What NOT to do

I have seen successful start-up restaurants and I have seen the remains of those who thought they could do things in their own way. For starters I will use the Mexican taco place down the street from my house. They started simple and first sold their tacos out of a small food cart hauled around by an old Ford F150. The money they made from that stand went into renovating a building during that project their taco cart was parked in the parking lot still raising money for their project. While this seems smart and the best way to do things it also took them three years to reach their goal. It may have taken time but everything is paid for and everything they make from this point on is profit with no payment to be made to the bank. Equipment and gear were purchased second or third hand from auctions and other outlets at a fraction of the cost if it was new. Let somebody else pay those prices, you know, the poor bastards that have no idea what they are doing. Construction and labor were all DIY with flooring and walls all done by friends and family. There is no secret to how to build your own establishment, it takes hard work and time, two things people don’t want to invest in anymore, instead seeking the easy way out.
Then you have people starting a restaurant with money. The fact they have cash to burn can be the biggest obstacle they will face. There is a brewery downtown that decided years ago that they would extend their establishment and add a restaurant to their building. This place was famous for beer not food and while one could argue that its only natural for them to expand into other things, I would like to point out it is very difficult to make a profit from serving food. Making beer and serving alcohol is the best money maker one can hope for and if you are looking to make more money with that kind of establishment than maybe you should expand the types of drinks you serve.
All the classic mistakes were made with this expansion. Over 3 million dollars was spent on the kitchen alone. For some reason a person with a limitless credit card thought the whole thing should be new. This was also done backwards, installing the kitchen and design then hiring the chef who would be working it. Nobody during this process had experience running a kitchen and yet they were picking the spots to put the stove, fryer, prep station, oven and so on. The flow of the kitchen and the type of food you will be serving are key to having a functioning kitchen.
Next came the hiring of the chef. There were two options in the end. One was a guy who worked for a company who toured the country selling kitchen supplies and showing new businesses how to prepare their meals. This guy had skills that were learned over time. Next you had a guy from California who had a habit of rubbing his noise while sniffing and thought he was the greatest thing on the planet. The daughter of the brewery’s owner thought he was pretty hot herself so you can guess as to who they hired. The coke addict lasted less than a year when they finally realized he had no idea what the hell he was doing. Money started to leak from the business like the Titanic cruising along after hitting the iceberg, the only difference is that they didn’t notice they hit anything and it was self-sabotage.
After 3 million dollars spent, a coke addict was hired for the kitchen, piss poor food was decided to be served, and an inexperienced crew roamed the kitchen the final nail was put into the coffin. Hopcat, a piss poor business with bad service, but for some reason loved by all, moved in across the street. It was game over for the brewery that had everything to offer in that small section of town.
I couldn’t tell you what they were thinking. When the brewery first started it was small, functioning out of a kitchen and serving one keg at a time. The owner used one cooking pot per batch and worked on recipes over the years. He gradually expanded and slowly over time the business grew to epic proportions. This was the Mexican taco cart but with beer. He had done things right the first time but somewhere along the way from the three divorces, national distribution, car collection, or maybe the coke habit, things started to go downhill and he forgot where he had come from. I have heard this story before, hell I lived it in a past life. You start working for a company and everything is going great. They have good benefits, they pay well, treat people with respect and then over time things start to disappear. The benefits are trimmed back, raises are no longer given, vacations are no longer approved and when you say something you are told “be thankful you have a job.” There is a strange business model that everyone follows to their own destruction, expand like a virus until you are dead.
Now why would a brewery with a stunning reputation decide to expand into the less lucrative restaurant industry? Greed. Their books topped off and while they were making more money than they could spend, there was the appeal of making more. Lessons had been learned long ago on how to do these things without going bankrupt and yet if you throw in a bunch of money people think they know better than the time-tested methods of yesterday. People were fired, benefits lost and the curtesy of a “I’m sorry” never came to mind. Lives were ruined and those on high, the captains of industry that knew better, didn’t think twice about it.
I talked before about a tribe, the group of people who work together with one goal in mind. If you want a functioning kitchen you better have a good tribe in place who is willing to work together through thick and thin. Serve the best food, on time, presented the same way and do it again. If there is anyone in the kitchen who can’t follow this model get rid of them. When I kicked Opie out of the kitchen it was because he was fucking things up for the rest of us. We could pump out a thousand perfect sandwiches and that one douchebag could ruin everything for everyone. This kind of self-destruction can be unstoppable from the top. You could have the best crew, the best ingredients and then some snot nosed kid steps in and think he knows better, add in some drug addiction and shit goes down hill fast.
So, you want to start a business, one that serves food? Start small, don’t invest your retirement account into something you have never done before. You know those tamale ladies who are pedaling their food behind closed doors, start out like that. Make sure there is a market for what you want to serve. If you have to take out a loan do it with the understanding that you might have to file bankruptcy. Set a number in your head for how much debt you can accrue before calling it quits. You can lose other people’s money but it’s a double whammy to lose your business and your savings. Try to build your business with your profits and don’t quit your day job until you are making enough to pay yourself. Buy everything second hand or install furniture and equipment by yourself. Have standards of quality over quantity. Do not over expand.
There is an Italian sausage place in town that has been successful for over a decade now. The man started out making the sausage at home and then bought a food cart for local events. He has a tiny car and bought a place on the business loop where he spends his time making sausage. He has the one building, still uses the cart and is doing very well for himself. He didn’t put up several diners across the city in the hopes of making more money, he had his goal in mind, reached it and now has the security of knowing that he is the one guy in town that people go to for his style of food.
People tend to make things more complicated then they need to be. As long as civilization has been around people have made a living from serving food. People have to eat and most of the time they aren’t able to cook for themselves. This industry wouldn’t be around if it wasn’t profitable and to make more out of it than it is turns it into something that it shouldn’t be. Serve good food, be consistent, and repeat. If you get this down people will come back. Hell, even McDonald’s figure this one out.

