The first round of voting for this year’s “Performance of the Year” begins tomorrow at The Public Blogger. As I mentioned earlier, it’s sort of like the blogging world’s version of The Oscars, with a little American Idle thrown in. Except none of our mothers are going to tell the judges how talented we are even when we stink. Anyway, there are 11 nominees, and one of us will be voted out each week until Dec. 30.
Between now and tomorrow evening at 7 p.m., when voting begins, I’m going to feature each nominee so folks get a chance to see their work. There are five genres represented — artists, writers, photographers and singers. Oh, and one humorist *smiles creepily*
Please take the opportunity to vote tomorrow, even if it’s not for me.
Details are at the bottom of this post.
There’s also a short, but sad story about how I’ve never won anything since Mrs. Flipendorf’s sixth-grade “Draw The Female Reproductive System” contest. (I got extra credit for including the placenta, which was actually a spagetti stain from working at the dinner table. But hey — a win’s a win…)
In the meantime, meet writer, producer and all-around talented guy Christian Marc. It’s just too bad he’s so *cough cough* homely…
I met Racquel in the summer of 2000. She was hired as a server at the Olive Garden in Lynnwood, a suburb of Seattle, Wash., when she was 17, then in August she turned 18. Three weeks earlier, I had been hired as a server at the same Olive Garden after I turned down a job at Claim Jumper in Redmond. I knew Claim Jumper was a better restaurant, but the OG was closer to the place I was living, and I kind of felt like I needed to be there at that time in my life because A) I didn’t have a car, and B) I knew nothing about a la carte restaurants. Was it fate that I was meant to meet her? Yeah, I think it was. I remember the first time I saw her like it was yesterday.
There was a group of new servers in training that week, and Racquel was one of them. She had shoulder length black hair, striking green eyes, and she walked with a gait that commanded your immediate interest and attention. I opened the two-way door to the kitchen and I watched her pick up a tray of food and carry it out past me into the dining room. I don’t know if anyone else took notice of her as quickly as I did, but hey, 15 years have gone by since the night I watched her wait tables in high heels and couldn’t wrap my head around that fact. It seemed so odd to torture yourself while you’re constantly walking at work, but maybe she didn’t care. Maybe they made her more comfortable. It was her style and I liked that about her immediately. She had grace and easily glided through the dining room while wearing stilettos and serving soup, salad and breadsticks. Thought it was kind of cool…
Read more HERE