What Hurts?

And so my blogging begins. I decided the only way to be orignial with my blog name was to steal. What Hurts? comes from a friend from work who's "Come again?" cracks me up.

"Jeanne, how do I ring in Chianti Reserva in this damn squirrel?"
"What hurts?"

"Jeanne, my entire section is wearing holiday theme knit sweaters..."
"What hurts?"

"Jeanne, should gays be allowed to handle fresh produce?"
"WHAT hurts?"

Cracks me up that damn Jeanne.

"Blending in and sticking out" came from both a movie starring Hillary Duff Part II (or III, there's just so damn many of them) and my incredibly bad memory. "Why blend in when you were born to stand out?" In the long run, probably not all that important to remember that particular quote. If it turns out to be important...we've all got bigger problems.

I guess some basics to get out of the way.

Just the average 27 year old guy born and raised in Honolulu, Hawaii, moved to Champaign, Illinois to meander my way through the University of Illinois where I spent more time at volleyball practices, playing euchre at the fraternity house and trying to figure out ways to annoy authority figures than I did studying. While my friends and guys in the house were writing artificial intelligence programs, pulling all-nighters at the architecture studio and taking advanced advanced calculus, I played with clay (I swear, the koala holding onto the tree was NOT meant to resemble a bong), learned to play My Heart Will Go On on the recorder, counted in base 8 with multicolored blocks, and sharpened crayons (we REALLY shouldn't have been microwaving this crap when we were kids). Decided after 4 years of elementary education classes and a semester and a half of student teaching that I don't like kids all that much.

Moved to Chicago to work for City Year, an Americorps program (domestic peace corps sounds more impressive). After a year moved up to the far northern Chicago suburb of Milwaukee where I'm doing my thing...

As far too many cliches have gone, I work in a restaurant. Buca di Beppo. Yes, it's a chain. No, I'm not Italian. and to the lady about a week ago...No, I'm not Korean and Yes, Italian restaurants do in fact hire the orientals. Now put down the 5 liter of chianti before someone gets hurt. Oddly enough, I actually do like my job quite a bit. I'm far from the cranky, bitter waiter. Buca is such a relaxed, informal kind of place that it fits me perfectly. I don't have to wear a tie, I can wake up at noon and the goal is to get people to laugh. I get to have a great time and make some pretty good money. I really like getting a table of people to let loose a little bit and have a good time right along with me. The wine does seem to help more than a few people.

Funniest things I've heard while working at Buca di Beppo...

-- "So, how does a Korean get a job in an Italian restaurant?" (see above)
-- "Are you going to finish that wet t-shirt contest you started earlier?" (it's not on the menu, but...)
-- "EXCUSE ME PEOPLE...I WILL HAVE YOU ALL SEATED MOMENTARILY" (by a woman who was most definitely not a Buca employee)
-- "WHAT hurts?" (gotta love that Jeanne)
-- "Excuse me, I heard there were drag queens in the bar."
-- "I swear to you, that girl just squat down and took a piss on that booster seat."
-- "Brent, take this booster seat."

Enough for now.