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Daisy and a Motherf*cker

Today turned out to be a big day for getting things done. The proofs for Daisy arrived unexpectedly early and I did a small photo shoot for the cover of Motherf*cker: My year as a degenerate cook. This morning I wrote a new chapter for the second book titled Rob’s Lament and that clocked in at 2000 words.

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Daisy is available for pre-order now and I’m currently recording the audiobook version which should conclude this week, then comes editing. I am still writing material for Motherf*cker but the plan is to release it on June 8th for the one-year anniversary of Anthony Bourdain’s death, three days after Daisy comes out. Am I crazy? Yes!
I doubt I will have the audiobook recorded for Motherf*cker but the print version and Ebook should be out. While creating the cover for Daisy I wanted to have three separate covers for each version, but cover creator had other plans for me. The image that was voted the best one for the Ebook also ended up as the cover for the printed version. As for the audiobook, I haven’t gotten far enough to find out how that will go.

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Rob’s Lament

I don’t remember where exactly I met Rob for the first time. I assume it was in the parking lot of the Meijer supermarket we used to work for. We spent long hours walking back and forth pushing rows of shopping carts into the store. It was mindless manual labor and for a young man of that age it was exactly what I needed at the time. I didn’t fit in with the other kids I went to school with, not for a lack of trying from some people to bring me into the loop. Having a job is joining a tribe with a goal. Most people fail to understand this. When people aren’t pulling their weight and the chief of the tribe doesn’t appear to care, the tribe can fracture and you end up with sub groups within the tribe. I hated bagging groceries and so my tribe ended up being the cart retrieval crew, a group of young men wearing reflective vest, sunglasses, and carrying nylon rope to hold the row of carts together. We had our own language and culture out on the pavement. We were doing things with shopping carts most people had not seen until Jackass aired on MTV. Cart surfing was a fun pass time, riding the side of the cart and balancing on two wheels while cruising down the hill.
For safety we were paired up and sent out in teams. There had been multiple stories of abductions and assaults in that parking lot so were wore beepers that would sound an alarm with security if we saw something that needed their attention. Rob and I would team up, grabbing carts, talking comic books and movies, our taste in many things were almost identical. This was during the great comic boom or the roaring 90s, that time just before the crash when people had invested thousands of dollars into over printed magazines with fake fans and inflated prices. Rob and I were some of those shmucks that bought into the boom with hopes of cashing in or joining the ranks of those in the industry. I wanted to be an artist but found my calling with writing instead. Rob on the other hand possessed a natural talent for art and even sold pictures at work to co-workers with the cash. Juvenile cartoons with a hint of realism were his trade. One bagger paid him twenty dollars for a commissioned piece of a man penetrating a squirrel. It sounded funnier at the time. While I studied art and graphic design at the local community college, Rob sat at home with his sketch book learning on his own how to draw.
There was a sad mood that hovered over Rob. When you looked at him you would see a young man, dirty in appearance, malnourished, and a sense of style that could have been pulled from a Quintin Tarantino or Robert Rodriguez film. To look at him one would not thing he had much to offer, to listen to him was to find out otherwise. He was smart, a sponge of useless knowledge that would vomit from his mouth and leave people mystified and feeling dumb. There were people that loved him and others who despised him for the reason of wasted potential, but that was all of us. To be a young man without direction wandering out into the world could only lead to three things, self-destruction, sloth, or success. At any given time, we were guilty of all of these things.
Rob grew up out west on an Indian reservation. I won’t pretend to remember which state he lived in because I don’t remember. I had no idea he was native American until he told me, he could have passed at Italian or Greek. His parents weren’t the sharpest tools in the shed and had a long list of horrible mistakes in their past that they expected their children to fix. I was hanging out with Rob one night when he asked to stop in to see his family. I was the only one that owned a car at the time. We pulled into the Airport Inn where his mother, father, two brothers, sister, and nephew were living in a one-bedroom hotel room. His mother didn’t speak much an had a scowl on her face that would make the average Russian woman of the Stalin era appear chipper. It was up to the kids to pay their way and most of them had dropped out of high school to find jobs. Rob earned his GED at 16 and therefore had an advantage over his other siblings. Paychecks were handed over and money was used for rent, food, and cigarettes. When big purchases were made the parents were the soul decider and the kids were to keep their mouths shut. For the life of me I can’t figure out what his parents were thinking. The kids left one by one as they discovered their independence causing a divide in the family. Whoever left was shunned and not allowed back until nobody was left. The youngest brother left first when he was hired in at a local factory. When their parents demanded the pay check he told them to “fuck off,” found an apartment, bought a van, and moved out. The pressure to make up for the loss was put onto Rob and while he supplied the family with money it wore on him and eventually, he was kicked out. That was how he ended up as my roommate.
Let’s back up shall we. Rob had met Nate before I started to work at Meijer and Nate left not long afterwards. I didn’t remember ever working with Nate but he was fond of telling me they thought I was a stuck-up asshole when I first started working there. Rob was a follower and while he had the potential to be so much more, he decided to be the side kick to Nate’s world of debauchery. If they could be compared to anyone Nate was Jay and Rob was Silent Bob with it being unclear who was leading who. It was the easy path and it was the road we all preferred at that time. We didn’t have a cause, a great war, something to motivate us to do anything. Nate and Rob were caught up in the MTV world of seeking out “bitches and money.” The cold war was over and there was no 9-11, all we had was a blow job in the White House and people constantly reminding us we were poor. Fight Club would later become our religion.
Coming from a nomadic people, Rob was constantly shifting through jobs, leaving and coming back always thinking the new job was going to be the big one, the money maker, the job to solve all of his problems. The job itself never mattered it was the pay that was motivating factor. In between, Rob would pick up shifts at Olga’s as the dishwasher and in his words, “I get paid and there is free food.” He wasn’t referring to screwed up orders from the kitchen either.
I think there is a time in most people’s lives when they are permanently scarred and while they don’t realize it, they never move on. Rob’s taste in women goes back to the reservation, a place with little to offer and few options for the young. Rob had a girlfriend when he was 13 and they soon found themselves pregnant. Trying to do the right thing, Rob took a job at the local Seven Eleven to save up for his coming family. The naïve delusions of youth can be a powerful thing until your world comes crashing down. While leaving work Rob passed the dumpster, heard something inside, and found his girl inside, wrist cut and bleeding to death. He climbed inside with no help on its way and watched her die taking their child with her. Later, he would try to join her and was sent to a psychiatric institution. I learned all of this years later on a drunken night where we tried to out do one another on who had the shittiest story for a game I would like to call Victim Porn.
For a while it looked like we were all getting our shit together. Rob was out of his parent’s home, he had a car, a union job at the local trash company, and there was talk of him becoming a tattoo apprentice. I landed a job at one of the local hospitals. Nate was still being Nate and that was what needed to change. The moment any of us started doing well the hammer would fall and we were beaten back down to the lowest position in the group. If Nate wasn’t doing well nobody would feel like they were doing well. Of course, it was a woman who would end the group. I met my ex-wife at the hospital and while we all hung out together there was a divide taking place. For Nate and Rob to be single while I had somebody was unacceptable. Rob sided with Nate trying to make Christie feel like shit and it was over. One night, Nate and Rob stopped by and while Nate stayed in the car Rob came to the door asking if I wanted to hang out. “Oh, porking the pig?” he asked seeing Christie walk to the kitchen. “Fuck you Rob.” I said before telling him not to come back. Nate stayed by the car yelling some crap about “bros before hoes” and they never came back to the apartment.
Rob and I once attempted our own comic book, an action crime thriller with vigilantes and drug kingpins. I wrote the script and worked on inking while Rob drew the panels and penciled the characters. We were about three pages in when Rob stopped working on the project. To this day I still have those pages filed away just in case…
I ran into Rob years later. His first question was “so when did you get divorced?” At the time his assumption was wrong and Christie and I were still married. Meanwhile, Rob told me about the stripper he married named Scarlett and how they split when she went back to work to pay their mortgage. There was a pattern, a lifestyle that Rob was accustomed to, and it wasn’t feeling secure. Rob had finally started that apprenticeship and was on his way to become an artist. A few years after that, when I was divorced, I spotted Rob at a local coffee shop. He had large gaged earrings, multiple tattoos, piercings in places that looked uncomfortable, and a perfectly shaved head. I don’t know if he recognized me as the new bald man that I was. We never spoke and to this day I wonder how far he had gone on his adventure to become an artist, the only one of us still following that path.

