Yesterday I went to a job fair held to fill positions in a vast new Irish pub and restaurant opening in February. You walked into the hotel, filled out an application and walked into a room for a 2 minute interview. I did somewhere between neutral and great. BUT there was one question that I dropped the ball on:
Interviewer in a snappy, pin stripe 3-piece suit: So, do you know anything about Irish culture?
Our Hero: (what? it's a pub in goddamn Denver, what kind of specialized knowledge do you need to serve someone a pint of Murphys?) Oh, um, no.
What should have happened:
Iiasps3-ps: So, do you know anything about Irish culture?
OH: [laugh gaily, smile wide] oh, I have a somewhat skewed idea of Irish culture. [insert cute, quirky anecdote, like:] A branch of my mother's family is Irish (even though I'm not) and we once went to one of there reunions. I vaguely remember clog dancing, nuns, and a de-frocked priest being there as part of the family.
[or]
I met a lot of Irish people while backpacking through Europe this summer, man do they drink a LOT. I remember [insert tinkling laugh] one of them offering me vodka and orange out of an old, cleaned out chamber pot at one hostel in Prague! (ok, maybe not THAT story)
[or]
Potatoes! Red hair! Leprechauns! Guinness! Shamrocks! Don't pinch me I'm wearing green! HIRE MEEEEEEEEE!!!!!
I need to find a Polish bar, because that's really the only culture I know much about. I could tell them about trying bimber (which is Polish moonshine, it comes in different colors and burns allllllll the way down to your stomach) and impress them with my correct pronunciation of the Polish word for bison and my knowledge (and pronunciation) of bison grass as a flavoring for vodka.
On another tangent, people show up to these things in all states of dressed-up and dressed-down. I showed up (I was interviewing for a bartending position, did I tell you that? well now you know) in gray pin-striped dress pants and a nice blue top and necklaces and blow-dried hair and lipstick. There was a guy there in a tux, but then there were people there in jeans and tee-shirts wearing hiking boots etc. Maybe Denver is leagues more laid-back when it comes to dressing up than CA is. But, the interviewers were wearing 3 piece, wool suits in dapper shades of charcoal and heather, so I dunno.
Thursday 29 January 2009
Wednesday 21 January 2009
Emily and the Carwash
Last Monday it snowed something like 6 inches by the time I had to leave for my first bartending class. Yes, I took a bartending class, it was discounted and promised to help me find a job later.
Anyways, the first time that it snowed, I had somewhere to be and therefore HAD to drive in it. And I did. Very very veeeerrry slowly.
So, I took that bartending class. It was taught by a guy, M, from San Jose. I didn't click with any of the kids in my class, which was too bad. It made me very very homesick. In the class there was one woman who came all the way from Rapid City, South Dakota because this was the closest place that she could take a bartending class.
I passed that class with flying colors (100.5% on the written and then I made 12 "drinks" out of colored water in 5 minutes. Not the best, but not the worst).
C and N (who are exactly who you think they are, Ari) got a dog on Saturday, which has been really exciting. She's part Manchester Terrier and part something else. She looks like a mini-doberman pinscher but she has a white patch with black spots on her chest, one of her ears is droopy, and the other is alert. She's about 10 pounds and 9 months old. Her name is Penny and she does everything 110%: running until she hits walls, jumping into things, and passing out. It's very cute but obnoxious at the end of a leash. We spend a lot of time together these days, as I am unemployed and she is a dog. We play fetch and she sits in my lap if I am sitting down, it's like having a dog/cat combo.
Today, I went to the carwash to wash my car. It was filthy and covered with chemicals that they spray on big highways to keep them from being too slippery. As I was filling it up with gas before I went through the wash, I realized that only once in my life had I ever been in a car that went through a carwash. During that one time that I went through the car wash, the driver had driven the car through the washer as it was hit with 6 foot tall scrubbers and the like.
I drove into the opening, and a sign saying "drive forward" and so I did. Then a sign saying "stop" and other saying "back up to start cycle" lit up. So I did. Then the first sign lit up, and I drove forward. Then the second signs lit up and I backed up. I repeated this cycle again and again, sometimes varying how far forward I went. Farther, less far, and each time the "stop" and back-up signs lit up. This happened about 10 times. THEN I realized that the rubber well that I kept driving over was where I was supposed to stop my front wheel, because the squirt-y mechanisms were on a track that went over the car as it stayed still. All of this would have been just frustrating and obnoxious had I been alone, but there was a woman waiting closely behind me who witnessed me drive forward, stop, and back up. Drive forward, stop, and back up. I can only imagine her in her car saying to herself "what kind of California idiot is this?" (I still have CA plates). But, now I have a squeaky clean car with a special rain-repelling coat of something on it, because I opted for the "super dog wash!" instead a wash called something along the lines of the "Joe Schmoe" because it cleaned the undercarriage and sprayed the rain-repellant.
But I have conquered the carwash. I am a better woman for it.
Anyways, the first time that it snowed, I had somewhere to be and therefore HAD to drive in it. And I did. Very very veeeerrry slowly.
