Tail Lights or Score Board?
When or When Not?
Everyone has to learn to read, to write, to know the alphabet, to count, to learn good manners, and many other things. In trying to teach these things I like to use animals dressed as humans; it is more fun!
I’ve gotten some messages (none of them mixed!) reacting to my last two “Vacation” posts, all of which read along these lines
Vacation from what you lazy fuck! Go to work
I love unambiguous feedback. Some call it critical. I call it colorful. So, in response to that imperative, here I am filling up your heads with all the crap that falls out of mine. Don’t blame me, you asked for it.
One must realize that in this era of word-shaping and meaning-movement, I can play that game as well as any. When I take a step back and look at my body of work here on Substack, I have to be honest with myself: it’s impressive.
The quantity, I mean. The quality? Eh, that’s your call. As big around as a tuna can but can’t hit the bottom. Blind squirrel finds a nut.
My first post was on 12/30/2020. That’s 83 Friday posts ago. Six months in, I added the Monday post, so that’s about 50 or so there. The Friday posts average about 1500-2000 words and usually take 4-8 hours to create, research, compose, edit, and add music and graphics.
Sometimes, I load a bunch of thought-trains that never leave the station. Other times, I search and destroy ideas, none living past birth. I’m constantly emailing myself tidbits, photos, quotes, articles, and noncountable nonsensical nonsequiturs. And still on Wednesdays when I sit down and open Google Docs, I’m blank.
Mondays are easier, as they are more or less a one-take-hit. I like those posts to be more top of mind. Something I see or hear on my trip around the city. My life is a Richard Scarry BusyBook, a little blurry and confusing from afar, but, upon closer inspection, it provides a ton of variety and detail.
So vacation from what indeed I ask myself. The passing of Vin Scully this week has hit us ALL hard. For me, as for so many, his voice was as constant a fixture in my life as any of the elders in my family. He called games but described life. He was Google before Google. He never left his references hanging. His participles never dangled. The Ole Redhead explained every angle.
Engaging in a battle of word brevity, Vin Scully's admonishments ring louder in death than they ever did in life:
That really is my trademark. Day to day, week in, week out. If something happens and the crowd roars, I shut up.
The game is just one long conversation, and I'm anticipating that, and I will say things like 'Did you know that?' or 'You're probably wondering why.' I'm really just conversing rather than just doing play-by-play. I never thought of myself as having a style. I don't use key words. And the best thing I do? I shut up.
I try to call the play as quickly as I possibly can and then shut up and let the crowd roar because, to me, the crowd is the most wonderful thing in the whole world when it's making noise.
I disagree with the quote below by Wordart Rembrandt only in terms of humility. He’s all of those things and more. Wait, military general? Yes. He led the war against ignorance and apathy. You always knew the score, the count, and what the Romans, the Greeks, or the Mesopotamians did when they faced similar circumstances that confronted the Dodgers that game. That damn sword has hung too long over my head.
I'm not a military general, a business guru, not a philosopher or author. It's only me.
He grew the game for you. He cooked up whatever flavor of baseball you wanted. Want to go to the game to be seen? He saw you. Want to go to the game to watch the game? He saw that too. Showed up late or left early? No shame in his game. Just a stone-cold report of what you missed while you were fucking around. Never said but always implied. Tail Lights or Score Board?
The Meaning of Leadership
A crazy circumstance finds The Youngest and me pursuing parallel professional paths. She is in her industry and I in mine. Uh, wait. What industry are you in? I hear you ask. All of them, as John Conner once said (another future leader of the broken future).
I never struggle with talking about past struggles, but I struggle with talking about current struggles. I think everyone does. At least everyone I know or meet. The beauty of cooking for someone or taking a picture of the plumbing behind their toilet is that it triggers the same human-emotional connection.
I’ve never met this person before, yet I’m either feeding them or taking pictures of where they eliminate that gourmet meal. It’s an emotional spectrum that is quite narrow, to be honest. As compared to the digestional spectrum?
After twelve years of appraising and 25+ years of cooking, my worldly revelation is, hold on for it, WE ARE ALL THE SAME!
House to house, meal to meal, nothing changes but the medium. Not the people. Just the walls. And they are all the same walls. And the same people. Rich or Poor. Red, Black, Brown, Yellow, White, Purple, Pale, Albino, Green, Multi-Colored, or a Horse of a Different Color.
I CAN NOT EMPHASIZE THIS ENOUGH. I have inspected over 12,000 dwellings. I have cooked in a-lister kitchens, prison kitchens, corporate kitchens, staff kitchens, tent kitchens, camp-fire kitchens, and my own kitchen. And everywhere in between. First Element stuff here, kids.
Let’s do a list. What are the most commonly expressed concerns I’ve heard while appraising? Feel free to comment on what your concerns would be.
My house is a mess.
My teenagers’ room is a mess.
The garage is a mess.
Do you take pictures of dirty dishes?
Do you have to go to the backyard?
Then, when I cook in someone else’s kitchen, they clean up before and after I do my thing. They worry and fuss about all the things they paid me to do and think about. Easy money sure, but then I need therapy!
So where does this scatterbrain’s first dip back into the pool after vacation leave us? Not a foot farther than from where we started. Physically. But every physical movement is begun with a thought. Unless I have one of those Involuntary Beer-Drop Syndrome Attacks (it’s a thing Larry Parker?)
So if we know that, what causes anxiety over moving forward? Uncomfortability. We don’t like to do shit that bothers us or bugs us. The easier the better is not a saying for not being true. So what does move us?
I answered that question for myself this week and made a decision that will affect every aspect of my life. I got a job. I accepted a challenge to improve the culinary experience at the Hollywood Bowl. I have some ideas and thoughts they like.
As I tumble upwards thru life, dragging you along, searching for relevance in our existence, I value the time we share together. I write about myself, but I write for you. That’s such a weird paradox. A wonderful one. One that makes me stop and cherish our relationship.
I wrote a Dear John letter to the food service industry on May 29, 2021. Now here I am. The power of words meets the reality of life. I had not read it since I wrote it. I just read it out loud to a friend out loud and cried. Not because I’m going back. I never left.
What you do is what you are,
Ric
