, bye Jess, thanks for everything.

Loving Jess the way that we do (all sneaky like after she passes out), we did something totally out of character and had a Bon Voyage Party for her at the Hurleys'es.

Following a semi quite night that involved about an hour of trying to figure out where to go to dinner, 30 mins of me trying to navigate through the parking lot of Pittsford Plaza, and a meal complete with us toying with the boundaries of socially acceptable behavior at The Cheesecake Factory, the men folk got up and did what most people do on mornings where is in the mid 30's and the precipitation is a mix of rain, snow, hail, and brimstone. We hit the golf course.

Nothing too exciting happened during golf. Pretty typical. Dave ran late due to his morning dump going into extra innings. Ron had some holes when his truthyness was questioned, Shaun on several shots set up aiming 80 yards to the right, and then hit the ball 80 yards to the right, and i hit it long and straight and was so far ahead that score wasnt kept after the 11th hole. The only memorable happening was on the 12 or 13th. After turning on the inside pitch twice (first tee shot, and then again on the mulligan tee shot) Dave's ball had taken part in a hostile take over of the adjacent fairway.

After we left the tee box and got to our balls, getting ready to hit our second shot, Shaun and I looked over to see where Dave was. He was over a fairway or two, and was staggering aimlessly back and forth, no club in hand.

"Hey Shaun, look at Dave... What the fuck is he doing?"

"no idea". 

"Doesnt he look like a zombie? Have you seem the trailer for "The Crazies"? Doesnt he look like the zombie that walks across the baseball field".

"Whatever"

He did look like a zombie, and i have been keeping a close eye on him since...

We hurried back after golf (well, after hamburgers and a pitcher of beer (Diet Coke for me)). A little house keeping was needed in Dave's Garage in case the party needed to migrate there if the weather stayed shitty (which it did). This consisted if grabbing a loose item and doing one of two things; throwing it in the pile of shit to burn, or stuffing it in any cubby hole that you could find. Dave found his CPCS baseball cap from 1996, and he also found his yearbook from 1994. The hat was somewhat amusing. The yearbook was better, mainly because one of dave's guy friends signed it "Dave, i heart heart heart heart you!" (The hearts were drawn, not written). Again, i have been keeping a close eye on him ever since.

After the cleaning phase, we split into two groups. One headed to the forest to chop down trees to burn. And the other headed to dick's to get yard games. I dont know what the other guys did in the forest, but i imagine that it involved a lot of sharing of their feelings and making out. 

Shaun and i got to see a guy go on a small rant about all of the party hats being made in China. He would pick one up, look at the tag, then say "Fuckin China" far too loud for a crowded family store. Then he would lather, rinse, and repeat. We laughed, then we each bought a party hat. We also came away with a Bag-O game that lit up, and a hippie frisbee game that was pretty fun until the frizbee broke several times and was covered with duct tape and DNA samples.

When Shaun and i got back to the house Jess's work friends were already there, Jess and the women folk were not. Tub was keeping them occupied with freindly conversation and a puppet show that he and Dale put together using crudely fashioned papier-mâché  animals.

The following text message conversation took place between Kali and I;

Me - Where are u guys? Jess's friends are here

Kal - At Prepps

Me - Are you joking??? Her work friends are here, it is going to get awkward soon

Kal - Shots for shuffle board

Me - I dont know what that means

Kal - Kicking butt at shuffle board = shots for us. Wanna pick us up

Me - I cant tell if you are joking

At this point, Tubby and i had a side bar. I let him know that they were at prepps. We agreed that, that was something we would do (have done) so how could we really be that mad, but still we had to act like we were.

However, a quick text to the bartender gave them away, and they were never there in the first place.

Me - We agreed that you were cool and we couldnt fault you. Yet, we have spies everywhere and know that you arent at prepps. Love ya.

They pulled in a short time later.

The party was actually pretty quiet. We played alot of Bag-0 (you will notice in the photo the fancy lighting system, that needed AAA batteries. I had about 5 different people ask Dave if he had any. I have found you need to find small joys when everyone around you is drunk and you are not. I think if i would have one more person ask him there would have been a domestic violence incident.

The only other thing that was worth mentioning was Kenda stepping on the umbrella stand. In the middle of Dave's lawn is, what at one point was a stand for a patio table umbrella. The thing with the big round base and the pole that sticks straight up (insert fat horny guy joke here). I was trying to put the glow sticks in the Bag-O bags at the time, so i didnt see exactly how it happened, but i heard what sounded like a aluminum bat hitting a watermelon. Apparently the stand was tipped at about a 70 degree angle, at which point she stepped on it, the base went flat, and the pole shot up and blasted her in the bridge of the nose, ala Daffy Duck getting his bill smashed with a garden rake.

There was a little blood, a few giggles when we were fairly sure that she was ok, and alot of awe that she could take a punch like that and stay upright...

Good times..

Are you ready to learn some next level shit?

The last couple of years, since i made the switch from myspace to facebook (which, might i say, was the single most my influential decision that i have ever made) i have felt like a crazy homeless guy. I have had a lot of good things to share, but i have only had a few short statements to get my story across, and most of you have looked at your feet, and hurried past pretending that you didnt hear me.



Facebook doesnt give me enough words to properly express my emotions and tell the story that is our friendships (or hatred for one another).


Also, now that i have entered the black hole that in Nuclear Power Generation, i have found that i have slightly more down time at work that i have been accustomed too since i got back from the great white North. Nothing happens fasts inside the protected area, which means at any given time, there is a fairly good chance that i am waiting for someone to review something, or send me something, or finish something so i can pawn it off as my own work.




Also, for those of you that dont know, i have stopped drinking until Kali and i complete the tinman June 26th (be at the after party). I have learned alot about myself in the last month. But i have learned more about you. Also, now we have someone to remember the things that typically get washed away with the vomit and the shame. So, your drunkin stories can now be told with greater detail, so good luck to you all.

Stay Tuned.