#68 "Make Your Wish" In Color! August 9, 2013

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I am not a writer.
When I started writing these blog posts almost 5 years ago, it was really just to showcase the drawings. I was only posting the drawings on Bookface before posting them here, and in Bookface there was no description of the drawings, how they were conceived, or any information at all except the number of the drawing. We didn't even name them on there, it would just show up one day as "Tim & Jeremy's Mind on Loup #68!!!" Usually with three exclamation points. When number one hundred was posted, I used all caps. No one cared.
As the blog posts seemed to get longer and longer I also started thinking about them differently. Originally, I would make a couple comments about the drawings themselves, but then I started thinking about the restaurant more. Since these drawings are all done in the restaurant, during the operating hours of service, I thought that it would be more fun for my 8 regular readers to get a glimpse of life within the restaurant.
The Loup is, after all, a strange and magical place. It has been at 105 W. 13th St. since 1989, and was conceived a decade earlier in a different location also on 13th St. Since that time, it has become a neighborhood staple. Regulars know they can come in any time for comfort food and strong, delicious martinis. It is a safe haven for artists and celebrities, who know they can show up and dine unmolested by tourists or people looking for autographs. And then there is the literary aspect. When the restaurant was first opened in 1977 by Bruce and Roxanne Bethany, they decided to court the literary community. They decided that if the place was full of writers, the rest of the world would follow. They were right. Writers of all types have haunted, and still haunt the walls of the Cafe Loup. From Salman Rushdie and Christopher Hitchens' wild late nights, to young unknown poets struggling to buy a pint, the restaurant has been a comfort zone and meeting spot to an entire generation (or two) of New York literati.
Of course I had no idea about any of that when I walked through the doors in 2002 and handed someone my resume. For me, it was off a convenient subway line, it was in a cool neighborhood, and it was a on a block with a bunch of other restaurants so it was easy for me to walk up and down the block dropping off resumes. At the time, I had been unemployed for months and so I would go out every day looking for jobs wherever I could. I was cold-calling places, like the Loup; I was going on mass cattle calls that I found in the back section of the Village Voice, and any other method I could think of to get a job; any job. So when I got the call from the Loup, I was just happy to get a call back. I didn't care if it was a Village Institution. I didn't care if it was a Writer's Bar. I was just happy to get a full schedule and the ability to pay my rent. It wasn't until much later that I realized the respect and admiration the people of New York felt for this little restaurant. I was always a little jealous of the regulars because they had this incredible place to go night after night and interact with all these interesting people. Later on I realized that I was not only part of that, I was helping to continue the tradition of making it people's favorite spot. Cafe Loup was my regular bar, and I got paid to be at it. It was a wonderful revelation, and even though I do have some favorite regular places outside of the Loup (aka work), I still consider it my regular place.
I went off on that tangent to let you know about the restaurant a little, although I am sure I have written all of that in some form or another throughout this blog sometime in the past. The original point of this blog post was going to be me going on a self deprecating rant about how I am not a writer, or how I don't describe myself as a writer. I write this blog out of a weird compulsion to continue writing about these drawings in relation to the restaurant that they were created in. It really is compulsory in that I have no motive, I have no goal in mind for the drawings or for the text that accompanies them. Tim and I have talked about making them into a book someday, and maybe some of this text could be included somewhere in there, but that is not the motivating force for me to continue writing. The truth is, I don't know why I keep writing these things. I think it might be a way of processing the work experience and trying to convey it in a clear and concise manner that helps me understand my past 13 years at this establishment. Not that it is important or even very interesting. Maybe I am trying to defend to myself my employment at a place for such a long period of time, even though working at the Loup has given me the freedom that I moved to New York for in the first place. I needed a place that was steady where I could work while pursuing my other interests, which have been incredibly varied in the decade and a half that I have called New York my home.
So, when you read these posts, I hope you enjoy them, but also know that I am almost writing them as a diary that I might look at some day to help me  remember this time and place in my own history. I always say that in an ever-changing world, at least the Cafe Loup stays the same. I sincerely hope that it stays the same forever, but I know that it won't. Some day it will be a Duane-Reade with a Starbucks kiosk in it, and the Cafe Loup name will be in every mall in America as a "New York style French Bistro." Then, you and I will be able to come back and read all of these blog posts and remember a time that was, of people that were, and a special place in the middle of it all. And we can all laugh at all of my typos, run-on sentences, and basic inability to write in the English language. Until then, I'll see you at the Loup!

#67 "Otto's Summer Vacation" In Color! August 6, 2013

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For one reason or another, I remember starting this one (or at least adding the strange baldish woman[?] in pink) on Mother's Day 2011. How can I even remember that, you ask? Well, the answer to your question is that I have no idea how I can remember drawing a specific drawing on a specific date nearly four years ago. My memory is not that great, to tell you the truth. I blame it on years of hard living, and the fact that so much happens to a person living in New York City that it gets harder and harder to remember things. As one living in NYC, you are constantly being bombarded with sensory experiences. Just getting to work, you are surrounded by people, noise, movement, showtime, traffic, and of course, more movement. Add in a fair amount of partying, and you can easily forget what you just did two nights ago. Of course, you can go back and really concentrate on what you've been doing with yourself for the past week, but to go back and remember what you did on a random Tuesday last month, or Mother's Day in 2011? That seems difficult.
However, I know that I started drawing that woman[?] on that day. Here's the story.
Let's back up to when I first started working at the Loup 13 years ago. I had to work Sunday brunch for the first 5 years I worked there, as far as I can remember. It was a brutal shift. I was in my 20's and I was going out all the time. Having to be at work and functional on a Sunday morning was the last thing I wanted to be doing, but I had to pay my dues. We were never really that busy during brunch, so it would have been fine, but for some of my co-workers who certainly did not like me when I first started. They would make my already dreary mornings a living hell. And so we worked together for 5 years, eventually becoming "friends" in the process; actually a couple people who could tolerate each others company while working together. So, it was right around this time that Lloyd decided brunch needed a face lift and added jazz to the mix. So now, even to this day, the Loup has Sunday jazz brunch. At that time, we also dabbled in the idea of having jazz three nights a week  with The Junior Mance Trio. Junior didn't really like that gig, and so now we have the Trio every Sunday evening. That is worth coming in for. As I have probably mentioned before, Junior is a legend, and to see him at such an intimate venue is a treat that you can't get anymore virtually anywhere else in the world. Jazz brunch, on the other had, is like punishment. Thankfully for me, I only overlapped with the jazz brunch for a very short amount of time, and so I got to have the experience, and then be happy in the knowledge that I didn't have to work it anymore. However, sometimes people are out of town and need to have their shifts covered. I will happily cover shifts for my co-workers; even Sunday brunch, albeit grudgingly.
So, that's what happened on Mother's Day 2011. Tomoyo must have been in Japan or something and I picked up her Mother's Day brunch shift along with my Sunday night bar shift, making for a Mother's Day that we ended up calling "Your Mother's Day." ("no, your mother's day!") I like to party and I like the ponies, and The Kentucky Derby happened to fall on the day before Mother's Day that year. So the day before, I was down in West Chester, Pennsylvania watching the Derby with some friends of mine. A couple of us knew that we had to come back to the city first thing on Sunday, so we didn't party that hard. Just kidding. We woke up on Mother's Day and three of us slogged into my boy Cramer's Mini Cooper. I was in the best shape, so I drove. Cramer promptly curled up in the back seat and passed out, while Gabrus and I laughed our way to New York.
Once I got to work and had my coffee, the Mother's Day crowd started filing in. We weren't particularly busy, and so I started drawing this picture. The band was playing and my drawing was the closest thing I could do to tune them out. But, right around the time I was finishing up the woman[?] that's when the torture started. The band leader's wife got up and started singing. She does this sometimes, and it is pure insanity. Her song choice is nuts, her tone is deaf, and it creates a sound not unlike fingernails on a chalkboard. Of course, this is just my opinion and who am I to judge? So, I start tensing up and then it all goes to hell once she goes into her second number. I can't tell what the melody is until she launches into the first verse. "Chicks and ducks and geese better scurry..." Yes, she was singing "Surrey with the Fringe on Top" from Oklahoma. But in the jazzy mood.
I couldn't handle it. The song broke something in my brain. I dropped my pen and went out from behind the bar and out of the restaurant, letting the waiters know that it was a self-serve bar for at least the time it took for this song to be over.
So, did we get to the bottom of this? I think we did. I think I remember that I started this drawing on Mother's Day 2011 because I went through a traumatic experience that day, and because of that, I remember the exact origin of this slightly unnerving drawing. The brain can work in mysterious ways. In fact, even though we know that we have a brain and it controls everything we do as humans, we have very limited knowledge about how it actually works. So chalk this one up as another unexplained little nugget of mystery. It's funny too, because the more I stare into the black eyes of that woman[?], the more it reminds of those dark days of working brunch, where the coffee is never full enough, the eggs are never fluffy enough, and the Bloody Mary's never have enough booze.

