They're playing my song...

"I'm doomed to fail, the stage gives way, it's an apostrophe to my legacy, but though I'm bruised I'd happily do it all again"

The outlook might be grim for the immediate future, but despite the bad news on the work front (http://online.wsj.com/article/SB122886980439793253.html?mod=dist_smartbrief) I remain hopeful that things are going to straighten out before the Earth goes for it's final curtain call, and that I'll be long dead when that happens.

It's scary to think of entering the restaurant industry when so few people are choosing to patronize such establishments. I don't expect much out of life, although I still stupidly wish it was fair sometimes. I wish that I could guarantee that my class will get well-paying jobs in establishments worthy of our attention and skill, but it's more likely that at some point we'll all have to swallow our pride and work someplace just for money to get by. There's nothing wrong with that, provided it's only a temporary detour on our respective roads to wherever it is we're shooting for. There were times when I had to remind myself of a line from the sci-fi spoof "Galaxy Quest": "I have one job to do here! It's stupid, but I'm going to do it!" That, and the immortal words of Marty Feldman "Could be worse....could be raining" have been my ridiculous little mantras to get me through the worst of it.

My grandparents survived the Great Depression, my parents lived to see the other side of the Cold War, every generation has to go through its trials, like a macabre rite-of-passage. I don't have to like it, but I can accept what I can't change while I work to change what I can.

One thing that I hold as utmost importance (and I wouldn't be surprised if people were sick of it by now) is to remember that we're human beings. In times of great hardship or duress, it's easy to forget that we're civilized people with dignity. When money is tight, the first thing we do is cut out our various "luxuries", little realizing that to go flat-out and live on only the most basic necessities, is to deny ourselves what makes us us. My greatest comfort in my times of financial uncertainty was the secondhand store in Rochester. It was nearby, and even though I hardly ever bought anything, it was fun to do some treasure-hunting after working all day. I miss that. I adapted to fit into my pay bracket. The simple things I came to take such pleasure in was based on what was available. I started to breed my own brand of threadbare snobbery, turning my nose up at consumerism as something for the rich bastarads, "thank God I'm not like that". I became a clearance rack vulture, keeping things on layaway or hidden in the back until I could afford them, then bragging from the rooftops how little I paid for my new finery. I couldn't afford to go to Cinnabon every morning like the people I served, but I could afford flour, eggs, yeast, and sugar to make my own.

I think that's where my love of cooking got its second wind, I lived up to the standard of "I might be broke but I can still eat well." I learned how to make mango chutney, one of my favorite (albeit expensive!) condiments, feeling very fine indeed. My challenge in the kitchen was no different than my forebears: to make the very best of what I had, waste virtually nothing, and enjoy every bite.