Dear Domino’s Pizza,
Look, I know times have been hard lately. You had those people make videos of themselves doing unholy things to the food, and that certainly kept you in the news for awhile. I wouldn’t be surprised if sales were down. But my brothers and I decided to take a chance on you on Saturday night, when we were too exhausted to go out. My brother William, a public relations guru, applauded how you had handled the crisis, and my brother George and I figured that everyone who works at Domino’s was probably on high alert for bad apples who do unspeakable things to food. We all figured that it just might be the safest time to eat Domino’s Pizza.
First off, let me compliment you on your online ordering system, Domino’s. I appreciate immensely the fact that you’ve removed the need to ever speak to a human when ordering. Instead, all I have to do to order is dial you up online, find a coupon special that fits my needs for the evening, and plug in all my desires – I can even take advantage of a feature that lets me see what my pizza would look like if I put pepperoni on it instead of green peppers. Then I can just sit back and watch this amazing little ticker that lets me know who is making my order, whether it’s in the oven or not, and whether the driver has left yet. Even if this order monitoring system isn’t completely accurate, I still have to salute you and say that it’s quite a country when you can watch the status of your pizza order in real time.
And, as someone who dislikes speaking on the phone, I’ll say once again that I appreciate not having to explain what I want to a human being. Human beings are fallible. Human beings make mistakes. And oh, Domino’s, how your people made mistakes on Saturday evening.
Here was the situation: my brothers and I ordered a meal deal that came with two pizzas, cheesy bread and a 2-liter of Diet Coke. About 30 minutes from the time the order was placed I got a call from the delivery guy wanting to clarify which number was my apartment number, and which number was my street number. This concerned me greatly as my street number and my apartment number are thousands of numbers apart, and if he’s looking for a street address featuring my apartment number, then he’s probably miles away. Also, Domino’s is really nearby so hopefully he’d be familiar enough with the area? So I was concerned, but tried not to show it.
Ten minutes later, a knock on the door. I sign the receipt and I am handed two pizza boxes. “Um,” I say. “We had cheesy bread and a 2-liter Diet Coke as well.” Dude looks at my receipt and says, “Aww, my bad, I’ll run back to the store and get it.” Frankly I had my doubts, cause he’d already gotten and paid and tipped. I figured we’d never see him again.
And actually, we didn’t see him, not the next time a knock came at the door 10 minutes later. There was a different delivery guy, offering me a thing of cheesy bread. Now, maybe I shouldn’t have done this…I feel a little bad that I did, cause it wasn’t so terribly important, but I said, “Um, we had a two-liter of Diet Coke also?” And the guy got very confused, and he’s like, “I don’t know what you had, they just told me to bring this to you. I’ll call the store.”
So another ten minutes later, another knock. It was the original delivery guy. He said he was sorry and he asked if we had gotten the cheesy bread, and then he handed me a two-liter of Diet Coke and a 12-oz Sprite “for my troubles.” And that’s how it took us three separate visits by Domino’s to get our entire four-item order.
Now, Domino’s, as I started this letter, you’ve had troubles lately. That means that until things die down some, you should probably make sure that you don’t screw up the orders of the people who are ordering from you in this crisis. Because now I think that I shouldn’t order from you ever again, Domino’s, because now I think I’m probably on some Domino’s watch list at that store as demanding, and if I do order again, then you probably will spit in my food and do other bad things to it. Do you see how you screwed up? Do you offer me a lifetime of free pizza to make up for it? Think about it.
Fondly,
Molly
Showing posts with label beverages. Show all posts
Showing posts with label beverages. Show all posts
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Sunday, March 22, 2009
this day in stream-of-consciousness
On this day in 1933, President Franklin Delano Roosevelt signed a bill into law that legalized the sale of beer and wine. As a resident of the state of Georgia, I can’t help but note with sadness that this anniversary fell on a Sunday, a day on which no one in this state can buy beer or wine, or any alcohol for that matter.
Well, I should amend that to say that you could drive to a restaurant, have as many beers as you want, and then drive home drunk, but you couldn’t drive to the grocery store, pick up some beer, and make the return drive perfectly sober to enjoy the beer in the comfort and safety of your own home. That is just not allowed.
To mark the passing of this day, I opened up a beer right at the time I started composing this entry (8:08 p.m.). I intend to type about whatever pleases me until the beer is gone. I have nothing else to say, really, about the stupidity of the Georgia no-Sunday sales situation, except to note that I was reading an article earlier today about how Georgia has some of the worst smoking ban laws in the country. So to recap, a typical Sunday here would be driving to a bar, inhaling a lot of smoke and booze, then driving home with carcinogens in your system and alcohol in your bloodstream. I guess there’s a joke in there about how living in Georgia fosters death wishes in people, but I’m too tired to think of it.
The main thing that bothers me about the Sunday rules is that I tend to do my weekly grocery store shopping on Sundays. Or, well, I used to. Now there’s no point, because you’ll have to make a separate trip back to get the wine and beer, so you might as well just move the shopping to another day, even though that totally messes up your schedule but we wouldn’t want to offend God by buying beer on Sunday.
The beer I am drinking is a Yuengling, by the way. I feel there have been lots of references to alcohol on the blog lately, but have no fear. I am not a lush. It’s just that it’s that perfect time of year for sitting out on the patio and having chardonnay. Except for the damn bees. The bees came back today. I have a balcony, and there are some bees that love to eat the wood that makes up said balcony. The bees are dumb, and frequently they fly into the glass sliding door that leads to the balcony. I could hear them from my bedroom this morning, when I was waking up. I could hear the thwack of bee against glass, and I knew those bees were back. Soon everything will be covered with pollen, and when it rains there will be streams of yellow water making their way down the road.
I just spent some time on Wikipedia, and though Wikipedia claims that Kansas has some of the strictest alcohol laws in the country, that state has allowed Sunday sales in some locations since 2005. Even in Massachusetts, where the Puritans live, they’re okay with Sunday sales now. I really can’t find another state that has laws as strict as these….I would settle for no sales until after 12 p.m. Earlier this year, with the economy so bad, there was a bill to permit Sunday sales, with the thought that people needed as many opportunities to earn money as possible (or that people were so down in the dumps that they needed to be able to get trashed on a Sunday), but that was killed by, as I understand it, religious children coming in front of the legislature to plead God’s case. It just seems like God might have more important things to worry about.
The no sales on Sunday thing is probably the worst thing about living in Georgia. It’s even worse than being a liberal in a red state. But though I have rambled on for several hundred words about the situation, I don’t want it to seem like this problem defines my life. Sometimes it makes me sad, but I never need a drink so bad that I am saddened by the roped-off beer aisle at the grocery store. I think if this is the worst problem I have to deal with, then my state is probably okay.
But then, I might be feeling lovey-dovey since I just killed three-quarters of a beer on an empty stomach. Speaking of which, after I finish this entry I’m going to have dinner, which is some Indian food. Trader Joe’s makes theses lovely boxes of things like Punjab eggplant, and if you put it over some rice, it is just wonderful. I will probably have orange juice with dinner, though, since this was my last beer, and in case I haven’t made this clear enough, I can’t buy anymore until tomorrow. On that note, it’s 8:32 and I have finished the beer. Cheers to FDR for doing the best he could on this day in history.
Well, I should amend that to say that you could drive to a restaurant, have as many beers as you want, and then drive home drunk, but you couldn’t drive to the grocery store, pick up some beer, and make the return drive perfectly sober to enjoy the beer in the comfort and safety of your own home. That is just not allowed.
To mark the passing of this day, I opened up a beer right at the time I started composing this entry (8:08 p.m.). I intend to type about whatever pleases me until the beer is gone. I have nothing else to say, really, about the stupidity of the Georgia no-Sunday sales situation, except to note that I was reading an article earlier today about how Georgia has some of the worst smoking ban laws in the country. So to recap, a typical Sunday here would be driving to a bar, inhaling a lot of smoke and booze, then driving home with carcinogens in your system and alcohol in your bloodstream. I guess there’s a joke in there about how living in Georgia fosters death wishes in people, but I’m too tired to think of it.
The main thing that bothers me about the Sunday rules is that I tend to do my weekly grocery store shopping on Sundays. Or, well, I used to. Now there’s no point, because you’ll have to make a separate trip back to get the wine and beer, so you might as well just move the shopping to another day, even though that totally messes up your schedule but we wouldn’t want to offend God by buying beer on Sunday.
The beer I am drinking is a Yuengling, by the way. I feel there have been lots of references to alcohol on the blog lately, but have no fear. I am not a lush. It’s just that it’s that perfect time of year for sitting out on the patio and having chardonnay. Except for the damn bees. The bees came back today. I have a balcony, and there are some bees that love to eat the wood that makes up said balcony. The bees are dumb, and frequently they fly into the glass sliding door that leads to the balcony. I could hear them from my bedroom this morning, when I was waking up. I could hear the thwack of bee against glass, and I knew those bees were back. Soon everything will be covered with pollen, and when it rains there will be streams of yellow water making their way down the road.
I just spent some time on Wikipedia, and though Wikipedia claims that Kansas has some of the strictest alcohol laws in the country, that state has allowed Sunday sales in some locations since 2005. Even in Massachusetts, where the Puritans live, they’re okay with Sunday sales now. I really can’t find another state that has laws as strict as these….I would settle for no sales until after 12 p.m. Earlier this year, with the economy so bad, there was a bill to permit Sunday sales, with the thought that people needed as many opportunities to earn money as possible (or that people were so down in the dumps that they needed to be able to get trashed on a Sunday), but that was killed by, as I understand it, religious children coming in front of the legislature to plead God’s case. It just seems like God might have more important things to worry about.
The no sales on Sunday thing is probably the worst thing about living in Georgia. It’s even worse than being a liberal in a red state. But though I have rambled on for several hundred words about the situation, I don’t want it to seem like this problem defines my life. Sometimes it makes me sad, but I never need a drink so bad that I am saddened by the roped-off beer aisle at the grocery store. I think if this is the worst problem I have to deal with, then my state is probably okay.
