The Look of Worry

“What’s wrong Joe? You look a bit distant. Something happen at work today.”
“No honey, it’s nothing. I’m okay.”
“Joe, you’re not okay. Something’s up ... what is it?”
The only advice I can offer to myself is practically wisdom at best, while words of inspirational wisdom coming from old African proverbs suggest that ”It’s not work that kills, but worry.”
“Joe, cut the crap! Tell me what’s on your mind.”
“Sweetie, I just told you, everything is fine.”
“If it’s not work, is it about bathroom? Cause I just about had it with that shower. Did you call the landlord today?”
Hmmm. Oh yeah, I was supposed to make that call today. She’s really pissed because not only are the loose tiles in the shower causing it to rain in the downstairs family room but when she was showering the damn heavy porcelain soap dish became unattached from the wall nearly smashing her foot.
“Well?”
“Well, what?”
“Did you make the friggin’ call? About the shower? What’s wrong with you?”
Why the hell does she think something’s wrong? Does she think she has some special powers? She thinks she knows me. She thinks she knows everything. Well she doesn’t! I’m just fn fine!
“See?”
“See, what?”
“It’s written all over your face. It’s bad. It’s really bad. Did someone die? You’re afraid to tell me, right? Did someone die?”
“No! Honey, no. Nobody died. At least nobody I know.”
“Then what is it? I can tell when you’re worried about something. Talk to me. I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think. Sometimes you worry about nothing.”
“Really, hon, it’s no big deal. It’s nothing.”
“I knew it! What’s wrong? You better tell me right now!”
“Alright! Alright! Jeez! I’ll tell you.”
“Okay then, tell me. What’s bothering you?”
“It’s my blog. It’s being reviewed. I’m afraid they won’t like it. Sometime’s they’re mean … I asked for it a while ago … Since then I keep going back … Every day … To see the reviews of other blogs. I admit it. I’m worried. I’m worried about what I’m about to receive. This could be disastrous. I may end up scarred for life. I … I … ”
“WAIT! Hold on! This is about your friggin’ blog?”
“Well? Yeah. Aren’t you listening? They may not like it.”
“Joe, For heaven sakes! Grow some canolis. And stop scaring me half to death. Stupid blog.”
**crickets**
“You know, you could be a little more understanding.”
“Stupid blog.”

Ask And Ye Shall Receive (gulp!)