#65 "Happy Campers" June 27, 2013

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The Weeds

The phone won't stop ringing. It's on the fourth ring when I get up from Table 33 and sprint across the dining room to grab the phone from behind the bar. As soon as I pick it up, I hear the dial tone and see Ardes has come from in the coat room and has already picked up the phone, taking another reservation. At this point, I have been interrupted too many times to rejoin Staff Meal, and decide I should get dressed and ready to be on the floor. After all, Tim has a nearly full bar, two Marbletops, and it's not even 5:30. I change and as I am coming out of the coat room tying my apron, a four top walks in "just for drinks." I put them on Table 15 and go to the waiter's station to get them water and to make myself a cup of coffee. Usually, I have some time in between Staff Meal and Service in which I can relax a little and have a cup of coffee while preparing for the evening. I can tell that this is not one of those nights. Tonight I am already in The Weeds.

I get Table 15 started with some water and two Beefeater manhattans straight up, one with olives the other with a twist and olives on the side, a pint of Anchor Steam and a glass of Sauvignon Blanc. I take over Table 5 and Table 6 from Tim. Table 6 is Barbara and a friend of hers, so that's good. She's a regular and always has the same thing, but even she pulls me aside and asks for an order of frites. I put that order in, and on my way out of the kitchen I see I have two more tables. I put some sugar in my coffee and set up 4 waters for Table 10 and 12 and as I am doing that, Karen sits down on 11. So, I pour her water and her wine and put all of the waters and wine on the tray and pass them out. Table 10 tells me they are going to the theater and in a hurry and are ready to order, so I stand there with the rest of the waters and Karens wine still on the tray and listen to them order a beet salad with the sauce on the side followed by the chicken but with frites instead of potatoes and just a soup for the lady. Oh, and also two Manhattans, one dry, one regular, both up and made with Canadian Club. I make a mental note and hand Karen her water and wine, dropping the remaining waters on Table 12. I write out the order for 10 since we don't have a computer POS system and put it in the kitchen, because when you're in The Weeds, the last thing you want to do is forget to order food. I go straight to the bar and get 15's drinks and grab menus for 11 and 12 (even though I don't think Karen really needs one) and drop the drinks on 15. At this point they tell me that they think that maybe they'll order some "small bites" so I drop the menus for them and rush back to the menu stand to get another 4 menus. At this point, Table One is being sat with another 4 Top and Liz and her friend have snuck into Table 2B. So, now I pick up another 4 menus to make 8 for 4 different tables and drop them on 12, 11, (one extra on 15) and 1. While I was doing that, I got the drink order from 12, a bottle of Cotes Du Rhone, and then go get Liz's Extra Sour Gray Goose Gimlet and her friends Pinot Grigio order and tell Table 1 that I will be right back to get their drink orders. I forgot about Barbara's frites so I race back into the kitchen and pick them up, wondering where the heck everyone else is, and being a little sad that our runner doesn't show up for another hour, and Table 10's soup and beets salad is also ready, so I pick up all three things and distribute them to Barbara first, and then soup and beets to Table 10. I stop to say "hi" to Karen and explain that I am already in The Weeds, so that I might be a little slow when the guy on position one at Table 15 actually grabs the back of my apron and tugs on it. I turn around to him as he says, "I think we're ready to order." My blood boils a bit when the girls at the table say something along the lines of, "Oh, we are? I haven't even looked yet!" and the tugger says something like, "I'll just order some small bites for the table." At which point he essentially lists off all of the items on the appetizer menu and takes a vote at the table until they have ordered 2 appetizers and an order of frites. During this time, Table 3, 4 and 16 have all been sat, and so I have a full section and it's barely 6:00.

Flash forward to a half an hour later. The runner has finally showed up, although my section is full and then rest of the restaurant is filling up fast. It's just one of those nights where The Weeds poke through the pavement at an extraordinary rate and there is nothing you can do to stop them. I knew it was going to happen as soon as I walked into the restaurant a little after 4:30. The book was packed and the phone just wouldn't quit. That's how you know. You can feel it from the frantic energy in an empty restaurant. Now here I am, two hours later without time to even drink my coffee which sits untouched on the waiter's station, cold and stale. I see it and down it in one gulp, picking up drinks at the same time and racing over to Table 6 to get Barbara her bill. At this point I pick up Barbara's Gold Card and run it through our credit card machine. American Express has extra security so I take the extra time that it takes to process the order to process my section. I start from the front:

Table 1: Ordered food, waiting for apps, have drinks

Table 2A: Still looking at wine list although most definitely ready to order

Table 2B: Liz and friend on Round 2 of drinks. Probably ready for more. And frites

Table 3: Having drinks and looking at menus

Table 4: Drinking (light weights) very slowly

Table 5: Still here from about 5 and essentially taking up space. "Camping"

Table 6: Waiting for me to give her this credit card which is processing extra slow

Table 10: Eating entrees, going to be early for the theater

Table 11: Karen, ordered burger with half a bun rare-medium rare with frites sauce

Table 12: Eating appetizers, drinking Cotes Du Rhone

Table 15: Waiting for more frites after the first order wasn't enough, need more drinks

Table 16: Pleasent enough people. Waiting for apps....

And with that, the credit card machine whirrs to life: 

"Transaction Failed."

To Be Continued...

