The Comfy Corner

So I often wonder what Harry's life would have been like post Hogwarts if he hadn't had to defeat Voldemort and destroy the horcruxes. Like, what if Voldemort had died the day he killed his parents and that was that? What if he graduated an aimless college grad like the rest of us? I imagine he would be going through what I'm currently going through. He considered grad school for like .2 seconds and decided against it. He then wandered from job to job trying to figure out what direction he actually wanted to take his life in. He interned at the Ministry of Magic for a summer (he hated it but he learned a ton), then he moved to London for a bit to experience city life (felt lonely and ADD), then he decided to travel the world for a bit (met a bunch of awesome sorcerers but missed that sense of home), and then he decided to visit Hogwarts again and ended up spending the next summer pouring butter beers for peeps at The Three Broomsticks and complaining about poor tips. These are essentially the lifestyles I've experienced over the past year and can't decide which I prefer...

1) The intern - I started my internship the day after graduation arriving slightly hung over with emotional remnants of the previous night still visible in my slightly bloodshot eyes. Just like Harry's internship at the Ministry, I learned a ton, made some amazing friends, but I also worked my ass off and finished the summer battered, broken, and in need of about a month of missed sleep.

2) City Boy - I spent the next few months a slave to New York City. As is the case with most new, young New Yorkers I experienced 3 months of crazy ADD. So many things to do, so many places to go and not a single idea of where to start or where to focus my energies. I spent too much money, had some horrible jobs, some awesome jobs, saw a lot of amazing theatre, took a lot of classes, but somehow managed to feel like I was going nowhere and the city was flying past me as I scrambled to pick out something useful from the rush. In the end, I picked out a tour.

3) Tour - Tour, for me, was kinda like an internship on the road. I learned a lot, I made some awesome friends, saw a lot of awesome places, but I finished a battered and broken boy. What I loved about this lifestyle: I didn't have to wash my towels, make my bed, or clean my room. What I hated: having no sense of home. I learned that I am a homebody. I like to have my bed, my keyboard, a kitchen.

4) Retirement - This is my current lifestyle. There is a direct ratio between how hard I'm working and how many blogs I publish each month. And I am currently twiddling my thumbs doing a show once or twice a week (the life of being in one show at a rep company). This is a welcome change to my previous lifestyle, but I am still missing that sense of home.

So what lifestyle do I prefer most thus far? I've learned more in the last year about myself and my craft than I probably did in four years of college. But I must say that the lifestyle I prefer most is my senior year of college lifestyle. I was living with an amazing room mate. I had amazing friends that I saw regularly. I was comfortable in the city I lived in (even though I wasn't the biggest fan of that particular city). And I had a sense of momentum to my life. It was headed in a clear direction with a clear goal at the end (graduation). So I think what I need to do is recreate those circumstances as best as I can. Move back in with Vanessa, set clear goals for myself, have a weekly thing to look forward to, and focus my energies on a couple clear things instead of throwing a wide net at the entire city of New York. Stay comfy y'all.

2:30AM on a Tuesday night, I am awoken by the raucous chatter of young hooligans beatin' their gums loudly in my kitchen as if it were a regular speakeasy. Blearily, I stumble out of my bedroom door to tell the young rag-a-muffins to pipe down and I remind them of the time of day. The next evening I settle into my bed with a blanket and a cup of tea and watch "The Truman Show" with a candle burning and a chocolate brownie cheesecake in my hand. The morning after that, I go to get my mail (a linen pocket square that I've been waiting for anxiously). On my way back from the mail, however, I ran into some buddies of mine and shot the shit for an hour and a half on Main street, complaining about the pace of New York City and how you can avoid getting mugged by simply screaming the word, "WHAT?!" at your pursuer, and the practicality of those new-fangled toe shoes and how they might cure an aching back. This conversation was quite taxing so I settled in for an afternoon nap post retrieving my mail. Now I find myself sitting on the porch on Main Street, sipping coffee and blogging.

What does this say about my personality? Well, I am an old man. A regular wet blanket through and through. I avoid activities that might excite my weak heart. When I go to bars, I go to quiet bars and I drink gimlets. I am a home body. I prefer candles and Ella Fitzgerald to a night of clubbing. I prefer cooking an Ina Garten meal and listening to Michael Buble than going out to dinner. I prefer nostalgic comedies to loud thrillers. I prefer Rodgers and Hammerstein's classic melodies to the busy music of today's composers. Okay, so maybe it is also just says that I am a big homo, but in general I think it says that I just prefer my peace and quiet to the incessant noise of a juice joint.

