I King

Junio 23, 2002

Pissin' Korea

Dear "Korea-Town",

Your honks are driving me crazy.

It was really nice to see Koreans cutting loose at Bloor and Christie last night. They had drums, and the Brazilians were there, and the Turks, and even some hippie guys with glow sticks. The enthusiasm was electric. The Koreans, all of them I think, honked their horns and cheered and screamed and sang pissin' Korea for twenty-four hours yesterday. The Bloor strip turned into an informal parade route, and carloads of Koreans decked out in flags and facepaint waved to us onlookers, and we waved and screamed "yayyyy" back at them.

Les pointed out that all the Turk cars had lots of guys smoking inside them. They also had one tiny Korean flag amongst all the Turkish ones -- on the aerial or something. Like they needed it for safe passage through the strip or something. There were quite a few Turk/Korea combo cars. Usually an open Jeep YJ with guys hanging out of it. Half of them smoking. I bet that's a rare instance of Turkish/Korean community bonding.

I tried to hitchhike to the bar one block away on the outside of this guy's Chevy Avalanche.
It had runners and bars on top. He told me to hop in. So I did. Then he gasses it and we end up two subway stops away. He was chasing a car full of girls, but he lost them. I told him that I thought I saw them turn back toward the bar I wanted to go to. He believed me, so we headed back. He was Hungarian, and his name was Memeto. And he asked me if I was Polish, if liked Asian girls, if I had a girlfriend, did I love her, and was I going to marry her. I answered his questions, and I got out back at the bar.

Posted by King at 06:51 PM | Comments (7)

Junio 15, 2002

Laws Of Wisdom

This is a pretty cool explanation of how the I Ching works, and why.

Posted by King at 02:18 AM | Comments (0)

Junio 13, 2002

Update: Hussein

Bob, the delivery driver at restaurant #1 (who now, by the way, sleeps in his car most of the day) is not really named Bob at all.

'Bob' is his brother's nickname. His name is also Hussein! The same as the previous driver. He said the guys in the kitchen told him to change it, because of the similarity. Why would they do that? The other Hussein was fired. There wouldn't be any confusion.

Just continuity.

Posted by King at 02:19 AM | Comments (6)

White Trash Summer

It's funny. I didn't realise how white trash the clientele at restaurant #1 was -- until summer hit.

Out come the wife-beaters, the Tevas, short shorts, old-looking pink dresses with Birkenstocks, and so-on. One guy who I've seen dressed conservatively in colder times, showed up yesterday wearing a long tank top over short-shorts. He's mild looking, thin and pale with hair neatly cut and glasses, and....with a fanny pack. Pouch forward. The fanny was cinched tight around his waist -- and just like that -- his tank top metamorphosized into a mini-skirt.

This man drank a glass of red wine in the afternoon with his wife while they ate a delicious buffet lunch. I chatted briefly with them about unemployment and how it sucks. He said he was in sound editing, so he was used to it. She wasn't used to it, but seemed to be riding on his confidence (which seemed high to me. He was wearing a skirt) Later that day he came back with a buddy who had a beard, mirrored sunglasses, and apparently a day off midweek (probably also not working). They drank five Molson Canadians each, and smoked about twelve cigarettes. He did not smoke with his wife, nor did he ask for an ashtray, which was the first thing he asked me on his second visit.

I also served another tank top. This salmon-coloured garment was almost to the guy's knees and he was about six-four or five -- big tank. It looked well used. The fabric over the shoulders had dwindled, and he really only had thin spaghetti straps left. Parts of the back and bottom were frayed. He had on some shiny kind of warm up pants that tapered down so that his ankles seemed to be swelling, and he had a kind of slipper-shoe on that I've never really seen before and find impossible to describe. His hair was long and extremely frizzy and he'd managed to fit one clump into a small ponytail. His posture was extraordinarily erect and he reeked of B.O. He was about 32 years old. He also challenged me several times.

He asked for a drink, then paused and asked if there were free refills. I said no. Then he turned back to the veal in the steam tray. "Would you like a drink then?" I asked. He shot around, fast: "I would have told you if I wanted one. Okay? I'm good like that. Okay? Okay?" He wouldn't leave again until I said okay. It felt weird to acknowledge that he was indeed: Good Like That.

He told me he used to be a waiter, but he only tipped me forty-three cents. I asked him what he did now, and eighth-jokingly he said he'd been demoted to busboy. His wallet was an old, stained envelope.