#55 "A Day at the Beach" April 24, 2013

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I don't remember dropping off my resume to the restaurant. I know that I must have been dropping off a lot of them that day and somehow this one caught the eye of our old manager. He liked the very last line of the "Special Skills" part in which I stated, "likes to take naps." I didn't find this out for a couple of years, but that was the line that sealed the deal. I got the call to work there at one of the lowest points of my professional career. I was on an open call in Times Square at the WWE themed restaurant. You might be thinking, "there's no such restaurant like that in Times Square," and you would be right. However, in the winter of 2002, there certainly was that restaurant and me and 1,000 other people were applying for a job there. I waited in line for an hour and a half, maybe longer. It was brutal. The whole time I was standing there in this cattle call, I knew I didn't even want the job. The longer I was in line, the more this became evident, until finally I was at a desk, talking to a manager. I don't remember any of the interview, but I do know I was so angry about the whole thing that I probably gave a horrible interview. I never got a call back from them, and they ended up closing the place down less than a year later. However, when I left that hideous place, I had a voicemail from the manager at my restaurant. It said that I should come in for an interview the next day. I did just that and got the job, starting the day after that. I was pretty excited about this prospect as I hadn't had a steady job in months. I had been doing some freelance art stuff, but I didn't have a steady income and I was broke. I moved to New York right after 9/11 and so the job market was pretty bleak, hence actually considering a job in a chain restaurant owned by a Wrestling Entertainment group. So, on my first day at the restaurant, I got there early and decided to make a good impression. I listened carefully to my co-workers about how to do the setup and what side work was required. I helped them do all of this, and then it was time for our staff meal. One of the best parts about working in food service is getting a staff meal and a staff drink. A lot of the time, the meals are actually quite good, and this being New York, quite inexpensive. Since I had about $5 to my name at that point, I was thrilled that the restaurant offered this delicious perk. And then I went back into the kitchen to see what it was. It was brains. The restaurant serves calves brains every once in a while as a special. The old folks love it because not too many restaurants serve brains any more and this harkens back to the good old days when you ate every part of the animal. I think they will be making a comeback sooner than later as part of this "farm to table" movement where all these trendy restaurants are trying to outdo each other with crazy dishes using often overlooked parts of the animal. So, we're ahead of the curve, because we've probably been serving brains since the 70's. So, on my first day, we had taken the brains off the menu and put them in a big metal bowl under the heat lamps for us to eat, along with some rice and vegetables. My new co-workers said things like, "you don't have to eat that if you don't want to," and the like, but I wanted to prove that as a new guy on the team, I was up for any challenge. And so, I plopped a couple calves brains on my plate, got a scoop of rice and headed out into the dining room for my first staff meal with my new friends. One of the other waiters got a bowl of ice cream and the other waitress had something else, and as I sat down and picked up my fork and knife, the two of them stared at me in giddy excitement. I felt like they were saying, "oh my gosh he's really going to eat it." Which, I found out later, they were. But I soldiered on, and ate one of the brains. If you have never eaten brains, let me briefly tell you about them, from what I can remember. They taste like fish flavored pudding. I think that the way we prepare them for customers must make them taste better, but I was given plain brains, on a plate with a side of rice. This was also 12 years ago. I am pretty sure I haven't eaten brains since then, although I do plan on doing so some day in the future. It would be poetic if the next time I had them was on my last day, but I feel like that will be 20 years in the future and who knows if there will even be calves in that distant world. Starting any new job can be scary and awkward, but then sometimes you have to eat brains on top of everything else. I guess it's a testament to the place, that even after that crazy first day, I am still working there.

#52 "Down in the Mouth" In Color! February 16, 2012

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I was probably coloring this one in exactly two years ago today. I think my computer was in a different location back then. So, instead of facing West, as I am now, I was facing East, looking at the opposite wall. Of course, Tim and I had finished this drawing over the summer of 2011, but we had so many to color that it took me until February to color this one. It's the same thing now, I am always a couple months behind. Sometimes more. In fact, this one marked the last T & J drawing that I worked on for almost a whole year. The year 2012 was a busy year for me and I felt like I didn't have the time to work on these drawings. I was working on writing and illustrating children's books for an iPad App called Mibblio that my buddy Sammy Rubin was developing. I worked on five books that year, illustrating four of them. If you have an iPad, you should download the App and grab a couple of my books; I think you will like them. It was a great experience, but it kept me extremely busy. However, because of that experience, my coloring style changed drastically, as you will see in the upcoming posts.  After such a long hiatus, I got extremely backed up with all of these drawings. Because, even though I wasn't coloring them anymore, we were still drawing all the time at the restaurant. That part never changes. As long as we are working in that place, we keep drawing pictures. At this point, it has become part of the routine at work. I think it is the best part of work sometimes. I think about the drawings sometimes when I'm not there and I wish that I was still working on them when I am at home. I know that this thought is insane. Who in their right mind would want to be at work just so they could work on an elaborate doodle that will someday, years in the future, end up on some blog that only 8 people read? Granted, 2013 was a very productive year for me and I was publishing one of these almost every week. But, I feel like I will never catch up unless either Tim or I quits the restaurant and we no longer draw these pictures. To give you an idea of how backed up I am on this blog: At present, we find ourselves looking at #52 in full color. Last week, I published #86 on Bookface. That means, for me to get caught up, I have to write 68 more blog posts since each picture gets two posts; one for the original Triple Dupe Pad drawing and one for the colored version. Those 8 of you loyal readers know that I write a blog maybe twice a month on average. That means I won't be caught up to #86 for 34 months, or roughly 3 years. Sometimes I write a little more than that, so we could average it to be 2 years from now that I will finally make it up to 86. I guess it's good to have goals.
  I used the word "have" but I guess I don't have to do anything. I enjoy writing these blog posts and I enjoy revisiting the drawings. I don't look at these drawings very much, so it's nice to see them a year or two down the line. They provide a window into the past for me. Some carry pleasant memories, some carry some unpleasant ones, but they all act as a time capsule for me. Some of the drawings I don't even remember drawing, but even those ones carry a reminder of a vague time somewhere in the past. In the mean time, the drawings keep coming down the stairs like the brooms carrying the buckets of water in "The Sorcerer's Apprentice" and I couldn't  be happier about it.