But then, I might be feeling lovey-dovey since I just killed three-quarters of a beer on an empty stomach. Speaking of which, after I finish this entry I’m going to have dinner, which is some Indian food. Trader Joe’s makes theses lovely boxes of things like Punjab eggplant, and if you put it over some rice, it is just wonderful. I will probably have orange juice with dinner, though, since this was my last beer, and in case I haven’t made this clear enough, I can’t buy anymore until tomorrow. On that note, it’s 8:32 and I have finished the beer. Cheers to FDR for doing the best he could on this day in history.
Friday, March 20, 2009
an atlanta institution
This blog is about Coca-Cola. Writing this blog has been on my to-do list for awhile, because it contains the details of something that happened over a month ago -- my visit to the World of Coke museum in Atlanta, GA with a houseguest who was in town for a week. But it kept getting pushed to the side, first for all the cruise blogs, and then because writing about soda during the first few days of Lent, a time in which I had given up soda yet wanted one very very badly, seemed too hard. But now, with less than a month to go before Easter, I don't really miss soda that much anymore! So this seems like a safe topic to cover now.
Unfortunately, I don't have a ton to say on this long-awaited entry about the World of Coke museum. I think I came to the conclusion that the museum is sort of like Coke itself, in that it has a lot of bubbles at the time, but is kinda forgettable later.
When I was growing up, we all went to the Coke museum in its old location, which I remember being a lot more cool, but then I was younger and probably more easily impressionable. When I went to the museum that time, I got laughed at by some Asians who told me I was drinking the "poo-poo drink" of their country. The old museum also had these cool fountains that sprayed your Diet Coke or Sprite up into the air before depositing it in your cup.
The museum was moved though from those golden oldie days, and this was my first trip to the new location. The highlight is still getting to try different Cokes from around the world, though they got rid of the fountains that sprayed drinks in the air. From the experience, I learned that I never really want to go to Africa. Or if I do go to Africa, I don't want to drink Cokes there. None of the other continents had Coke that stood out as offensively to me as the African ones did, but then, none of them really grabbed me in their awesomeness either.
My houseguest wanted pictures taken of his reaction to every single beverage he tried, but I just wanted pictures of myself with giant objects, preferably inanimate. To wit:
I consider it a feat of strength that I wrote this entry during Lent without succumbing to the power of soda. But I shall always have a weakness for giant bears and funny statues.
Unfortunately, I don't have a ton to say on this long-awaited entry about the World of Coke museum. I think I came to the conclusion that the museum is sort of like Coke itself, in that it has a lot of bubbles at the time, but is kinda forgettable later.
When I was growing up, we all went to the Coke museum in its old location, which I remember being a lot more cool, but then I was younger and probably more easily impressionable. When I went to the museum that time, I got laughed at by some Asians who told me I was drinking the "poo-poo drink" of their country. The old museum also had these cool fountains that sprayed your Diet Coke or Sprite up into the air before depositing it in your cup.
The museum was moved though from those golden oldie days, and this was my first trip to the new location. The highlight is still getting to try different Cokes from around the world, though they got rid of the fountains that sprayed drinks in the air. From the experience, I learned that I never really want to go to Africa. Or if I do go to Africa, I don't want to drink Cokes there. None of the other continents had Coke that stood out as offensively to me as the African ones did, but then, none of them really grabbed me in their awesomeness either.
My houseguest wanted pictures taken of his reaction to every single beverage he tried, but I just wanted pictures of myself with giant objects, preferably inanimate. To wit:
I consider it a feat of strength that I wrote this entry during Lent without succumbing to the power of soda. But I shall always have a weakness for giant bears and funny statues.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
get me to the church on time (because it will be very crowded)
If it’s true that we eat our feelings, then I guess I ate lots and lots of joy last weekend. That is when my cousin Mary Henry married my new cousin-in-law Brad at Kanuga. I am pretty happy about this arrangement, to the point that if anyone had objected during the ceremony, even as a joke (something I often daydream of doing), I would have fought that person right then and there. Especially if that person was my arch-nemesis.
Yes, I managed to acquire a new arch-nemesis at the wedding, even though the whole festivities only lasted a weekend. Hey. What can I say. You get on my bad side and you are dead to me. But let’s not dwell on the negative. Let’s dwell on the positive. The most positive thing was that Mary Henry and Brad got married.
The second most postive thing was that there was a TON of food. For the rehearsal dinner on Friday night, there were specialities from Buffalo, NY, which is where Brad’s family is from, including hot dogs, roast beef and wings. As well as two kinds of cake! Then, on Saturday morning, my side of the family had sausage biscuits from Bojangle’s because we couldn’t wait til 10 am for brunch. Then we had the just mentioned brunch; I had french toast with strawberry topping, sausage and egg bites and bacon, among other things.
Then a few hours later was the reception, where I feasted on spinach and artichoke dip, meatballs, ham biscuits, cheese straws, cheese and cake. I had more than one piece of cake at the reception, for which my first cousin once-removed Sophie chastised me, but I pointed out that she didn’t have much of a case because she was eating sugar straight from the packet at the time. I guess that was just a snack to tide her over before dinner, which included roast beef, chicken, potatoes, green beans, and salad..and that’s just what I remember. And poundcake with fruit for dessert.
Then the next day we had a breakfast that included eggs, biscuits with sausage gravy and also sausage on the side. There was a lot of sausage. And that’s not even including all the food there was in the hospitality suite, which is where my family hung out between mealtimes. In the hospitaly suite there were goodies including cookies, pretzels, M&Ms, cheese straws and spinach dip. As I said before, I ate lots and lots of joy this weekend.
But the wedding weekend wasn’t all about food, of course. It was also about drinking. My brother William showed up with his custom beer pong table, and many a good game was had, including one monumental game that had three overtimes. At one point my cousins and I ran upstairs to Brad’s family’s hospitality suite and took them on in a game of flip cup, which we won, thanks to a little bit of cheating. I would like to take this opportunity to say that I was not aware that I was cheating at the time. I was just unsure what the game was.
This was a multi-keg wedding, but that doesn’t mean that there weren’t wine and spirits as well. And the younger folks had lemonade and soda available, but what they really loved was water. That’s because they played water pong for most of the weekend. Stylistically, water pong is very similar to beer pong, but the scoring is much different, particularly if you play against a child. Children tend to give themselves half-points for a lot of things, such as being close and for cool throws. At one point I was down 7 ½ to nothing despite the fact that I had gotten several balls into cups and my opponent had gotten no balls into no cups. But such is life.
Other than eating and drinking, I guess there was the wedding itself. That was an extremely nice event that is too difficult to explain in blog format. But everyone looked wonderful and everyone in the whole chapel cried, but in a good way, and everyone was very happy to be there.
I’m trying to think if anything happened that didn’t involve eating or drinking or a wedding ceremony but I’m coming up with very few examples. I took a nap. My cousin Worth played music. I looked at the pictures my first cousin once removed Maggie drew. We all played with Baby Sarah. I conspired against my arch-nemesis. Mainly, though, I think I will remember the eating. And so will my waistline.
Yes, I managed to acquire a new arch-nemesis at the wedding, even though the whole festivities only lasted a weekend. Hey. What can I say. You get on my bad side and you are dead to me. But let’s not dwell on the negative. Let’s dwell on the positive. The most positive thing was that Mary Henry and Brad got married.
The second most postive thing was that there was a TON of food. For the rehearsal dinner on Friday night, there were specialities from Buffalo, NY, which is where Brad’s family is from, including hot dogs, roast beef and wings. As well as two kinds of cake! Then, on Saturday morning, my side of the family had sausage biscuits from Bojangle’s because we couldn’t wait til 10 am for brunch. Then we had the just mentioned brunch; I had french toast with strawberry topping, sausage and egg bites and bacon, among other things.
Then a few hours later was the reception, where I feasted on spinach and artichoke dip, meatballs, ham biscuits, cheese straws, cheese and cake. I had more than one piece of cake at the reception, for which my first cousin once-removed Sophie chastised me, but I pointed out that she didn’t have much of a case because she was eating sugar straight from the packet at the time. I guess that was just a snack to tide her over before dinner, which included roast beef, chicken, potatoes, green beans, and salad..and that’s just what I remember. And poundcake with fruit for dessert.
Then the next day we had a breakfast that included eggs, biscuits with sausage gravy and also sausage on the side. There was a lot of sausage. And that’s not even including all the food there was in the hospitality suite, which is where my family hung out between mealtimes. In the hospitaly suite there were goodies including cookies, pretzels, M&Ms, cheese straws and spinach dip. As I said before, I ate lots and lots of joy this weekend.
But the wedding weekend wasn’t all about food, of course. It was also about drinking. My brother William showed up with his custom beer pong table, and many a good game was had, including one monumental game that had three overtimes. At one point my cousins and I ran upstairs to Brad’s family’s hospitality suite and took them on in a game of flip cup, which we won, thanks to a little bit of cheating. I would like to take this opportunity to say that I was not aware that I was cheating at the time. I was just unsure what the game was.
This was a multi-keg wedding, but that doesn’t mean that there weren’t wine and spirits as well. And the younger folks had lemonade and soda available, but what they really loved was water. That’s because they played water pong for most of the weekend. Stylistically, water pong is very similar to beer pong, but the scoring is much different, particularly if you play against a child. Children tend to give themselves half-points for a lot of things, such as being close and for cool throws. At one point I was down 7 ½ to nothing despite the fact that I had gotten several balls into cups and my opponent had gotten no balls into no cups. But such is life.
Other than eating and drinking, I guess there was the wedding itself. That was an extremely nice event that is too difficult to explain in blog format. But everyone looked wonderful and everyone in the whole chapel cried, but in a good way, and everyone was very happy to be there.
I’m trying to think if anything happened that didn’t involve eating or drinking or a wedding ceremony but I’m coming up with very few examples. I took a nap. My cousin Worth played music. I looked at the pictures my first cousin once removed Maggie drew. We all played with Baby Sarah. I conspired against my arch-nemesis. Mainly, though, I think I will remember the eating. And so will my waistline.