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Gary, an urban legend

To understand Gary, you have to know a few things about him. Gary’s voice was a cross between Mushmouth from Fat Albert and a sloppy French accent. Add in his use of very localized Ebonics and speaking at a high rate of speed and the gibberish is something that takes years of practice to translate. I didn’t have years, we didn’t go to school together, except for a short period of time we didn’t hang out regularly. We worked together at the local supermarket for two years and we weren’t close. Everyone knew Gary, that was one thing you quickly learned about him, the man knew how to get around.
By the time I had met Gary at Meijer he was already a bit of a legend but not in the way that he would have liked. There were dreams of becoming a professional football player but in his words, he was never given the chance to show his skills. He took steroids and swelled up so fast he had stretch marks covering his biceps. Football was a dead-end road at the end of high school and Gary had no plan B. His athletic abilities showed in the classroom though.
At St Monica’s I went to school with another kid named Cam. He was overweight like me, came from a white trash family, and didn’t have the best of luck in life. His dad was a biker and both of his parents were insanely large people who could have produced the next Andre the Giant. As two white trash fat kids in the same prep school there wasn’t room for the two of us. We had a feud those years and it would be years before we ran into each other again and buried the hatchet. After St. Monica’s Cam transferred to Loy Norrix and he was in a place he wasn’t familiar with even though he should have fit in. Switching from a private school to a public school after having only one black classmate in eight years was a bad idea.
Cam and Gary detested one another right away. The two would go back and forth and one day Cam slipped calling Gary a stupid nigger and that was when all hell broke loose. Nate and Rob were in class that day and as they described it, Gary soared through the air, over five rows of desk, colliding his fist with Cam’s face. The desk tipped over pinning Cam on the ground and leaving Gary towering over him raining down punches with the teacher unable to react. The teacher stood in front of the room panicking, asking Gary to “stop it” and the assault continued until Gary was finished. Cam never called Gary a nigger again.
I ran into Cam at the local strip club one of the nights Nate was paying Jordan’s rent. We talked for a bit and he was working as a tow truck driver. We laughed about the fights we used to get into and he asked what I was up to? He made fun of me being a cook and I asked if he knew Gary. Cam instantly tensed up and pretended the two of them were friends. That was the last time I ever ran into Cam.
All four years of high school Gary had the same girlfriend. As far as I knew he never cheated on her but things went down hill senior year between the two of them. When Gary was born there was a birth defect. The doctor had told his mom that he would never be able to have kids and that was the end of the story. However senior year his girlfriend, a short blonde that adored his dumb ass, found herself pregnant. Every bad way of handling the situation happened. Gary accused her of cheating, starting fucking other people, and for nine months tormented her at school letting everyone know she was a cheating bitch. Then the paternity test came back. Gary, you are the father!
He tried to make amends and wanted her back but after the hell he put her through she wanted nothing to do with him, except child support. Gary never received a football scholarship, he wasn’t drafted to the NFL, he was lucky to receive his diploma after being kicked off the football team for failing classes. Gary’s mom decided to sue the doctor for child support saying it was his fault that Gary got a girl pregnant thinking it wasn’t possible. As you can imagine that was thrown out of court.
When I ran into Gary again, two years after Meijer, he was living in the same apartment complex as me. There was the free pipe tobacco from the cigars he would dump out while rolling blunts. He would eat anything you had in the house but his own fridge was a toxic waste dump of micro bio experiments that had gone wrong. His television sat on top of his old floor model television. There was one chair in his apartment and the mattress sat on the floor by itself. He worked down the street at Summit Polymers, he had no car, was behind on child support, but he always had weed. There was a long line of girls that he was seeing at the same time. The list of things wrong with them was just as long. Drug addicts, obesity, anorexia, cursed with falling down the ugly tree, shitty human beings, and depressed psychos were among the list. Gary made them sound like the most beautiful women in the world and when you saw them your body shuttered.
“Gary, how the hell…”
“Matt, ugly girls need love too. Besides they all look the same in the dark.”
And that was how Gary made sure he was always getting some love somewhere. Over course he never learned his lesson and the 16-year-old redhead two buildings over was pregnant. She needed $300 for an abortion and Gary pawned his Play Station 2. Three months later she was pregnant again. Gary tried doing the same stupid shit of accusing her of cheating then quickly changed his tune. He liked this redhead and they would try to make things work. The girl quickly smartened up and left Gary to have the child on her own and filed for child support. Then Gary lost his job at Summit.
