The pot calls the ...

...kettle black. If you look at the upper left hand corner of this webpage, you will see that the first line of caution when entering my domain clearly states that I leave no human suffrage unmolested, including my own.

I have never considered myself an intellect, but always prided myself informed and well-read enough to be capable of conversing with a wide variety of folks from different walks of life. Indeed, I boast among my acquaintances a head hunter, a psychologist, a teaching fellow, and a cast of otherwordly characters and crew. Some of these charitables actually consider me an equal.

So, tonight when a market analyst engaged my jack-of-all-trades, master-of-none mentality, I immediately began spouting market trends and vulnerability (based on my 6th grade social studies as opposed to my 6th grade math). He didn't fall for it.

I have never met a more analytical person in my life. My entire argument that all "forecasters" be it weather, astrology, climatic, etc, etc, follow a recorded and proven cycle in history, was heralded by this individual. He quoted the "Kondratiev Wave" to explain our current fiscal crisis. Somebody finally shut me the hell up.

Who cares what color the pot or the kettle are, if you are drowning in the water

If it was fun...

...they wouldn't call it work. I once read a poll of bartenders in, none other than, Bartender Magazine. They asked bartenders what their biggest pet peeves were: the #1 answer was "pennies". Thankfully, these little nuisances have been all but eliminated from the industry. The #2 answer was "smile".

Now, bartending CAN be fun, especially if you are a twenty something working in a club, partying with the customers until dawn (because hangovers don't affect you, yet) or if you're not too overly concerned about your job (you are writing the next great all-American novel, or your big break is just around the corner). It can even be fun when the restaurant is not filled to its 200+ seat capacity; and the waiters are not lined up for drink orders; and you are not trying to replenish stock as fast as you seem to be using it; and you are not trying to prioritize in your head what needs your attention foremost.

Even though you cannot see those 200 people in the rear thirsting for my immediate attention, and the 20 people at the bar seem easily handled, I may not feel well, or maybe my goldfish drowned. It occurs to me recently that as adults most of us have forgotten our ASS/U/ME lesson as a child. Remember, don't assume: it makes an ASS of U and ME. Don't assume that because you transfer your bar bill to your dinner bill that I will get any of the tip you leave in the dining room, ASS. I don't and I'm not likely to smile at U after you just ran my ass off for two hours and didn't tip ME.

Instead, try enjoying the highly honed choreography of a skilled professional bartender, or maybe try to envision the controlled chaos as poetry in motion. Either way, I don't come to your wok, expect you to drop everything you are doing, and smile at me. And if I did, I wouldn't expect it to be free.

Reality bites...

..the Big Apple. According to an article published in the New York Times on Tuesday, 4/27/10, one of the networks has slated the release of a new reality show focused around the sex lives of "older" women.

I understand that reality shows are prevalent TV fare these days, although I have never seen one, and do not share the seemingly national fascination of peeking into other people's made up lives.

Don't get me wrong, I am every bit as much a voyeur as the next person but I have no desire to live vicariously through someone else's producer created reality. Nor do I need to bolster my spirits by comparing my somewhat boring life to the complications generated by TV writers for the consumption of the masses.

I also agree wholeheartedly that a healthy sex life is essential to our well being as humans. That being said, do I want to tune into hear a 63 year old woman talk about vibrators and manual manipulation, or daring to leave the house without her panties. Hell, no! I'd rather experience things for myself (sorry, Mom).

Geriatric sex, Jerry Springer, wrestling. No wonder I don't watch TV.

Ugly is....

...as ugly does. Perhaps it is the recent consistent rain here in NYC that has dampened my mood, or perhaps I have simply grown weary of the following scenario:

Barbie walks into busy restaurant holding dripping umbrella as though it is venomous snake about to bite her, loudly interrupting all activity she looks at me and, indicating said umbrella, asks, "where should I put this?"

Now, folks, my initial reaction is nothing as charitable as the coat room. Yet, I cause myself to pause as not to be counter rude (or to blurt out what I am really thinking), excuse myself from the customers to whom I had been addressing, and take a breath to answer her. BUT, she misinterprets my hesitation as weakness, blood in the water, if you will. Storming down the hallway, she has the gall to fling her undesirables in the direction of the coat room.

Little does she know, because the restaurant is family owned and operated, she has just insulted the owner's sister, as opposed to one of us lowly trained organ grinder's monkeys in tuxes. I am often incredulous at the perceived self importance of some people, until I remember that these are the least happy people I encounter.

I refer to this woman as "Barbie" because of all the plastic she flaunts, in her cheekbones, breasts and (collagen) lips. I am NOT against plastic surgery or anything else that makes a person happy. The problem I keep finding is that it is no solution to what they seem to be redefining.

No matter how gorgeous a person is on the outside, if their soul is rotten no amount of designer clothes, shoes, handbags, colognes, jewelry, surgery, cars, homes, etc can mask the ugly that always manages to keep them wondering why the world isn't falling at their feet.

It's because ugly is as ugly does.

Classic cocktails are....

..making a comeback? Negronis, Martinis, Manhattans, Single Malt Scotches are replacing Mind Erasers, Sex On The Beach, Irish Car Bombs, and Jolly Ranchers throughout NYC.

Now, "classic" is defined as: recognized authority or excellence. The adjective can be applied to almost anything: "classic" cars, "classic" rock, "classic" example, "classic" architecture, "classic" cocktails, "classic" beauty.

"Classic" making a comeback? It never went away, it just grew up.