Saturday, December 20, 2008
smoothie like butter
To my horror, I realized I had to venture to the mall to get one last present on the weekend before Christmas. And it couldn't just be any old ghetto, uncrowded mall, it had to be Lenox, the mall of the Great Food Court Project, but also a very popular mall guaranteed to be absolutely packed. It's the kind of mall with high-end stores that makes you look around and go, "Recession? What recession?" There were LINES to get on the escalator. I broke a sweat. To get to just one store and back out took me an hour.
Anyways. To reward myself for my effort I decided to get a sweet treat from the food court as part of the Great Food Court Project. Because the line at Haagen Dazs was kinda long I headed over to Freshens Smoothies and Yogurt. This is a place that used to be in the food court at Emory, and I have long admired this chain for their ability to turn their windowed countertop into a fruit display. They make fruit look so good, even when encased in glass.
But ordering a smoothie has gotten a lot more complicated since my college days. There were a few basic categories: fat-free smoothies, non-dairy smoothies, low-cal smoothies and tropical oasis smoothies. So you had to figure out which category you wanted, and then hope that there was a fruit combination within that group that you liked. Then, you had to decide if you want a BOOST. I don't know who thought of BOOSTs first, if it was Jamba Juice or Freshens or some other smoothie place, but I'd be interested in some sort of scientific study of their alleged benefits. Whenever I get a free boost, I get the one that's geared toward women, but then I walk around feeling nervous that I might spontaneously become pregnant.
In addition to smoothies, every single other beverage you could think of is available now, including sodas, vitamin water, icees and juice, in case you want the taste of fruit but not a smoothie I guess. Also, there was something called Thrive frozen yogurt, which made promises to improve my immune system, though the menu board was suspiciously mum on how that would be accomplished. You can also get milkshakes with this magical miracle cure yogurt. There are also soft serve candy blasts, which is basically a Blizzard if you speak Dairy Queen.
I settled on a frozen coffee drink. How much was sugar, and how much was coffee? It's impossible to say. But it was delicious.
The food court was crowded for 3 pm, with many people enjoying some sort of meal that was either a late lunch or an early dinner. In fact, while I was taking my Freshens notes, several people were sorta standing around my table, ready to pounce if I left or perhaps even to guilt me into leaving, as if by merely enjoying a beverage I didn't deserve an entire table. I gave them the stink eye, which I hope sent the message that I was in the midst of an important anthropological and sociological study of food courts, but who knows if they understood. Tensions were running high. So after I finished taking notes, I got the hell out of there.
As I sat in my car for what seemed like an eternity, just trying to get out of the parking garage, I noticed that my Freshens cup promised that the drink inside would nourish, invigorate, energize, refresh and provide me with fuel for my body and mind. A tall order, and perhaps on some days such a promise could have been kept. But even a vat full of Freshens wouldn't have prepared me for the hell that is a mall parking lot at the holidays.
Anyways. To reward myself for my effort I decided to get a sweet treat from the food court as part of the Great Food Court Project. Because the line at Haagen Dazs was kinda long I headed over to Freshens Smoothies and Yogurt. This is a place that used to be in the food court at Emory, and I have long admired this chain for their ability to turn their windowed countertop into a fruit display. They make fruit look so good, even when encased in glass.
But ordering a smoothie has gotten a lot more complicated since my college days. There were a few basic categories: fat-free smoothies, non-dairy smoothies, low-cal smoothies and tropical oasis smoothies. So you had to figure out which category you wanted, and then hope that there was a fruit combination within that group that you liked. Then, you had to decide if you want a BOOST. I don't know who thought of BOOSTs first, if it was Jamba Juice or Freshens or some other smoothie place, but I'd be interested in some sort of scientific study of their alleged benefits. Whenever I get a free boost, I get the one that's geared toward women, but then I walk around feeling nervous that I might spontaneously become pregnant.
In addition to smoothies, every single other beverage you could think of is available now, including sodas, vitamin water, icees and juice, in case you want the taste of fruit but not a smoothie I guess. Also, there was something called Thrive frozen yogurt, which made promises to improve my immune system, though the menu board was suspiciously mum on how that would be accomplished. You can also get milkshakes with this magical miracle cure yogurt. There are also soft serve candy blasts, which is basically a Blizzard if you speak Dairy Queen.
I settled on a frozen coffee drink. How much was sugar, and how much was coffee? It's impossible to say. But it was delicious.
The food court was crowded for 3 pm, with many people enjoying some sort of meal that was either a late lunch or an early dinner. In fact, while I was taking my Freshens notes, several people were sorta standing around my table, ready to pounce if I left or perhaps even to guilt me into leaving, as if by merely enjoying a beverage I didn't deserve an entire table. I gave them the stink eye, which I hope sent the message that I was in the midst of an important anthropological and sociological study of food courts, but who knows if they understood. Tensions were running high. So after I finished taking notes, I got the hell out of there.
As I sat in my car for what seemed like an eternity, just trying to get out of the parking garage, I noticed that my Freshens cup promised that the drink inside would nourish, invigorate, energize, refresh and provide me with fuel for my body and mind. A tall order, and perhaps on some days such a promise could have been kept. But even a vat full of Freshens wouldn't have prepared me for the hell that is a mall parking lot at the holidays.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
it's funny because it's about furniture
Today's Picture of the Day shows off my favorite part of the drive between Atlanta and Candler. My three-and-a-half hour drive is only interstate for little bits and pieces; most of the drive winds its way through small towns and picturesque scenery. It's a pretty drive for sure, especially when leaves are changing, but my favorite part of the drive is a little less bucolic:
I like this sign because, of course, it is hilarious. But what is even a little more amusing is that I don't think of the small town in which it's located as a particularly scandalous place. I would say most of the areas I drive through are home to good conservative God-fearing folks. Not that those folks don't enjoy a good ribald joke about stripping, but I wouldn't be so brave as to stake my whole advertising campaign on it. And yet it's been in business since 1987. They must be doing something right in that barn.
Anyways, that's my favorite part of the drive. Here are the others:
--Clayton, GA: Clayton, GA really represents your best chance for cheap gas and getting something decent to eat between Atlanta and Candler. They have a Chick-fil-a which is good for early morning drives back to Atlanta, and they have a Wendy's which is good for dinnertime drives back to Atlanta. They have many gas stations with competitive prices, but my favorite one is probably this huge one that has the most gigantic beverage area you've ever seen. In addition to the standard bottled sodas, juices, beer, water, etc. that is available in most every gas station, they also have every single fountain drink. Also they have Icee-like beverages. And my favorite is the wide array of flavored coffee drinks, the kind of drinks you get by pushing a button until your cup is 2/3 of the way full. Starbucks has nothing on this place, if you lower your standards a little bit. I like to get the Peppermint Patty Mocha. It's hard to tell how much of it is coffee and how much of it is just a sugary peppermint concoction but what do I care? It only costs a dollar.
--Other signs: While no other sign matches the hilarity of the sign that is today's Picture of the Day, there are some other signs that mildly tickle me. There's a sign that says "Runaway Truck Ramp," and as my dad always says, it's so sad when trucks run away. There used to be a sign that said "Keep right except to pass" and it was followed not five yards later by a sign that indicated that the right lane was ending and you had to merge left. There used to be a sign indicating that a small town was the birthplace of one of the Miss Teen Georgia's but I guess her reign was so long ago now that they took it down.
--The parts of the trip where the speed limit is 70 mph: Yes, these sections of road don't really feature the pretty scenery that makes this trip so enjoyable, but at least you get to go fast through them. What's better is that the majority of these higher speed limit areas come right after you get off the interstate getting out of Atlanta. Since I'm usually crawling on that part, getting to go 70 right after feels especially fast.
--Gem mining areas: You pass a lot of those places where you pay some money for a bucket of dirt and then you look for gold and rubies and other gems. We went once as a field trip. Even though I don't think there could be much left to find at this point, going through this little area makes me feel that the possibility to be extremely rich has not passed me by.
--Gigantic private school on the side of the road in Georgia: There's this huge boarding school up on a hill that I pass. That place fascinates me. I wonder what goes on up there. What are the kids like? Sometimes I used to daydream that I went there. I guess my fascination with this place is not unique as there are many books about boarding schools.
--Scenery: I guess I already covered this in the intro. It's a pretty drive. The towns are darling, and even though you have to slow down to very low speed limits, you still get home faster than if you'd gone interstate the whole way. You pass a place that does chainsaw art!
--Milkshakes: There are a fair number of places where you could stop and get a milkshake, if that was your kind of thing.
I like this sign because, of course, it is hilarious. But what is even a little more amusing is that I don't think of the small town in which it's located as a particularly scandalous place. I would say most of the areas I drive through are home to good conservative God-fearing folks. Not that those folks don't enjoy a good ribald joke about stripping, but I wouldn't be so brave as to stake my whole advertising campaign on it. And yet it's been in business since 1987. They must be doing something right in that barn.
Anyways, that's my favorite part of the drive. Here are the others:
--Clayton, GA: Clayton, GA really represents your best chance for cheap gas and getting something decent to eat between Atlanta and Candler. They have a Chick-fil-a which is good for early morning drives back to Atlanta, and they have a Wendy's which is good for dinnertime drives back to Atlanta. They have many gas stations with competitive prices, but my favorite one is probably this huge one that has the most gigantic beverage area you've ever seen. In addition to the standard bottled sodas, juices, beer, water, etc. that is available in most every gas station, they also have every single fountain drink. Also they have Icee-like beverages. And my favorite is the wide array of flavored coffee drinks, the kind of drinks you get by pushing a button until your cup is 2/3 of the way full. Starbucks has nothing on this place, if you lower your standards a little bit. I like to get the Peppermint Patty Mocha. It's hard to tell how much of it is coffee and how much of it is just a sugary peppermint concoction but what do I care? It only costs a dollar.