#52 "Down in the Mouth" February 16, 2012

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This one is reminiscent of a bad dream. The kind of dream where you take out all of your teeth one by one and don't even mind doing it. You wake up and the rest of the day feels wrong, like there is something hanging over your head, or just beyond your peripheral vision that you can't describe, and when people ask you what's the matter, you reply, "I had the weirdest dream last night and I can't shake it." and they nod and say that they understand. Most of the times, people don't like hearing about your dreams because they are too personal to you and they don't corollate with the real world. Sure, sometimes your dreams are taking place in "real life" situations, in real cities or in real places, but most people just zone out when you tell them about your dreams. The only time people are really engaged in your dreams are the ones that these people are in, or least have a bit part in, and when you are recounting the dream,  you start off the conversation with, "You were in my dream last night."  But even then, these people assume that the two of you were having sex or something kinky, but usually intrigued and want to hear the whole thing. Then you start telling them about how the two of you were stealing acorns from a giant squirrel in Central Park and the listener soon loses interest.
The staff at the restaurant certainly has their fair share of work dreams and personally, I never bore of them. Not mine, of course, if I never have another work dream, it'll be too soon. Because when you have a work dream, it's never the happy times at work when you and the crew are sharing a good laugh or a smooth night where everything went great. No, it's always a chore and the work seems real and it's always the worst situations. I have very common themes in my work dreams and it's usually the same old crap from real life, but skewed and twisted so that it's even more annoying in the dream. And, like I've mentioned before, at least when real life is annoying at work, you are still getting paid. Thankfully, I rarely have these dreams, as I have heard that some people dream about work all the time, or at least once a week. That is too many times a week, as far as I am concerned.
My favorite dream that I have heard from the restaurant is from my co-worker Gary who had the most elaborate dream. In the dream, he was waiting tables, like normal, when his table ordered some drinks. He took down the drink order, went outside, and caught the crosstown bus on 14th Street. He took the bus crosstown to the East Side, and got the drinks at the bar, now located on the other side of town. Once he had the drinks, he loaded them onto his tray and got back on the bus, this time with a full tray of beverages, balancing the whole time back to the West Side. In typical customer fashion, when he delivered the drinks, one of the people in the party said, "Oh, that looks good, I'll have one of those as well." Gary then pleaded with the people saying, "You don't know what I had to go through to get these drinks!"
I personally love this dream mainly because I didn't have it, although it is one of the more amusing work dreams that I have heard. Mine are mostly drudgery and running out of glassware. I had a great one about dishes, but I have to save that one for later, because it was so funny that I integrated it into one of these drawings. You won't be able to read about it for sometime, because I think it's part of #81 or something. No, my work dreams are annoying even to me and so I rarely tell them to people outside the workplace. I think that telling people about your dreams is similar to telling non-coworkers about work. I am alway amazed when people come into the bar and start bitching about work. Granted, that's what bars are good for; you tell the bartender your woes and he or she can commiserate with you. However, I don't know your coworkers and the situations that present themselves on a daily basis at your job. You might be the jerk in the story, but since I am only hearing your side, I can only make half a judgement and agree with you that yes, work sucks an maybe Jimmy is being unfair in his treatment of you and your team. Because of this, I rarely talk about work outside of the restaurant except on this blog. Even on this blog, I try to stay positive about the workplace and try to look at even the negative parts in an objective light. This way, I can look at work from a new perspective when I am there and try to keep a positive attitude while working. Otherwise, I will turn into an embittered old man prematurely. Like, say, next year instead of two years from now.
This, however, will not make my work dreams cease to exist. No matter how positive I stay at work, I will probably always have dreams where I am in the weeds at the restaurant. Even if I left the business today, and never worked in another restaurant, I'm sure these dreams would resurface every once and a while. In fact, I recently had a dream where I started working at my first restaurant job after not working there for 20 years. I was the new guy again and I didn't know where some of the stuff was even though we were already busy and I was expected to know my way around since I had worked there in the past. It ended up evolving into some other nightmare, but when I woke up, I thought it was kind of funny, that 20 years later, I was still dreaming about my first restaurant job. I'm sure I had plenty of dreams about the old place when I actually worked there, but the restaurant had evolved and turned into the new places of my life. Then, all of a sudden, I found myself back there, where nothing had changed and I was out of glassware, the customers kept appearing out of nowhere, the dining room was angled at a dangerous pitch,  and I was right back in the weeds where I started. But you don't really want to hear about it anyway.

#51 "The Second Descent of Professor Lidenbrock" In Color! February 2, 2012

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"The Second Descent of Professor Lidenbrock"

Part 2 of 2

He couldn't believe it! Even his own nephew and his lovely wife, both of whom he hadn't seen since their wedding were there! The Professor was furious! His nephew ambled over to the Professor, and re-sheathing his samurai sword onto his back, explained the situation to the Professor. He told the tale about how after their wedding, he needed a little extra cash, and what better opportunity than here, at the center of the Earth! It was an untapped market, with possibilities of tourism, hotel management as well as the restaurant sector; heck, he was even starting to get into the contracting business! The Professor was stunned to learn that his very own nephew, who was reluctant to even come on the previous adventure had made a life for himself down here. He had opened a restaurant, complete with an aquarium filled with the wildlife of the subterranean sea. The only problem his nephew had encountered was that the native, giant ape-like creatures were, in fact, cannibalistic and would occasionally eat the brains of his customers. But, the beasts proved to be handy around the kitchen and the nephews insurance rates down here couldn't be beat, so the occasional dead tourist did nothing to dissuade him from killing the beasts and serving them in his new restaurants. He merely employed the beasts in the restaurant and when one acted out, he would simply pull out the beasts eyes and serve them to the more adventurous diners. He would then mount the heads on the wall of the dining room both as art, and to serve as a warning to the other employed beasts. The tourists didn't seem to mind, because this was, after all, the center of the Earth. The rules of terra-firma did not necessarily apply down here, and the Professors nephew, advertising only in the Deep Internet had a clientele that was hungry for adventure and curiosities that might be frowned upon on the sunnier side of the world. The tourists The Professor was stunned. He reported back to base camp, calling the mission a failure and fired the team on the spot, giving each man, woman, and child bus fare home (His nephew had an agreement with the Fung-Wah Bus Company with Center to New York direct busses every hour on the hour). 

The Professor took a little nap, and when he woke up, he felt a little better. In fact, he wasn't mad at his nephew anymore. Sure, he had wanted to come down here to the center, figure out how and why this subterranean race of beasts lived here instead of the surface of the Earth with the rest of the human race and either help them integrate into polite society or subjugate them and put them in zoos. Either way, the Professor thought he was going to be a hero. Instead, he found that he was too late, and his nephew had beat him to the punch, and if he was going to become famous, he would have to explore new lands, for his nephew had already exploited the center of the Earth so much that it was now but a commodity of the rich and famous; a playground for those who have seen and done everything the surface of the Earth has to offer. During his nap, he had had a dream in which he gave up the exploration and the fame seeking and became a regular guy, doing regular things. When he awoke, he was so comforted by the thought of the dream that he went straight to his nephew and asked him to employ him. He didn't want a partnership or a cut of the overall profits from his nephews new subterranean empire, he simply wanted a job doing something that would give him time to pursue his other hobbies; mainly bird watching and plant identification. His nephew put him to work right away in the dining room of the restaurant. The Professor changed his name to Doug and began his new life as a waiter. He would now forever be known as the Waiter at the Center of the Earth.