And I've come to realize that this isn't necessarily a great quality of mine. This is a part of my personality that I have to actively work on. I know that I need to get out and explore the world and I know that I'm not going to make any connections or get anywhere in life sitting in my bedroom. So, I sigh loudly and put on my club outfit on occasion and bump and grind with the best of them. But, it's just so much ya know? The loud music, the people hitting on you, the embarrassing drunken confessions of your friends. My senses can only handle so much! If only we could go back to the days of sitting around in our drawing rooms smoking cigars and drinking port and we could call that a crazy night. But alas, we've reached a point where a "crazy night" involves hash being slipped into the hooka and then that crazy Australian girl from the Cirque trying to give you a "space cake" and you waking up inside of giant metal tube with your pants off and no recollection of how you got there. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I can't keep up with kids these days! I haven't the energy and if I tried, then I fear the ole ticker might give out. So I'll content myself with my Ella, my port, and my blog and occasionally, when I'm provoked  enough, I'll put on my red pants and hipster glasses, get wasted, and pose for Warhol-worthy photos in the clubs with the rest of them. Stay comfy y'all.

It has been a mere six months since I walked away from my last restaurant job, the dark sleet of New York's skies washing over my tired skin, as I let the sweet burden of horrible-job-syndrome lift off my aching back, celebrating the freedom of just having quit a survival job that was sucking away the soul of my being. Now, I celebrate a return to the restaurant business in an environment that does the opposite of suck soul. It injects soul. Feeds my soul. It is called, "The Far Dog."

This tiny restaurant is situated on the main street of Creede, CO and is celebrating its 17 day anniversary. And I am fortunate enough to have been there from the first cup of fresh brewed Lavazza coffee set in front of a customer. You may be thinking, "Far Dog? What kind of a name is that for a restaurant?" Well, the restaurant is named after the owners' dog, Farley. That's right folks, it is named after a puppy. It's a tiny, comfy restaurant, in a tiny, comfy town, named after the cutest puppy that lazes at the front door greeting customers and happily accepting food donations. In other words, it is my comfy corner in Creede. It's the first time I've worked at a restaurant that I actually want to eat at and spend time at outside of work. When I'm not working there, I'm drinking there, or meeting friends there. It is an amazing place filled with amazing food and amazing people.

And the clientele is incredible. The people of Creede are a patient people. A kind, generous people. A people that tips people in fair quantities. A people that is not of the foreign/European/non-tipping variety of people. And it has been wonderful! However, just the other day as I floated about the Far Dog lost in my dream of a waiting job, one customer quickly yanked me out of my cloud and slammed me back to the harsh reality that there are assholes everywhere you go. He was apparently an extra in one of the "Twilight" films which gave him some sort of higher rank among the other piddly little human beings of the world. He is the type of person that would see me in one of them-there theatre shows and say something demeaning like, "You should maybe consider pursuing this as a profession..." As if that isn't what I'm already doing. As if I was just dabbling in the field for a short time. Well, this gentleman was eating breakfast at the restaurant and asked for a piece of toast. And, for some reason, toast is not the quickest thing in the world to make at our restaurant because it has to be made on the grill. So after about three minutes of toast waiting (it was being plated and sent out after three minutes) he stops me and says, "Forget the toast! It's too late now! What am I supposed to do with toast now?!" I smiled at him and said, "Okay!" and then proceeded to feel that sinking feeling in my heart. That familiar feeling of inadequacy and failure. And I started my internal monologue, "I could tell you a thing or two you could do with the toast... SO sorry sir that toast in Creede takes a minute longer that LA toast. I bow at your feet in toast serfdom."

And that is why I've decided that I'm not a good waiter. Yeah, I do the job well, I'm personable and good with customers, but I'm also too emotionally involved. My heart hurts because a piece of toast didn't make it to the table. In order to be a good waiter you have to have a heart of steel. You have to be able to stand up for yourself and not let people demean you or put you down. That's the only way to get respect in the restaurant business. And I don't think I quite have that yet. But, in any event, the one asshole toast experience aside, I am thrilled to be working in a restaurant that is letting me keep my soul. It's a great feeling. Stay comfy y'all.