RRR 7/7

Thu, 6 Jan 2005

All right sports fans, I'm back from my almost one month hiatus!! So, two nights ago my friends Chris and Gary came into town and we were sitting around wondering what we should do about dinner. We finally came to the conclusion that Red Robin would be the spot to go since our good friend Becky was supposed to be managing and it would be nice to see her and our other friends. When we got to Red Robin at about 5:15 PM we noticed that our other good friend Paige was behind the refreshment center bartending, so we decided to go sit at the bartop and hang out with her. This was going well for awhile when all of a sudden the ginormous assistant manager Lori was standing right next to me, she didn't look too happy when she said, "So, you have the nerve to come in here and eat even after protesting?" I just turned back around and said, "yeah, what can I say, I love the fries." I could tell that things were going to be pretty icy between us, but she then turned he attention to Chris and Gary and began striking up slightly more cordial conversatinos with them about what was new in their lives.

She talked to them for awhile and then left and I thought that was the end of it, but then a couple minutes later I felt a tap on my right arm and there she was again. That's when she told me, "I'm going to try to be as polite about this as possible, but you are not welcome here, so finish up your fries pay for them and then leave." I was kind of shocked, not only because such a big girl had snuck up on me so stealthily twice, but also because I thought that was kind of ballsy for Lori. Paige later suggested that she probably went in and called Sabrina, the general manager, about what she should do about me sitting at the bar. Good call Paige. So there I was looking like a dumbass who just got kicked out of Red Robin, not knowing what to do because my friends had just ordered big beers so I basically just left and then came back 10 minutes later after Lori had left and my friend Becky had taken her spot. While I was gone I guess Lori took Paige into the office and told her that me sitting at the bar was a big "slap in the face" and that they should just all know from now on that I'm not welcome there. To which Paige reportedly responded that she wouldn't kick me out and did not want to get involved after which Lori responded that the next time I protested she would be calling the cops because I guess her boss, Stephanie, had been getting calls about my protest. WOW, I had no idea that going in to get some fries and some lemon water would cause such a big fuss, but oh well.

So it goes without saying that I HAD to continue my protest the next day, which is what I did yesterday from 6:08ish to 6:40. Chuck, one of the regulars at Red Robin, was walking by and told me that I should get a lawyer after I told him I was kicked out the night before, and then he asked if he could get a picture of me protesting so that he could give a copy of the picture to Lori. I was kind of surprised by Chuck's support because I guess I always just assumed that I annoyed him whenever he came in. I got a couple of honks for the short time I was out there and a girl that was looking for a job asked to hear my story and told me that she was planning on going in to apply for a job at RR. I told her it was lots of fun and that I would not be offended if she went in and got an application.

So that's the latest kids, I pretty much plan on picking up where I left off and plan on continuing being a pain in Red's ass. I just got done sending an email to corporate asking them what their policies are on kicking people out of the restaurant with a short summary of what happened to me. If they didn't know about what was going on before, then I guess they'll find out now. They said it should take about 2 days to reply, but I will keep you posted.

Cheers and Happy New Years all around,

Joe

RRR 6/7

Thu, 9 Dec 2004

Day six was pretty mild and uneventful. I got to my corner around 6:18ish and left by 6:54 because Elias came to hang out with me and we were getting bored and wanted to get some coffee.

I did have one guy roll down his window as he was turning the corner to tell me that "Life's not fair man." Eli and I just cheered as he went by.

And one of the regulars, Chuck, told me to "hang in there." I'll try Chuck, I'll try.

What do you calll cheese that isn't yours?

Joe

"Nacho Cheese"

"Listen" by Randy Robbins

Randy Robbins | Listen | 4K from Travels Through Images on Vimeo.

Randy Robbins is an exceptional friend of mine. When I caught myself replaying his latest track "Listen" over and over again with a tear in my eye and a revitalized heart, I knew it had touched a special chord.

Randy and I met in 2006 when I literally fell into him during our training as waiters at a large chain Italian restaurant. He was a fairly athletic dude and a stranger. I remember being worried in that first moment of his reaction. However, instead of getting irritated with my clumsiness, he greeted me with a hand up and a grin.  Since then he's been one of the truest friends that I could ask for.

He's the kind of friend that will roll out for a Halloween party in homemade costumes with full confidence.  The kind of friend that doesn't need to sugarcoat his feedback. The kind of friend that will beat his chest to remind you he's a man and get you fired up as well when you need to get in touch with your inner caveman. The kind of friend that challenges you to an impromptu wrestling match and still gives you grief for the souvenir mark on your wall. The kind of friend that will drop what he's doing and come down to help you pack up your mother's house without asking for anything in return. He's an exceptional friend.