#50 "A Question Isn't Answered" January 12, 2012

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Who knows how this one started?
Actually, I think I know. Tim and I were working together one night and once the rush and flow of customers had died down to a trickle of thirsty bar regulars, we sat down on Table 8 with a couple of dupe pads. This was one of them. It's the same old story. In fact, that is kind of how all of these drawings got their start. I mean, these drawings start at all kinds of different points within the restaurant; some at the bar, some in the kitchen, some at the waiter station, but their history starts at Table 8. When I first started working at the restaurant, I drew pictures on that table every night, only minus the dupe pads. Long before Tim had a job there, me and the other waiters and waitresses would sit down at Table 8 and drink a beer and order some food. Back then, the kitchen would actually cook us dinner at about 11 o'clock. We would all sit down and split some escargot or a bowl of mussels, and eat and drink until all of the customers were gone and it was time for us to clean up and go home. In those days though, we didn't even bus the table, but would leave all of our empty glasses for the poor fool who was working the lunch shift the following day. Can you believe that? It's incredible to even think about it. And these were the days when you could still smoke in the restaurants in New York, so you know there were cigarette butts in everything. The smell alone must have been something else the next day. But that kind of thing was not only allowed, it was accepted by the people who had to clean it up! Granted, I was that person every once and a while, as I worked lunch a lot more back in those days when I was just a youngster and low on the totem pole. It wasn't until years later that the boss cracked down on us ordering food late night and making a mess on Table 8 that we didn't clean up. If we made a mess now, it was to be cleaned up before we left. That's only fair when you think about it. In fact, the old way seems incredibly disrespectful to whoever had to work the next day. But, "that was the way it was," and that mantra has left so many things in the restaurant the same way for years, for good or ill. However, back in those heady days of seemingly unlimited free food and booze, while we were sitting around discussing the finer points of life, I would sit on Table 8 and doodle on the table cloth. Well, not on the actual cloth, we have paper that is placed over the cloths so that they last a little longer than just one night. I'm sure you've seen a similar setup in some restaurant somewhere along the way. So, I would sit there and draw picture after picture on the butcher paper that covered the entire table. Sometimes they were really great drawings and I wanted to take them home and sometimes they were just a bunch of crap thrown together complete with butter and wine stains. I wish I had kept a couple of them, but for the most part, they are all gone now. Lost among all of the other lost things from those days. I can't remember any of them now, and at the time I never thought they were worth keeping, even the good ones. I might have a couple of the good ones around here in my apartment, but they're either buried in some box somewhere or they were tossed in all of my moves since I started working at the restaurant. At any rate, once Tim and I started in on the Triple Dupes, the drawings on the table cloth paper continued to feel unimportant next to the Dupe Pad drawings that would eventually be displayed here and on Bookface. In a way, they were the genesis of this project since there was a sort of collaboration with everyone sitting at the table, whether they were actively participating in the drawing, doodling at their own seat, or simply spilling some sort of food product onto the paper. Everyone contributed. Flash forward a couple of years and Tim and I are sitting on Table 8 with a couple of Dupe Pads in front of us and we're stumped on what to draw. So, instead of drawing something, we just covered this one with random marks and lines until it was busy with them. Then, for the next couple of days we found all of these characters and images within the lines we had slashed down on that first night at Table 8. The random chaos of those lines turned into this drawing that you see above this rambling paragraph. All of the lines eventually turned into shapes that the brain can read as recognizable things that seem to go together to create some sort of story. And it all got started right there on Table 8. Julian always wanted to write a book entitled, "Table 8" and have all of the crazy stories that were told there compiled into one, neat, hard covered book. I'm sad that never happened because I feel like now, as with the drawings, those stories have gone and moved on to the next phase, lingering only in the air around an unassuming table in Greenwich Village.

#46 "Sacajawea's Nightmare" November 23, 2011. In Color!

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Sacajawea was pretty amazing. She was pregnant with a child and then gave birth to said child while on the expedition with Lewis and Clark back in 1804. She was detrimental in helping the expedition with relations with the Shoshone tribe that lived near the Rocky Mountains at the time. You have to remember that no white people had been this far west ever, and it was probably a good idea to have an interpreter. Even Sacajawea couldn't help the expedition once they crossed the Rockies, as she had never been that far west either. However, the whole expedition made it to the Pacific and back while only losing one man the whole time. And that was before they even left the Territories! Sacajawea died young at the age of 24, but had packed a lot of life into those 24 years. This person whom I am referring to as Sacajawea in this picture is no doubt not even close to what Tim or I were thinking about when we drew this picture back in November of 2011. Tim drew the face and I drew the body from what I can tell, and we probably didn't think it looked anything like Sacajawea then (or now, to be honest). However, like I have said before on this blog, I name these things to try to harness the chaos and turn it into something one can grasp. I could have easily called this one "Deadhead Tacos" and people would say, "Oh, there is a severed head inside a taco. That makes sense." I could've called it "Outside the Cabin in the Woods" and people would say, "Oh, I saw the horror movie with a similar title and this does look like what would be happening outside that cabin during the daytime." I think what my point is, is that no matter what these things are called, they are still an exercise in randomness. For instance, the vacuum cleaner-looking thing at the left hand side of the panel started as an espresso stain on the dupe pad. Then it got turned into the vacuum cleaner-like thing that stands before us today. Yes, that is cliche, but you have to understand that these drawings were done in a working restaurant during working hours, so these "mistakes" often happen. The days, weeks, and months that it takes Tim and I (and also some guest collaborators) to complete these drawings make most of them listless and afloat on strange seas that have no beginning and no end, but simply bob and turn with the current. Once they get nearer to their completion, sometimes they are pulled together by a strand or two of cohesiveness, but even then, it is a separate idea that has come up in the heat of the moment and sometimes will have nothing to do with the drawing as a whole; it bullies it's meaning into the drawing that was once just trying to get along in this crazy world. Then, you slap a name on it, and that further harnesses it so that now, when the viewer sees the title and the imagery together, they say, "Oh, I can totally see that Sacajawea is having a nightmare. I too hate traffic, Smurfs, cowboys and mummies and would not want to dream about them in this fashion." The fact of the matter is that Tim and I drew this picture over two years ago, I colored it in and posted it on Bookface on November 23, 2011 and I named it "Sacajawea's Nightmare" today, about an hour ago, on October 16, 2013. I think that this reasserts the drawings randomness, but I guess one could argue that it does the opposite. That the process eventually makes the piece cohesive and compartmentalizes the chaos and makes it orderly. But, as my 8 loyal readers know from previous posts, this is the question I keep asking myself about these drawings. Namely, "Is it chaos or is it order?"
To that, I say, "Oh, I just want to go watch some Smurfs."

#46 "Sacajawea's Nightmare" November 23, 2011

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It has been a while since I posted last, and I just want to apologize to my 8 readers. Sorry! I guess the last time I posted, summer was here and I just needed to get outside! Yeah, right. I spent a lot of time at the Cafe Loup this summer, more than any summer since that year I only had one weekend off all summer. When was that? 2002? Oh well. It was a good summer, though. We had some fun and even when we were incredibly short staffed, we managed to eke out some dollars and cents and have a decent summer. That time of year is always a little slow at the Loup. People want to eat outside, our regulars go away to houses on the beach or in the mountains, and we are left on 13th Street with the scraps! That's right, tourists and the locals who don't go away. We had a good name for them over the summer. It was: The Leftovers.
I'm not saying that leftovers are bad. I have pizza in my refrigerator right now that is going to be an incredible snack later that will fill me up with food and leave me happy until dinner. On that same note, I have pickled herring in a jar that I never ate and has been expired since 2010 (which I should probably get rid of but there's sentimental value there?). Of course, we have plenty of regulars who stay the summer who are amazing and always a pleasure to see, but The Leftovers are the bad ones. The ones who we would see night after night and cringe at their very presence. Of course, going up to their tables, we put on a happy face and ask them how they are beating the heat, and boy was it hot out there today! That's the thing about waiters; they can be total con artists. I consider myself a pretty amiable guy; I like most people. This is the main reason I moved to New York City. I didn't move here for the Theater District or the lovely weather. No! I moved here for the people! Can you believe it? I had been living in physically beautiful places like Cape Cod and Colorado, and I gave all that up to move into a little apartment in Brooklyn because I like to be around people. All people, any people. Some days when no matter what I do, I can't get around all these people, I wonder what I was thinking back then, but most days I am happy with their company. Anyway, back to the con artist thing. Nine times out of ten, when a waiter comes to your table, they greet you with some pleasantries and a smile at the very least. They tell you some things and take your order, smiling and being nice. I don't have to tell you that 5 times out of 10, they are putting that face on and as soon as they turn their back, the frown returns. It's not that we don't like you as customers. No. You are the people paying our bills. We live on your tips to make ends meet. However, being nice to everyone all the time can get tiresome. You know the feeling. You have coworkers that you hate, but since you see them every day, you play nice so that the day passes without incident. Now, multiply that by 100 and you are a waiter. We not only have to play nice with our coworkers, but also the people who will eventually be paying us: You. That's where the con comes in. We have a lot of misbehaved customers and regulars who routinely make our lives at the Loup miserable. These people made up the majority of The Leftovers and are the people we constantly have to con, although most days you wish that they would find another place to haunt for a while. But no, we smile and chat and they would never know that they are the Problem Child to our John Ritter. So, I guess that doesn't make us con artists because we are still providing a service. I guess that makes us insincere. However, wouldn't you rather be lied to than have us be openly hostile to you? Wouldn't you like think, "I'm not the one who causing these people stress, it's that guy over there."? I guess that IS a con afterall: making you think and feel that you are a special flower, if only for the time it takes to have dinner. News flash: you ARE a special flower (but only during dinner at the Cafe Loup).

