May 7, 2003
Things that strike me, repeatedly, during the workaday routine of restaurant life:
The sign on the inside of the walk in refrigerator door: “You are not locked in.” Brief instructions follow as how one should push open the door.
A comment that repeats itself in my memory, made by a fellow restaurant worker years ago regarding the dining public, please imagine it said with a strong Spanish accent: “Why do they come in here with their hate faces?”
The percussion of the ice machine heard when one is closing and all other sounds are dimmed, a ghostly urban iceberg working its way into existance.
After the hump of evening service diminishes I retreat downstairs to my office in order to try and tackle the following days office work in some vague optimism that this might make that tomorrow simpler and longer in leisure. Beside me the micros computer dials credit card approvals, the valiant sound of dial and connect, the beeping scale and fuzz of a computer buying dinner for a body upstairs. A sound, one hopes, that heralds the happy conclusion to another meal in another maw. I like that the computer is completing a night task upstairs while I am already with the next day.
You can never catch up, be sure to get some rest.
1. On a summer day
In the month of May
A burly bum came hiking
Down a shady lane
Through the sugar cane
He was looking for his liking
As he roamed along
He sang a song
Of the land of milk and honey
Where a bum can stay
For many a day
And he won't need any money
Chorus:
Oh the buzzin' of the bees
In the cigarette trees
Near the soda water fountain
At the lemonade springs
Where the bluebird sings
On the big rock candy mountain
2. There's a lake of gin
We can both jump in
And the handouts grow on bushes
In the new-mown hay
We can sleep all day
And the bars all have free lunches
Where the mail train stops
And there ain't no cops
And the folks are tender-hearted
Where you never change your socks
And you never throw rocks
And your hair is never parted
Chorus:
3. Oh, a farmer and his son,
They were on the run
To the hay field they were bounding
Said the bum to the son,
"Why don't you come
To that big rock candy mountain?"
So the very next day
They hiked away,
The mileposts they were counting
But they never arrived
At the lemonade tide
On the big rock candy mountain
Chorus:
1. One evening as the sun went down
And the jungle fires were burning,
Down the track came a hobo hiking,
He said, "Boys, I'm not turning
I'm heading for a land that's far away
Beside the crystal fountain
I'll see you all this coming fall
In the Big Rock Candy Mountain
Chorus:
2. In the Big Rock Candy Mountain,
It's a land that's fair and bright,
The handouts grow on bushes
And you sleep out every night.
The boxcars all are empty
And the sun shines every day
I'm bound to go
Where there ain't no snow
Where the sleet don't fall
And the winds don't blow
In the Big Rock Candy Mountain.
Chorus:
3. In the Big Rock Candy Mountain
You never change your socks
And little streams of alkyhol
Come trickling down the rocks
O the shacks all have to tip their hats
And the railway bulls are blind
There's a lake of stew
And gingerale too
And you can paddle
All around it in a big canoe
In the Big Rock Candy Mountain
Chorus:
4. In the Big Rock Candy Mountain
The cops have wooden legs
The bulldogs all have rubber teeth
And the hens lay soft-boiled eggs
The farmer's trees are full of fruit
And the barns are full of hay
I'm bound to go
Where there ain't no snow
Where the sleet don't fall
And the winds don't blow
In the Big Rock Candy Mountain.
Chorus:
5. In the Big Rock Candy Mountain,
The jails are made of tin.
You can slip right out again,
As soon as they put you in.
There ain't no short-handled shovels,
No axes, saws nor picks,
I'm bound to stay
Where you sleep all day,
Where they hung the jerk
That invented work
In the Big Rock Candy Mountain.
Chorus:
You tempter, Steve. Your friends from Ripe were here last night, soooo dear. August, their two year old sent my ovaries a jiggling. They have a look about them that we do not have here in this city. The other end of the spectrum from the hate faces, love faces, I suppose.
We had a nice drink with them before their big date across the street. Agreed. Love faces. And the kid!...
Well the first time I met them I knew you all had to too. I'm glad it happened. When are you eating at Ripe?
When they come here for the "Ripe Stuff World Pro Food Tour 2003-2004"
Yes: the walk-in refrigerator as quiet place for a few seconds of meditation. And more power to you for getting done tonight what you could put off until tomorrow.
thats where they keep the whippetts too...
WD Confidential
"...another meal in another maw" evokes Delvoye's digestion machine project. Check out his biker-tattooed pigs too.
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Things that strike me, repeatedly, during the workaday routine of restaurant life:
The sign on the inside of the walk in refrigerator door: “You are not locked in.” Brief instructions follow as how one should push open the door.
A comment that repeats itself in my memory, made by a fellow restaurant worker years ago regarding the dining public, please imagine it said with a strong Spanish accent: “Why do they come in here with their hate faces?”
