War On The Job-Front

War on the Home-Front

Gainesville is a nice place to live, especially our little gated community of the Lake Lanier Club. This little quiet paradise nestled next to Lake Lanier comes complete with swimming pools, waterfalls, fountains, tennis courts, work out gyms, a car wash, tanning beds and pretty girls. I am living with Ryan, a friend of mine from our youth who holds a well paying job with a major automobile company. He takes very good care of me, and helps me out with everything from expenses to job hunting. It is almost always sunny here and I spend the majority of my days lounging by the pool and driving around to learn about the area.

War on the Job-Front

Before embarking on my journey I lined up a job in new car sales using a dealership staffing agency. Unfortunately that opportunity fell through, imagine that. Apparently I was told I don’t know anything about cars, and although they may be right, I do know a little something about marketing myself and immediately hit the pavement. I may have found a job at a quaint gourmet restaurant as a chef with the opportunty to quickly advance to kitchen manager. I should expect to hear back from them early this week.

I know you’re all saying that I’ve done the food thing before, but I am starting to understand it may be what I was created to do. I have always searched for that natural talent, and it took me a while to realize that the only thing that ever came natural to me was cooking (regretfully it wasn’t being a doctor or lawyer). I have been reminded a lot recently of Anthony Bourdain’s book “Kitchen Confidential” (pick it up, it’s a good read) that outlines in the first two chapters why anyone would crave a chef’s position. He makes referance to a chef and his crew to being a sea captain and a band of pirates. It’s this sort of renegade mentality that would draw a man to a career in extensive heat, crowded spaces, little pay, long hours, and no benefits. So it’s time to grow some facial hair, find my do-rag, buy a Harley and join the pirate ship. Sorry Mom.

Georgia or Bust

Five hours worth of Bruce Springsteen songs, two brave pilots, one epic journey, and an acoustic guitar. Anyone with an education can finish that equation, unless of course you’re the barefoot, toothless, drunk that loiters outside of the local liquor store singing old Hank Williams songs.

We began our journey August 10, 2008 departing from Irwin, Pennsylvania, more specifically, Route 30; the lifeline of Western Pennsylvania and a main artery I wouldn’t dare deviate from. I dared. I deviated. I’m lost.

…but I digress.
After thirteen hours, three stops for fuel and coffee, and a jaunt around a South Carolinaian waffle house, we finally arrived at our destination, Gainesville, Georgia. My little Chevrolet Cavalier ran like a champion, a fine piece of machinery that I could only assume was crafted with good ol’ Northern inginuity.

Of course, I think my muffler is falling off, but that’s nothing a rusty coat hanger can’t fix. I’ll have one of the gear-heads do it for me, after all, I’m delicate.

The Bottom [Mason-Dixon] Line

I’ve always been a bit of a mad scientist, always mixing, concocting, creating, and destroying; my own style, my own way. Now I find myself below the Mason-Dixon Line, a lone Yankee in a sea of rebel flags and sore losers, a new Patriot on the war front bringing the battle back home.

How do you like that for an intro.?? Yeah, just kind of grabs you by the grapes, makes you want to keep reading. By all means...