A couple of weeks ago, I broke my right humerus. If you want to read all about it, head over to my horse blog, Hand Gallop. It was a (work) horse related accident, so I figured it made more sense to post about it over there. I had surgery to repair the break via some rods, screws, and a plate last week. Today is the first time I can type with two hands! This is the first time I've broken a bone or had any kind of serious injury, and it's taught me some valuable lessons.
It is important to have your caregiver remove your ability to online shop while under the influence of powerful painkillers. During my recovery, I've bought two Groupons, some clothes, books for my Nook, Hulu Plus, and some beauty products. Prescription medication is totally worse than alcohol when it comes to decimating willpower.
Profuse crying and wailing will neither make you feel better nor convince your significant other to give you your next dose of pain medication immediately after you have received your scheduled dose.
While sleeping 18 hours a day sounds amazing, it's actually really bizarre and makes your back feel weird. Even the internet goes to bed at 3 AM.
Previously private, embarrassing topics are now common conversation fodder between you and your caregiver. Be prepared to ask this person to help you get your shorts down to go to the bathroom and have chats about bowel movements. Do not be ashamed to ask this person to shave your disgusting armpit that you haven't been able to address for a week and a half.
The very smallest victories should be celebrated. No shame in cracking open the sparkling grape juice to celebrate the new-found ability to wear a presentable shirt, type with two hands, or pull down your own shorts.
Being cranky only makes every other creature in the household cranky. Not only will you never get that glass of water you asked for, but the dog will inevitably bark all night and the cat will attempt to use your face as a pillow.
I think the most valuable thing I've learned is to be appreciative of friends and family. Their kind thoughts are so staggeringly nice that it makes me feel comforted and happy. Thanks, y'all.
And the grass is definitely still brown. Very brown, thanks to the extreme drought the state of Oklahoma's been experiencing.
What have we been up to since we last posted in March? Well, a few things.
We rearranged our living room so it can function as a living room instead of Johnny's storage space. Johnny let go of some of those boxes his mom brought (it was a time, let me tell you). We started the Couch to 5K running program because we both felt really fat. We finally installed that damn toilet. We went on vacation to Colorado and stopped running for a week (or three). We resumed Couch to 5K. I made Johnny come volunteer at a work camp (which he secretly enjoyed because he got to grill).
And that's kind of where we are, currently.
So, with that said, here are some pictures from our Colorado trip!
It's no secret I'm a huge, huge, dorky fan of the game Rock Band. My obsession started in somewhere in 2007, when my friends Amy and Mikey acquired the game. I'd played Guitar Hero many times, and enjoyed feeling like a rock star and having fun with my friends- minimal effort required.
When Amy and Mikey became my roommates in 2008, playing Rock Band was one of our favorite pastimes. Mikey and I formed Disgruntled Mailbox, the greatest band to ever grace the Playstation 3 leaderboards. Sometimes Amy would play; our friend Moto was a regular contributor on vocals. Now and then, we'd let a friend play guitar while Mikey held down drums and I played bass. Most often, though, it was just Mikey and me, earning gold stars, high scores, and when we were lucky, a place on the PS3 leaderboards.
I'm loathe to admit it, but there were times we skipped class to play. (Granted, it was more because we disliked class than any insane obsession with the game.) We played during the day, at night, through parties. Rock Band and its ilk Rock Band 2 were the soundtracks to our collegiate careers.
Amy on drums, Mikey and I back-to-back on bass & guitar, respectively.
After I moved in 2009, I didn't play. I missed the interaction with friends. I felt isolated, lonely. Those feelings weren't due solely to lack to game play with friends, but that certainly didn't help.
When Johnny bought a Playstation 3 in 2010, I was elated. Here was my chance to reconnect with my long-lost gaming friend, Mikey! Although I saw him when I visited Tennessee, kept up with his life via Amy and Facebook, I knew the PS3 would be a way to interact with Mikey directly.