In the Toilet

“Joe, I think there’s some confusion over by the restrooms.”
“Thank you, mister bar patron, I’ll look into it right away.”
During the past week my stress level has risen a bit and the reason for the spike appears to have “toilet” written all over it. Yes, what I’m saying is that it has been a bad week for the bathrooms, johns and restrooms in my life.
You may ask …
“Joe, what do you mean when you say these lavatories are part of your life?”
“Well, inquisitive reader …”, I’d say, “ … they are, at least these, in particular.”
The ones I speak of, I enter, for one reason or another, at least once a day, more often than not, a few times a day.
“So, Joe, when you say bathrooms, how many are you talking about?”
“Good question, unknown person who is asking, I would be talking about seven different bathrooms.”
Yes, that’s right. I have seven different bathrooms in my life right now that I personally oversee. I have a responsibility to make sure they are in tip-top working condition on a daily basis. Seven! Three at home and four at work.
Oh, and that’s not all. Two of these seven bathrooms account for six commodes and two urinals. You may have guessed, these two bathrooms are none other than the men’s and lady’s restrooms for our customers at the restaurant where I work. Many a person’s private parts have closely inspected these premises of which I speak. It’s not an easy job making sure that all feel comfortable when they visit. Maintenance for the expected optimum experience in these essential rooms is challenging indeed.
“Excuse me, Joe. Are you kidding? It’s the head you’re talking about, right? What’s the big deal?”
“What’s the big deal? I’ll tell you, man who is probably homeless, the big deal is a matter of dignity. That’s right. Dignity.”
Let’s face it, no matter what type of living quarters you occupy it is almost certain you have or at least share a bathroom. And just like any other room in the house, you care for it. You clean it. You decorate and furnish it. You occupy it for deeply personal reasons. You share it with other family members and visitors. It’s an important room. It needs to function properly. It needs to be fully operational at all times. Without it, you would feel less than human.
“Alright, Joe, so you are in charge of the toilets. We get it. So what’s the big stressful problem?”
“I’m glad you asked, inquisitive participant in my story, I’ll be quick and brief in my explanation.”
So it all started in the lady’s room where someone had to cover the toilet seat with toilet paper before they sat their ass down to do whatever and then decided they would tidy up by pushing all the paper from the seat into the toilet along with whatever else they already deposited and flushed it all down but it didn’t go down but instead overflowed all over the floor. The next female patron who knew enough not to use the stall with all the dark water spreading out from under it decided to use the stall at the other end of the room because the next stall she looked in on was already filling to the top with backed up water and after using the only toilet with less water than a swimming pool she thoughtfully flushed her whatever which now came back at her like a tsunami and so she fled the scene yanking up her pant legs and within a few minutes water crept like the blob from under the lady’s room door until it soaked the rug in the hall. Did I mention I had to attack the problem with an old plunger with no success? (G-g-g-gag!) Soon the men’s room bowls were filling and joined the party. For the rest of the shift we had to march customers through the kitchen and up to the employee bathroom. Then later in the week we closed down the lady’s room to gut it out and remodel it resulting in the commotion mentioned earlier when we had to make the men’s room a unisex bathroom resulting in long lines and embarrassing moments when parents escorting young daughters into the men’s room had to answer questions like … “How do you pee in that, mommy?” … And would you believe that some women were mortified to have to use a men’s room while other women admitted to never, ever having to step into one before? And then the bathroom upstairs had a problem where the water wouldn’t stop while refilling the tank and I had to reach in the tank to repair a broken chain link. And at home the upstairs shower is seeping into the loose tiles in the shower causing water to drip down from the ceiling in the downstairs bathroom causing two bathroom problems at once. And then the …
“Whoa! Whoa! Joe. Take a breath. Hold up a second. Calm yourself down. Stop already.”
“Oh, thank you, reader who recognizes the signs of oncoming heart attacks, I appreciate you looking out for me.”
Anyway, There’s more work to be done, both at work and at home to make my facilities most welcoming. But, it's my nature to look at the bright side. At least I don’t work in the restaurant shown below.


Now, if you would please excuse me ...
Got to go. Got to go. Got to go go go!

I'm an Adbay Oybay

“Joe, what is that? Is that a dirty picture?”
“Honey, no, of course not.”
“It looks like it to me. Is that for your blog?”
“Uhm, well, yeah, I was thinking of using it. It’s an ad for a new type of drink.”
“Right, uh-huh, it’s an ad. Suck and Blow, uh-huh right.”
“Really, hon, it’s from one of my restaurant trade magazines.”
“I can’t believe you’re going to put dirty pictures on your blog like those others I saw.”
I recently introduced her to some fellow bloggers, just to see her reaction. At one point I clicked over to ... ATTENTION!!! ... THIS IS PRACTICALLY AN ALERT CONCERNING THE FOLLOWING LINK ... CAUTION!!! ... ADULT HUMOR!!! ... CAUTION!!! ... I REALLY MEAN IT ... CAUTION!!! ... PROCEDE AT YOUR OWN RISK ... CAUTION!!! ... YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED ... CAUTION!!! (I promise that was the last CAUTION!!! ... oops! sorry) ... Infomaniac. Her jaw dropped as we scrolled down to the “Filthy Friday” posts. I never realized her eyes could pop open like they did. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. I explained the blog was different from mine because the blogger, who is from Canada and calls herself “MJ”, uses a lot of pictures to tell her stories. Most of them are a bit ... risque.
“Are these supposed to be funny?”
I couldn’t keep myself from laughing, mostly because of the expression on her face.
“Well, yeah, you don’t see the humor in these pictures? You have to read her words as well, so you can understand the pictures and her stories.”
“I just can’t believe them. Are they real people?”
“Of course they are honey.”
“Are these pictures of her and her friends?”
“ Well, no. Well, I don’t think so. She probably gets these pictures from somewhere on the Internet.”
“So now you’re going to use dirty pictures too? Please don’t. I like the way you’ve been doing it."
“ No, sweetie. Honest. I was going to write about something I read in a work magazine about a bar drinking gadget called Suck and Blow and the picture just shows two girls using the Suck and Blow tube.”
“Well, I don’t think you should change the way you’ve been doing your blog. You don’t need to be using sex to make yourself interesting."
“But, honey, what’s so wrong to once in a while show another part of my personality, you know, not the funny part but the, well, the “bad boy” side of me?”
“Hahahahahahaha … Oh, Joe … Hahahahahahaha … The “bad boy” side … see, that’s where you’re interesting … the funny side. When did you become a “bad boy”? Hahahahahaha.”
“Ooday ouyay owknay utwhay I’m ayingsay?”
“Huh? What?”
“I’ll owshay ouyay adbay oybay!”
“What? I’m not playing this game with you! I’m going back upstairs! You be dirty if you want to!”
“Ootay adbay! I essguay eelshay evernay owknay ootay ickclay on isthay inklay."