Since our days of waiting tables for tips our professional paths have taken different directions. My road has taken me down a fairly safe, yet still exciting route. I've been blessed with several opportunities that were a function of timing as much as my own ability to end up in my current role, a position with a great company that allows me to focus on a passion.

Randy's main priority has always been his music.  All of his actions have an end game of "how will this help my music?" That focus is something I've always admired. A lot of us have had stray thoughts enter our heads of "Oh man, wouldn't it be cool if I could just sing/act/draw/write/work out/etc. all day for a living?" Few of us have the stomach to follow this through and endure all the highs and lows of that rollercoaster. Randy is strapped in and fully committed to his ride. He's willing to do what it takes to get by (building fences, cutting concrete, working for a wholesale supercorp) while pouring his heart into doing what it takes to progress his craft. He has great highs like networking with top talent in the industry and getting glimpses behind the curtain most of us won't get. He has great lows like having to get up at 4 AM for a job he's not really jazzed about or bouts of self doubt that can randomly punch someone in the gut and take you down for months at a time.

Through the highs and the lows though he is following his own path and chasing down his passion with the tenacity of a stubborn bulldog. He won't let this go. He won't sell himself, his talents, or his opportunities short. His journey is a reminder of prioritizing why we're all here.

This song is haunting in its frustration, it's hope, it's tenacity. Even if you're not out there completely on your own, it's message of being true to yourself and leaving it all out on the field resonates. The spritzing of your soul that the smooth bars and bright delivery leave behind can't be denied. It's a refreshing feeling when you feel like you could use some relief from carrying the weight of worldly expectations on your back.

The world does a job of beating us up, of taking people that don't follow traditional paths of success and just slamming them day after day with doubts, rejection, frustrations that would subdue normal people into getting in line. This song is an anthem to those weary travelers. It's an inviting cabin with a wise old woman that has a bowl of stew, a hug, and a reassuring "you're doing the right thing" whispered in your ear as you rest your feet and get out of the storm for a bit. It's a reminder to follow and chase down the message in your own heart, not to be bound by the expectations of others.

I'm thankful for friends like these. These are the kind of people that are going to leave their mark. They aren't the ones on their deathbeds with "if only I had..." on their lips. We've all made enough mistakes to give in. The ones that don't are the ones that inspire. Their journeys make the risks and stretches that I take in my own life small in comparison. They remind me to pop my head up every once in a while to ensure the finish line I'm heading toward is something I can be proud of once I arrive.

Thank you to all I know out there that are following it in.

Ice Bucket Schmice Bucket

I’ve seen a new trend lately. Starting off slowly, but growing in frequency, articles of derision/annoyance/disappointment toward the recent ice bucket challenge meant to raise awareness for ALS.

The world does a pretty good job of grinding us down, it doesn’t need our help. There’s no need for people to passively aggressively insinuate the participants of the ice bucket challenge on their FB feeds are missing the point/sheeple/cheap. (If you are upset by what you are seeing in your FB feed, I’d invite you to read this).

A campaign to raise awareness has done just that. People are talking about ALS like I’ve never seen, I myself didn’t know that ALS was the same thing as Lou Gehrig’s disease until a few weeks ago. It’s also accomplished to raise 9x what it normally raises during a similar time frame (source). I’ve seen a myriad of year over year claims that vary widely, but I’ve yet to see one that says ALS is raising less money than this same time last year.

Before you express disgust/contempt, let’s ask how disgusted these charities have been with the influx of incremental capital. If they’re not bothered by it, what right does anyone else have to be? It’s not our call to decide who should be offended by something and decide to speak up on their behalf when they have no qualms. Let’s put the role of umbrage by proxy to rest. If the people you are offended for aren’t offended…..let it go (words included).

We should be less concerned about poking holes into something and wanting to be able to say “See I told you that was dumb/that wasn’t going to work/that was bogus” first. The moment when creative ideas are met with more people willing to tear it down than build it up will be a sad moment in human history. Small ideas can have huge impacts. Yes they can. We should be encouraging people to dream and take risks rather than seek shelter on the banks of the “I told you so” shore. I know it’s safer there, but you see so much more if you dare to venture into uncharted waters.

