The Discipline And The Disobedience

Suddenly, I begin to wonder how I find myself in spots like these...

Three hours ago, I was sitting on the couch at home, between a snoring basset hound, and a german shepard transfixed on a moth that got let in from outside. My brother had just come home from work and we talked about his day, he peirced some guy's nipples today, and the client nearly passed out. I offered him some leftovers from our favorite Vietnamese restaurant, still hot in the styrofoam box. He picked a few pieces of tofu up with his hands and ate them while we talked. He seemed excited about something, there was a curious happiness in his voice.
This was not unlike any other night in our house, and yet completely different in every aspect.
My brother and I talked some more, about various things. Then he said something about needing to run a quick errand. What he really meant was "we" need to run a quick errand, and I sensed something mischevious was in the making. I jokingly asked if I needed to bring gloves, or a ski mask. He said that the ski mask would be unnecessary. I must have laughed a little out of sudden nervousness, because he glared at me with all seriousness.
My brother and I have been through a lot together. I have never once questioned his judgement or intensions. He is very intelligent and responsible, and thus, I knew he was not endangering me in any way. But I was still nervous.
I didn't ask any more questions until we got in the car. What errands could you have to run at eleven o' clock at night? The kind that can't be done during the day.
We were driving into a part of town that I had never spent much time in, though not far from our house it was one of those parts of Memphis you only go to if you need drugs, a used car, a cheap motel, or in our case, an abandoned hospital.
As we pulled up to the front gates, lashed together crudely with a heavy gage chain, I knew that it was going to be an interesting night. There was a temporary construction fence surrounding the grounds of the hospital, meaning two things; the city was finally doing something with the property that had stood vacant for the last decade, and that we were going to have to be that much more careful. With all of that construction equipment lying around overnight, it's not unlikely that there would be a patrol car coming by to check on things.
Getting out of the car, I remember smelling the stale, damp air of a basement. The hospital loomed about seventy five yards from us, looking like some enormous gargoyle in the still summer night. The grounds were scattered with cranes and backhoes, piles of dirt and mortar. I followed closely behind my brother as we approached the hospital from the eastern side. The construction efforts had come to a halt when funding for the renovation had come up short, so the building was left nearly intact, just some exterior damage. Almost all of the windows and doors had been removed from the entire structure, making it easy for us to enter. Stale air was invading my nostrils completely now, and as we found ourselves in the first floor lobby, the humidity nearly pushed me over.
There was so much to see, and this was to be the first of many nights spent in the hospital. We silently made our way through the left and right wings, routinely checking each room for vagrants, relics, and artifacts of this urban archeological site. It might as well have been the Egyptian Pyramids to us.
Three floors up, on a balcony overlooking the courtyard, we spot a police car coming through the front gates with the spot light on. Though we were not in any real danger, instinctively we duck behind the balcony wall, and wait for car to make its rounds.
Suddenly, I begin to wonder how I find myself in spots like these. Here I am, three floors up, in an abandoned hospital in one of the worst parts of town with my brother, but I'm calm.
It's difficult to say why I'm here, or why I'll come back. It's more than curiosity, more than adrenaline. It's more than thrill-seeking, or petty lawbreaking. It's all of these things, and yet, it's not one in particular. It is a total contradiction to who I am in the daylight, and maybe therein lies the real attraction...

Dreaded Decisions

I haven't had a hair cut in five years. Just about this time of year, every year, for the last five years, I have considered the very same things that I am considering now. It might be time. I picture myself standing in front of the mirror with shears in hand, and a pile of hair filling the sink. In the movie of my life, this scene would be played out as an act of defiance, with some dramatic theme song in the foreground while I furiously cut at the locks. Maybe I'm being a bit melodramatic about all of this, but it has been five years, and that's a lot of hair to let go of.
Three years ago, I dreaded my hair; it was something I had been waiting to do for the previous two years as my hair grew and grew until it was finally long enough. Dreadlocks are a commitment. They take time and energy to keep up and maintain even after they're set. I have made a certain identiy with my hair, as many people with dreadlocks do, but I'm not overly spiritual about it. While I respect and inderstand those who are, to me, it's just hair, and when I start feeling monotonous and boring, the first thing I want to do is cut my hair. It's an easy fix because it's a not too drastic, and generally, no real damage can be done. It always grows back, at least in most cases. But in this case, my dilemma is more logical. I work in a kitchen, that in the summer time, can get to temperatures of 110 degrees and above. It's only March, and already we've breached into the 100's. So what's so different about this year?
I have almost made up my mind, but there is still the hint of indecision.