Things were never good for Gary. He dreamed big and the payout never happened. With Nate and Rob, he was the token black guy that you could count on to always have weed and would be your wing man taking the ugly friend home while you hoped to score with the hottie. When it came to helping Gary out when things went bad there was never anyone there for him. He was always on his own and that only made things worse for him.
The military seemed like a good option for him. Making order out of chaos and paying his child support, it appeared to be a good idea. Gary signed up for the Marines and filled out all the paperwork. He went out and had a tattoo of the marine corps seal put on his shoulder. This was going to be the rest of his life. In Lansing, Gary and a group of men were staying at a hotel waiting to be sworn in the next morning. The recruiter had gathered everyone into a hall and played Saving Private Ryan on a projection TV.
“Pay attention, this is what you have to look forward to.”
The opening scene was the invasion of Normandy. Body parts flew in the air. Men tried to push their intestines back into their bodies. A man walked around carrying his arm looking for other body parts. Medics were shot trying to take care of the wounded.
Gary and a few other men said “fuck this” and snuck out in the middle of the night. Gary was never sworn in and he went into hiding. I don’t think the Marine Corps considered him much of a loss.
I ran into Gary a few years later. My wife and I were leaving for our honeymoon the next day and Gary had seen us outside of a shop called Scone Zone. He stopped in and we chatted for an hour. Gary was living with his mom on the northside of town. He had just bought a new car before seeing us, a ten-year-old Cadillac that looked good but when I asked how the motor ran…
“Matt, let me explain something to you. You know I’m black right?”
“I had no idea.”
“Matt, as a black man we do things differently. We fix our cars from the trunk to the front. If it doesn’t have tunes, it broke. If it doesn’t have speakers, it broke. If it doesn’t have bass, it broke. If it doesn’t have rims, it broke.”
“Gary, if the engine doesn’t run the rest of that shit doesn’t matter.”
“Matt, you ain’t listening. From the trunk to the front. It’s a good car I checked it out myself.”
Gary was in the middle of a law suit against the last people to sell him a car. A dodge Neon that had a bad transmission and stopped running after a week.
“Those mother fuckers had to know. There is no way they didn’t know.” He lost that lawsuit and the one for the Cadillac he just bought. A month after I saw him the transmission went out and his boombox on wheels was a pile of crap sitting in the parking lot.
I ran into Rob a year later at the quarter bin in the only local comic shop in town. We flipped through thousands of comics looking for those rare gems that somehow made it into the bin.
“Have you heard from Gary?” I asked.
“He’s in jail.”
“Child support?”
“No, well that too.” We laughed.
Rob went on to tell me about how Gary was still living with his mom at one of the low-income housing complexes on the northside of town. One night, while his mom was at work, Gary ran out of the house with his gun after the car alarm went off. He kept the theft there until the cops showed up. The only problem was that nobody could understand Gary. The man had tried to get into his car after leaving a party and owned the same year, make and model of car that Gary owned. The only problem was that he went to the wrong car and the key didn’t work. Next thing he knew a crazy man speaking gibberish was aiming a gun at him. The cops pulled their guns on Gary until he put his down. They tackled him and cuffed him while he screamed the other guy was trying to steal his car. Gary had an unregistered gun and was behind on child support for all of his kids. Gary was arrested for being a black man on a Friday night. That’s not true. He was a dead beat. I wouldn’t trust him with my wife. You couldn’t rely on him for anything. He couldn’t have avoided everything by joining the military but I’m sure that would have been screwed up in some way as well. Plus 9-11 happened less than a year after he was supposed to be sworn in. He thought he had dodged a bullet, but in prison the military looks like a vacation.
That was the last time I had heard anything about Gary. That was the last time I heard a lot of things. He was always spitting out new terms like “slinging deals” which of course sounded like “slingin deas” and I had to have him repeat it five times until somebody else translated. I have never met anyone to this day that could speak the mush mouth gibberish that he spoke. It was his own language and it didn’t serve him well. Sometimes I wonder what ever happened to him but I’m scared to find out. I’d like to think that he still has his harem of girls that only he could love. Maybe he landed a good job that he would be able to keep without flunking a drug test. There aren’t too many options for a man like Gary. The best he could hope for is being the urban legend that he is. He’s no Luke Cage but to the women who like him he was an iron man and unlike the comics Gary was real. That was Gary’s talent, keeping it real and sometimes a little too real.