Surfing Analyzed

I'm in Hawaii.  I've just wrapped up a 2 day conference sitting in an auditorium....inside.  It's 5 PM on a Friday and I fly out back to the mainland early in the morning.  I've been in meetings all week and have yet to enjoy any of the sensory pleasures that one enjoys when they are in Hawaii.

I feel the regret begin to seep through my capillaries.  "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING!?" my body screams.  "YOU'RE IN HAWAII, BUT YOU COULD JUST AS EASILY BE IN BETHESDA.  EXPERIENCE YOUR ENVIRONMENT!!  THERE WILL BE TIME TO SIT IN ANOTHER CONFERENCE ROOM WHEN YOU GET HOME!!"

I power down my laptop, pack my notepad away filled with forecasts, trends, and a handful of interesting numbers I will soon forget and I fully accept my new mission of immersion.  Flee the scene, shirts get untucked, and I am back in my hotel room with a sense of purpose.

Seconds after the door closes behind me, clothes are gone.  I can no longer be encumbered by buttons, belts, deadlines.  Primal caveman mode has kicked in.  I grab the essentials (cash, my ID), begrudgingly put on my swim trunks and make my way through the lobby shirtless, shoeless and on my way to the closest surf shop.

I exchange paper with a merchant and he agrees to let me borrow his finest apparatus for 2 hours.  I walk through the tourist-trap that is Waikiki with a sense of "look at these corporate drones" and I'm in the water in less than 6 minutes (or 1.8 Jack Johnson songs.)

I've never surfed before, but that doesn't seem to concern me as much as it probably should.  I can snowboard and wakeboard and am filled with the arrogance of a typical American male.  I'm resigned to the fact that I may fall a couple times, but I'm sure I'll be a pro by wave 5.

Mother Nature and Experience are a humbling combination.

The waves aren't particularly "epic" this evening, but don't let me convince you that was the only thing holding me back.  I discovered pretty quickly that my balance was nowhere near where I thought it was.  After paddling out to the waves, most people calmly straddle their boards, relax and wait for a wave to approach that they think will be worth pursuing.  My approach is more of a sloppily slap my way out to a spot I think looks about right and try to look graceful as I convulse back and forth like I've got the only board that is possessed by an despotic, mechanical bull.  While everyone else enjoys their quiet, self-reflecting, zen moments, I'm flailing around like a panicked hen.

When the occasional cease-fire between my cerebellum and surf board takes place and I'm able to serenely sit on my board like a sane person, I wait for waves to come at me and lift me into surfing folklore.  "There was this guy, right.  He was this surfing prodigy that couldn't stay on his board when it was still, but when he got up on a wave.... oh bruddah, watch out.  That mainlander could carve!"

"Wave" I've discovered is its own separate language.  And I don't know how to read it.  It is truly an art to know where to position yourself and be able to sense with your soul when a wave is going to grow into something worth pursuing.  As I paddled around like an idiot chasing inconsequential swells down with maximum effort, the locals just sit and calmly wait.  I spend the next 90 minutes misjudging my reads and marveling at those around me that seem to be making something out of nothing.  People are popping up all around me riding the water with ease.  If the winner is the chef that makes the best dish with the same ingredients, then I'm in trouble...

I spend the last 20 minutes on the water trying to appreciate the moment for what it was, reflecting on how this experience could be an allegory for my own life, and worrying that with all the splashing around I'm doing a shark would obviously pick me as the fattest, slowest, most vulnerable seal.

I decide to paddle in and find myself lingering 20 yards from shore where a paid instructor is giving his pupils some basic tips.  I make a pact with myself that next time the $30 investment for a lesson will be worth the price.  He flashes me a quick, "You going to pay for this brah?" look.  I continue my paddle to shore.

I come out of the water humbled by the ass-kicking, but grateful for the opportunity.  I take a couple steps and put my chin up.  I realize something.  No matter how pathetic my attempts were out there in the surf, everyone looks the same walking out of the water to the people that are stationed safely on the beach.  I'm wet and I have a surfboard under my arm, who the hell knows how well I did out there beside me?  I went out there and gave it a shot, the people on land watched.  We are all bound by the same limits of ability, our willingness to test those limits is what differentiates us.

I catch the eye of a cute tourist.  She smiles.

"How was your day?"  the shop owner asks as I return my board.

"No regrets," I grin in reply.