#45 "Fever Dream" November 17, 2011

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Nostalgia is a powerful feeling. Sometimes you can remember lyrics to a song you haven't heard in fifteen years, or a certain smell will transport you instantly into the deep past. Miriam Webster describes nostalgia as homesickness or "a wistful or excessively sentimental yearning for returning to or of some past period or irrecoverable condition." The second definition is aptly applied to many people who patronize and work at the Cafe Loup. The Loup serves a large portion of Greenwich Village's elderly population who have lived in the neighborhood since the 60's or before. Every night you hear people talking bout the history of New York and the history of the neighborhood. For a culture that doesn't care that much about history, (since ours is so new, and also because America is obsessed with the newest thing and the future) Cafe Loup customers and employees are obsessed with New York's recent history. People always ask how long the restaurant has been open, what was in the space beforehand, where it was originally, who used to own the place, and on and on ad nauseam. The Loup is actually the perfect place to have these conversations because it is actually a place that has no clear place in time. If, for some reason, no one was using their cell phones on a given night, one might think they have travelled back to the 90's, or even further. There are no computer screens, our cash register is the old pre-60's kind with all the great big push buttons. The bar itself is older than I am and the decor is black and white photos from Brassai and Irving Penn. It has a timeless quality that instantly makes people feel nostalgic. A lot of times I will engage in these conversations by answering questions about the past for customers, but a lot of the time, I get very frustrated about this constant harkening back to the old days. Don't get me wrong, I love listening to Jay tell stories of New York in the 1960's and beyond. I love New York history, and the history of America in general; I find it fascinating and have always agreed with George Santayana's famous quote, "Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it." But there is a difference between forgetting the past, and being obnoxiously vocally nostalgic about it. Mixing alcohol and nostalgia is sometimes a warm and fuzzy place with fond memories and great stories. It is also a place of bitter resentment for the present and a rose colored version of a past that was probably just as bleak and depressing as the present that one is lashing out against. You might know what I'm talking about, people saying things like, "New York was so much better when it was dangerous." and "New York has lost all of it's edginess." People who say these things and things like them are always so bitter. I understand that they have a certain amount of pride in surviving New York in it's horribly gritty heyday, but just because I wasn't living here/ alive at the time, doesn't mean I'm not a New Yorker. Yes, I would have liked to see the Velvet Underground at Max's. Yes, I would've loved to see the Talking Heads and Television at CBGB's, but I didn't. I can imagine it and read about it and listen to the live recordings, and that's it. Having lived in New York for 11 years now, I am sometimes nostalgic for the New York of 2001, but that is a rarity. I am happy with what New York has become, and I am happy with my life as it coincides with New York's life trajectory. I guess those people who are so violently nostalgic really are homesick. They have become unmoored and feel that the life they are living now may not be their own; that this place, while resembling something from the past, is not, in fact, their real home. They were home in the past, and this time in their life is mysterious and menacing, making them uncomfortable and bitter. They escape to the past to try and grasp the notion of home, while the memories of that time grow more and more abstract while at the same time more comforting. I always think that these people should leave New York, if this modern incarnation upsets them so much, but then I think about the rest of America, and how foreign it feels to people who are used to the frantic pace of New York. Someone who lived in New York for so many years would be completely lost outside of the city, and so instead, they stay here and come to the Cafe Loup and bitch about how everything used to be great and how everything now is awful. Maybe one day it will all come full circle for them and they will find their home again. Until then, the Cafe Loup is open seven days a week (except on the 4th of July).

#44 "Shakespeare In The Park" November 7, 2011

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To tell you the truth, I haven't read that much Shakespeare. I've read Romeo & Juliet, Othello, and Hamlet. I think that's it. I've seen Sleep No More and The Donkey Show, but both of those are loose interpretations; the latter being very loose, if you know what I mean. So, I would try to wax poetic about the picture here being an interpretation of Billy's works but I am afraid I am not knowledgeable enough to do that. Of course, there are all of the characters that Shakespeare liked to write about pictured here. There is the hero, pictured here holding a rabbit, (or cat; let's make it a cat to really double up on symbolism) looking off into space with a knowing look; as if he knows of his impending doom and is foreshadowing the coming storm with a sense of calm and helplessness. As if he can do nothing to stop his fate. He wears headphones to block out the advise given to him by friends and family and even has an Ego growing out of his head. His ego looks down on him, unable to change his mind, although in constant dialogue with him; a sad expression on its face, also foreshadowing his grisly fate. The hero (or possibly tragic hero) is being carried in a baby bjorn by an eyeless, sexless being, possibly the narrator, possibly a spiritual being who is "carrying" the hero to his predestined future; both unseeing and uncaring, the being merely delivers the hero's destiny as written by the stars. Behind these characters is the crazy woman, the Ophelia of the picture. You may remember her from Tim & Jeremy's #21 where she first appeared in a seemingly much older form. In this incarnation, she dances at the peripheral as the men make the big decisions and ultimate downfalls. She becomes marginalized and dances her way out of the picture, literally, with her socks drooping and feeding her hat all the while. Next, we have the villain. Here he is pictured as a high school aged cat (not unlike the kind the hero has been "carrying", amIright?) smack dab in the middle of the composition. He is like Iago, stabbing the proverbial lamb in the heart with a smirk on his face implying that he will probably get away with it, or at least bring down the entire kingdom while doing so. The lamb, in turn has a surprised look, like he should have known the knife was coming, like his own fate was to die by the knife in order to become the martyr or rallying cry for the kingdom to seek revenge. The revenge can possibly come from the character right in front of him, the king. The king looks old and regal and wields a hedge trimmer, eyes wild with bloodlust. He swings the hedge trimmer wildly, out for blood of those who have been trying to manipulate him into laying down the crown and give it to the evil high school cat. He really wants to cut down the plant behind him, but he has been blinded by fantasies of revenge so powerful that his hedge trimmers cannot find the source of his ire, which is the plant. The plant obviously represents the ghosts prevalent in many works of Shakespeare. No one in the picture even notices this plant, although they should as it has a head, teeth and is sprouting small heads each with it's own mouth and eyes. The plant sits on the edge, watching the living souls play out their irrelevant drama, as it waits patiently to be joined by one and all of them. They will all eventually die, and since this is a work of Shakespeare, they will all die relatively soon. But wait! Is that a band in the background? It is! The band provides a little comic relief, like that of the jester or Puck in A Midsummer Night's Dream. The lead singer adds some sex appeal by exposing himself while the backup singer provides the comedy so needed in this tragedy by throwing up and the band plays on. This is merely a stage show! Look over on the side, there is the audience, silent and ghostly, observing but making no comment; an act made difficult without mouths. They observe the unfolding drama as judges, unable to provide assistance to any of the participants in the play and must sit and watch the action unfold. 

