Waiters

Some waiters (and waitresses, but for the sake of this post I'll call them both waiters) should really be called "hoverers" and not because they possess the power to levitate - something much less cool.

I understand that to get a good tip, waiters need to be attentive and available, but some seem to believe that pretty much camping out at your table will mean an exponentially better tip, though you'd think experience would teach them otherwise.

Your sitting down at your booth, unless the place is filled and your forced to contend with the infinitely less comfortable chairs and regular tables, and your waiter comes around to see what you'd like to drink. Sometimes you're ready with an answer right then about what you want to drink, sometimes you need a little time (some people come into the restaurant already knowing what they want to order which is basically a way of giving yourself a cooty shot to prevent hoverers from being able to, well hover).

If you know what you want, you're pretty much immune to hoverers, but not necessarily. Sometimes the hoverers think they know a better option for you and will try to awkwardly pressure you into ordering their option instead.

If you don't know what you want, they'll really own up to their name and just stand there, breathing down your neck until you're forced to blurt out something just to get them away. Of course as they do finally leave you'll think of something you'd rather have but you don't want them back until you're ready with your food order.

When it gets down to choosing what food you want matters can get worse.

Often the hoverer won't care if you're ready to order. Proud at having memorized the specialties, which are probably also listed on a blackboard or something within plain view, the hoverer lists all the specialties the restaurant has, from soup of the day to their drinks. I'm sure if you let them, they'd list the dozens of items on their regular menu that you just went through.

The worst is when you want a suggestion from these hoverers because they either think everything is good and therefore requires long listings of menu items you probably could care less about or that the nastiest thing on the menu is what they personally highly recommend and if you don't pick it you're probably a baby torturer who would try to chock a unicorn with a rainbow.

If you don't get a pushy hovery waiter, you'll probably just have someone like that in your family/group of friends. "But you always get a burger" they'll insist. But you remember that not last time, or the time before, but 7 times ago you did get something else, maybe a grilled chicken or something and it was horrible. From then on you knew never to betray the delicious savoriness of a burger again.

Fire Cat

I've noticed, almost all popular blogs or web comics eventually comes around to the topic of cats. Perhaps I'm jumping the gun and making a comic about cats too soon, but just in case, I'd like to ensure my route to success and so here is my cat-based post.

For Christmas, Santa brought a cat to my house. The cat, Vlad, was a gift to my brother, who named him. I've also learned from experience and from noticing the trend on a few other blogs that animals that come in pairs tend to have one less-than-smart animal in the set.

We originally had a cat named Tonks and Tonks was a nice cat that we rescued from our backyard. Not that our backyard is a particularly dangerous area, where the tabby cat gangs come to hang out and hassle other innocent suburban cats and whatnot, but nonetheless, we took Tonks in from our backyard.

We've had Tonks for over a year at this point and when Vlad came into the picture, it became apparent that the trend I have noticed would hold true. Tonks was an average-intelligence cat so that leaves Vlad.

Being that we got Vlad in the winter, we had a fire going in the fireplace, to help heat the house without relying too heavily on the heater. As the day went on it became apparent that Vlad had some identity issues. Like a fly attracted to the light, Vlad became consumed by the lustrous burning logs - specifically the fire created by the burning logs.

Don't jump to conclusions just yet - Vlad didn't jump into the fire and burn in the first day we had him, but that's not for lack of trying. Fortunately for Vlad's sake, the fireplace is surrounded by a metal netting that was apparently heavy enough to keep him from meeting a warm demise.

That brings to mind a joke my girlfriend told me: light a fire for a man, he'll be warm for a night; light a man on fire and he'll be warm for the rest of his life.

Fortunately Vlad didn't have to endure the punchline part of that joke and was saved by that netting, but some sparks did fly in his direction. He'd snap back from the smut but he'd always return.

This pyromaniac of a cat also enjoys candle-lit dinners, watching the sunset and I don't know about long walks on the beach. Candle-lit dinners amuse him because a pass-time of his is walking on, near or over fire and so whenever we lose attention of him for a moment, he'll find his way to a candle and proceed to walk right over it. Sunsets he'd probably also enjoy simply for the sake of watching a ball of fire move across the sky. He'd watch it like a lost lover that he hopes to rejoin with some day.

Expect future cat posts to satisfy a superstition about popularity in blogging.

Watches

Back before cell phones became popular, watches still existed and served some purpose (historians suggest they were designed to inform the user what time it is). I constantly wanted a watch and this isn't because I didn't get watches it's because I always got silly watches that I became obsessed with, for about a week, and then lost. Eventually I didn't need to have a watch, because now I'm never more than 20 feet from an electronic device with time-telling capabilities.

Regardless, when I was five, I was with my step-dad and he was dropping me off at my pre-k/kindergarten class (I can't remember which, it's been a while) and then he proceeded to change the time on his watch. Fascinated, I stared - bewildered. This man that my mother had found, had within his power the ability to set time back (or forward!) an hour. The POWER this man had was not that of mere mortals - I knew that at age five. I was quite pleased with mom's pickings from her plethora of suitors (as I'm sure the case was).

He needed to practice and hone in this skill, so twice a year he'd go about managing time in this fashion. Once setting time forward, once backward. It was positively amazing. I'm sure as you are reading this (my massive following of nobody) you are seething with jealousy and contempt, but alas not everybody can have family members so close to them with this power.

It wasn't like he just changed his single watch's time - this was a virtually global event. He changed all the clocks in the house and whatever he changed them to: it was recognized around the world as the correct time. Pretty freakin' awesome, huh?