--Other signs: While no other sign matches the hilarity of the sign that is today's Picture of the Day, there are some other signs that mildly tickle me. There's a sign that says "Runaway Truck Ramp," and as my dad always says, it's so sad when trucks run away. There used to be a sign that said "Keep right except to pass" and it was followed not five yards later by a sign that indicated that the right lane was ending and you had to merge left. There used to be a sign indicating that a small town was the birthplace of one of the Miss Teen Georgia's but I guess her reign was so long ago now that they took it down.
--The parts of the trip where the speed limit is 70 mph: Yes, these sections of road don't really feature the pretty scenery that makes this trip so enjoyable, but at least you get to go fast through them. What's better is that the majority of these higher speed limit areas come right after you get off the interstate getting out of Atlanta. Since I'm usually crawling on that part, getting to go 70 right after feels especially fast.
--Gem mining areas: You pass a lot of those places where you pay some money for a bucket of dirt and then you look for gold and rubies and other gems. We went once as a field trip. Even though I don't think there could be much left to find at this point, going through this little area makes me feel that the possibility to be extremely rich has not passed me by.
--Gigantic private school on the side of the road in Georgia: There's this huge boarding school up on a hill that I pass. That place fascinates me. I wonder what goes on up there. What are the kids like? Sometimes I used to daydream that I went there. I guess my fascination with this place is not unique as there are many books about boarding schools.
--Scenery: I guess I already covered this in the intro. It's a pretty drive. The towns are darling, and even though you have to slow down to very low speed limits, you still get home faster than if you'd gone interstate the whole way. You pass a place that does chainsaw art!
--Milkshakes: There are a fair number of places where you could stop and get a milkshake, if that was your kind of thing.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
variety packs are the best packs
As I wrote before the big day, Thanksgiving at my house involves a lot of traditions. Some of them are fairly new, such as the morning breakfast of mimosas and cinnamon rolls, while some traditions are well-established, such as the boys cleaning out the gutters and doing various yard work after breakfast. I should probably point out for the sake of posterity that now this tradition is now such a time-honored boys-only tradition that I should probably never ever be involved. And my family being my family, one of the long-standing traditions is drinking.
On one night of the long weekend, my brothers and I tackled a variety pack of Magic Hat beers. Here is a previous post where George and I reviewed a variety pack of beers, but here's how this post will be totally different:
1. My brother William is involved
2. We had all new beers to try. Beers from VERMONT.
For the record, we were sampling Magic Hat's Feast of Fools. Here are our comments, in order of tasting. I will present Magic Hat's description, something that we didn't have at the time, and then our comments, as scribbled down by me. And then, because I frequently suffer from logorrhea, I will present any further thoughts that came to me while I was typing up this entry.
#9 Not Quite Pale Ale
What Magic Hat says: A beer cloaked in secrecy. An ale whose mysterious and unusual palate will swirl across your tongue and ask more questions than it answers. A sort of dry, crisp, refreshing, not-quite pale ale. #9 is really impossible to describe because there's never been anything else quite like it. Our secret ingredient introduces a most unusual aroma which is balanced with residual sweetness.
What George says: Oh, oh, it's magic.
What Molly says: Sweet like candy.
What William says: Not as good as the prequel, #8, but good enough that I'm looking forward to #10.
What Molly thought while blogging: Hmm. Magic Hat thought this beer was impossible to describe, but clearly the three of us were able to PROVE THEM WRONG.
Odd Notion Winter
What Magic Hat says: Braggot is an ancient drink from the depths of tradition and is the perfect holiday treat. A mix of mead and ale, Braggot is filled with the calming flavors of chamomile and honey and soars like a reindeer between clouds of sweet male and bitter hops.
What George says: Little odd and a little nod (this was accompanied by an actual "nod")
What Molly says: I was intrigued that I was invited to rate this beer at oddnotion.magichat.net. But what would I say? I don't know how I feel about this beer.
What William says: The Odd Notion is not my favorite winter potion.
What Molly thought while blogging: At first I typed Odd NATION, instead of NOTION, and I got nervous that William's comment would look weird. But as it turned out, I was wrong. What a relief.
Roxy Rolles
What Magic Hat says: Our wintry amber ramble of sweet carmelized malt and spicy hops is for those that make their own roads.
What George says: No comment. I wouldn't want a pint of it, but it's good for a sampler pack.
What Molly says: The label scared me, with the motorcycle rider wearing an ominous-looking outfit of a hood and goggles. But this beer was perhaps the most tasty I've had so far.
What William says: Hoppy. (reads label) Oh, hoppy. They don't lie to you. Roxy Rolles makes me want to roll to the local convenience store and buy something better.
What Molly thought while blogging: My notes say that Mom also thought this was gross. But would they have thought it was so gross if they'd read the description about making your own road? Who knows. But it's always good when a beer reinforces how you live your life. Not living in Colorado or being a male, this is really the first time that this has happened to me, and I have to say it's pretty sweet.
Circus Boy Hefeweizen
What Magic Hat says: Unfiltered and unfettered, Circus Boy is a unique and refreshing American-style Hefeweizen. Is he a who? Or a what? Or perhaps some of both?
What George says: This beer must have been named after William. They could add coffee to this and call it Buzzbeer.
What Molly says: It's kind of bland for being a beer named after a circus boy.
What William says: I didn't write down what William said! I don't even remember if he said anything! By that time I'd had four beers among other things!
What Molly thought while blogging: I wonder if William said anything. Also I wish I'd written down what my dad said. It was something about being the son of a ringmaster and a trapeze artist or something. It was really funny to me at the time, after 4 beers.
On one night of the long weekend, my brothers and I tackled a variety pack of Magic Hat beers. Here is a previous post where George and I reviewed a variety pack of beers, but here's how this post will be totally different:
1. My brother William is involved
2. We had all new beers to try. Beers from VERMONT.
For the record, we were sampling Magic Hat's Feast of Fools. Here are our comments, in order of tasting. I will present Magic Hat's description, something that we didn't have at the time, and then our comments, as scribbled down by me. And then, because I frequently suffer from logorrhea, I will present any further thoughts that came to me while I was typing up this entry.
#9 Not Quite Pale Ale
What Magic Hat says: A beer cloaked in secrecy. An ale whose mysterious and unusual palate will swirl across your tongue and ask more questions than it answers. A sort of dry, crisp, refreshing, not-quite pale ale. #9 is really impossible to describe because there's never been anything else quite like it. Our secret ingredient introduces a most unusual aroma which is balanced with residual sweetness.
What George says: Oh, oh, it's magic.
What Molly says: Sweet like candy.
What William says: Not as good as the prequel, #8, but good enough that I'm looking forward to #10.
What Molly thought while blogging: Hmm. Magic Hat thought this beer was impossible to describe, but clearly the three of us were able to PROVE THEM WRONG.
Odd Notion Winter
What Magic Hat says: Braggot is an ancient drink from the depths of tradition and is the perfect holiday treat. A mix of mead and ale, Braggot is filled with the calming flavors of chamomile and honey and soars like a reindeer between clouds of sweet male and bitter hops.
What George says: Little odd and a little nod (this was accompanied by an actual "nod")
What Molly says: I was intrigued that I was invited to rate this beer at oddnotion.magichat.net. But what would I say? I don't know how I feel about this beer.
What William says: The Odd Notion is not my favorite winter potion.
What Molly thought while blogging: At first I typed Odd NATION, instead of NOTION, and I got nervous that William's comment would look weird. But as it turned out, I was wrong. What a relief.
Roxy Rolles
What Magic Hat says: Our wintry amber ramble of sweet carmelized malt and spicy hops is for those that make their own roads.
What George says: No comment. I wouldn't want a pint of it, but it's good for a sampler pack.
What Molly says: The label scared me, with the motorcycle rider wearing an ominous-looking outfit of a hood and goggles. But this beer was perhaps the most tasty I've had so far.
What William says: Hoppy. (reads label) Oh, hoppy. They don't lie to you. Roxy Rolles makes me want to roll to the local convenience store and buy something better.
What Molly thought while blogging: My notes say that Mom also thought this was gross. But would they have thought it was so gross if they'd read the description about making your own road? Who knows. But it's always good when a beer reinforces how you live your life. Not living in Colorado or being a male, this is really the first time that this has happened to me, and I have to say it's pretty sweet.
Circus Boy Hefeweizen
What Magic Hat says: Unfiltered and unfettered, Circus Boy is a unique and refreshing American-style Hefeweizen. Is he a who? Or a what? Or perhaps some of both?
What George says: This beer must have been named after William. They could add coffee to this and call it Buzzbeer.
What Molly says: It's kind of bland for being a beer named after a circus boy.
What William says: I didn't write down what William said! I don't even remember if he said anything! By that time I'd had four beers among other things!
What Molly thought while blogging: I wonder if William said anything. Also I wish I'd written down what my dad said. It was something about being the son of a ringmaster and a trapeze artist or something. It was really funny to me at the time, after 4 beers.
Friday, September 26, 2008
9/20/08, by George
Molly's note: Well, here we are at the 100th blog entry of 2008, and somehow it's only appropriate that this entry is by a SPECIAL GUEST BLOGGER, my brother George. George is often the unsung hero behind this blog, because he pushes me to write when I don't want to, he gives me ideas when I feel that nothing is blog-worthy and he assures me that at least one person will always read these ramblings of mine. (I'm assuming that one person is him but perhaps that's presumptuous).
Anyways, George's entry is the last in our three-part series examining the marvel and majesty that is the Asheville tradition of Brewgrass. I believed I used the adjective "Tarantino-esque" to describe what I thought he was doing, but I might have overlooked the fact that George has taken to walking around in huge sunglasses and a shotgun. Without further ado, I give you the gonzo world of my brother.
-------------------------------------------
Fear and Loathing at Brewgrass
-A Savage Journey to the Heart of the American Dream.
We were somewhere in Asheville on the edge of downtown when the beer began to take hold….