This is certainly an entertaining way to look at this one. It gives it some weight where there may not have been any in the first place. But isn't that so Shakespearian? Ordinary lives take on extraordinary properties and turn literature into scripture, passed down for the ages that repeat themselves forever.

#43 "Two Twenty Two in the Garden of Eden" in Color October 26, 2011

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This one was posted right after my birthday in 2011. I must have been working on the coloring for a while because I know I wasn't working on it on my actual birthday. That was what I now call my "burger birthday." The night before, I had gone out and stayed out late with a couple buddies and my friend Andy Nauss ended up crashing at my house. The next morning we got up and were both in the mood for burgers. We went over to the Cafe Colette and each had a burger. Their burgers are incredibly underrated. In fact, they are the perfect breakfast burger; sweet, savory, and with the "special sauce," perfect! As you may or may not know, breakfast also doubles as lunch for me, so my next meal would be dinner. I went over to my friends house in Carroll Gardens and invited a bunch of people over for a cookout and birthday activities (drinking and smoking). We ended up getting burgers and grilling them out on the porch. I said something like, "funny, this is the second burger I've had today." and Tim looked at me and smiled a huge smile. The reason for his giant grin would become apparent all too soon. After everyone was fully noshed and setting in for the old food coma, out came the birthday cake, which was in the shape of a giant cheeseburger! My friends had gone out and gotten the cake without the knowledge of my breakfast choice, and had simply gotten the cheeseburger cake because of its absurdity. Obviously I loved it, but when everyone found out that I had only eaten burgers on that particular day, it became truly funny and poignant. I don't want you to think that I only eat burgers, although I do love them. At the Loup I have one about once a month, and sometimes actually crave a Cafe Loup burger. They are pretty darn good, some say the best burger in New York City. While high in the running (top twenty at least) I think best in NYC is a bit of a stretch. I think Best Burger on 13th Street is a better assessment. However, they are delicious. I can never eat a whole burger there anymore though. I will usually get one and cut it into quarters and share with whomever is working that night, doling out quarters. I can eat three quarters tops, and that's if no one really feels like sharing, but I find that half of the burger is more than sufficient to my needs.
I remember this picture taking a long time to color in. There is a lot of action happening and a lot of intricate little characters. The thing on the left I tried to keep the same color from the spilled bitters on the faces of the people growing out of the alien head. That also goes for the little "world dog" over on the right. They are different colors because we used two different kinds of bitters for those stains. This was when we were staining the dupe pads with bitters to add some color and also as a motivational tool. There's nothing like some randomness to help spurn creativity. You might have done that activity in your high school art class. The teacher would've asked you to draw completely random things, possibly without looking, then make you find some sort of shape in the randomness and turn it into something you can grasp. I remember liking that activity although now I think that most people will see what they always see, like in a Rorschach picture. I always draw faces, so I would probably will a face out of the chaos. Maybe not, sometimes when I look at the clouds I see monkeys on jet-skis and bears on the couch. I guess if I looked at any of these things today, I would see a cheeseburger. I bet you all a quarter that we will have burgers for staff meal tonight at the Cafe Loup.
I'll keep you updated.

#43 "Two Twenty Two in the Garden of Eden" October 26, 2011

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These drawings that Tim and I do are an exercise in randomness. The drawings are done over the course of a couple days, weeks, and sometimes months. We only work on them at the restaurant, and then only when we have some extra time or are inspired by something or another. In this one, we dripped two different kinds of bitters onto the Triple Dupe Pad and then drew the characters from the spots. After a couple passes at the drawing, there is still never a true narrative and as I have said a couple times on this blog. Sometimes there never is one true narrative. The viewer can make up their own story about what is happening in the drawings. So, the fact that this one is about the Garden of Eden is completely arbitrary. It could be about space aliens invading the earth or about how Jim Morrison defended the Alamo from a horde of Mexican robot animals. It's really all about being random. I think that people need to categorize randomness into something that they can understand. No one really likes randomness because it makes them feel out of control, like they are not the master of their reality. I guess I am like this as well, since I am always trying to steer these drawings into something cohesive instead of just a random bunch of lines and spots on a Triple Dupe Pad, which they are. Finding the meaning in these drawings is almost impossible because they are done by two people over the course of a long time who maybe don't know what they are thinking about when they are drawing these pictures. So, later on, once they are finished, I take them home and conjure up a meaning for them in my head and give meaning to them through their title. I am almost positive that neither Tim nor I were thinking about the Garden of Eden in the least respect while drawing this picture. I know I was not. However, there are the two central figures, nude (but for a hat) in the middle of an incredible variety of animals, many of whom are no longer living and have been extinct since the time of Eden. These two people, though small, bring the picture together as an allegorical Eden. Had they not been right in the middle of the composition, or in it at all, the picture would almost certainly be about something else. Take them out in your mind and you see a bunch of animals, some monstrous multi-headed beast, and some clouds over a landscape. I am also sure that if some people of the church saw this, they would certainly call it sacrilegious. They would say that it looks more like The Garden Of Earthly Delights by Hieronymus Bosch, signifying man's decline and descent into hell. Our greatest bar regular, Richard always says that Tim and I are the modern versions of Bosch anyway, so that would be okay with me. I always liked that painting; it was so weird and so different from what was happening in art at the time. Western Art was completely devoted to the church and except for portraits of rich people, was the only art form accepted at the time. Bosch was pretty much the first Surrealist, although you could argue that all religious art is surreal since it is depictions of invisible divine figures who have never been seen by the artists. In that sense, the artists had to imagine what these gods looked like, maybe dreaming about them, thus making them Surrealists as well.  Anyway, I did a little research about the Garden of Eden and according to the King James version, Genesis 2:22 is when god makes Eve out of the rib of Adam. So I thought that this would be the time of day that this picture takes place. So this picture is exactly what was happening at 2:22 on October 26, 0. Or would this be year Negative One? I think year 0 is cooler, so we're going to leave it at that. Okay? Good.

#42 "Space/Time Kissing Contest" October 12, 2011

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This one didn't start with the wine stain. I'm not sure if the wine stain was on purpose or not, either. I am pretty sure, the girl on the bike and the fox were the first things drawn here. The fox was actually drawn by Tim's girlfriend Catherine. Or, it was a collaboration. That was when Tim and I still worked together on Sunday nights. I still work the bar on Sunday night, so if you're not doing anything on Sunday, come down and hang out with me. Tim couldn't take the jazz any more. That, and Sundays are a nice day to spend with loved ones, not at a bar or at work, which are one in the same when you work at Cafe Loup. I personally miss him working on Sunday night, as it is my favorite shift at the Loup. For me, it is because I am the bartender and I love being behind the bar. It is so much more enjoyable than waiting tables. It is very different, anyway, which is why I like it so much. Waiters get no respect, while bartenders get all the love. I think it's because the bartender is the last person between you and the booze. A waiter is but a middle man; if your waiter won't get you some booze, you can always bypass him and get it straight from the bartender. The bartender is the guy who can cut you off and throw you out as well. Generally, a waiter has to go through a manager to throw someone out, although I guess they have the power to cut you off as well; but then if you are sneaky, you could always just go straight to the bar! We no longer have a traditional "manager" at the Loup anymore. Ardes is the de facto manager, but she also owns the place, so she's wearing a bunch of hats. I like this about the Loup as I feel like there is a special place in hell for restaurant managers. I have been saying that for years although I stopped for  a while after our last manager died. But then I thought about it, and if there is a traditional hell, like the one portrayed in the Bible, than our last manager is definitely there. He was the poster boy for behavior that would warm up your seat in hell for you. After he died, we didn't get another manager. We have a couple people who are close to being management, but they don't want the title, the pay, or the responsibility. I don't blame them; that is one thankless job, which is probably why managers get the reputation as hell-bound jerks. If you think waiters get no respect, managers get less than no respect; they are in the negative integer column! They are the ones who police the staff, so obviously no one likes them. They have to be there when the place opens and stay until it closes, so when you have 18 hour days every day, you're going to get a little cranky and short tempered. I understand this, which is why I would never want to be a manager myself. I am perfectly happy to stay behind the bar on Sunday nights spilling wine on the Triple Dupe Pads and turning its stain into a one-eyed, ample breasted alien girl with a high pony tail and diddly-boppers, thank you very much. Now, if I could just get Tim to come back and work with me, it would be perfect!
All of that having been said, this one remains one of my all time favorite T&J drawings.