I also served a guy with no shirt and no teeth. My initial suspicions about him as a customer were confirmed when he stiffed me on the bill. He only ordered one Corona, and then decided not to pay when it turned out to be $4.87. This 35-40 year old man was screaming at me in the restaurant about his rights. "Don't I have any rights as a citizen?! Are you telling me I don't have a right to have a Corona at three dollars like it is anywhere else in Toronto?!!!" Well first of all no. And it's not three dollars anywhere else, and if $1.87 is going to encite a political standoff, you should just ask how much it is before you fucking drink it. All I wanted then was his five. I couldn't wait. Even after he told us that his father was the new "premier of Toronto" and that the restaurant would be shut down by the government before Saturday, I refused to give in. People like this don't even deserve five dollars.

Anyway, he got out, because of a miscommunication between me and the head of the kitchen who was standing there -- he managed to confuse us long enough that we let him slip back outside.

When things like this happen, I kind of feel sad for all the great people in the world.

Posted by King at 02:13 AM | Comments (4)

Junio 10, 2002

a weekend away

Man, oh man, man.

It was good to get out of the city this weekend. I went to Winchester, Ontario, and to Ottawa as well I suppose. There's fucking nothing to do in Ottawa after the bars close. Everyone just eats. Filion and I combed the streets for the after hours scene and everyone told us were wasting our time. Where are the after hours joints in the Wa? We did sleep on the floor of this apartment right near the experimental farm in the middle of Ottawa. I didn't even know about this. What a dump Toronto is, we don't even have a goddamn experimental park. And I know we have a lot of parks, but let's face it, most of them suck. There's nowhere in the fucking city you can go and get some peace and friggin' quiet. I've had this kanker sore in my mouth for four freaking months now, and it went away over the weekend. And you know what? I've been back in town for five hours, and it's back.

Toronto could be so great, but for one thing, everyone's always pissed off and in a rush. And probably pissed off because they're in a rush. Store clerks have no time for me, and I definitely have no time for them. And I really feel like the rush is a hustle to get ahead, and get more bread so that I can buy more time or something. Or so that I can buy whatever I want when I'm not working as a kind of reward for me because most of the time is just shitty because I'm working. And in my job I deal with the public, and that time is shitty time because Everyone, including me, is pissed off and in a rush, so how could we possibly enjoy talking to each other. It's all such a load of horseshit.

Everything is tied up in our concept of time I think. I don't really understand time at all, but there's something strange about it. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that we feel like our time is limited on the planet, so we feel rushed. People are always talking about wasting time. Hey you're late! You wasted my fucking time. But buddy, that time's only wasted if you spend it thinking about how much of your time is being wasted.

Pasquale, the patriarch at restaurant #2 talked to me a lot about how time is weather-relative, because in really good weather, it's okay to doddle and do nothing, and wander and just enjoy -- but in cold weather, if you're late, you maybe left someone out to freeze.

Seriously though. I don't know any references on the web, but so many spiritual writings talk about how there's an eternity in the moment. How there is no present and no future, that they only exist in your mind. I do not understand this. I know that on certain drugs I have had the feeling that time slowed down, or that it's irrelevant altogether. I don't think about anything except what I'm doing, and five minutes can seem like an hour -- in a good way.

Most people I talk to in the restaurant can barely even focus on ordering a meal. There's too much noise in everyone's goddamn heads.

I don't have a point, no. I'm just writing shit out of my own head, so maybe I might write something with a point someday. And stop wasting everybody's fuckin' time.

Posted by King at 02:40 AM | Comments (4)

Junio 04, 2002

Suck My Cunt

Filion's friend Robin promised me girls don't say this kind of thing when they tell people off. "Hey that's bullshit. Suck my cunt buddy, I did not. I did not. Suck my cunt right now, I did not say that!"

I know I heard a girl say that.

Carolina just beat Detroit, and this blog can suck my cock and cunt. I hate the look of it, and the content is getting cunt-sucking worse every time I type something.

I was on D's blog again the other night, and followed some links to others, like my life as an american gladiator, and empty bottle.

Both good. Kafkaesque is really funny. Fuck him/her. I wish I at least knew how to make this cocksucking site look good. I might just start to think about planning to try and figure it out. Maybe.

Posted by King at 10:54 PM | Comments (20)