Go pay a courtesy call...

My friend, Gentle Giant, has started his own blog...go check it out and welcome him to the blogosphere... (and admire my graphics handiwork!)

:-)


Headed south for the weekend...catch you Monday!

Took these last night...

Apparently I was in somewhat of a "film noir" mood last night judging from a couple of these shots from around campus...

Updated Pics

Here is the updated link to my pics from the weekend. I went down to Paseo last night and took a couple shots--you'd think that taking pictures in the Paseo ART District wouldn't garner strange looks and bodily threats of getting run over on a through street that is less than 10 feet long, but alas. I braved the elements and got the first series of these to show for it. Make me feel good. Go take a peek. :-) Leave comments if you desire-I'm always on the lookout for constructive criticism.

Learn something new today?

I knew there was lots that I didn't know about men...but I had no idea. Now I need brain bleach thanks to the video.

Class III beverage alert. Consider yourself forewarned.

Cranky Epistles: Men puzzle me.

I finally had time

I enrolled this week in an online photography class. I've always wanted to take classes to make myself a better photographer (as you all know, I like to take pictures!), and I finally found a moment to do it.

It's great! I'll post my "classwork" occasionally for comments and critique...and I really do want critique. Since my mom tells me how good I am, I give you free rein (for this topic only, though!)

If you'd like to see other stuff I've done, cruise my archives. Photos are sprinkled around and about. The following photos are this week's assignments: get to know your camera's capabilities, and take pics while considering the basic tenets...

Go HERE to look at my slide show of today's pictures...then come back here to comment!

The taste of freedom

…is King's Hawaiian bread in the one-pound round tin. I love it because it's sweet, but for me, it's a holy experience. For several years in our church it stood in for Jesus' body in Communion, so now I always associate it with worship. Not entirely a bad thing, but when I eat it in other places, I really crave grape juice.

This may be one of the two negative things about this coming Sunday being my last at my church. Yes, I finally threw in the towel. It was sweaty and bloody and slightly streaked with dirt, but its tattered strands have come to rest at last. The choir director and I are leaving on the same day. Organgrinder will have to get along without us.

For the first time since middle school, I have free Sundays. I don't have to get up before the sun. I don't have to spend week nights cranking out music for worship. No more hasty arrangements because my orchestra that was normal last week is now a flute, a trombone, and six French horns. No more waking up at 3 a.m. on the day before Easter wondering what the introit music will be for tomorrow's ENORMOUS service and how I'm going to get from A-flat (jazz) to C (Christ the Lord Has Risen Today)…

Burned out? Check.
Frustrated? Check.
Ready to scream at and unceremonially choke the life from the SPR Committee? Check.

All seems to be in order.

Hasta la bye-bye, Organgrider!

In which I am somewhat pacified...

Last night, GG's friend called to find out what they intended to do about the waitress. He was told by the same manager who oversaw the incident that there was nothing they could do if a member of their wait staff decided to voice an opinion.

This once again irked me, so this morning I wrote a complaint and filed it online with their corporate office. Then I typed a letter and took it to Pearl's since I knew that the manager I see often works days. Come to find out, he is the boss, so I gave him the letter, and he had already received the Web complaint.

The other manager had not even mentioned the incident, and I told him exactly what had transpired, and he was shocked. After much laughter and discussion, he assured me that the proper disciplinary action would be taken.

Even if she's not fired, they now have paperwork for her file, and God help her if she does it again!

Anyone up for some Seafood Diablo Extra Special?

Restores my faith...mostly.

In which I am indignant and affronted

I hereby swear that every keystroke that is written into this post just happened an hour ago. No embellishments, no jokes, just straight up fact.

For those of you who know me at all, you know that my choice in restaurants is diverse, but when I find a place I like, I patronize it often (and usually eat the same thing each time). One such restaurant has been my choice in Cajun/spicy food for the past year or so, and since Pearl's moved locations, I darken their doorstep at least three times a week. One of these times is at 9:00 p.m. each Monday night. Gentle Giant and I come from rehearsal, go eat, then part ways until the next weekly venture.

Tonight began like any other Monday, except I should have known that something was in the air—it’s a full moon, but rehearsals went well. We got to Pearl’s around 9:10 as usual, and asked for our favorite waiter. After being told that he was cut, we settled for a girl we’d never seen before, and asked for our usual-type appetizer/salad/drink/entrée combo. We received the drinks and pitcher of tea in short order, followed closely by our salads and crab dip (together, nonetheless). By 9:40 we were beginning to be curious as to why other patrons were eating and leaving but we still had not received our entrees…and at 9:50 the manager makes the rounds, and we ask where our meal is. She comes back eight minutes later with our meals in hand and apologized that the ticket had been lost. She let us know that since the wait was so long that our meals would be taken care of. We thanked her and set in to eat our meals.