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Peterson vs. Zizek, What Really Happened

After reading some of the poorly written articles regarding the Peterson/ Zizek debate, some of which were written before the event, I decided to add my own impression of the event. The topic was Happiness: Capitalism versus Marxism, a topic people might consider paying attention to with the upcoming United States presidential election likely facing off between a far-right capitalist and some form of socialist. This notion flew over the heads of many who pretended to cover the debate and I will come back to them later.
On April 19th, 2019 I watched the Peterson vs Zizek debate from a live feed and while I had some issues with losing the feed during the event, I was able to watch it again earlier today. The debate started out with Peterson making his argument for the first half hour discussing the ideas he found wrong in the Communist Manifesto, of which there were many. He narrowed it down to six and was able to finish his argument when his time was up. Having not read the Manifesto since college he read the document again to become familiar with it and make some precise arguments against Zizek’s defense, this turned out to be a futile gesture since Zizek did not defend Marx or Communism during his half hour that followed. Zizek took a different approach and attacked capitalism for its faults, political correctness, and never talked about Marx.
Peterson was caught off guard realizing that his opening argument was almost a waste of time with how Zizek came in never discussing what was supposed to be the topic at hand. The back and forth between the two became more fluid, more so with Zizek who is prone to droning on with his constant barrage of unfiltered thought. Zizek’s opening remarks ran over the time limit and his solution wasn’t to narrow down his final statement but instead asked for two more minutes to finish reading a page of material. Neither party became flustered or defensive and Peterson worked around Zizek allowing him to talk over him and ask questions when the roles were supposed to be reversed.
Some of the statements that came as a surprise involved Peterson and Zizek agreeing on many topics including the flaws in capitalism and how Marx wasn’t a great thinker or philosopher. At one-point Zizek even pointed out that he didn’t care for Marx and preferred Hegel for his ideas over Marx saying, “Hegel is what our world needs at this time.”
Zizek did go on the attack, showing that he had read 12 Rules for Life, asking about the rule to “clean your room.” But what if the room is dirty and your life is disorganized because of the rules put on you by society? This was a question that Peterson was able to work out by explaining that we can still make the world a better place by how we act and the things that we do, that which we are ultimately responsible for. Peterson had already argued this point in his book by describing how the people you live with might be confrontational with the idea of you cleaning your room, the idea that you might think you are better than everyone else of trying to discourage you through the question of why? Whether or not it’s the people you live with or the society you engage with the same problem is there, you navigate through the mess and try to claim some order for yourself.
There was a discussion about the social justice warriors and why they were considered Marxist? Peterson replied with a short history of leftist ideology on college campuses during the 1960s to today and Zizek agreed with his statement. But when the argument came to the topic of today, Zizek was insistent on hearing the name of someone who was a Marxist that was pushing the social justice agenda. Peterson couldn’t come up with a name but stated studies and numbers that had been done over the years. Zizek named off some professors he was familiar with that Peterson did not know and Peterson stated the studies Zizek didn’t know, in the end the question led to a stalemate.
Zizek on multiple occasions expressed his concern with the rise of China and how they were going to affect the world. The effectiveness of a communist government running a capitalist society must be admitted and while the benefits of a system like that can be seen, the horrors can not be ignored. The Muslims in work camps, the censorship of the internet and the crackdown of free speech only prove that with all the growth over the past two decades the flaws of communism are still abundant. This is the extreme end of what Peterson and Zizek both agreed what is needed in the future, Capitalism with regulation.
While some wanted this debate to turn into a fight, a battle of ideologies, their discussion came to some truths that others needed to hear or discover for themselves at these two men did. The old ideas of the twentieth century need to be left to that time. Both communism and capitalism, to their extremes, are horrible ideas that only hurt people in the end, and maybe that is the true answer to happiness. There is a balance that needs to be found and yet we have a right-wing agenda to deregulate everything and a left agenda to control all aspects of life. If democracy really worked well there would be a balance and that doesn’t exist. As Winston Churchill once said, “Democracy is a horrible way to govern, except for all the others.” This last quote was used by Jordan Peterson in a rebuttal to Zizek pointing out the current dysfunctional United States government.
There is much more to cover, and I would encourage anyone to watch the debate for themselves when it becomes available on YouTube. While other articles consider the debate a “waste of time” trying to make the entire event seem like a farce, others decided to push their anti-Peterson agenda and poorly executed it. I don’t know if it’s a sense of jealously or if they are trying to get those “clicks” onto their 300 word toiletreadings but the opinion of a so-called journalist is not helping our society and I doubt it does much good for their paychecks.
The Guardian published an article today titled, the ‘debate of the century’: what happened when Jordan Peterson debated Slavoj Zizek. I read this article while putting my daughter to bed tonight and found a handful of misquotes and disinformation that made my head spin. Zizek made a reference to the apocalypse during his opening comment and, according to The Guardian, Peterson agreed with him. This isn’t true in the least bit and there will be video to prove it to people who have not seen it. Peterson said the apocalypse was a bit much and that in his research things aren’t as bad as some would say they are. He mentioned a bet that was made between two scientists, one arguing that due to overpopulation the world would start feeling the stresses on resources by 2000 with the rise in the price of commodities. Peterson did not agree with Zizek. In the little research that was done for this article Stephen Marche found a video on YouTube of Zizek eating two hotdogs while walking down the street saying that he was “more or less a Gen X nostalgia act.” Unlike the Guardian, Zizek remains relevant with his current critics of social events such as pointing out that Trump, for all his flaws, is not a fascist and that trying to label him as such is not helping the left in their fight against him. I wish that Stephen Marche was paying attention to that piece of wisdom.
As for other articles that didn’t bother to take this debate seriously there was The Stranger, a Seattle based online magazine. For a debate that was a waste of time Charles Mudede spent a lot of time writing about the event before it even happened. With such pieces as “Nothing is a greater waste of time than the planned debate between Jordan Peterson and Slavoj Zizek” and “what Jordan Peterson’s followers don’t know about Zizek or postmodernism” one can point out that it was important enough to write about on multiple occasions before it even happened. The first article turns into an angry manifesto on why Peterson is not worthy to debate Zizek and how he will be exposed as a fraud. The second article was a self-masturbatory mental stroking to make the author feel smarter than he really is. I’m sure that he of all people ended up watching the debate that in his words was a ‘waste of time’ and I hope that he cringed and remembered his words as he argued what kind of Marxist Zizek really is. In the middle of the debate Zizek admits to not caring for Marx and preferring Hegel’s perspective on things, oops.
I should not be surprised that the media didn’t take this debate seriously even though it sold out and had an online audience that paid $14.99 to watch it. It is difficult to take the media seriously when they don’t take intellectual debates seriously. There doesn’t appear to be a discussion happening in our world anymore, just yelling on all sides to be heard and forcing ideas on people who do not want them. For god’s sake convince me, make an argument, say something with meaning? That is why these men are talking, you aren’t. It is difficult to read anything of any substance these days because everything is the opinion of some no name, wannabe reporter with too much student loan debt and hoping to have that one toilet tweet go viral to make rent. Thankfully we have people like Peterson and Zizek to have these talks and we don’t need the media to fill us in on it, we can watch it for ourselves.

