This past Wednesday, Corrie was able to obtain two tickets to the Round Rock Express game, and my sous-chef and I attended. The opponent was the Sacramento River Cats, and being from Sac, I was torn as to for whom to root. Our seats were really nice, along the third base side, close to the field, and just past the base.
We made it just a little late, my boss and I, having just missed the top half of the first inning. The Express, in the bottom of the first, rocked the pitcher, actually two of Sac's pitchers, to the tune of 9 runs. In the bottom of the second they tacked on two more. After two innings it was 11-0, and the crowd felt almost restless, like now they have to sit through a laugher.
Au contraire. Sac chipped away. Five runs here, a few more there, and shockingly, by the time my boss and I had moved up to the air-conditioned club above homeplate in the top of the ninth inning, a River Cat hit a 3-run homer to tie the game. RR brought in a new pitcher, who gave up two more runs, and an improbably comeback was complete. The Express were held-off in the bottom of the ninth, and Sacramento won 13-11.
It was like no other game I've ever watched, seen highlights of, or maybe even read about. A huge meltdown early for Sac (more like two in the same inning), then the slow bleeding that never stops started for Round Rock, culminating in a meltdown of their own...like nothing I'd ever witnessed before.
Quite an experience. Thanks baby getting us the tickets, and thanks Tim for coming along. We saw a crazy game, and California's capital city's team beat Texas' capital city's team. Can't say that upsets me.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Cleaning Up/Packing Notes
Since we're moving to a new apartment soon, there has been some packing and what-not happening, and earlier today I started organizing some of my paper mess. I found a large stack of cancelled checks dating back to the times when banks would send you you're checks (I don't even get mailed statements anymore) and I started looking through them.
A few things tickled me. The checks themselves, drawn off a bank that doesn't exist anymore, Washington Mutual, with the bank's address being in the shopping center a mile from my childhood house which actually closed at that location in about 2001, still have my old Oceanaire address, from which I moved in 2004.
I still have about 110 checks, and they should still be mildly valid, since the account number is still the same...
Another thing that cracked me up was a series of checks, four I believe, written for amounts less than five dollars. There was a $3.40 check written to Cal Poly's campus pizzeria. There was a $3.00 check written to Cuesta College, a community college I attended for a time, and for what I can safely say I'll never remember.
By far the biggest single entity that received my checks, according to the stack, was my friend Tony, who did all the bills for our house on Oceanaire. Every month he'd emerge from his room, a studious air about him, and he'd post what we owed on out little bulletin board. I have a stack a half-inch thick of checks to Tony, 20 in all, that I added up on the lappy's calculator. I'm sure that it's not the total list of checks I gave the man when we lived together, but the total from the stack was $7580.
A few things tickled me. The checks themselves, drawn off a bank that doesn't exist anymore, Washington Mutual, with the bank's address being in the shopping center a mile from my childhood house which actually closed at that location in about 2001, still have my old Oceanaire address, from which I moved in 2004.
I still have about 110 checks, and they should still be mildly valid, since the account number is still the same...
Another thing that cracked me up was a series of checks, four I believe, written for amounts less than five dollars. There was a $3.40 check written to Cal Poly's campus pizzeria. There was a $3.00 check written to Cuesta College, a community college I attended for a time, and for what I can safely say I'll never remember.
By far the biggest single entity that received my checks, according to the stack, was my friend Tony, who did all the bills for our house on Oceanaire. Every month he'd emerge from his room, a studious air about him, and he'd post what we owed on out little bulletin board. I have a stack a half-inch thick of checks to Tony, 20 in all, that I added up on the lappy's calculator. I'm sure that it's not the total list of checks I gave the man when we lived together, but the total from the stack was $7580.
Not Quite Mutiny...
This post is more of a note for kitchen people, current and erstwhile, and the folks who love them or live with them and get a sense of what the life is like.
There's a line in Dante's Inferno that claims that the closest ring of hell is reserved for adulterers, con-men, and mutineers. It would make sense that in Dante's time period the worst scum would be the ones that smile and befriend you only to use that to their advantage and do you harm, if only because of the liberation of women hadn't occurred and abuse, both domestic and/or sexual, was less in the society's forefront.
In a roundabout way, I'm trying to get to what is seen as effectively as bad as Dante-ian mutiny in the eyes of kitchen staff, from the chef's on down to the dish stars: Walking the line.
That's shorthand for "walking off the damn line and going home during a shift". Quitting in the heat of the rush, or in a lull when a trip to the can wouldn't be out of place, and then not returning.
Currently this has happened to my night gig a few times, and even once very recently to my day gig. I've never been in a situation where people have simply walked when they've been frustrated and angry. I heard about it in New York, but there the chef's can be stab-inspiring bastards. I'll bet the guy I heard about was from Texas. It seems like everyone at my current night gig who walked was from Texas or had been affected by the Lone Star State.
When someone walks the line they're not screwing their boss, like they want, they're screwing their comrades, who for the most part fully agree with the walker, fully see eye-to-eye with them, but still come to work and stick it out, if only for outside financial obligations.
At my night job a few months ago we had two guys leave at the same time, two guys who worked the busiest stations, one of which I considered a friend. The other guy was able to talk his way back to his job. He was messy but young, which meant that would improve, and he handled the busiest post in the restaurant, but his rehiring angered me greatly. Walking the line is the greatest damn kitchen sin there is, and there shouldn't be any recovery.
Just the other night we had another guy walk the line, and then, as my overtime was kicking in and I was sent home, one of my best pals (and one of the greatest line guys not born in Mexico I've ever seen) was fired. The kid who was fired was young, excellent, had an attitude, and had a certain dislike for one of our bosses, and eventually hung himself. The guy who walked the line, though, was a gentleman whom the company had tabbed for promotion. I could tell he was seething with disgust for many of the practices of our company, but I never would have guessed that he had it in him to bounce the line.