The percussion of the ice machine heard when one is closing and all other sounds are dimmed, a ghostly urban iceberg working its way into existance.
After the hump of evening service diminishes I retreat downstairs to my office in order to try and tackle the following days office work in some vague optimism that this might make that tomorrow simpler and longer in leisure. Beside me the micros computer dials credit card approvals, the valiant sound of dial and connect, the beeping scale and fuzz of a computer buying dinner for a body upstairs. A sound, one hopes, that heralds the happy conclusion to another meal in another maw. I like that the computer is completing a night task upstairs while I am already with the next day.
- rachael 5-07-2003 9:08 pm
You can never catch up, be sure to get some rest.
1. On a summer day
In the month of May
A burly bum came hiking
Down a shady lane
Through the sugar cane
He was looking for his liking
As he roamed along
He sang a song
Of the land of milk and honey
Where a bum can stay
For many a day
And he won't need any money
Chorus:
Oh the buzzin' of the bees
In the cigarette trees
Near the soda water fountain
At the lemonade springs
Where the bluebird sings
On the big rock candy mountain
2. There's a lake of gin
We can both jump in
And the handouts grow on bushes
In the new-mown hay
We can sleep all day
And the bars all have free lunches
Where the mail train stops
And there ain't no cops
And the folks are tender-hearted
Where you never change your socks
And you never throw rocks
And your hair is never parted
Chorus:
3. Oh, a farmer and his son,
They were on the run
To the hay field they were bounding
Said the bum to the son,
"Why don't you come
To that big rock candy mountain?"
So the very next day
They hiked away,
The mileposts they were counting
But they never arrived
At the lemonade tide
On the big rock candy mountain
Chorus:
1. One evening as the sun went down
And the jungle fires were burning,
Down the track came a hobo hiking,
He said, "Boys, I'm not turning
I'm heading for a land that's far away
Beside the crystal fountain
I'll see you all this coming fall
In the Big Rock Candy Mountain
Chorus:
2. In the Big Rock Candy Mountain,
It's a land that's fair and bright,
The handouts grow on bushes
And you sleep out every night.
The boxcars all are empty
And the sun shines every day
I'm bound to go
Where there ain't no snow
Where the sleet don't fall
And the winds don't blow
In the Big Rock Candy Mountain.
Chorus:
3. In the Big Rock Candy Mountain
You never change your socks
And little streams of alkyhol
Come trickling down the rocks
O the shacks all have to tip their hats
And the railway bulls are blind
There's a lake of stew
And gingerale too
And you can paddle
All around it in a big canoe
In the Big Rock Candy Mountain
Chorus:
4. In the Big Rock Candy Mountain
The cops have wooden legs
The bulldogs all have rubber teeth
And the hens lay soft-boiled eggs
The farmer's trees are full of fruit
And the barns are full of hay
I'm bound to go
Where there ain't no snow
Where the sleet don't fall
And the winds don't blow
In the Big Rock Candy Mountain.
Chorus:
5. In the Big Rock Candy Mountain,
The jails are made of tin.
You can slip right out again,
As soon as they put you in.
There ain't no short-handled shovels,
No axes, saws nor picks,
I'm bound to stay
Where you sleep all day,
Where they hung the jerk
That invented work
In the Big Rock Candy Mountain.
Chorus:
- steve 5-08-2003 7:58 pm [add a comment]
You tempter, Steve. Your friends from Ripe were here last night, soooo dear. August, their two year old sent my ovaries a jiggling. They have a look about them that we do not have here in this city. The other end of the spectrum from the hate faces, love faces, I suppose.
- anonymous (guest) 5-09-2003 7:21 am [add a comment] [edit]
We had a nice drink with them before their big date across the street. Agreed. Love faces. And the kid!...
- jim 5-09-2003 5:58 pm [add a comment]
Well the first time I met them I knew you all had to too. I'm glad it happened. When are you eating at Ripe?
- steve 5-09-2003 7:07 pm [add a comment]
When they come here for the "Ripe Stuff World Pro Food Tour 2003-2004"
- Skinny 5-09-2003 7:42 pm [add a comment]
Yes: the walk-in refrigerator as quiet place for a few seconds of meditation. And more power to you for getting done tonight what you could put off until tomorrow.
- bruno 5-08-2003 9:08 pm [add a comment]
thats where they keep the whippetts too...
- bill 5-09-2003 12:30 am [add a comment]
WD Confidential
- Skinny 5-09-2003 2:39 am [add a comment]
"...another meal in another maw" evokes Delvoye's digestion machine project. Check out his biker-tattooed pigs too.
- bruno 5-09-2003 6:00 pm [add a comment]