Our ironman Scottish barkeep walked tonight. He collected his tips with a peace out. No notice. Nothing. It's so terribly inconsiderate and unprofessional. And yet, we all had his back. The minions at least. He worked eleven hour shifts 6 days a week. Good luck filling that.
Our pastry chef, my Sugarmama, bolted. And Sugarmama…give a shout if you’re still reading this. The minions miss you.
Our GM is on his way out.
I wanted to leave to handshakes, hugs, winks and sweet cheeks. I wanted to come back in a few months to have a drink...to see that the child I partially fathered had grown into a strapping young adult. Now, I'm starting to worry about the welfare of "One of LA's 5 hot restaurants."
Everyone has their breaking point. You have no idea. That’s all I can say. The employees of the Tower Bar are black eyed wives who come crawling back. He struck me with a hand of love, we say. And then we ask HIM to forgive US.
It's as if a domestic abuse consultant paid a visit to 8358 Sunset and began bludgeoning us with positive re-enforcement. You can do better than this...respect yourself, your body...you have the power to change your life...
Okay...It's not quite that serious. Yes, I’m a little concerned about the future of the Tower Bar, but they'll manage. They'll be fine. My child may have a few brush ins with the law...some petty things like underage possession, transportation and mob action...but he'll come out clean on the other end. After all, it's our trials that make us stronger. Trust my words. Write what you know, that's what they say.
What a dustfucking time of year. October...no man's land. The season is about to change. Well, never here...but if you're lucky, you know what I mean. I miss it. It's about that time when the months hold value. The grab hold of the heart variety. But still, they’re quite a ways away.
I'm trying to figure out this standstill. Maybe it's just me. One of my greatest gifflaws is knowing deep down...that I'm an incredibly self-absorbed person. I have to be. Think about it. In this life...in my life, the one and only thing I want to do is tell stories. Touch the masses, reach millions...all that good stuff. If I believe in my path, which I absolutely do, I have to believe that my view of the world is the view for which the masses blindly yearn…
Everyone’s waiting for someone to take their hand. Always.
I sit here, spout my life and know there’s temptation to define. Tell me who I am, go ahead. The thing is...I know my words inside and out. I know every implication behind every word. The little dance every phrase chooses or chooses not to make. If a word takes you by the hand and steps on your toe...it meant to. If it dips you carefully only to lose strength and drop you...it meant to. If it spins you round, makes you fall in love just before kissing you so perfectly sweet...well then you're just giving too much credit. I'm not that good…
In a blog.
The problem is that I'm living to save dimes. It’s expensive to be a free man in LA for December and January. And that’s what I need to be. I wake up every day and slug it out with my first draft. I'm looking at it right now. 87 pages. It's coming. Been a little over three weeks and tomorrow morning, round 18.
But in the back of my mind, I'm guilty of looking forward...slightly. And that's my greatest personal sin. Because dying tomorrow isn’t some bull shit motto to live life by. I absolutely mean it. I’m rarely guilty, but right now, it’s hard not to be. Can you blame? In these months coming, I'll let a heart do what it must...and thinking about it makes me smile.
But that's enough...for now. Cause these next 5 weeks will likely be a slugfest. And when they're gone...I'll miss them. And when they come back…somehow, I’ll be happy to see them again. Ain’t it funny?
You see what I'm saying?
Then don’t just read, listen. I wouldn’t be here if I thought I were wasting your time.
