The Brooks who are funnier than you

Last night, I dreamt I met Mel Brooks. It was in the late seventies. I was waiting tables at a crappy restaurant in NYC. Mel Brooks and Albert Brooks came in to eat at the lunch counter. I shook Mel Brooks' hand and talked to Albert about the latest movie they had in production together. They left without eating. However, a woman sitting beside them ate french fries covered in bacon and BBQ sauce. Then, a drunk Mac Davis showed up. He started singing and wouldn't stop.



Then, it was suddenly the late eighties. And, I moved to LA. I was looking for jobs, but got lost in some winding street bazaar. Stoners and queens selling old clothes, candles, and bongs. I stopped to try on a pair of pants. But, someone stole MY pants while they were off. A black cat kept following me everywhere. I stepped gum at one point. And, I spent a significant amount of time trying to wipe it off on things as I continued to walk. Eventually, I got to an open farmer's market full of yuppie eco-lovin' vegan types. They were all wearing the same green plastic shoes. It was subtly sci-fi. Then, I had lunch with Sean Carnage. He said he'd try help to get me a job. I was still telling everyone I saw how I met Mel Brooks.

In real time news, I swallowed a huge chip from one of my canine teeth last night while eating hard, sourdough pretzels. At first, I thought maybe a piece of pretzel was stuck to my tooth, feeling all jagged-like. But, then I realize it was my tooth. By this point, it was too late-- I had already swallowed my chip. Then I proceeded to throw a temper tantrum. "It's not fair! I brush my teeth AT LEAST three times a day AND floss!!! And, I don't smoke or drink soda!" I know why it happened. I have been grinding and clenching my teeth since I was a toddler. I have another crack in one of my back molars from the same thing. It torques open when I eat sometimes. And, it hurts enough to make me wanna drop whatever I am holding. Because I never had braces and have pretty fine looking teeth (which receive great care), I was always convinced I'd trip and fall during my drunken days, cracking off my front teeth. Now, I thought I was safe. Someone told me it was a sign that I am getting old. And, I guess I realize, despite my preemptive measures, it will just be me and Old Chopper one day. I am more concerned how these events are influencing my bite mark impressions.

The State of Affairs

I was told never to discuss politics, religion, or money with strangers. Well, let's get this out of the way now. I am a non-practicing Catholic, considering myself mostly agnostic. Now, on to money! My father once told me NEVER ask how much a man (or woman) earns for a living. Because, it will either make you feel bad or him feel bad. Of course, my father didn't tell me that part. He gives you the meat and you have to trim the fat yourself. So, that said, I make no more or less than any one I know. Because, I don't know how much other people make. I don't pay attention to other people's finances. I pay attention to the coming and going in this house. Sometimes, well mostly, it goes as fast as it comes. And, the failing market with its inevitable bail out? We had nothing to lose before it all went down, so we lost nothing. However, the prospect of paying for other's loss is infuriating. I understand the stock market exists to give deserving and needy business that extra boost it needs. But, I do not for one minute believe there is any investor (since Mr. Ross died) investing out of some sense of altruism or patriotic belief in the growth of capitalism. Those who invest have the extra money to invest. Meaning, they don't need to roll pennies to buy a loaf of bread. So, they have it to begin with... and they want more.

Or the retirement funds? I don't want to be a 70 year old either pitchin' plates like a crypt-keepin' Flo at Mel's Dinor [sic] or a stealin' cat food from the Dollar Store for dinner retiree. Either way... more is more! I wish upon entering the feeble years you could just pitch your accomplishments and contributions to an unbiased, unaffiliated council and go free range in some sort of Pleasant Ridge interment camp. I think my idea of retirement homes is a bit skewed, though. I have the nightmare of urine-stinking hallways filled with rambling wheelchair bound residents, pushing themselves back and forth by the heels like battery charged Matchbox cars on a circular track. That vision is nicely balanced out by all the Duplex Planets I have read.

Speaking of work, as you may have read in my last ventilation, I can not stand nor understand corporate retail. I have finally decided after all these year of thinking hard work, a level-head & logic, pride, and stamina were to be continually pursued-- I am completely out of step with the rest of the current US workforce. Example, a woman who shows up early for every shift, who works hard her entire shift, and who stays late if asked has been told she will be fired if she accepts one more out of date coupon. No, not me. However, the former burned out Meth head who doesn't show up and doesn't even bother to call, who has to sit on a stool her entire shift because she has a self-diagnosis blood clot in her leg, and who continues to whine about work although she is sitting on a stool her entire shift doesn't suffer any consequences of her behavior. NONE! Not a one! Whhhhhaaaaahhhh? I know this is a crazy mixed up world, but really? Really? Really. I can collect scrap metal. Or I can... anything is better than corporate retail.

Things at the restaurant are still going really well. I think my husband likes it when I come home smelling like braised lamb shank. I got my youngest sister a job with me. It's funny, although she is twenty now, I still feel like I need to watch over her. Like, if a someone addresses her, I'll walk over and say, "What's going on now?" It's gotta be a bit irritating to her. However, I am almost seventeen years older than her-- and, she will always be the baby out of us six kids. So, don't mess with her or we'll all clobber you!Okay, I mean, our brothers will clobber you. By the time sissy was walking on her own two feet, I was out of the house and out of town. So, I never really spent a whole lot of time with her as she grew up. I'm glad to have some time with her. Hopefully, I can show her what an ass I have made of myself during various phases of my life to keep her from doing the same. But, I guess we all have to be an ass when the time comes.

My sister and I also had a nice talk about parenting. I brought up the pendulum theory. She and I have different mothers. She wasn't allowed to leave the state unchaperoned by an adult until she graduated high school. I, on the other hand, was going to Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds in seedy Cleveland bars with a fake ID at the age of fourteen. Dead shows in Wisconsin at the age of sixteen. Etc, etc. So, now I know I will be a hammer when it comes to the girls. Their dad and I have been around the block a few times. We are very familiar with the gutter around the block as well. It is a frightening prospect because I also understand the more strict you are the more likely your children will rebel. But, you say, all those harsh times made you who you are today, a soft and cuddly kitten. Don't my girls deserve that opportunity to completely screw up the first thirty some years of their life, too? No. No, they don't. Also, I plan on having the girls learn a trade before going of the college.