At first, we played Rock Band and Rock Band 2 as often as we could. However, I found it wasn't the same. Without Mikey's steady (and excellent) drumming in the same room, I couldn't keep rhythm on bass as well. Selecting songs wasn't the same without him gently ribbing me about my choices. In short, it was different and not in a good way. We eventually stopped playing together.
Over Christmas, I was texting Amy about something, and she happened to mention that Mikey had sold his Rock Band games. My reaction was one of disbelief. Surely Mikey hadn't sold the games that had brought us so much joy! But it was true; one of my dearest friends had sold the games that we had shared so many happy hours playing. I was devastated. How could he do this?!
Three months later, I am still disappointed that I won't have the opportunity to play with my bandmate any time soon. When I really think about it, I think it's all a part of growing up. Rock Band is something that I need to leave behind. Although Johnny and I enjoy playing it every now and then, it will never hold the same specialness for me. I'll always think of it as something Mikey (and Moto, to some extent) and I shared.
Perhaps, one day, there will be a Disgruntled Mailbox reunion. If I'm really, really lucky.
Across every every medium for artistic expression, "coming of age" type stories are capped, without fail, by the audience or character experiencing revelation; platforms and actions once held in holy regard are eviscerated by wisdom that comes only with age or the inability to dream, leaving nothing behind but evidence of how far flung and utopic they were in the first place.
I'm not talking about the time I tried to convince one of my friends that we could re-write the indie rock history books by purchasing a Roland Space Echo on ebay and trotting out our ramshackle Sonic Youth ripoffs for the aural pleasure of weeknight crowds at College Station's cowboy bars. I'm talking about the reality of a small burrito chain trying to make it in corporate America, man.
Don't change the radio station.
Wear the company shirt.
Yes, you are only allowed to have your legal name on your name tag. Which, by the way, has to remain visible at all times.
Freebirds World Burrito died in front of me today.
Full disclosure: I worked at Freebirds (Ridge Rock location, Fort Worth, TX) for about 2 years in the mid 00's.
I have a bad habit of letting the quality and perceived coolness of my work effect me emotionally. Re-phrased slightly, that would be a solid answer for personal favorite throwaway interview question "name some of your flaws" (from the 'scouting combine drug test' rung of interview questions, ie are they evaluating my answer for truth or just for how good it sounds/my ability as a competent liar), but I am totally serious here.
I had worked in food before, but Freebirds was different. In large part because it went out of its way to guarantee that; very much in line with such as Keep Austin Weird, etc.
Wear whatever you want. If your hair is long, tie it back... or let your hat hold it. Music in the lobby with mainstream cusses? No problem. Facial piercings? Sure! Tattoos? Go for it (as long as they don't cover >50% of your visible skin)!
The final request on the application was to "draw something that will help you get this job". I drew a loose interpretation of The Battle of Endor with flying burritos in place of X-Wings.
The general manager who hired me had a Mitch Hedberg quote on the back of her wedding invitations.
Some co-workers were 35 and had an un-ironic love for Tool, others were 24 and burst into Karaoke mode any time Benny and the Jets came on the XM54 - Top Tracks.
The point I am trying to make, is that you would never enter Freebirds and think you were in Chipotle or Q'Doba, or any other burrito store. It was different. Not because of the silly sauce names, the statue of liberty riding a chopper through the ceiling, or or any other method the store had for telling you so, but through sheer force of genuine personality. They somehow managed to collect a large number of employees who could be "different" without being distant or abrasive. Why management allowed these personalities to show, instead of crushing everyone into a tortilla steaming automoton a la Chipotle, I will never know. There is a reason no one is surprised to learn that Chipotle is owned by McDonald's (/not a dig at % of employees at those fine establishments who only speak spanish/don't understand english).
Personally, I would never have it any other way. Whether it was the classic rock on the radio, the bar stools on the wall with alligator clips to hold the morning's newspaper, or the ability to get a real answer to menu questions like "what is the difference between the sauces" (mild, hot, and really hot is not an answer. ie most people probably like being informed that ingredient #1 in Freebirds BBQ sauce is catalina dressing before ordering it), something just made Freebirds feel more... Human (?) than the other burrito-centric mexi chains.