Less than a minute later, our absentee waitress came to see if we need anything, and I asked for a side of garlic bread, as I usually do since my dish of choice could peel paint off the walls on a normal night. She was gone for less than a minute, and returned, saying, (and all the quotes that are in quotes are verbatim. Promise.)

“No you can’t have bread. The kitchen is closed. The manager agreed.”

I thought several things were curious about the statement; in no particular order:

1. I received my HOT meal less than a minute before I requested bread. How could the kitchen be closed?

2. If indeed the kitchen were closed, why did she ask if I needed anything else?

3. Not only did she not apologize (i.e. “I’m sorry, but the kitchen is closed. Could I get you anything else?”), she was quite rude in the delivery.

4. Why would she say the manager agreed before I was even upset about anything?

After learning that I couldn’t have any bread, I asked for a to-go box so that I could eat it with my bread at home. She brought back two boxes, and while I was scraping my dish (watching our favorite waiter mosey about the other side of the restaurant, no less), she asked,

“Would you like any dessert?”

I cocked my head and gave her the old hairy eyeball, and responded, “Are you kidding?!?” She looked confused, so I explained, “You just told me the kitchen was closed, and that I couldn’t even have the bread that I requested with my dinner, yet you ask if I would like dessert?”

At this point, Gentle Giant and I got up to leave. She was still standing by the table, and almost shouted, “Well, aren’t you going to pay for your crab dip and tea?”

We looked at each other, then looked at her, and GG said, “The manager comped our meals.”

The waitress shouted at us,

“No! She comped your entrée only. What?!? Isn’t it good enough that we gave you $35 worth of food? I know you come in here every Monday night, but you’re lousy tippers. I can’t believe you expect perfect service, so you should just quit your bitchin’.”

No kidding. Remember the pledge. She actually did use those exact words to us.

GG stood up (he’s a little over 7 feet tall—he’s called Gentle Giant for a reason, people.) and towered over the waitress. He just looked at her and said, “Go get your general manager. Now.” She stood there for a beat or two, and he looked down and said, “Now, or you’ll have me in your face!”

She walks off to get the manager, who returns and asks what is wrong.

GG points to the waitress and says,

“SHE should be fired.”

“What happened?”

We relayed what had transpired, followed with the following commentary:

“Not only do we come in here every Monday, whether we are poor tippers or not is NOT a determinant of service. No, attitude is gratitude. If we receive great service, you receive a great tip. We WILL tip poorly for poor service.”

The manager nodded her agreement, gestured to our meal, and said, “This is taken care of.”

She looked at the waitress and said, “This will be.”

Before I determine my future pattern of patronage, I must find out what happened with the waitress. Never in my life had I been talked to like that by ANYONE, let alone someone who claims to be in the customer service business. However, I must commend the manager. She did the best she could considering the situation her employee caused in about 2 minutes.

The jury is still out.

...oh I almost forgot

Congrats to those of you who took double time to graduate. You're finally free! (but only with a coupon.)


...seriously though, good job.

How many times have I been tempted?

Let me count the ways...
1. 2000 OU/TX
2. 2000 OU/OSWho
3. 2001 OU/TX

... you get the idea.

I don't know which is the best part...

Cranky Epistles: Oy, my aching ears and head.

Is the best part:
A) The opening statement, "Have you ever heard the dulcet tones of 45 long-haired cats being dry-shaved (against the grain) with dull straight razors?" (One must admit...that hooked me right there, ladies and gents.)

B) The fact that that statement was related to a music recital

C) This paragraph: "Granted, she was largely full of shit anyway, so the fact that her mouth looked like a puckered anus was appropriate."

D) Or the final line of the piece, "The person who tells me I need bigger, fake boobs, plumper lips, and an inanimate forehead better be wearing their track shoes when they do it, because I will strike up a chorus of "The Tire Iron Boogie for Douchebags in D-Major" pretty darn quickly."



GAWD, I wish I could write like that!!!


...and on which instrument does one officially play "The Tire Iron Boogie" and is it allowable to modulate? I'd really like to see it in P-flat minor with a demented ninth.