Anthony Bourdain Hates Me.

"Vegetarians are the enemy of everything good and decent in the human spirit, an affront to all I stand for, the pure enjoyment of food." -page 70, Kitchen Confidential.

This is the first time I've sat down since I woke up this morning. My knees ache, my hands are dry, and the clamour of the kitchen is still rummaging through my head. Last night I even dreamt about food, however, that's not uncommon. I'm what you might call a "lifer" to restaurant world, and though it might simply be the last line of employment for barely literate excons, or the only place a coke head can call home, strangely, I chose this life and its permenace.
I love restaurants. I love food. I love the process of food, the many forms of food, the benefits, the chemistry, the biology. I love cooking and I love eating. I don't know when it started. I know that when I was young, I loved to help my mother bake, but who doesn't? I think more than the actual baking, it was the promise of licking the beaters, or scraping the bowl that really had my attention. I was nineteen when I started my career in restaurants, and I hated every minute of it. As a last resort I applied for a dishwasher position at a four star restaurant. I was hired on the spot at eight dollars an hour, which at the time, was more than I had ever made. The next day I was shown the ropes and given the tour.
-Here's the pot sink.
-Here's the dish machine.
-This is where the pots and pans go when they're clean.
-Every Monday we have to scrub the floors.
In my head, this job was easy, a trained monkey could do it. I quickly learned that eight dollars an hour was not enough money. After eight months too many, I was offered a cooking job else where. I took it without hesitation.
The real challenge is not the cooking, it's the organization, and a poorly organizied kitchen and crew is, no pun intended, a recipe for disaster. Mise en place my friends, mise en place!
On the other end of the spectrum, as much as I love food, I am foremost a vegan and I think Anthony Bourdain hates me. I must say, that when I'm on the line, and some particularly picky eater places an order, I grimmace and grumble along with the rest of them. I am wholly dedicated to food and the culinary art. I will learn whatever it has to teach me. But there are always sacrifices. I have been vegan for nearly eight years at this point, and admittedly, did not own up to a very interesting or outrageous diet before the switch. I'd say that most chefs, would rather have a kitchen full of vegetarian and vegan cooks, than serve a vastly vegetarian and vegan demographic. Though food costs would be lower, the argument could be made that cooking in any traditional style, i.e. French, Italian, would be near impossible; even authentic marinara is made with veal stock, and since most chefs pride their knowledge and use of traditional and fused originality in the kitchen, it would be considered a hinderance rather than a welcome challenge. I'm not trying by any means to win over my peers, or sway anyone to join the culinary darkside. I'm not out to prove to Anthony Bourdain or anyone else that vegan entrees have a place on the menu. There are plenty of self-righteous vegans with that kind of attitude and gusto. I'm not trying to bastardize the culinary world by invading its midst and I wouldn't dream of saying that hundreds of years of culinary tradition are wasted. Everything in it's place, and a place for every thing. Mise en place. Food is my life, and I love every aspect of it. But it doesn't change the fact that the recombinant bovine growth hormone is injected into almost every form of beef and dairy that is readily available to the consumer market. It doesn't excuse animal cruelty, which I won't go into, or the glaring health misconceptions. Likewise, my veganism doesn't stop me from working in restaurants and cooking for a nonvegetarian majority, or sticking my arms elbow deep in veal bones to clean them and prep them for stock. I can butcher and trim nearly any section of beef or pork along side the rest of the meat eating chefs.
I am dedicated to this life because I chose it and it suits me. I am good at what I do, and I love what I do. My particular eating habits are not a restriction of my abilities nor are they a set-back. Anthony Bourdain is one of my favorite chefs and although he's not a big fan of me, it won't change what I do, or how I do it.