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Adventures in Cooking: part 13

Towards the end of my time at Olga’s I was invited to go out to Karaoke night at Brann’s Steakhouse located next door to the Mall. This was the first and last time that I would hang out with many of the servers and cooks who I had worked with. The manager that had come out had a reputation for belting out late 80’s pop songs. Many of the people tried to perform 90’s rap/ hip hop and a few tried to get me to sing “Baby Got Back” by Sir Mix-a-lot. I declined and eventually, through the aid of much alcohol, picked Ænima by Tool. Nate Dawg made some comment about me of all people picking a 6-minute song and I didn’t care. I had to listen to him rapping some track by Ol’ Dirty Bastard.
When I finished singing one of the only songs, I had memorized the bar was silent. “and that was Matt, the only guy I have seen able to sing Tool. Very nice.” The DJ said before announcing the next up to the stage. This night I learned about putting myself into horrible situations. I was too drunk to drive, knowing this is a good tool to stay out of trouble. The bad part about know this was being taken to Karen’s apartment across the street to sober up. We didn’t have Uber back then and I didn’t want to pay for a cab. I argued to sleep in my car, but it was below freezing outside. I caved in and fell asleep on Karen’s couch, coat still on and my large case of CDs wrapped in my arms. Back then people would steal CDs from cars which is unthinkable today. After Karen checked on her kids, she came back into the living room. I pretended to be asleep and I was in a state of panic as she stood over the couch. After a long moment there was a deep sigh and she disappeared.
Early that morning I woke up and found the apartment dead silent. Karen was still asleep, and I wanted to be out of there as soon as possible. I grabbed my CDs and went out, walking across the street, finding my car in the Brann’s parking lot and driving home. I needed something different. I needed to get out of Olga’s before I ended up as a trophy on somebody’s wall.
There are places in Kalamazoo that appear impossible to get into. Pizer, Stryker, Bronson, Borgess, the list goes on but the institutions that offer a living wage had their doors closed unless you knew somebody on the inside. My mom snuck her way into the hospital through a loop whole in their hiring system. She was working at a daycare center operated by the hospital however it was a separate entity and the employees were not regarded as hospital employees. One of the other women she worked with bid on a job that was only inhouse and she got the job. Others started to do it and soon HR learned about these women who shouldn’t be bidding on these jobs but not before my mom was in.
One of the floors in the hospital was short staffed for cleaning people and I was given a paper application. That paper was handed to the manager who gave it to HR and before I knew it, I had an interview. The job was 12 hours a day, three days a week and I took it. This was the first time I had health insurance, I didn’t have to worry how many hours I had to pay rent, I wasn’t standing over a hot stove and I didn’t have anyone yelling at me ever twenty minutes. This was a complete change from where I had been working.
I still had some credit card debt from college and wanted to save up for a new car. I continued working at Olga’s and after working 60-70 hours a week for 6 months I left. I still remember the moment I was standing in the kitchen and my mind shut off, looking into nothingness and snapping out of it half awake and dragging myself through my task. I had money saved up, the credit card was paid off. It was time to relax and start living like a normal human being.
I went up to the manager’s office and found Meagan sitting at the desk. I think she had just finished putting together the next schedule and I told her “I can’t do this anymore.”
“You’re quitting?” she asked.
“Yes,” I replied with the intend of giving her a two-week notice.
“Today?” she asked. I had not considered this. I fully intended on giving them two weeks and find someone to cover for me, but after all the short shifts, all the double shifts, the times I worked by myself what difference would it have made. Knowing I didn’t ever have to come back was a blessing in disguise. She never should have asked that question.
I can do that? I thought to myself. “Uh, Ya. Today.” Meagan started to cry, and I said “sorry” before turning around, hanging up my apron and going downstairs.
“Motherfucker, where are you going?” Nate Dawg asked as I walked past him in the kitchen without an apron.
“My shift is over,” I said.
“We’re short staffed. Want some more time?”
“I just quit,” I said.
“Oh, you get a job at the hospital and you think you’re better than us now?”
I thought for a second, after all the insults, long nights of Nate tearing me down to make himself feel better, the constant ridicule for not liking the same things as him, I had had enough.
“Ya, I am better than you.”
“Get the fuck out of here motherfucker. Piece of shit. Fucking asshole. I can do this whole fucking thing myself. I don’t need your help uppity asshole.”
“Nate, go fuck yourself.” I walked out and never saw Nate again.
There was a weight off my shoulders. A burden had been lifted and, in the end, I had to wonder if it was ever worth it. What is the purpose of running a business that treated people like cattle pushing them into the butcher shop every day? Who thought of these business models and at what point did they ever seem like fun or a useful profession? I understand making hot food, serving those who need to eat, helping keep the rest of us going, but this was something else. Olga’s never figured out if it was fast food, or a bistro for lunch, or (heaven forbid) fine dining. It wanted to be everything to everyone and in the end, it failed its customers and the employees the most. I was now free from the grips of Olga’s and I only went back there once in the last 20 years. Some of the same servers still worked there. I spotted Junior working in the kitchen with his hair now white and his frame thinner than I remembered. I wasn’t curious about some of the other people I worked with and therefore didn’t ask. That time was gone, and I was grateful to be out of there. My membership card to the brotherhood of the spatula had been revoked.

