Work. British singers.

So, my original idea was that this blog would be about work, jobs, working, the jobs I have had, the job I have at the time, and so on. Well, it's true that I have another new job. Believe it or not--this is the dirtiest job I have ever had. Yes, this beats the hotel restaurant linen-washing dungeon job. (I lost patches of my fingerprints from smoothing and folding super hot and mostly polyester table linens that spilled out of the industrial dryers for 10 hours a day.) Yes, this even beats all of shrimp deveining, crab-cracking, squid-emptying, and burr-mixing of gallons of caesar dressing during my former cooking career. All of the emptying of drains, both kitchen and otherwise, and cleaning of toilets I have performed during my work life. It even beats administering the lidocaine injections and starting dialysis with an 18 gauge needle on a elderly woman. Of course, there's not much that can beat being giving the task of filling a 6 foot tall baker's rack with sheet pan after sheet pan of red jello, nor grinding up whole unwashed heads of muddy cabbage into a prep sink and then making coleslaw with your bare arms (up to the elbows, I tell you!). I only held that particular job for one half of one day. It definitely beats the job I had filling cemetary urns for Memorial Day. Of course, it really was pretty gross unplugging that fucking toilet at Cafe Wyrd at least once per shift, day after day after day. Alas, this new job is even dirtier. It is, however, finally the kind of dirty that I can get down with.

I'm at my new-ish super dirty job and I am listening to some old Erasure and I just realize that early Andy Bell and Alison Moyet sound almost exactly alike. Of course I know that she didn't she sing the magical and amazing early 90's gay anthem "Chains of Love," but she should have. Or she still could and I might not catch it.

Dear Frog,

I am glad that you are my best friend.


Your Best Friend,


Toad