I found myself on a baseball field littered with people, tents, kegs, and pretzels. There must have been 40 breweries, 48 portable toilets, 7 police officers, 2 security guards, 5 musical acts, 100 different types of beers, and 8 different food tents. But the only thing that worried me was the toilets. There is nothing more horrible than having to use a port-a-potty. Nothing… That’s why this journey starts out at the church...
I had been given the assignment to cover the 12th annual Brewgrass festival, a gathering of breweries, music, and food for a blog I do some project work for. I had gotten the call from my editor earlier when I was in Atlanta drinking Flying Dog in the middle of the afternoon. The blog’s editor in chief had given me the tasks to write a blog on the upcoming beer festival ….
What I found was a joyous celebration of the making of BEER. Beer is one of the world's oldest and most consumed tasty beverages. It’s fucking from the 6th millennium BCE and is recorded in the written history of Egypt and Mesopotamia (thanks Wikipedia). Hooray Beer!!!
Pilsners, Ales, Weizenbocks, Wits, Stouts, Wheats, Barley wines, oh my. This joyous festival provided me with beers of different taste, color, style, alcohol percentage (fuck you Great Divide, when I say “brewers’ choice”, I don’t want the shit no one has been asking for all day, 10.5%, fuck off!). Not only was this festival a showcase of a great tasty beverage, it’s a gathering of people who REALLY like beer. Who turns out, are my type of people. Very friendly. Very opinionated. Very drunk. And sometimes very creepy.
HOLY SHIT is that a pretzel necklace!!! Did I say that? Or just think it? Was I talking? Did they hear me? Not only were these people wearing pretzels around their necks, there were Oktoberfest hats, beer bottle shaped glasses, and bags of kettle corn the size of garbage bags (the BIG kind of garbage bags, not those 1 gallon bathroom size)…
As the beer/water ratio became a little weighted… I found my thoughts wondering to the broken levies, terrorists, rising gas prices, recessions, Russia (which you can’t see from Asheville, NC), low funding for stem cell research, John McCain, childhood obesity, and rising food prices. However, when people come to enjoy their fruits of their labor and put pride in the beer they are making (not looking at you Great Divide) it just all seems a little bit better. Beer is what was able to bring people together today. Beer drinkers are friendly people who surprisingly don’t read Steinbeck novels.
As our arrangements were made to get home to a dinner of turkey cutlets, we left Brewgrass with a little more beer knowledge, a little less hydration, and a sense of a hopeful future. However, we were given another assignment after being picked up: find a gas station in the Asheville/Enka-Candler area that has gas.
And with that, we re-entered a strange world, a different world…. a world without gas, rice, or enough pretzel necklaces. While we are preparing to fight a lady over waiting in line to get gas, I remember a better time and realize that Brewgrass is not just a festival, it’s a state of mind. I am looking forward to Brewgrass 2009. I’ll be the one wearing the pretzel necklace…
Anyways, George's entry is the last in our three-part series examining the marvel and majesty that is the Asheville tradition of Brewgrass. I believed I used the adjective "Tarantino-esque" to describe what I thought he was doing, but I might have overlooked the fact that George has taken to walking around in huge sunglasses and a shotgun. Without further ado, I give you the gonzo world of my brother.
-------------------------------------------
Fear and Loathing at Brewgrass
-A Savage Journey to the Heart of the American Dream.
We were somewhere in Asheville on the edge of downtown when the beer began to take hold….
I found myself on a baseball field littered with people, tents, kegs, and pretzels. There must have been 40 breweries, 48 portable toilets, 7 police officers, 2 security guards, 5 musical acts, 100 different types of beers, and 8 different food tents. But the only thing that worried me was the toilets. There is nothing more horrible than having to use a port-a-potty. Nothing… That’s why this journey starts out at the church...
I had been given the assignment to cover the 12th annual Brewgrass festival, a gathering of breweries, music, and food for a blog I do some project work for. I had gotten the call from my editor earlier when I was in Atlanta drinking Flying Dog in the middle of the afternoon. The blog’s editor in chief had given me the tasks to write a blog on the upcoming beer festival ….
What I found was a joyous celebration of the making of BEER. Beer is one of the world's oldest and most consumed tasty beverages. It’s fucking from the 6th millennium BCE and is recorded in the written history of Egypt and Mesopotamia (thanks Wikipedia). Hooray Beer!!!
Pilsners, Ales, Weizenbocks, Wits, Stouts, Wheats, Barley wines, oh my. This joyous festival provided me with beers of different taste, color, style, alcohol percentage (fuck you Great Divide, when I say “brewers’ choice”, I don’t want the shit no one has been asking for all day, 10.5%, fuck off!). Not only was this festival a showcase of a great tasty beverage, it’s a gathering of people who REALLY like beer. Who turns out, are my type of people. Very friendly. Very opinionated. Very drunk. And sometimes very creepy.
HOLY SHIT is that a pretzel necklace!!! Did I say that? Or just think it? Was I talking? Did they hear me? Not only were these people wearing pretzels around their necks, there were Oktoberfest hats, beer bottle shaped glasses, and bags of kettle corn the size of garbage bags (the BIG kind of garbage bags, not those 1 gallon bathroom size)…
As the beer/water ratio became a little weighted… I found my thoughts wondering to the broken levies, terrorists, rising gas prices, recessions, Russia (which you can’t see from Asheville, NC), low funding for stem cell research, John McCain, childhood obesity, and rising food prices. However, when people come to enjoy their fruits of their labor and put pride in the beer they are making (not looking at you Great Divide) it just all seems a little bit better. Beer is what was able to bring people together today. Beer drinkers are friendly people who surprisingly don’t read Steinbeck novels.
As our arrangements were made to get home to a dinner of turkey cutlets, we left Brewgrass with a little more beer knowledge, a little less hydration, and a sense of a hopeful future. However, we were given another assignment after being picked up: find a gas station in the Asheville/Enka-Candler area that has gas.
And with that, we re-entered a strange world, a different world…. a world without gas, rice, or enough pretzel necklaces. While we are preparing to fight a lady over waiting in line to get gas, I remember a better time and realize that Brewgrass is not just a festival, it’s a state of mind. I am looking forward to Brewgrass 2009. I’ll be the one wearing the pretzel necklace…
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
9/20/08, by William
Molly's note: In order to present Brewgrass from all angles, I’ve asked my brothers for their takes. Also, I need more entries this month. That means it’s time for SPECIAL GUEST BLOGGER!!!! My brother George is a bit of a slacker because he still hasn't written his entry yet, though I guess it might take extra time because he used the phrase "Tarantino-esque" to describe what he was going for.
But never you fear about the delay, because we will now hear from a brand-new SPECIAL GUEST BLOGGER, my youngest brother William. William is 21 years old, though he has been drinking like a 21-year-old for years and years. He's a student at Appalachian State University in Boone, NC, which apparently has quite the football team. He enjoys barbeque, country music and long walks on the beach. Here is a picture of the two of us at Brewgrass:
Let's hear his version of the events that transpired on September 20, 2008, shall we?
-----------------------
Molly has invited me to be a guest blogger alongside George to share my experience at the 12th Annual Great Smokies Craft Brewers Brewgrass Festival at MLK Park in Asheville, NC. The experience started much like that of any major holiday at the plantation. In this case Molly very enthusiastically came in to my bedroom, jumped on my back and asked me “Guess what day it is?” I straggled out of bed and took my position on the top stair so dad could take our picture, a holiday tradition. I sat there for a minute and realized today is not the day for celebrating the birth of Christ. Today is the day we celebrate the birth of delicious nectar we all enjoy… BEER!
Going into the day we realized substance was a very important factor in the festivities that would be taking place. So keeping with family traditions we took the Blue Ridge Parkway to our favorite Saturday lunch spot, Chick-Fil- A. A quick 8 pack of nuggets and some fries would be my only meal going into a 7 hour “beer tasting.”
While dining, George and I realized some last minute necessities were needed to make it through the festival. We traveled up to the Big K-mart in search of sunscreen and sunglasses. Protection from the sun while drinking can make the act of consuming beverages a much more pleasurable experience. Being almost fall, it was difficult to find spf 30 to protect the nose and neck from the heat of the day. Now, I don’t know if many of you are aware that I spent a summer unloading 18-wheelers and stocking shelves at the big red K, but this was about 2 years ago this past summer. We walked into Kmart with mom, we being 3 of only 12 people in the store including employees. I happened to run into an employee who worked at this particular store that I had worked with at another store. After saying hello, I asked her where the items we needed to make our beer festival a better experience might be. She looked at me with a disappointing look almost expecting me to know where I had stocked something 2 years ago. Like they never change store layouts at the worst retail store on the planet. A quick purchase and we were on our way to MLK Park to enjoy beers from 40 brewers around the area.
Now growing up we always had to rush home from whatever trip we may have been on in order for George to heed the call of nature. George can only heed the call of nature in bathrooms that he’s familiar and comfortable with. So it should have been no surprise that ON THE WAY to the event nature would call George’s name. So to deter our trip even more we had to beeline it to our church, which was in the vicinity, in order for George to make room for beer. After this pit stop we were officially on our way to the festival.
Tickets in hand we were dropped off at the side entrance to the field. We snapped a quick pic and made our way to the line of fellow beer aficionados. Our tickets were scanned, a glass was grabbed and eyes went wide. Imagine Charlie getting that golden ticket to the factory, that’s how I felt but my ticket was a glass and the factory was a field full of breweries.
I know there has been a lot of anticipation leading up to my account of the actual festival, but I’m not going to go into all 40 beers I tried. Now our glass could only hold 4 ounces so I didn’t consume 40 beers, however, medical staff was on standby. I would probably be in some sort of made up Olympic event Molly likes to sponsor like “interesting names for presidents.” You would be very surprised how drunk a bunch of little beers can get you in a 6 hour period. We started in left field and worked our way all the way around the perimeter of the field to home plate. We worked our way farther and farther away from any food to compensate the amount of alcohol we had consumed. Finally we decided it would be a good idea to get some food. As a group we settled on kettle corn. Kettle corn was probably not the best idea but it had the shortest line. Other than randomly opening up our bag of corn we spent most of our time waiting in line to get a beer only to wait in line again. We enjoyed getting different beers at each brewery and sharing both what we had and how we felt about it.
