JOBS, JOBS , JOBS

I've been on the planet for the better part of a century. In that time, a few jobs have come my way, beginning in elementary school. In Grade Eight, I delivered flyers for a hardware chain. My teacher's brother was a distribution guy and he needed sneakers on the ground. That summer, I also delivered prescriptions for a pharmacy. Rode my bike all over town for forty cents an hour on Saturdays. If there were no deliveries, I washed the dude's car.

Below (in half-assed chronological order) are a few jobs I've had in my life.

Shoe store clerk , Grocery clerk, Groundskeeper, Caddy, Washer/Dryer/Freezer and Refrigerator assembly, House painter, Letter Carrier, Library Associate, Retail sales, Janitor/Custodian, Kitchen staff member, Union president (unpaid), Freelance writer (often unpaid), Stay-at-home dad (always unpaid), Book reviewer, Editor, Teacher, Youth worker, Education assistant, Reading tutor.

The one I liked the best is in red. It lasted four years. The best four years of my life.


This post is apropos of nothing, really. But I keep hearing the phrase jobs, jobs, jobs.

So tell me, what have you turned your hand to?


UPDATE: I should have mentioned that I'd been listening to this song when I was prompted to begin typing this post.

RETRO FRIDAY NIGHTS

Tonight, we're heading back to 1967. The Summer of Love, y'all. Below is my own personal CHUM CHART for the week of July 31. (I'm pretty sure the picture will enlarge if you click on it... just the way certain other things, ahem, enlarged during that summer. Of love.)



I'll probably post more about CHUM CHARTS down the road. (Including how my prized collection of these things went missing, save for a few.) But for tonight, and in keeping with the Canadian content of these Friday Night posts, I offer you a cool tune -- released in '67 just a couple of weeks after this Summer of Love chart came out. Ladies and gentlemen, The Ugly Ducklings.

Hit it, boys.

MY BABY BOY IS EIGHTEEN TODAY!

HAPPY 18th BIRTHDAY, NICK.

WE LOVE YOU, SON.

NO SHIT. THIS GUY CAN EAT BIRDS.

'ATTA BOY, HENRY!

I'm a sucker for a good love story. And this one fits the bill.

Henry, you sly, spry old bugger you. Well done, lad.

Llewellen: bring a batch of whatever the hell it is that Henry, the tuatara, eats.

And brewskis all around.

HAPPY ROBBIE BURNS DAY

CLICK HERE TO ENTER THE MOOD (AND PLEASE WAIT FOR THE PIPES @1:35) * * * EXCERPTS FROM 'A MAN'S A MAN FOR ALL OF THAT' What though on hamely fare we dine, Wear hoddin grey, an' a that; Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine; A Man's a Man for a' that: The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor, Is king o' men for a' that. Then let us pray that come it may, (As come it will for a' that,) That Sense and Worth, o'er a' the earth, That Man to Man, the world o'er, Shall brothers be for a' that. * * * PLEASE BE SEATED WHILE WE ADDRESS THE HAGGIS Ye Pow'rs, wha mak mankind your care, And dish them out their bill o' fare, Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware That jaups in luggies; But, if ye wish her gratefu' prayer Gie her a haggis! BE HAPPY, MA WEE BAIRNS.

RETRO FRIDAY NIGHTS

In an effort to relive my misspent youth, The Lunch Counter will welcome a 60's (Canadian) band on Friday nights. Dine, smoke, drink and toke to the tunes of yesteryear. (Crash in our spacious cabins. Make a weekend of it.)

And now, please join with me in welcoming....

DAVID CLAYTON THOMAS AND THE SHAYS

Yeah, baby. I'd also like to hear... Walk That Walk.

Thanks, boys.

Ah, memories.

By the way, I couldn't find their version of Boom Boom. So let's have John Lee Hooker
do it the way he wrote it.

Oh, hell yes!

Waiter... another Heineken.

THE EVOLUTION OF THE LUNCH COUNTER

Yes, the forest is gone. Most of the trees were used to make those big poles sticking out from either end. That helped to ease the parking problems. (Besides, all that shade was getting on great-grandad's nerves.) Additionally, the clear lines of sight assisted in spotting revenuers coming up the hill.

I have decided to make a return to the kitchen (on a part-time basis). The Lunch Counter will be open for business on statutory holidays, even-numbered Fridays, during state funerals and lunar eclipses, on my anniversary, and most certainly on Robbie Burns Day. (Och. Hootman.)

I guess I missed the smell of saturated fat and burning fur.

Later, dudes. I'm off to an Inauguration Ball.