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The Tale of Brendan

Neighbors came and went with the seasons at Maple Ridge Apartments and during the spring of 2000 a white pick-up truck backed up to a door and started unloading furniture. A few days later I heard a woman calling out my name in the parking lot and I saw someone I recognized but didn’t know, although she acted like she knew me. Karen was a cashier at the Meijer grocery store I worked for in high school. Two years later one of those cashiers was my new neighbor. Karen was ten years older than me with dark straight stringy hair, a thin face, and a bad attitude. This was the first time she had tried to be nice to me. In the two years I worked with her I could not recall anyone liking this woman. Then I met her husband.
Brendan was close to my age. A young decent looking guy who acted like he was always on a caffeine kick and had never heard of something called peace and quiet. His blonde hair was spiked with gel and he was still at that stage of eating whatever he wanted and still appearing in shape. When you met Brendan, you could not leave without hearing about his truck. It was a mid-90s white Ford Ranger that was nothing remarkable except that it had been totaled in an accident and rebuilt. To this day I can’t figure out what is so special about a truck that “has no value” as he put it and “I could never sell it since it doesn’t exist.” How much of this story is true, I have no idea? There were the holes I found in the story back then, how do you buy tags for the plate? How do you get a plate? Insurance, it’s not like they won’t look up the vin number. None of these questions were answered and he usually turned the topic to sex. Women he banged. Prospects in the apartment complex. Women, women, and more women was the constant topic of discussion, but he never talked about his wife.
The marriage was rocky from the beginning. These two were always fighting and Karen would storm out taking their kid, I don’t remember if it was a boy or a girl, to her mom’s place leaving Brendan to roam the complex on his own.
During that time, I had regular visits from Gary, a former co-worker from Meijer that knew Nate and Rob who were also regular visitors. Rob eventually became my roommate for a period, and it was during that phase Brendan and Karen moved in a few doors down. Gary lived in the building behind ours and as the social butterfly that he was. He knew most of the people in his building, who smoked weed, who was throwing parties, who was looking for some action, etc. Gary was not picky and as he put it, “they all look that same when the lights are out.”
Karen had stormed out of the apartment again. There was the usual yelling and screaming that had all the neighbors looking out of their blinds. A few minutes after she left, Brendan was knocking on the door expecting me or Rob to entertain him. I didn’t answer the door and went about my business. An hour later Gary came knocking and around that time Rob came home from work. He had the misfortune of landing a Union job for a garbage company and his task was cleaning out the backs of those trucks. And I thought I had it bad with the rats.
“Ya’ll gotta come ta muh building. Dis gurl haffin a party up in der.” Gary was difficult to understand. If you didn’t know Gary you would think he was drunk, or high, or maybe a speech impediment, or just had dental work done. None of these were true although sometimes he was high but that made it easier to understand him.
I was bored so I said to heck with it and followed Gary and Rob out the door. On the way Rob went to Brendan’s and that man came rushing out like a dog let off the leash.
There was indeed a party that was happening. Some girl that nobody knew had just moved in and was having people over. Her real agenda was to have someone bring some weed so that she could get high and Gary was happy to fulfill that wish. With a dozen of us in this one-bedroom apartment we sat around looking at one another wondering how nobody had something to smoke it with. Rob went back to the apartment and grabbed an old corncob pipe that he had, and Brendan assigned himself to pack it.
“I’ve done this before,” Brendan said. “I’m good at this.” Not exactly the thing to brag about when you are pressing your thumb into the bowl with all your might. He never broke apart the bud and instead stuffed the entire thing into the pipe. Gary sat back watching completely entertained. Eventually the bowl was lit but nobody could draw from the damn thing, so we went about drinking cheap booze and making small talk. Brendan was hitting on the girl the whole time. He would say he liked rap and she would reply she liked country. “I was just kidding. I love country. Country is my jam.” Then he started talking about his truck. To my surprise the girl started asking all the same questions I had regarding the truck being legal. Brendan changed the subject to what he wanted to do with it. “I’m going to lower it down, put some small fat tires on it and run some lights underneath. It’s going to be sweet.” The girl on the other hand said. “I like big trucks.” Brendan changed his tune and said, “I was just kidding. Ya, I’m going to get one of those kits and put some big fat mud tires on there.”