I’ve decided to share my top five favorite beers with the fans of “I Wiggle it just a little bit.” I recommend these beers if you can find them at your local beer supplier.
1. Pisgah Brewing (NC)- Endless Summer
2. Asheville Brewing (NC)- Shiva IPA
3. Depot Street Brewing (TN)-Whistlestop Wit
4. Ham’s Brewhaus (NC)- Tiki’s California Gold
5. Natty Greene’s Brewing (NC) Southern Ale
The Brewgrass festival was a great experience and I could not have asked for a better time or better company. This is my first blogging experience so I hope it was up to par for Molly. I guess if I make the cut, I will feel I have accomplished something more than what I could have out on that field full of beer drinkers and their one true passion.
Special thanks to:
Whoever made our Kettle Corn?
Johnny on the Spot
Mom and Dad
But never you fear about the delay, because we will now hear from a brand-new SPECIAL GUEST BLOGGER, my youngest brother William. William is 21 years old, though he has been drinking like a 21-year-old for years and years. He's a student at Appalachian State University in Boone, NC, which apparently has quite the football team. He enjoys barbeque, country music and long walks on the beach. Here is a picture of the two of us at Brewgrass:
Let's hear his version of the events that transpired on September 20, 2008, shall we?
-----------------------
Molly has invited me to be a guest blogger alongside George to share my experience at the 12th Annual Great Smokies Craft Brewers Brewgrass Festival at MLK Park in Asheville, NC. The experience started much like that of any major holiday at the plantation. In this case Molly very enthusiastically came in to my bedroom, jumped on my back and asked me “Guess what day it is?” I straggled out of bed and took my position on the top stair so dad could take our picture, a holiday tradition. I sat there for a minute and realized today is not the day for celebrating the birth of Christ. Today is the day we celebrate the birth of delicious nectar we all enjoy… BEER!
Going into the day we realized substance was a very important factor in the festivities that would be taking place. So keeping with family traditions we took the Blue Ridge Parkway to our favorite Saturday lunch spot, Chick-Fil- A. A quick 8 pack of nuggets and some fries would be my only meal going into a 7 hour “beer tasting.”
While dining, George and I realized some last minute necessities were needed to make it through the festival. We traveled up to the Big K-mart in search of sunscreen and sunglasses. Protection from the sun while drinking can make the act of consuming beverages a much more pleasurable experience. Being almost fall, it was difficult to find spf 30 to protect the nose and neck from the heat of the day. Now, I don’t know if many of you are aware that I spent a summer unloading 18-wheelers and stocking shelves at the big red K, but this was about 2 years ago this past summer. We walked into Kmart with mom, we being 3 of only 12 people in the store including employees. I happened to run into an employee who worked at this particular store that I had worked with at another store. After saying hello, I asked her where the items we needed to make our beer festival a better experience might be. She looked at me with a disappointing look almost expecting me to know where I had stocked something 2 years ago. Like they never change store layouts at the worst retail store on the planet. A quick purchase and we were on our way to MLK Park to enjoy beers from 40 brewers around the area.
Now growing up we always had to rush home from whatever trip we may have been on in order for George to heed the call of nature. George can only heed the call of nature in bathrooms that he’s familiar and comfortable with. So it should have been no surprise that ON THE WAY to the event nature would call George’s name. So to deter our trip even more we had to beeline it to our church, which was in the vicinity, in order for George to make room for beer. After this pit stop we were officially on our way to the festival.
Tickets in hand we were dropped off at the side entrance to the field. We snapped a quick pic and made our way to the line of fellow beer aficionados. Our tickets were scanned, a glass was grabbed and eyes went wide. Imagine Charlie getting that golden ticket to the factory, that’s how I felt but my ticket was a glass and the factory was a field full of breweries.
I know there has been a lot of anticipation leading up to my account of the actual festival, but I’m not going to go into all 40 beers I tried. Now our glass could only hold 4 ounces so I didn’t consume 40 beers, however, medical staff was on standby. I would probably be in some sort of made up Olympic event Molly likes to sponsor like “interesting names for presidents.” You would be very surprised how drunk a bunch of little beers can get you in a 6 hour period. We started in left field and worked our way all the way around the perimeter of the field to home plate. We worked our way farther and farther away from any food to compensate the amount of alcohol we had consumed. Finally we decided it would be a good idea to get some food. As a group we settled on kettle corn. Kettle corn was probably not the best idea but it had the shortest line. Other than randomly opening up our bag of corn we spent most of our time waiting in line to get a beer only to wait in line again. We enjoyed getting different beers at each brewery and sharing both what we had and how we felt about it.
I’ve decided to share my top five favorite beers with the fans of “I Wiggle it just a little bit.” I recommend these beers if you can find them at your local beer supplier.
1. Pisgah Brewing (NC)- Endless Summer
2. Asheville Brewing (NC)- Shiva IPA
3. Depot Street Brewing (TN)-Whistlestop Wit
4. Ham’s Brewhaus (NC)- Tiki’s California Gold
5. Natty Greene’s Brewing (NC) Southern Ale
The Brewgrass festival was a great experience and I could not have asked for a better time or better company. This is my first blogging experience so I hope it was up to par for Molly. I guess if I make the cut, I will feel I have accomplished something more than what I could have out on that field full of beer drinkers and their one true passion.
Special thanks to:
Whoever made our Kettle Corn?
Johnny on the Spot
Mom and Dad
9/20/08, by Molly
The weather was beautiful in Asheville, NC on Saturday, which was good because I was there to go to the Brewgrass Festival with my two brothers, George and William. Brewgrass had about 40 breweries serving between 2 and 6 of their beers, and bluegrass music played at the same time. I thought it was a pretty clever name.
Going to this festival was sort of like going to Disney World, if instead of rides Disney World served beer. Basically, you get in line for a few minutes, and then you’re rewarded with a little bit of beer. Then you get in line again. If I could do two things over, one of them would be that I would wear gloves to the event, because your glass gets really sticky. Also, I would thread pretzels onto string, and wear a pretzel necklace, as I saw other people doing. When you saw people wearing a pretzel necklace, you knew they were pretty experienced at beer festivals, because they had a means of both cleansing their palates and getting a little snack.
So, we just drank and drank for hours. We had some good beers, we had some bad beers (Great Divide and Tommyknocker breweries, I’m looking at you regarding that second one. I don’t care if you are from Colorado.). The boys drank more than I did, but they have more places to put it. But here’s another thing you should know about going to a beer festival, in addition to the tips about gloves and pretzel necklaces: you should probably wear a plain t-shirt. Don’t wear a t-shirt with anything else on it.
Now, maybe other people would disagree with me on this. My brother George wore a Virginia Tech t-shirt and my brother William wore an Appalachian State t-shirt. Both of them had lots of people yelling out encouraging things about those schools’ sports teams. I guess it can be a good way to meet people. But I wore my John Steinbeck t-shirt, which I have mentioned several times on this blog, and it brought me nothing but trouble. First off, people were asking me if I’d read books that I hadn’t read--the obscure John Steinbeck books. And I hadn’t, so that made me feel unaccomplished. Eventually I got so drunk that I answered all questions about books with, “Of course I read it! I loved it! Changed my life!” but I don’t want to live life that way. So I can’t wear that shirt again until I complete the entire Steinbeck catalogue.
The second unfortunate thing was that some guy tried to use this shirt as a means of hitting on me, except he thought that all the titles on the back of the shirt were song lyrics and not books. So I was not impressed with him. I tried to give him the stink-eye as I waited for my two brothers to come over and defend my honor, but apparently brothers are no good at defending honor when they’ve had 15 beers. Then some brewer apparently mistook me for my brother William’s girlfriend and he nearly barfed. Those were some low points of the day for me. One of the high points, just to reverse these negative aspects, was that we ate kettle corn.
The festival was held on a softball field. My dad played softball there when we were younger, and one time he hit a home run out of that park. I remember talking about that a lot. We tried to re-live our childhood a little bit by sitting together in the dugout, as we used to do when Dad was playing. George and William went out to get another beer and told me they’d be back in a few minutes. When they didn’t return for almost 20 minutes I got a little concerned that they’d left me there. Then I realized I didn’t care because I was so drunk and they’d left me the bag of kettle corn. It was kind of a nice feeling.
At one point I was trying to keep notes about the beers I tried, but they all seem meaningless to me now. The only really constructive thing I wrote was that Triangle Brewing of North Carolina had an Xtra Pale Ale that was the “Sprite of Beers” and I meant that in the nicest way possible. It must have been fizzy and light. The last thing I learned on Saturday was that if you drink for 5 or 6 hours in the hot sun, then you will go to bed promptly at 8:30 p.m.
And now some pictures!
Here we are at the beginning of the festival:
And here we are pretty close to the end of the festival:
And here I am with some local celebrities:
Going to this festival was sort of like going to Disney World, if instead of rides Disney World served beer. Basically, you get in line for a few minutes, and then you’re rewarded with a little bit of beer. Then you get in line again. If I could do two things over, one of them would be that I would wear gloves to the event, because your glass gets really sticky. Also, I would thread pretzels onto string, and wear a pretzel necklace, as I saw other people doing. When you saw people wearing a pretzel necklace, you knew they were pretty experienced at beer festivals, because they had a means of both cleansing their palates and getting a little snack.
So, we just drank and drank for hours. We had some good beers, we had some bad beers (Great Divide and Tommyknocker breweries, I’m looking at you regarding that second one. I don’t care if you are from Colorado.). The boys drank more than I did, but they have more places to put it. But here’s another thing you should know about going to a beer festival, in addition to the tips about gloves and pretzel necklaces: you should probably wear a plain t-shirt. Don’t wear a t-shirt with anything else on it.
