Key Card

Italian food is a gateway drug. You may not have known this, but I used to smoke, drink, and party habitually, and it all started with my Italian cuisine addiction. I worked in an Italian restaurant and it seamed that all of my poor decisions during that time were centered around the people I worked with there, so fair warning: after you start your weekly dose of Chicken Linguine Alfredo with broccoli and Gorgonzola, look out–your rapid decent into debauchery is soon to follow. This trinket was the key-card that we used as waiters to access the terminals at the restaurant, and I held onto it because it carries the definition of nostalgia, “A bittersweet longing for things, persons, or situations of the past.” The things I experienced during that time may have seemed trivial–like learning to simultaneously spin a tray and a pepper grinder, or how to French inhale–but the people who taught me those things were very special to me. They may have introduced me to things that I didn’t really need to know about–like beer bongs, gravity hits, and Krispy Kreme–but if I hadn’t known those people and learned about myself through them, then, instead of writing this blog to purge myself of my baggage, I’d be accumulating more of it by putting myself in similarly compromising situations today. Finally, those situations caused a lot of hurt–one of my best friends died one night driving drunk, and another is in jail for dealing illegal substances–but without living through those situations, the lessons I learned wouldn’t have any wisdom to back them up; it would be like knowing “x + y = z” without first learning that “1 + 2 = 3.” Obviously, it isn’t this way for everyone. Knowing drunkenness sucks, drugs are for losers, and partying isn’t worth it is enough for some, but God knew that I learn from experience. Please pray for my future children; when it comes time to tell them the Star Wars prequels suck, I really hope they just trust me. However, if they’re anything like their father, they’ll probably try to watch The Phantom Menace at a friends house, puke all over their friend’s nice rug, and never ever tell me about it.


~ by russell jander on January 15, 2012.

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