wikipedia is wikid awesome

seriously folks, or more specifically, meghan and meghan's mom (likely the only people who read this thing), wikipedia is like the education that public school never gave me. if wikipedia were an evil genius that took over the world, i would be the first in line to join it's team. if wikipedia could be described in one word, it would be encyclopedialicious. if it were a flavor of ice cream, most likely ben and or jerry would have something to do with it...it's that awesome.

if i came here to forget

the maximum occupacny of this room is drastically breeched. i can hear the floors of this second storey warehouse apartment creak under the pressure of skateboards and the teeming of adolescent disposition. the show is in full swing now; the second band is playing to a crowd no smaller than riot waiting to happen. the bass drum is like a hand grenade and i think i can even see the window panes rattle as it resounds. someone in the back of the room by the vert ramp and sofas full of unhappy girlfriends, yells, "this builiding is coming down tonight!' he may not be entirely wrong. in truth, this warehouse that once held machinery for some corporate endeavor, should probably be condemned. no one else here seems to notice though, or perhaps they just don't care. i can attest to moments like that, in which i'm just that pissed off about being seventeen, and i don't care about anything but not being at home. the foresight i lacked was that i have no basis of knowledge for a span of time other than what i can remember. i cannot see beyond exactly where i am. but i payed my five dollars to be here just like the rest of them. i walked up the stairway lined with car seats, beer bottles, and the strung out owner of this very warehouse. i even came here alone. what am i searching for? i have a clarity in life that most at my age fail to even grasp. i don't need dangerous crowds of angst ridden teenagers to remind me of my youthful aspirations. but i am still wondering why exactly i am here. was it the music? i can't remember. if i came here to forget, mission accomplished. i wander around the room a little longer, lingering at the skaters doing ollies over a couple of cases of beer. it surprises me that they would put the beer in such jeopardy. this night is a failure. i cascade down the stairwell thinking only of a shower and my bed. it dawns on me as i push through the oversized front door, that maybe i came here to disambiguate myself from, well, myself. i am not the same as i was five or six years ago. i am not the doe-eyed, reticent, and day dreaming teenager, with a heavy heart and a mouthful of swear words. actually, i am a doe-eyed, reticent, and daydreaming twenty something with a heavy heart and a mouthful of swear words; only now they are comingling with the abstract concept that you can be young forever and somehow carry on an adult life. this is the realization that i had come to anyway.

a critical moment of clarity and determination

it's nearing my bedtime and at this moment, i am wide awake... the soft glow from the computer screen, and the distant snoring of my basset are comforts in this otherwise empty house. i suppose though, "empty" isn't really accurate. i have stuff, in fact, i would argue i have too much stuff and though i try to consolidate, it never does any good. i think it really only makes room for more stuff.
-she's drifting off to sleep now. i can tell as her breathing becomes steady.
tomorrow is approaching faster than i'd like to admit...school, work, gym, dinner, sleep. my version of a normal existance. recently, a coworker broke his elbow on the job, and is currently out of commission for the next few weeks, leaving five unwanted shifts to be covered by the rest of us. i took tuesday, in addition to the forty plus hours i already work. i'm not really complaining. i love my job, and i'd rather have more hours and less time to spend money.
-there's a soft mutter into the phone. must be dreaming.
mona, the basset hound, is stirring on the couch. she realizes i'm not there and starts to get concerned. sometimes she's very maternal. she found a new place to sleep now, amongst the clean laundry i haven't put away yet. i spent thirty minutes tonight with my body pressed against an industrial dryer at the laundromat because the door wouldn't stay closed otherwise. it was not awesome. everytime i go to this laundromat, i wonder why i came to this laundromat...i must have passed three on the way to that one. habit i guess. fear of change.
-her breath is faint but steady, and i am assured of her serenity. one of my greatest concerns.
tomorrow is officailly today, and has been for seventy three minutes. my normal bedtime falls somewhere between 1am and whenever i fall asleep. last week i think i fell asleep on the couch three times, only to wake up sore in the neck with daybreak slipping through the blinds. i suppose that's just another aspect of the life i've chosen, or perhaps simply an aspect of my youthful indiscretion of responsibility. maybe i'll grow out of it.
-i love her fully, with simplicity and complexity in complete alliance. soon, cell phone minutes won't separate our sleep.