Now, maybe other people would disagree with me on this. My brother George wore a Virginia Tech t-shirt and my brother William wore an Appalachian State t-shirt. Both of them had lots of people yelling out encouraging things about those schools’ sports teams. I guess it can be a good way to meet people. But I wore my John Steinbeck t-shirt, which I have mentioned several times on this blog, and it brought me nothing but trouble. First off, people were asking me if I’d read books that I hadn’t read--the obscure John Steinbeck books. And I hadn’t, so that made me feel unaccomplished. Eventually I got so drunk that I answered all questions about books with, “Of course I read it! I loved it! Changed my life!” but I don’t want to live life that way. So I can’t wear that shirt again until I complete the entire Steinbeck catalogue.
The second unfortunate thing was that some guy tried to use this shirt as a means of hitting on me, except he thought that all the titles on the back of the shirt were song lyrics and not books. So I was not impressed with him. I tried to give him the stink-eye as I waited for my two brothers to come over and defend my honor, but apparently brothers are no good at defending honor when they’ve had 15 beers. Then some brewer apparently mistook me for my brother William’s girlfriend and he nearly barfed. Those were some low points of the day for me. One of the high points, just to reverse these negative aspects, was that we ate kettle corn.
The festival was held on a softball field. My dad played softball there when we were younger, and one time he hit a home run out of that park. I remember talking about that a lot. We tried to re-live our childhood a little bit by sitting together in the dugout, as we used to do when Dad was playing. George and William went out to get another beer and told me they’d be back in a few minutes. When they didn’t return for almost 20 minutes I got a little concerned that they’d left me there. Then I realized I didn’t care because I was so drunk and they’d left me the bag of kettle corn. It was kind of a nice feeling.
At one point I was trying to keep notes about the beers I tried, but they all seem meaningless to me now. The only really constructive thing I wrote was that Triangle Brewing of North Carolina had an Xtra Pale Ale that was the “Sprite of Beers” and I meant that in the nicest way possible. It must have been fizzy and light. The last thing I learned on Saturday was that if you drink for 5 or 6 hours in the hot sun, then you will go to bed promptly at 8:30 p.m.
And now some pictures!
Here we are at the beginning of the festival:
And here we are pretty close to the end of the festival:
And here I am with some local celebrities:
Sunday, June 8, 2008
"I can vouch for him, he's my little brother."
It’s Molly again. I tried to get George to write this entry, but he deferred, saying, “It will be better from your perspective,” which I think was just a way to continue his current activity of watching a movie and occasionally moaning about being hungover. Despite his bragging about blogging this weekend, George has learned that blogging is a hard lifestyle. Especially when you’ve been drinking so much.
He did just grumble something about how I should point out that all drinks this weekend were consumed legally, unlike his previous visits to Atlanta. (You may want to re-read that post…that’s foreshadowing for something that may happen in this story)
So being the less hungover one, I’ll shoulder on for both of us with this mildly humorous anecdote about what happened when we went to dinner last night. After walking around the festival for a few hours, we decided to drink at my apartment and then walk to this bar/Mexican place that’s behind my apartment complex. This place was chosen for two reasons: 1) we were getting sick of pub food of the sandwich/burger variety and 2) this place, being a five minute walk, was the shortest walk available to us.
So we walk down to the Mexican place, congratulating ourselves on our smart pick. We each order up a margarita, at which point we were asked for our IDs. This is the point where I hope you re-read that linked entry, or at least have a pretty good memory for detail.
George had forgotten his wallet.
As we mentioned in the post of George’s previous visits to Atlanta, George once forgot his wallet when he had sixty bucks in there from our parents to pay for our meals. This caused some strife since I was a poor college student. And despite George and I rehashing that weekend and talking about how awful it was, George went and forgot his wallet again.
We tried to sweet talk the waitress a bit, but she said firmly that she didn’t want to go to jail for George, and there was a big guy behind her watching the whole encounter, so we didn’t have much choice. We did the walk of shame and went back up to the apartment to get George’s wallet. So by the time we returned to the restaurant, we had made a 5 minute walk into a 15 minute odyssey. Thus defeating reason #2 why we went to this place at all.
But I will say, reason #1 was still a compelling reason to go, and we found our meals of Brazilian steak tacos and chicken chimichanga to be a great switch-up to what we had eaten so far. The margaritas also seemed like a great switch-up to the beer we had been drinking, although the margaritas have gotten a very bad name and been cursed many times in the harsh light of the day.
He did just grumble something about how I should point out that all drinks this weekend were consumed legally, unlike his previous visits to Atlanta. (You may want to re-read that post…that’s foreshadowing for something that may happen in this story)
So being the less hungover one, I’ll shoulder on for both of us with this mildly humorous anecdote about what happened when we went to dinner last night. After walking around the festival for a few hours, we decided to drink at my apartment and then walk to this bar/Mexican place that’s behind my apartment complex. This place was chosen for two reasons: 1) we were getting sick of pub food of the sandwich/burger variety and 2) this place, being a five minute walk, was the shortest walk available to us.
So we walk down to the Mexican place, congratulating ourselves on our smart pick. We each order up a margarita, at which point we were asked for our IDs. This is the point where I hope you re-read that linked entry, or at least have a pretty good memory for detail.
George had forgotten his wallet.
As we mentioned in the post of George’s previous visits to Atlanta, George once forgot his wallet when he had sixty bucks in there from our parents to pay for our meals. This caused some strife since I was a poor college student. And despite George and I rehashing that weekend and talking about how awful it was, George went and forgot his wallet again.
We tried to sweet talk the waitress a bit, but she said firmly that she didn’t want to go to jail for George, and there was a big guy behind her watching the whole encounter, so we didn’t have much choice. We did the walk of shame and went back up to the apartment to get George’s wallet. So by the time we returned to the restaurant, we had made a 5 minute walk into a 15 minute odyssey. Thus defeating reason #2 why we went to this place at all.
But I will say, reason #1 was still a compelling reason to go, and we found our meals of Brazilian steak tacos and chicken chimichanga to be a great switch-up to what we had eaten so far. The margaritas also seemed like a great switch-up to the beer we had been drinking, although the margaritas have gotten a very bad name and been cursed many times in the harsh light of the day.
When dogs fly
In preparation for my brother’s visit, I purchased a great deal of beer. Throughout the weekend, George and I have been sampling all of the beers in a Flying Dog Mixed Pack. If you’re not familiar with Flying Dog, it’s made in Colorado and it’s endorsed by Hunter S. Thompson. Here we present our reviews, which we just know will influence your buying decisions:
1. In Heat Wheat Hefeweizen Ale
What the bottle says: We spent 25 days brewing this German-style Hefeweizen to create its award-winning flavor and you just wing a lemon slice in it for showmanship? You’re not getting style points from us. Germans don’t drink it that way, so save your attention-grabbing tactics for the karaoke stage.
What George says: It tastes exactly what it sounds like, an ale and a hefeweizen
What Molly says: One time, my friend told me hefeweizen was worse for you than a milkshake. I’m glad the bottle made me feel better about not buying any lemons.
2. Old Scratch Amber Lager
What the bottle says: Some itches can’t be scratched. Like your fantasy involving latex and flavored lotions. So it’s best to concentrate on the ones you can scratch. Like your itch for this Amber Lager with a malty mellow flavor. As for your other fantasies, you’ll probably need to find a chat room for those.
What Molly says: I think it tastes like stale juice.
What George says: “Amber is the color of your energy,” which this beer will give me.
3. Snake Dog IPA
What the bottle says: Tired of those annoying 3 am hang-ups from your crazy, stalking ex? Turns out the same qualities that make your ex so damn annoying make our Snake Dog IPA so attractive. Chock full of bitterness, bite and attitude, it slaps you in the face with flavor. Just like your psycho ex did at the bar last weekend.
What Molly says: I don’t normally like snakes or dogs, but this beer is okay with me.
What George says: I’ll take the second bottle of this if you don’t want it.
4. Doggie Style Classic Pale Ale
What the bottle says: Dogs have it figured out. They sleep all day, lick themselves and eat everything but veggies. Be like the more enlightened species in your house by sipping this classic Pale Ale with its perfect balance of smooth malt and crisp hops. It’s so good. You’ll want to lap it up like your hour laps up toilet water.
What George says: Tastes like a wookie. I love these dogs.
What Molly says: Tastes like a gremlin or an ewok.
5. Tire Bite Golden Ale
What the bottle says: Know how to spot a stupid dog? Just look for the one biting the tire of the car that’s running over it. Know how to spot a smart one? He’ll be lapping up our refresing Golden Ale. This perfect warm-weather beer goes down so easy, you’ll be lifting your leg all over town. Smart dog.
What George says: I like it!
What Molly says: I agree!
What George says: But when it’s your 6th or 7th beer of the day, who cares?
6. Porter
What the bottle says: We spent four long years in court fighting for our first amendment right to display the phrase “Good Beer, No Shit” on every bottle of Road Dog. In honor of sticking it to the man… This shit is some dark, rich and malty shit. The best shit you’ll ever try and that’s not bullshit.
What Molly says: It’s so light it’s like drinking a coke, but then putting a beer mint in your mouth.
What George says: You’re just getting crazy now.
-----------------------
Well, those are the reviews. In the interest of full disclosure, we’d hoped to get around to reviewing a whole box of Sam Adams beers as well, and we did get to the Sam Adams Summer Ale, but we also consumed these beverages: Newcastle, Terrapin India Brown Ale, Abita Strawberry, Victory Prima Pils, Lagunitas Lucky 13, Harp, Sweetwater IPA, Reissdorf, Red Stripe, Sweetwater 420 and a margarita. The amount of water we had is extremely proportionally low in comparison to the amount of beer. So we’re not feeling too hot today and we just don’t have the energy to consume more beer or type out our little reviews. We’re frankly just fortunate that we took notes on the Flying Dogs as we went.
1. In Heat Wheat Hefeweizen Ale
What the bottle says: We spent 25 days brewing this German-style Hefeweizen to create its award-winning flavor and you just wing a lemon slice in it for showmanship? You’re not getting style points from us. Germans don’t drink it that way, so save your attention-grabbing tactics for the karaoke stage.
