Wednesday, February 17, 2010

Tuesday February 16, 2010: PINK PENGUIN PAJAMAS & ADVICE FROM A DRUNKEN HOBO

I learned a valuable lesson today. “One can be transformed without a cocoon and converted without knowledge...” At least that’s what he said to us as we sat there on the pier. 
It all started with breakfast. As the girls do (minus Rom), they went out for their usual Tuesday morning brekkie meeting, where after being stuffed on a skinny strong latte, and some pesto scrambled eggs on top of a toasted sesame seed bagel with salmon, the others left for work. I continued on, taking the number 112 tram to Saint Kilda, that is until an old man who “lived there all his life” told me repetitively, until I actually listened, that I’d be better off getting off at the casino and transferring over to the 96 which would take me straight into the center of Saint Kilda, next to Luna Park and the beach. Needless to say, he was right, as the tram pulled up to the final stop. I sat on it for another 2 minutes, until the doors shut, I realized it wasn’t moving, asked someone if it was the last stop and in a panic, pulled my usual, where I stop thinking and a man had to get up and press the button to open the door for me, laughing as I thanked him profusely and stepped off. 
After waiting a few I met up with Joel and he showed me around his “hood”. We started off walking down Acland street, where he pointed out the numerous bakeries, drooling as we passed, the 2 gelato shops, an ATM, the 2 competitive supermarkets across the street from one another and a shoe store. Cool. I’m serious. Whether it’s something I’ve seen a billion times before, when I see it in a new area, it’s like seeing it all for the first time all over again; its a lovely feeling.
After Acland street, we went back to his house, where I met his mother, our first 2 minutes of conversation being in Italian. I witnessed the house and then we sat down to watch an episode of Blackadder, a British Comedy from the mid 80s, before heading out again, this time to where it’s at, Chapel Street. 
We took a tram down to the start of it and began our stroll. First stop, vintage clothing shop, where after trying on a lovely vest and a few hats, someone (not me) bought himself a lovely pair of pink penguin pajamas. Truly, they were gorgeous and I was 100 percent for the sale of those $4 beauties. Next shop, another saver shop, where after freaking out the sales guy enough with odd comments about Baywatch and the pink pajamas, he caved on a sick deal for a DS. Score 2 of the day for Joel. 
After a bit more of a stroll, we took a tram back to Joel’s house. My ticket had expired an hour back and not wanting to use another one, I rode (like everyone else on the tram) without validating mine, looking around, completely paranoid that a ticket inspector would come on at every stop. Lucky for me they didn’t. A few episodes of Blackadder later and we were out again, this time, walking down to the beach. 
The scene, along with the sun bathers, was gorgeous, although according to Joel, not very clean (the water that is). We walked onto the wooden planked pier through an insane drift of wind and situated ourselves towards the end of it, next to a singing homeless man and at the perfect spot for Chinese tourists to come and take pictures of themselves. At one point a Chinese family came, where a boy in his mid twenties, was so overjoyed that the wind blew a huge air bubble into his jacket and smiled gleefully as they walked back to land. 
As we sat there talking, we heard music coming from the end. It was the singing hobo, belting out “Hallelujah” in a beautiful manner, making sure that we heard “his version” of the song, accenting the “Jah” when he said it, forming a “hallelu-JAH!” A large new hardcover book sat behind him to his right along with a box of goon and a glass filled with the stuff. He had a green “environmentally friendly” bag and he covered under his eyes and cheeks with sun screen so they remained white. After a good half hour of singing, in between talking to himself and answering his telephone where he spoke in slurred tongues, he decided it was time for himself to leave. Thus resulting in the start of this entry. Lesson of the day. “I will convert without knowledge, and be transformed without a cocoon...” He said to us as he passed, turning around, and pausing in front of us. 
“You got that” he said to Joel, pointing his finger at him. Before he left for good, he wished us a Happy Valentines Day and lumbered off, holding his bag and his book, turning out to be the “Biblica”. I pondered on what he said, trying to actually make sense of it and in a weird way, I did, even though he probably didn’t, in fact, let me rephrase that, I’m sure he didn’t. Hear me out right.
People convert knowing nothing about what they’re getting into except that it’s the right thing to do, or what they’ve heard from others, knowing nothing of it for themselves. And to transform without a cocoon, is to evolve so quickly that you never reach a mid point, just from lowest to highest, in the blink of an eye. I take everything with a grain of salt, but found it overly amusing at the fact that this poor drunken soul saying god knows what, actually made me analyze his mumbled slurred words. 
Time passing fast, getting later and later by the minute, we went our separate ways, where I boarded the tram back to the city and then walked home.



©2010 Jami Cakes   All Rights Reserved

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

Sunday February 7, 2010: NERVOUS WRECK

Am I allowed to be nervous? I mean, it’s definitely not a big deal. Everyone does it right? It’s part of growing up. Getting out there, in the real world and getting a job; not that I haven’t had a job.... I have of course and several stages. I’ve just somehow skipped the official process of gaining my positions. Let’s just say, I’ve never had the nerve wracking undertakings that are the search, interview and trial phases. So far, I’ve been a cluster of nerves. Stressed, tense, anxious, all of this energy bundled up into my plump little body. Oh the joy; no, really the anticipation of a new experience is always a joy to me, however I have to get past the fear, suspense, and unknowing first. 

Friday Feb 5, 2010: INTERVIEW MY ASS

I had an interview today! “How’d it go?” you might ask. Well thank you for your concern. Though several times throughout the interview, I went blank, answered incorrectly, or even better yet, blurted out words that made no sense and then went quiet, it apparently went quite well, as I was told to come back the following Monday morning for a test run. Yay! Now I have another 3 days to build back up my confidence that had just been shattered within 2 minutes of entering the damn restaurant. I’ve never been one for tests, questions, interviews of any sort, so the fact that I’ve got 2 within a 3 day span is really hurting my usual chillaxed sort of vibe.
You see, I arrived early, a daunting task for this young gal, as my family jokes, we are on Jewish time, seeming always to be running late. Rom went one way and I went the other, pumping myself up by repeating a mantra inside of my head; “I got this. This bitch is mine.” Maybe not the usual peaceful yogi-type mantra most are used to, but it seemed to be working for me. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, before I entering the restaurant and announcing my arrival, where I was told the chef was not yet there and to have a seat at the bar. I sat there for a little while looking around in curiosity and apprehension; twiddling my thumbs and tapping my feet on the footrest of the bar stool. Finally I saw the chef walk in, with a small asian girl around his waist, apologizing for being late. “Showtime kid.” I thought. He turned the corner and went into the kitchen. I took another deep breathe and slumped down, waiting again in anticipation for the interview process to begin. A barista saw me sitting there for long enough in painful agony and anxiety and smiled as he set a glass of water in front of me. Thank god for him. A simple smile can make everything all the better when you feel like shit.