Same Planet, Different Worlds:
This entry is scatterbrained becuase I couldn't organize my thoughts.
So in case some of you didn't know, I work occasionally for a catering/event staff company in New York. Most of the guys don't have any skills (or IQ points), they are hired only to make the party look good.
Anyway, Friday night was one of the most bizarre events I've worked yet.
The location was at the town house of the family who created the world's most popular brand of Vermouth, so they've got crazy bank. Last Halloween, they hired twelve guys including me, rented us tuxedos, and made us part of their crew of 30 or so workers, which also included security guys, party organizers, and women dressed in skimpy lingere greeting people at the door. Quite a party.
This event on Friday was much more subdued, which made me wonder why the hell they had hired us at all. It was just me and Todd. Todd is Mr. Perfect, I swear. Looks like Robert Redford with the body of Tyson, that black super-model guy ('cept of course Todd's white). If you ever need to keep a conversation going, just ask Todd about himself, and he will happily talk for hours. Todd is the company's #1 guy, despite the fact he doesn't know anything about bartending.
Thank goodness I was there, since our primary responsibility was to make drinks. It wasn't so much a bar, but a counter covered in bottles. I hadn't even heard of some of the brands on that table. And the drink for the night was Patron, probably the best Tequila made.
Anyway, Todd and I just hung out in the living room with everyone while they chilled out and caught up with one another. Then they had a catered dinner for about 25 people.
After dinner, they went back to the living room, and again, we just kind of hung out becuase at this point people were pretty sauced and were making drinks on their own.
They also had a mirror out with some coke laid on it so everyone could do a few lines. I am really really not down with coke at all, so that made me kind of uncomfortable.
So many different things went through my head at this event.
After dinner, I noticed that once Todd and I had some of the food, they just tossed it out. And the refrigerator contained only beer, while the freezer held many bottles of high-quality alcohol and glasses. More importantly, there was no food. Which means no one even lives there. Keep in mind this is four story art deco apartment in the middle of one of the most expensive tiny neighborhoods in the city. I later overheard one of the family members saying the only place he spends his winters is Ibizia. Oh well, of course.
I just didn't understand how these people lived their lives.
I watched a 70-year-old man, who was too frail to walk without a cane, blow a line of coke. It just appeared so undignified for a man that age to have to bend over, sniff something, and then wipe his nose for the next ten minutes.
I almost ran into Rupert Everett (My Best Friend's Wedding) several times as I went back and forth between the kitchen in the living room.
These people played about five of those goddamned Euro-techno CDs that sound like one giant house track. I almost fell into a hypnotic stupor.
I got paid a large sum of money for only five hours of work that entailed little more than serving drinks and helping clean up after dinner. Finance wasn't much of a problem for these folks.
I am a good story teller, I swear. I sucked at relating that event. But check THIS out!
If you're just stopping by, there's more of those drawings in my pics area.
And the junk email poem continues:
pollock geodesy
butternut autistic
bouffant treadle
workspace wakeful
wince reliquary
skullduggery damage
euripides
Also, I've been getting friend requests from people I have never heard from before. If you want to do the friend thing, at least leave a couple comments in my journal. Sorry to be a dick about it, but sketchiness abounds on a site dedicated to naked chicks.
And how funny is this quote in an article about how rescue workers are scared that if they cut open hybrid cars, they'll get electrocuted.
Manufacturers say they will continue to keep rescue personnel up to date on their hybrids. But they also contend that hybrids can be seen as safer than regular cars.
``Everybody's concerned about the electrical side, but could you imagine if we tried to bring gasoline out today as a motor fuel?'' Peterson said.
This entry is scatterbrained becuase I couldn't organize my thoughts.
So in case some of you didn't know, I work occasionally for a catering/event staff company in New York. Most of the guys don't have any skills (or IQ points), they are hired only to make the party look good.
Anyway, Friday night was one of the most bizarre events I've worked yet.
The location was at the town house of the family who created the world's most popular brand of Vermouth, so they've got crazy bank. Last Halloween, they hired twelve guys including me, rented us tuxedos, and made us part of their crew of 30 or so workers, which also included security guys, party organizers, and women dressed in skimpy lingere greeting people at the door. Quite a party.
This event on Friday was much more subdued, which made me wonder why the hell they had hired us at all. It was just me and Todd. Todd is Mr. Perfect, I swear. Looks like Robert Redford with the body of Tyson, that black super-model guy ('cept of course Todd's white). If you ever need to keep a conversation going, just ask Todd about himself, and he will happily talk for hours. Todd is the company's #1 guy, despite the fact he doesn't know anything about bartending.
Thank goodness I was there, since our primary responsibility was to make drinks. It wasn't so much a bar, but a counter covered in bottles. I hadn't even heard of some of the brands on that table. And the drink for the night was Patron, probably the best Tequila made.
Anyway, Todd and I just hung out in the living room with everyone while they chilled out and caught up with one another. Then they had a catered dinner for about 25 people.
After dinner, they went back to the living room, and again, we just kind of hung out becuase at this point people were pretty sauced and were making drinks on their own.
They also had a mirror out with some coke laid on it so everyone could do a few lines. I am really really not down with coke at all, so that made me kind of uncomfortable.
So many different things went through my head at this event.
After dinner, I noticed that once Todd and I had some of the food, they just tossed it out. And the refrigerator contained only beer, while the freezer held many bottles of high-quality alcohol and glasses. More importantly, there was no food. Which means no one even lives there. Keep in mind this is four story art deco apartment in the middle of one of the most expensive tiny neighborhoods in the city. I later overheard one of the family members saying the only place he spends his winters is Ibizia. Oh well, of course.
I just didn't understand how these people lived their lives.
I watched a 70-year-old man, who was too frail to walk without a cane, blow a line of coke. It just appeared so undignified for a man that age to have to bend over, sniff something, and then wipe his nose for the next ten minutes.
I almost ran into Rupert Everett (My Best Friend's Wedding) several times as I went back and forth between the kitchen in the living room.
These people played about five of those goddamned Euro-techno CDs that sound like one giant house track. I almost fell into a hypnotic stupor.
I got paid a large sum of money for only five hours of work that entailed little more than serving drinks and helping clean up after dinner. Finance wasn't much of a problem for these folks.
I am a good story teller, I swear. I sucked at relating that event. But check THIS out!
If you're just stopping by, there's more of those drawings in my pics area.
And the junk email poem continues:
pollock geodesy
butternut autistic
bouffant treadle
workspace wakeful
wince reliquary
skullduggery damage
euripides
Also, I've been getting friend requests from people I have never heard from before. If you want to do the friend thing, at least leave a couple comments in my journal. Sorry to be a dick about it, but sketchiness abounds on a site dedicated to naked chicks.
And how funny is this quote in an article about how rescue workers are scared that if they cut open hybrid cars, they'll get electrocuted.
Manufacturers say they will continue to keep rescue personnel up to date on their hybrids. But they also contend that hybrids can be seen as safer than regular cars.
``Everybody's concerned about the electrical side, but could you imagine if we tried to bring gasoline out today as a motor fuel?'' Peterson said.
VIEW 18 of 18 COMMENTS
Fighter Pilot 63 Dissidents
Compulsory Limpid
~cheers