This act went on all night and I was one of the last people to leave. My job that evening was the cock blocker. I didn’t like Karen, hell I didn’t like Brendan, but who was this girl that was being pulled into their bullshit. When Brendan went to take a leak, I told the girl he was married, and they had a kid.
“He said he was single,” she whispered back. “How do you know?”
“He lives a few doors down and I worked with his wife. Look do what you want but now you know.”
I went home that night feeling a little better. To this day nobody knows what happened. The next morning Brendan came nocking on the door. Half-awake I answered and he told me about his sexual escapades with the girl from the party. “She had a huge bush and she blew me. It was so good.” These were the details that would be repeated and never expanded upon and I was fine with that.
The next day I saw Rob and he said he ran into Brendan after work. “He said she was shaved, and they fucked.” After comparing the few notes we had it was obvious somebody was lying.
A week later Rob came storming into the apartment with a large cardboard box. “You won’t believe what this guy a work gave me.” It was difficult to tell what it was at first, all the VHS tapes had the covers missing and the titles were in small print.
“What is it?” I asked.
“There is this old cranky Vietnam vet at work who doesn’t talk to anyone and is pissed off all the time. He comes in today and says ‘does anybody want this box of porn’ so I raise my hand up and he tells me its all lesbian porn because seeing another dude’s dick is gay. He didn’t have to explain that to me, but he did. Then he tells me that if I didn’t take it then it was going in the trash and I put it in my car right away.”
Rob starts going through the titles; Muff Divers volume 4, No Dicks Allowed 2, Carpet Burn, and the list went on and on. He was happy with his find and had the next day off.
“Just make sure you clean up afterwards,” I said rolling my eyes as he explained he wasn’t leaving the house all day.
That next day I went to work at Olga’s and Rob stayed home with his box of porn. What happened is as follows. Rob went through his tapes reading the titles. When he came across All Anal Action volume 12, he thought “this sounds nice.” None of the tapes were rewound so if you put it in the VCR you were starting at some random spot. This tape started with a close up, loins slapping and heavy breathing, Rob sat back on the couch and enjoyed, until the camera started to pull back. There was something odd he couldn’t put his finger on. The guy was odd enough, not exactly what the man at work had said these movies were. No, the problem was the girl in the movie who either had a serious case of hemorrhoids or…
Rob fast forwarded enough to learn he had been enjoying two guys going at it and for a few minutes he sat in a corner balled up crying. Then he had an idea.
Rob rewound the tape to the exact spot he had found it and took it out of the VCR. Then, he called Brendan. “Dude, you know that box of porn I got from work. I have something you need to see.” Brendan was at the door in seconds. “Now when you watch it don’t rewind it. It’s at the best scene.” Brendan grabbed the tape and ran back to his place eager to watch the film. Rob waited.
And waited…
And waited…
What he had expected was for Brendan to come back yelling and throwing the tape at him. Maybe a phone call where he said, “very funny asshole.” Some prank played on him later. But none of these things happened. We never saw Brendan again. We never saw Karen again.
When I came home that night Rob told me what had happened, and I too waited for a response. A week later the truck was gone. A few days later, Karen was moving out on her own with the kid. She never said anything to us. We had no idea what had happened to Brendan. The girl in Gary’s building disappeared that summer as well. It was like those few weeks had never happened.
Rob often wondered if he had ruined Brendan’s life, opening doors that weren’t meant to be opened.
“Rob, he tried too hard. You know this. He was living in denial.”
“What about Karen?”
“He picked the one girl at the bar that looked like a man. And she was always a bitch.”
“Ya, she was a bitch.” Rob smoked his cigarette and maybe felt better about the joke he had played. I could see why it would be difficult to move on. A marriage destroyed, a child’s life in limbo, and a woman with nowhere to go. I think Rob liked Brendan, for all of his faults, of which there were many, he was likable in small doses, really small doses, like not living a few doors down from you, or keeping a safe distance while passing on the street far enough away that you won’t end up talking, or not knowing that a person like him exist at all. That is the best way to enjoy Brendan’s personality.
To this day I have never run into Brendan. I don’t know if I would recognize him if I saw him. I never saw the white truck on the road. I never saw Karen again either. It was obvious from the beginning that Brendan had some issues the down side was that he had to take a few people down a road with him because he was too afraid to do it by himself. In the end I think the big old box of porn was a practical joke that turned into a two for one deal. When you work with garbagemen expect to feel a little dirty.

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