Two Different Ways

Most people are lucky to have a strong female influence in their childhood.  I was lucky enough to have two.  One was my mother, a single woman running her own business, living on a farm with a myriad of animals and taking care of a human son.  The second was my great aunt, Mona, in Los Angeles.  She never had any children of her own, but spoiled me like a mo-fo.  She would use any holiday as an excuse to ship boxes of presents up my way.  She would write letters to me as herself, her pets, and other random characters so I always felt like I had an army of love behind me.  This gift of confidence was invaluable to the shortest kid throughout his school years, the weirdo that came to school with patches on his jeans before they were cool.  My favorite athlete growing up was Joe Montana.  She got me a signed, framed Joe Montana picture for my 10th birthday.  She finally came clean a couple years ago that it was forged, by then I appreciated the gesture more than the resale value.

Both have now passed on.  My mother 5 weeks ago and my aunt just over a week ago.  I just got the call about my aunt today.  With both happening so closely to each other, it definitely gets a person thinking about all kinds of things.  One of the questions that comes up is which type of departure is easier to deal with: a quick, unexpected death or a drawn out, bed-ridden ordeal?

After you accept that there is nothing you can do or say to the person anymore, you can only make sure you did the best with the moments/interactions you had.  Without being able to ask the person posthumously on how they would rate their moments/interactions with you, you are left to your own imagination.  This can open the door for uncontrollable waves of guilt to smash you to the floor.  Without the person there to shut the door, your mind can conjure all sorts of "If I had only..." scenarios.  This can be crippling.

In answering this "which is worse" question, I recognize how lucky I have been in both of my female influences.  The last note that my mother sent me in the mail was, "Joseph Michael Mangan you are a good person/kid.  I love you, Mom."  She also left a note for me to find if  I ever had to go through her things telling me how proud she was of me.  One was a lucky coincidence, a small expression of love.  The other was a planned, planted note that would have otherworldly powers to dispel any shrouds of doubt or guilt.  These are both great individually, but to have both of these gifts is something I know many people do not get to experience.

My aunt was strong until the end, she has been bed-ridden for the last 3 years.    She was able to hang onto her mind the entire time and even wrote down family history accounts about my grandmother, etc. that would have gone extinct with her.  Transferring this tribal knowledge was something I would not have thought of, but I am grateful she had the foresight to put pen to paper.  She was always blunt with me during our conversations, letting me know that she was ready to go.  In her words, it could not come soon enough.  She never let me worry about her.  She did not want her health to impact my life in any way.  Even at the end, she wanted to protect me.  I learned today that even as her health was failing, she would not let anyone reach out to me because she did not want to cause any additional stress in my life.

In the end all you can hope for is closure.  Whether it is a random freak accident or a 3 year battle in a bed,  I think either scenario has equal potential for everlasting heartache and years of regret.  In my situation, with my separate cases coming to a end so closely together, I cannot help but feel fortunate.  Soaking it all in, I cannot help but look at things through this perspective.  When you know you are loved despite your sporadic call record, you becoming your own person, your spotty visiting schedule, what else do you need?

Why let people wonder if you love them when you can tell them?

Joesop Fable: Mr. Bull and Mr. Sloth

Mr. Bull and Mr. Sloth are good friends.  They work together in an advertising office and often eat lunch together.  One day at lunch Mr. Bull looked at his phone, snorted his nose, and started hoofing the ground.  Concerned, Mr. Sloth asked, “Why Mr. Bull, you seem very upset about something.  Please proclaim your concern.  I would be very interested in reversing your mood so we can continue with our delectable lunch.” 

To which Mr. Bull replied, “Oh, it is election season and I am so sick and tired of my newsfeed being overrun by everybody’s vapid political opinion.  The cacophonous clamoring enrages me tremendously!  Their updates make the capillaries in my corneas pulse with ire.  I am not concerned with their thoughts on politics and do not appreciate my newsfeed being overrun with condensed bile.”

Mr. Sloth listened to Mr. Bull vent as he masticated his maple leaf and sunflower petal whole wheat pita.  After chewing thirty two times, swallowing, and chasing it with a swig of chocolate mole milk Mr. Sloth asked, “These opinions that you are complaining about overtaking your newsfeed, who forms them?”

“Peers that I have identified in one way or another as a friend,” Mr. Bull replied.

“Well if their opinions make your blood boil so forcefully, have you considered reevaluating why you are friends with them?  If the content on your newsfeed is formed by animals you have confirmed as friends, then are you not responsible for what you are seeing? ”

With that Mr. Bull’s horns went flaccid with introspection and he moved on with his day.

Moral of the story:  Complaining about something you can act on gets you as far as words will go.