My Favorite Olympic Moment

I cannot hold out any longer.
Up until now I have not mentioned the word “Olympics” in any of my posts. Now, there is finally an Olympic moment I love that's worth sharing with my readers and friends.

Please watch this short video to the very end so that you may truly savor this outstanding feat of skill and endurance.

I give you … The 2008 Beijing Olympics’ Best …

I Blame Led Zeppelin

“Dad, why do you have the TV so loud?”
“Sorry, that’s you mother. She can’t hear a thing.”
“Uhm? Dad … Ma’s not even here right now.
I blame it on Led Zeppelin.
My hearing is shot! It had to be from all the rock concerts I attended back in the late sixties and early seventies. My wife’s hearing is just as bad. Honest. Sometimes a normal conversation between us sounds very much like a shouting match. When we watch TV the volume is always up. It’s one of the major reasons we do our best to isolate ourselves in single-family dwellings rather than condos or apartments. We would definitely be voted off the island for noise pollution.
“Waitress! I would like to see a manager!”
“Hi, my name is Joe and I’m the manager on duty here tonight. Did you ask to see me?”
“I just want to say it is very noisy in your restaurant. All I can hear is that rock music. We just came back from a funeral.”
“Oh sir, I am very sorry. I’ll try turning up the volume and I will see what I can do about that back urinal right away.”
I often find myself nodding my head or fake giggling at some comment that I clearly did not hear. If they’re smiling … I’m smiling right back. If their not smiling … I’m asking for an audio replay.
If you were to check my DVR remote closely you’d discover that the rewind and play buttons are the most worn. The wife and I continuously go back to hear something over and over again until at least one of us got it. Truthfully, she’s worse.
“Joe! Stop what did she just say?”
“I’m not sure. Who knows? I didn’t catch it either.”
“Then play it back.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t so important. Do I have to?”
“Joe! Are you friggin’ watching this with me, or what? How can you enjoy this if you don’t know what’s going on? Now please play it back. I think she said she’s going to marry Kyle.”
“Fine! Give me the remote.”
Stop. Rewind. Fast Forward. Stop. Play.
“There! She said not to worry that she’ll carry that pile. And who the hell is Kyle anyway?”
So I was fortunate to grow up in Boston where many legends made their debuts. I saw Led Zeppelin in 1969 at a small club called The Boston Tea Party during their first US Tour. I also had the opportunity to see them as a “super group” each year they returned to Boston. One time I even had first row tickets on the floor when they played at the Boston Garden. It was a far out groovy scene, man! I left that night wearing Plant and Page sweat.
“Joe! I'll be right back. I'm driving to the store.”
That's my wife. She's upstairs yelling that someone's arriving at the door so I have to go. But first, Check this out.
If you like Led Zeppelin and you like The Beatles and you like the song Stairway to Heaven … then you may like this ...