So, I took that bartending class. It was taught by a guy, M, from San Jose. I didn't click with any of the kids in my class, which was too bad. It made me very very homesick. In the class there was one woman who came all the way from Rapid City, South Dakota because this was the closest place that she could take a bartending class.
I passed that class with flying colors (100.5% on the written and then I made 12 "drinks" out of colored water in 5 minutes. Not the best, but not the worst).
C and N (who are exactly who you think they are, Ari) got a dog on Saturday, which has been really exciting. She's part Manchester Terrier and part something else. She looks like a mini-doberman pinscher but she has a white patch with black spots on her chest, one of her ears is droopy, and the other is alert. She's about 10 pounds and 9 months old. Her name is Penny and she does everything 110%: running until she hits walls, jumping into things, and passing out. It's very cute but obnoxious at the end of a leash. We spend a lot of time together these days, as I am unemployed and she is a dog. We play fetch and she sits in my lap if I am sitting down, it's like having a dog/cat combo.
Today, I went to the carwash to wash my car. It was filthy and covered with chemicals that they spray on big highways to keep them from being too slippery. As I was filling it up with gas before I went through the wash, I realized that only once in my life had I ever been in a car that went through a carwash. During that one time that I went through the car wash, the driver had driven the car through the washer as it was hit with 6 foot tall scrubbers and the like.
I drove into the opening, and a sign saying "drive forward" and so I did. Then a sign saying "stop" and other saying "back up to start cycle" lit up. So I did. Then the first sign lit up, and I drove forward. Then the second signs lit up and I backed up. I repeated this cycle again and again, sometimes varying how far forward I went. Farther, less far, and each time the "stop" and back-up signs lit up. This happened about 10 times. THEN I realized that the rubber well that I kept driving over was where I was supposed to stop my front wheel, because the squirt-y mechanisms were on a track that went over the car as it stayed still. All of this would have been just frustrating and obnoxious had I been alone, but there was a woman waiting closely behind me who witnessed me drive forward, stop, and back up. Drive forward, stop, and back up. I can only imagine her in her car saying to herself "what kind of California idiot is this?" (I still have CA plates). But, now I have a squeaky clean car with a special rain-repelling coat of something on it, because I opted for the "super dog wash!" instead a wash called something along the lines of the "Joe Schmoe" because it cleaned the undercarriage and sprayed the rain-repellant.
But I have conquered the carwash. I am a better woman for it.
Friday 9 January 2009
Large Marge's Philly Cheesesteaks!
Hello there friends, family, and various Googlers.
A lot has happened (kind of) since I last posted. I have moved to lovely Wheat Ridge, Colorado. It's a suburb of Denver, though Denver itself is rather like a suburb. Wheat Ridge is kind of like Oakland, if you built Oakland on a sheet of balloon material and then streeeetched it out. And decorated it with wagon wheels. And took the style-factor down 10 or so notches.
By that, I mean that I have lived no where like this before. It's true what I said about the ratio and placement of houses to businesses. I assumed that it would be a bedroom community heaven, but it isn't.
But still, we ain't in California any more, Todo. For example, it is difficult to walk anywhere because everything is so spread out. But, it is also difficult to drive (despite the wide streets and easy parking) because there are so many damned parking lots. I can never tell when I am turning onto another street or into a parking lot. For example, while looking for the closest supermarket, I turned left at a stoplight at what I thought was a street (because there was a stoplight) instead, I found myself in the parking lot for an "adult" store (the only sign-age said "adult" and "XXX" I think that you get the picture). I peeled out of there pretty quickly.
It is also a land of snow. Not because it really snows that much, but because the snow, the potential of snow, and the after affects of a snow are obstacles. It is impossible to see the parking lines painted on the parking lots because the snow has helped to wear it away. Every other sign is telling you your speed, or informing you that when the lights above the sign are flashing, you have to decrease your speed by 10 MPH, or telling you that the bridge may be icy when the road looks dry. CO also requires every single type of footwear. Snow boots, less wet but cold boots, rain boots, tennis shoes, sandals, etc because it throws everything at you. In the past 5 days that I have been here it has snowed and been freeze-y cold but today it was so warm I went out without even a sweater. The only consistency is that it's dry dry dry dry. My cuticles have desiccated, detached from my nail, and frilled into a little fringe of dead skin at the base of each of my nails. I have started to painstakingly work lotion into them every night before I go to bed.
Most of the buildings here were built after 1965. They were also all built for utility, not beauty. Rarely is a building more than one story tall, and they are all painted the same dingy buff. It makes it difficult to see beyond the SuperTargets and Wal-Marts, but once you get the hang of it you see some truly unique and non-Californian things. Abners Meats, which advertises venison. And then there's Charles Chuck Wagon Diner (I am not kidding) or (and I am dead serious about this, sooooo not San Francisco Bay Area) Large Marge's Philly Cheesesteak House. In the East Bay one would say that in jest, never half-seriously like they do here. It is definitely possible that I don't understand it all, but to my eyes it's all worthy of note. Actually, I am pretty thrilled to be here. I never really realized how twee the Bay Area can get. Don't get me wrong, I still love it.