Being the only person in my circle of friends+family who preferred it to its competitors made me question my taste, but also gave me the comfort in thinking it would "stay underground". If other people are happy paying $2 for guacamole, consuming water consistency queso + bewildering in its availability and completely flavorless corn salsa, all in a comically oversized tortilla taking shape in a burrito wrapped in a manner that lends itself to little other than sieving rice from the vessel (don't worry, there is enough rice for 17 people in a Chipotle burrito)... Let them keep it. More for me.
I have been to Freebirds three times since my last day working there in August of 2007.
Time 1 - They opened a location in Norman, OK in spring of 2008. I was dating a girl who was going to school in Norman. Sampling the new cuisine seemed like the natural thing to do, so we dropped by and found what was essentially a point for point recreation of the location I worked at. This appeased the Gods.
Time 2 - It's spring 2010. Stephanie and I were in Fort Worth to ride roller coasters and visit my parents. Stephanie ruined a month old pair of Sperry's, and I ruined my favorite J Crew belt #whitepeopleproblems. We dropped by my old location. I recognize one of the current employees as a coworker from back in the day. She was 18 and in high school then, sites set on UT Austin. Three years have passed and the spring semester is still in session... depressing. She doesn't recognize me; probably because I had ~10" less of head hair +100% less of facial hair than I had while I worked there. I don't recognize this white stuff with green shit in it next to the rice. I am informed that it is something called "cilantro rice". There is not a newspaper to be found in the store. These are not good signs.
Time 3 - Yesterday. Stephanie told me earlier this week that Freebirds opened a Tulsa location; I was ecstatic.
It probably didn't help that this location is in one of my least favorite shopping centers, not just in Tulsa, but in the world. The 71st/US75 center across from the Spine and Brain research place is a hell hole to be avoided at all times, if at all possible. They seem to be aware of this, as they are obviously trying to give people more reason to stay away by constructing one of every sit down chain restaurant to grace/sully the Earth. The last time we were there, I lived in an apartment and you could choose from Chili's or Buffalo Wild Wings. Now, there are 12349878907 different places that include ranch on every item in their lunch menu.
It also probably didn't help that this Freebirds location has foregone the utilitarian "10 bajillion brushed aluminum tables for two" lobby set up, in favor of the "4 giant tables to promote that communal dining thing that everyone hates" stylee.
I see the cilantro rice. Romaine lettuce for salads. Fucking Carnitas has been added to the meat selection. This is not looking good.
Girl who made my burrito favored the "make a pile" method favored by Chipotle, as opposed to the "spread it out" method taught by Freebirds from 2005-07. She couldn't ID sauces by any names I used, and had this weird drive to not tell me their actual names. Odd. Wasn't too concerned by any of this until I ate the end product and, like Chipotle, my burrito was segmented. First third meat and sauce, middle third rice, final third beans. Delicious?
They had no line discipline, made no effort to engage the customer, and the radio seemed to play every indie song to achieve mainstream success at any point in the last 30 years. This means we heard "The Fight Club Song" by the Pixies AND "The Garden State Song" by the Shins.
Kill Me.
We used to make our own hot sauce.
It was called "Death", and was essentially 2 parts vinegar to 1 part of the Habenero sauce that was also made in house. All of the sauces other than the disgusting catalina based BBQ were little more than reductions of the habenero sauce.
We made a 5 gallon bucket of Death about 3 times a week. It would be divvied up into small glass containers that would go on the tables such as ketchup at Chiles.
When I made Death, it was bright red. The Red-Orange crayon would serve as a good example.
Burt's was more of an Orange-Red.
Bipolar Eric's was suitably variable.
The Tulsa location has Death in labeled bottles... such as Tabasco. You can now buy it from the store.
This makes total sense. Control the product flavor and quality. Remove human variability via eliminating a time consuming task from the perpetually overworked cold side kitchen guys. Allow customers to take your brand home with them.
Can someone just tell me why it tastes like cumin now?