He's also a friend of mine on Facebook, and after reading his triumphant "I just quit my job!" posts, and all his friend's "awesome!" comments I felt compelled to call him out. I considered him a friend, if not as close to the first guy who walked out. I agreed with him in many of his opinions of how we do things at work, and said so, but reiterated that he screwed us, not the boss, and if he wanted the big-time, he ought to man-up and move to New York or Chicago or Vegas and join a "real" kitchen, where the chef is nice the first day, then spends the rest of the time berating you, throwing shit at you, and making you feel rather low, until you realize you're actually much better than when you started.
He erased my comment but didn't "un-friend" me, which I think is encouraging, since I don't hate the guy, just the dirtbag move of walking.
The next day, at my morning job, one of our three guys left in the middle of the shift. The set-up over there is different, so it's not quite the same violation of comrade-trust that exists, but it does have an effect on us workers.
This is kind of a long explanation on why I won't be posting too much in the near future...I'll be working six days at the night job, and five pretty full days at the day job.
Living the adventure, baby...I need a new field of occupation...somebody's hiring, right?
There's a line in Dante's Inferno that claims that the closest ring of hell is reserved for adulterers, con-men, and mutineers. It would make sense that in Dante's time period the worst scum would be the ones that smile and befriend you only to use that to their advantage and do you harm, if only because of the liberation of women hadn't occurred and abuse, both domestic and/or sexual, was less in the society's forefront.
In a roundabout way, I'm trying to get to what is seen as effectively as bad as Dante-ian mutiny in the eyes of kitchen staff, from the chef's on down to the dish stars: Walking the line.
That's shorthand for "walking off the damn line and going home during a shift". Quitting in the heat of the rush, or in a lull when a trip to the can wouldn't be out of place, and then not returning.
Currently this has happened to my night gig a few times, and even once very recently to my day gig. I've never been in a situation where people have simply walked when they've been frustrated and angry. I heard about it in New York, but there the chef's can be stab-inspiring bastards. I'll bet the guy I heard about was from Texas. It seems like everyone at my current night gig who walked was from Texas or had been affected by the Lone Star State.
When someone walks the line they're not screwing their boss, like they want, they're screwing their comrades, who for the most part fully agree with the walker, fully see eye-to-eye with them, but still come to work and stick it out, if only for outside financial obligations.
At my night job a few months ago we had two guys leave at the same time, two guys who worked the busiest stations, one of which I considered a friend. The other guy was able to talk his way back to his job. He was messy but young, which meant that would improve, and he handled the busiest post in the restaurant, but his rehiring angered me greatly. Walking the line is the greatest damn kitchen sin there is, and there shouldn't be any recovery.
Just the other night we had another guy walk the line, and then, as my overtime was kicking in and I was sent home, one of my best pals (and one of the greatest line guys not born in Mexico I've ever seen) was fired. The kid who was fired was young, excellent, had an attitude, and had a certain dislike for one of our bosses, and eventually hung himself. The guy who walked the line, though, was a gentleman whom the company had tabbed for promotion. I could tell he was seething with disgust for many of the practices of our company, but I never would have guessed that he had it in him to bounce the line.
He's also a friend of mine on Facebook, and after reading his triumphant "I just quit my job!" posts, and all his friend's "awesome!" comments I felt compelled to call him out. I considered him a friend, if not as close to the first guy who walked out. I agreed with him in many of his opinions of how we do things at work, and said so, but reiterated that he screwed us, not the boss, and if he wanted the big-time, he ought to man-up and move to New York or Chicago or Vegas and join a "real" kitchen, where the chef is nice the first day, then spends the rest of the time berating you, throwing shit at you, and making you feel rather low, until you realize you're actually much better than when you started.
He erased my comment but didn't "un-friend" me, which I think is encouraging, since I don't hate the guy, just the dirtbag move of walking.
The next day, at my morning job, one of our three guys left in the middle of the shift. The set-up over there is different, so it's not quite the same violation of comrade-trust that exists, but it does have an effect on us workers.
This is kind of a long explanation on why I won't be posting too much in the near future...I'll be working six days at the night job, and five pretty full days at the day job.
Living the adventure, baby...I need a new field of occupation...somebody's hiring, right?
Monday, August 9, 2010
Sister Cities
A longer discussion that I won't present until later led me to the following information...
The city where I was born, Redwood City, on the peninsula in northern California:
Has four sister cities, one of which is foreign and that I've visited:
Colima, Mexico, one of the oldest still surviving Spanish settlements.
The city where I was born, Redwood City, on the peninsula in northern California:
Has four sister cities, one of which is foreign and that I've visited:
Colima, Mexico, one of the oldest still surviving Spanish settlements.
Happy 8/9/10?
Another weird date comes to us today, mostly because of our screwy American convention of date writing (mo/day/yr).
Still kinda cool if you're an over educated math nerd depositing a check in the bank and find yourself writing out the date and not realizing it until after you've finished.
So happy August 9th, 2010, or in our date abbreviation convention, 8/9/10.
Still kinda cool if you're an over educated math nerd depositing a check in the bank and find yourself writing out the date and not realizing it until after you've finished.
So happy August 9th, 2010, or in our date abbreviation convention, 8/9/10.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Happy (belated) Birthday Ryan! Again! D'oh!
I didn't miss it by that much this time, brother. In fact, I got the call in on time, at about 1:30 my time, after work, which made it still August 7th in California.
Happy birthday Ryan! I miss you, man, and we're looking forward like hell to this trip coming up. See you soon!
Happy birthday Ryan! I miss you, man, and we're looking forward like hell to this trip coming up. See you soon!
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