#41 "The 35th Annual Women's Mini Golf Invitational" September 6, 2011 in Color!

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With the color on this one I tried to keep the same palette as the triple dupe pad. I used the same color from the bitters on the eyes of the characters on the far left and right, and then the skin tone on all main characters is from the dupe pad itself. The rest of the color I thought looked pretty good all faded out and classic looking. This is still the only one that I used this technique with. Most of the usual coloring is done as colorful as possible, and though it has changed significantly over the years, it still remains vibrant and psychedelic as ever. The right side of this drawing might have fared better with more elements of psychedelia, but who can tell; that might have just made that side a gross generalization and  stereotypical "spaced out hippie" drawing. Pun intended. As it is, this is a little wink at the Cafe Loup itself. I was just checking the interwebs about some history about the Loup and there doesn't seem to be any written history about the place. It doesn't have a Wikipedia entry anyway. The history as I know it has been passed down by word of mouth, which is exactly what the current owners, Lloyd and Ardes want. In fact, that is how we advertise there as well, strictly word of mouth. So, I may be doing the restaurant a disservice by creating a history about the place here on this blog, but it is only a history of my experience there so it is incomplete, one sided, and possibly completely wrong. But here is the history as I know it. Back in 1977 a couple named Bruce and Roxanne wanted to open up a nice little French Bistro in Greenwich Village. They found a place on 13th Street between University and 5th Avenue across the street from Les Trois Petits Cochons, which translates into english as "The Three Little Pigs." Bruce and Roxanne thought it would be a good idea to set up their French Bistro across from this charcuterie and call it Cafe Loup, or "The Wolf Cafe." Cute, right? On a side note, the Loup still gets our pate from Les Trois Petits Cochons and if you can get your hands on some, I highly recommend it. So, Lloyd was the head chef there right from the beginning and he, Bruce and Roxanne served the Village for 12 years over there on 13th Street. In 1989 they moved locations, to the much larger space at 105 West 13th Street where it remains today. A couple years later, in 1995, Lloyd and Ardes bought the place from Bruce and Roxanne and have been running it since then. Almost 20 years! Amazing. I have only met Bruce and Roxanne a couple of times, but I guess they ran a pretty tight ship. Some of the people that still work at the Loup have been there since the early 90's and would be able to go into more detail about how it was working there back then, but I just don't know that much about that time. I do know that not that much has changed. I still get customers who come in and say, "I haven't been here since it was in the old location." Those same people remark on how the food is still the same and that it still has the same vibe that it had when it was just a small 20 seat place on the other side of 5th Avenue. So, the title of this drawing is a homage to the 35 years the Cafe Loup has been open. The stamp on the right hand side is the stamp we still use to stamp customers cash receipts and use on our envelopes. Of course, we don't have an Annual Women's Mini Golf Tournament, but I think if we did, it would look very similar to this picture. I think the Golf Tournament is a metaphor for something or other, I just don't know what it is for.
Your guess is as good as mine.

#40 "Motivationally Speaking" July 31, 2011 In Color.

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So, then there's marijuana. Right smack dab in the middle of this drawing is a large, pink bong who's smoke is turning into a many-toothed, one eyed monster who is being eaten by another monster of similar variety but of a different color. This could only be imagined by someone actually smoking the bong at the top of the page, right? Yes, and no. We don't actually have a bong at the Cafe Loup. In fact, the last time I saw a bong like that (other than on St. Mark's or in the head shop) was probably in college, filled with a mixture of water and Vick's VapoRub. Anyway, smoking weed at work is one of the worst things one can do for themselves. As a waiter you have to interact with all sorts of people,  do math equations and speed and timing is of the utmost importance; all of which can be highly stressful and uncomfortable while high on the wacky tabacky. One time I was working at a place called Clancy's on Cape Cod. This was a no-nonsense place where we were busting out 300 dinners a night and the pace was frenetic. Every waiter was required to work one lunch shift a week because no one actually wanted to work lunch. The shift was not financially viable and the slowness and nice weather during the summer made it a grim shift. So, one day I decided to try out some pot brownies I made right before going in to work my lunch shift at the restaurant. I only took a tiny corner because I didn't know how strong the brownies were and didn't want to be baked at work. Well, as you can imagine, I was baked at work. The brownies kicked in right about the time we opened up, after all the coffee and sidework. And wouldn't you know it, we got slammed. I was running all over the place trying to make things work. I was forgetting everything possible so I had to make 3 trips where usually I could do it all in one. The cooks all knew I was wasted so they kept messing with me and then when we were all in the weeds, their fascination turned ugly and insulting. All of this made for the worst shift of my life. After that day, I always thought that if there was a hell, that's what I would be doing; an endless lunch shift that's increibly busy, with the worst customers, bad tips, and stoned to the bone. Forever.
Now, in general, there is a lot of pot smoking in the restaurant business. That dude from Waiter Rant is always talking about dishwashers smoking weed, where the waiters prefer the booze. I would say that that is probably pretty accurate, except at the Loup. Our dishwashers are certainly stone free, although we used to have some dudes who liked to smoke a lot. I think there is a description somewhere in the archives about one of them getting me so high I had to sit at the bar, not talk to anyone and draw one of these drawings.  However, those days are gone, and there are only a handful of stoners left at the Loup. I'm not sure if that is because everyones getting old or if it is merely a coincidence. I, however, would recommend marijuana to anyone who wants to, or is currently waiting tables. Maybe not during service, but certainly afterwards. I really feel like it gives you some perspective into your day. Yes, it may have been a difficult shift for many hours. Yes, your co-workers may have ripped you off and been complete idiots on the floor. Yes, you may have been stiffed by a bunch of old people who were nasty in the first place and even nastier after that second Manhattan. Yes, all of this and more may have happened, but now all the customers are gone, the co-workers are gone, you have a pocket full of money and you are really, really high. All of that petty nonsense can be washed away and let go. Everything is going to be A-Okay.
That is, until your next shift. And then it starts all over again. Better restock!

(P.S. I was really happy to bring the "Brooklyn Ol'Dirty Bastards" football team back for this one. Some of you might remember this football team from Tim & Jeremy #7. If Brooklyn ever gets a professional football team, I hope they take this team name into consideration.)