I am living with C, a friend from college, and her boyfriend N in a peppermint pink, 1970's duplex. It's 50 feet from the first Wheat Ridge Post Office, a sod house, a log cabin, and someone's early frontier house. These buildings have been turned into a museum, that unfortunately isn't open right now. We are also located within walking distance of 3 bars: Stan's Caravan, which boasts Texas Hold 'em; Rambling Roses Bar and Cafe which denies entrance to children after 9 pm, and promises free shots every time the Denver Broncos score a touchdown; and the Rockette Tavern, which has a sign in the shape of a rocket. The best thing that I can walk to easily from my house is a used bookstore. It's pretty big and has a good selection in all genres. The shelves are homemade and the books are stacked horizontally, rather than perpendicularly, to the shelves.
So far, the thrifting here is outrageous. Cheap and good. Wheat Ridge (or even Denver possibly) doesn't seem to have the second-hand culture that CA has. The stores are filled to the brim with great stuff. I bought a pair of barely worn, black, ankle-strap shoes that fit beautifully for less than $4. In CA they'd have been bought and re-sold to CrossRoads before they even hit the shelf. C told me to be careful who I told that I got something at the Salvy, because they may insist on buying me a hot, filling lunch and offering me a bed for the night.
more later, I am tired and overwhelmed.
A lot has happened (kind of) since I last posted. I have moved to lovely Wheat Ridge, Colorado. It's a suburb of Denver, though Denver itself is rather like a suburb. Wheat Ridge is kind of like Oakland, if you built Oakland on a sheet of balloon material and then streeeetched it out. And decorated it with wagon wheels. And took the style-factor down 10 or so notches.
By that, I mean that I have lived no where like this before. It's true what I said about the ratio and placement of houses to businesses. I assumed that it would be a bedroom community heaven, but it isn't.
But still, we ain't in California any more, Todo. For example, it is difficult to walk anywhere because everything is so spread out. But, it is also difficult to drive (despite the wide streets and easy parking) because there are so many damned parking lots. I can never tell when I am turning onto another street or into a parking lot. For example, while looking for the closest supermarket, I turned left at a stoplight at what I thought was a street (because there was a stoplight) instead, I found myself in the parking lot for an "adult" store (the only sign-age said "adult" and "XXX" I think that you get the picture). I peeled out of there pretty quickly.
It is also a land of snow. Not because it really snows that much, but because the snow, the potential of snow, and the after affects of a snow are obstacles. It is impossible to see the parking lines painted on the parking lots because the snow has helped to wear it away. Every other sign is telling you your speed, or informing you that when the lights above the sign are flashing, you have to decrease your speed by 10 MPH, or telling you that the bridge may be icy when the road looks dry. CO also requires every single type of footwear. Snow boots, less wet but cold boots, rain boots, tennis shoes, sandals, etc because it throws everything at you. In the past 5 days that I have been here it has snowed and been freeze-y cold but today it was so warm I went out without even a sweater. The only consistency is that it's dry dry dry dry. My cuticles have desiccated, detached from my nail, and frilled into a little fringe of dead skin at the base of each of my nails. I have started to painstakingly work lotion into them every night before I go to bed.
Most of the buildings here were built after 1965. They were also all built for utility, not beauty. Rarely is a building more than one story tall, and they are all painted the same dingy buff. It makes it difficult to see beyond the SuperTargets and Wal-Marts, but once you get the hang of it you see some truly unique and non-Californian things. Abners Meats, which advertises venison. And then there's Charles Chuck Wagon Diner (I am not kidding) or (and I am dead serious about this, sooooo not San Francisco Bay Area) Large Marge's Philly Cheesesteak House. In the East Bay one would say that in jest, never half-seriously like they do here. It is definitely possible that I don't understand it all, but to my eyes it's all worthy of note. Actually, I am pretty thrilled to be here. I never really realized how twee the Bay Area can get. Don't get me wrong, I still love it.
I am living with C, a friend from college, and her boyfriend N in a peppermint pink, 1970's duplex. It's 50 feet from the first Wheat Ridge Post Office, a sod house, a log cabin, and someone's early frontier house. These buildings have been turned into a museum, that unfortunately isn't open right now. We are also located within walking distance of 3 bars: Stan's Caravan, which boasts Texas Hold 'em; Rambling Roses Bar and Cafe which denies entrance to children after 9 pm, and promises free shots every time the Denver Broncos score a touchdown; and the Rockette Tavern, which has a sign in the shape of a rocket. The best thing that I can walk to easily from my house is a used bookstore. It's pretty big and has a good selection in all genres. The shelves are homemade and the books are stacked horizontally, rather than perpendicularly, to the shelves.
So far, the thrifting here is outrageous. Cheap and good. Wheat Ridge (or even Denver possibly) doesn't seem to have the second-hand culture that CA has. The stores are filled to the brim with great stuff. I bought a pair of barely worn, black, ankle-strap shoes that fit beautifully for less than $4. In CA they'd have been bought and re-sold to CrossRoads before they even hit the shelf. C told me to be careful who I told that I got something at the Salvy, because they may insist on buying me a hot, filling lunch and offering me a bed for the night.
more later, I am tired and overwhelmed.
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