steve

my manager's name is steve. you remember steve, don't you? he's the one who was in tears over my keg stacking during the jazz fest.

well, quite often he gets rammy. he'll go running around the pub, making himself more worked up than he was before feeding his ulcer with a cup of coffee every few minutes. i keep telling him he should lay off the caffeine lest it stunt his growth. he keeps telling me that at 27 five foot five is as tall as he gets. then i'll make a joke about being a leprechaun, he'll call me a yank and then run circles round the pub.

a wise man once told me that a wise man once told him that he never repeats a step he's taken. he takes his time and makes sure to bring with him the tools he needs. i don't think that was meant to be a metaphor or anything, but i still like to think about it sometimes and how it, you know, like, makes thoughts think.

while my thoughts were thinking about whether i was to share this bit of knowledge with him they all generally decided that it is better not to share advice that was not asked for. this, also, came from a wise man i know. at least, that is what they would have concluded had steve not interrupted my day dream by asking why the sink was over flowing and the pint i was pulling had filled the floor. he handed me a coffee and a bit of paper that said getyourheadinthegame. i smiled and failed. i tried again and failed again.

steve was looking at me.

i pictured steve in a green suit with a little green hat and a little bowl of lucky charms and smiled. he shook his head, took a bite of the charms and walked away.

four shirts to choose

canada day long weekend was spent at a cottage in bayfield, ont. most events that weekend where of the genres of hammer-whacking, hammer-hammered, wedding-going and street-walking. another genre, one might want to include in the list is bathroom-going, however that is not all that special considering that is, more or less, the story of my life.

there were a few points, of which i will spare you, that could be noted, but i won't, that would set those string of three days apart from the other (approximately) 8910 days . those events, needless to say, inspired one of the street-walking expeditions to include a novelty shop, of no particular note, to become a stop, for no particular reason. four of us purchased a shirt that had a picture of a stick man seated on a toilet with the caption everybody poops. we were going to get our names on the back with the number 2 but ran out of time, money and attention spans.

the wise man, upon seeing the shirt adorned by his only son questioned my reasoning for wanting to wear it out in public on a saturday night to a community party where people would see me in it and question the reason my father let me leave the house dressed like that. mandy, upon seeing after having been asked to give a second opinion, stopped laughing around tuesday.

the shirt has since become a bit of a conversation piece, like a coffee table book, and has helped me make a vast amount of friends. a few times it has even sparked language lessons with the backpackers of Cork.

all in all i am very fond of my shirt, and i always bring it with me when i go on extended day trips.