What George says: It tastes exactly what it sounds like, an ale and a hefeweizen
What Molly says: One time, my friend told me hefeweizen was worse for you than a milkshake. I’m glad the bottle made me feel better about not buying any lemons.
2. Old Scratch Amber Lager
What the bottle says: Some itches can’t be scratched. Like your fantasy involving latex and flavored lotions. So it’s best to concentrate on the ones you can scratch. Like your itch for this Amber Lager with a malty mellow flavor. As for your other fantasies, you’ll probably need to find a chat room for those.
What Molly says: I think it tastes like stale juice.
What George says: “Amber is the color of your energy,” which this beer will give me.
3. Snake Dog IPA
What the bottle says: Tired of those annoying 3 am hang-ups from your crazy, stalking ex? Turns out the same qualities that make your ex so damn annoying make our Snake Dog IPA so attractive. Chock full of bitterness, bite and attitude, it slaps you in the face with flavor. Just like your psycho ex did at the bar last weekend.
What Molly says: I don’t normally like snakes or dogs, but this beer is okay with me.
What George says: I’ll take the second bottle of this if you don’t want it.
4. Doggie Style Classic Pale Ale
What the bottle says: Dogs have it figured out. They sleep all day, lick themselves and eat everything but veggies. Be like the more enlightened species in your house by sipping this classic Pale Ale with its perfect balance of smooth malt and crisp hops. It’s so good. You’ll want to lap it up like your hour laps up toilet water.
What George says: Tastes like a wookie. I love these dogs.
What Molly says: Tastes like a gremlin or an ewok.
5. Tire Bite Golden Ale
What the bottle says: Know how to spot a stupid dog? Just look for the one biting the tire of the car that’s running over it. Know how to spot a smart one? He’ll be lapping up our refresing Golden Ale. This perfect warm-weather beer goes down so easy, you’ll be lifting your leg all over town. Smart dog.
What George says: I like it!
What Molly says: I agree!
What George says: But when it’s your 6th or 7th beer of the day, who cares?
6. Porter
What the bottle says: We spent four long years in court fighting for our first amendment right to display the phrase “Good Beer, No Shit” on every bottle of Road Dog. In honor of sticking it to the man… This shit is some dark, rich and malty shit. The best shit you’ll ever try and that’s not bullshit.
What Molly says: It’s so light it’s like drinking a coke, but then putting a beer mint in your mouth.
What George says: You’re just getting crazy now.
-----------------------
Well, those are the reviews. In the interest of full disclosure, we’d hoped to get around to reviewing a whole box of Sam Adams beers as well, and we did get to the Sam Adams Summer Ale, but we also consumed these beverages: Newcastle, Terrapin India Brown Ale, Abita Strawberry, Victory Prima Pils, Lagunitas Lucky 13, Harp, Sweetwater IPA, Reissdorf, Red Stripe, Sweetwater 420 and a margarita. The amount of water we had is extremely proportionally low in comparison to the amount of beer. So we’re not feeling too hot today and we just don’t have the energy to consume more beer or type out our little reviews. We’re frankly just fortunate that we took notes on the Flying Dogs as we went.
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
you say it's your birthday?
Dear Readers,
I have an extremely sad announcement to make. I can no longer continue writing this blog. It takes up too much time, time I would rather devote to pursuing my country music career. So there will be no more wiggling it, just a little bit.
April Fools!
A day late!
Man, don’t you think that could have been really something? If I’d drawn it out more and gotten the entry up on the right day? I think that would have been fun. But I was too lazy.
In addition to general laziness yesterday, I was also busy celebrating my birthday, which as some readers may know, falls upon April Fool’s Day. It was a nice, low-key day, which is the way I wanted it, but unfortunately, this birthday will be forever remembered as the birthday where my Comcast service went out as soon as I sat down to watch some birthday television and read some birthday emails. So while I heard from friends and relations far and wide, the person I might have spent the most time speaking with was a Comcast representative. While Comcast was extremely sympathetic that I couldn’t watch the birthday editions of my favorite shows, they were not so sympathetic that they would fix my service immediately. It won’t be fixed, in fact, til Saturday.
Well, since I have this extra time on my hands, I thought I’d look back at some of my memorable birthdays:
April 1, 1982: I am born. To be fair, this is not a “memorable” birthday because I don’t “remember” it. But I have heard the legends of how I made it into the world. I was about a week late. When my mom went into labor in the wee hours of the morning, my dad didn’t take her at first because he thought it was an April Fool’s joke. But that might have been exaggerated because recently Mom said that she wasn’t quite sure that she was in labor. They started out for the hospital anyways, and were about halfway there when Dad realized he forgot to turn off the alarm clock that would be going off in a few hours, and that would freak out the cats, so they turned around to go home and turn off the alarm clock. That’s right, the mental health of their cats was a more important than the birth of their first child. But anyways, by the time they were headed back to the hospital, Mom was sure that this was actually labor and I emerged at 10:40 a.m. When the doctor announced it was a girl, my parents thought it was an April Fool’s joke because previous doctors had predicted that I would be a boy based on the strength of my heartbeat. I am such a trickster!
April 1, 1987: I turn five. I remember this birthday primarily because it was captured on home video. This video does not present the most flattering version of me…I got a vinyl record and jumped all around screeching and it was not attractive. It was a Randy Travis record, for anyone interested, and my first concert, Randy Travis at the Asheville Civic Center, was also a present that year as I recall. On this tape, I tend to get mad and yell at my brothers a lot, George because he kept trying to open my presents and William because he took his first steps and upstaged me on my birthday. What starts as a video of little Molly opening her presents turns into a video of baby William trying to walk. And I don’t know if our relationship has ever overcome this jealousy.
April 1, year uncertain: I’m not sure exactly whether I was turning 12 or 13 but sometime in middle school I had a birthday where I got like six CDs as presents and then went bowling with my friends. I remember that as an extremely pleasant birthday.
April 1, 1998: Sweet 16. The year that everyone in my group of friends turned 16, I remember we did a lot of scavenger hunts, because we could all drive and go around and look for things. So I remember I had a pretty cool scavenger hunt that turned mildly embarrassing when I couldn’t pump gas. The guy had to show me how. If only I’d paid more attention at the 10 previous scavenger hunt birthday parties I went to that year!
April 1, 2000: Despite being only a high school senior, I turned 18 at Emory because I was down there for scholarship interview weekend. Being interviewed on my birthday was a bit stressful, and since this was before cell phones, I called my parents on a pay phone, primarily because that was the day when all other colleges were supposed to let you know if you’d been accepted or not. But there had been a snowstorm in eastern North Carolina and so a lot of my decisions weren’t there yet. It was very frustrating to have only a brief pay phone call home and to get such crappy news. But that night the other people there interviewing took me out and got me a balloon, and I remember looking around and thinking that these people were very nice and that I could definitely see myself at school there.
April 1, 2001: Flash forward a year, when I was there. I had the most miserable birthday ever because I was extremely sick and trying to write a huge paper that was due the next day that was some ungodly percentage of my grade. All my friends in my freshman dorm came in and sang happy birthday but I was so sick and tired that I just burst into tears. A real low-point birthday.
April 1, 2003: But I would say that my highest-point birthday was turning 21 in Rome. I went to the Coliseum with a friend that was visiting and that night went to dinner with a few friends at this restaurant that was on my street that we all loved. The waiter, who we’d become friends with over the course of the semester, gave me a bottle of wine and had the street musicians outside play happy birthday. Then we drank, but since we’d been abroad for a few months anyways, it was relaxed fun drinking, as opposed to the, I’m 21 now and can drink for the first time drinking. It was a great night.
April 1, 2005: This was my first birthday in Seattle. I had just ended an internship and was only working at Old Navy at this point. The night before, a few people from Old Navy went out, because it was my birthday and this other girl’s who worked there. I know that several respectable adults read this blog, and I hope they won’t mind when I report that I got so, so drunk that night. It was the kind of drunk that makes you swear you’ll never drink again. The kind of drunk where you wake up with 50-year-old men’s phone numbers in your pocket. The kind of drunk where you wake up with big bumps on your head and you remember that that’s from when your head hit the toilet the night before. Oh my.
The next day on this same year, the actual birthday, I woke up and took myself shopping. I only worked nights so I had some free time in the days. I went to the mall determined to buy something, but the only thing I could find that I really wanted was some underwear at Victoria’s Secret. Well, I get in line behind this VERY pregnant woman, and she and the salesgirl start talking about when she’s due, and they start talking about how HORRIBLE it would be if she gave birth on April First. So I finally had to pipe up and defend my birthday, and they both looked at me so sadly. Maybe because I was buying underwear on my birthday in a very hungover state. It’s hard to say.
On a side note, part of the reason I went to the mall is because I have this thing about food courts that you might have noticed in recent months. But that day is when I started to realize that West Coast food courts SUCKED.
Then (this was a pretty epic birthday) that night I went out for Mexican food with my friends Matthew, Nekesa and Katy. We went to a Seattle place called Tia Lou’s. When the waiters found out it was my birthday, they gave me this shot and then grabbed my head and shook it all around (let me tell you, I didn’t need that in the state I was in). Then, one of the waitstaff lifted up his apron and showed me this puppet penis. It was fake..he was wearing pants…but under the apron was a giant puppet penis. In talking to other people from Seattle, I hear this comes out a lot at bachelorette parties. But I got it for my birthday. Then Tia Lou’s went from being a respectable Mexican restaurant to a weird club with a high cover charge, so we watched that changeover for awhile before going back to google “puppet penis” and eat cake.
Well, I guess I’ll stop there. I certainly have other birthday memories, like the time I had a McDonald’s party and got to work the ice cream machine, the time I made my college roommate throw me a hot dog bowling party, the time my grandmother made me a ooey gooey chocolate cake, the time in which my boss made me a funfetti cake. And joining the ranks, the time in which my cable went out when all I wanted to do was watch television.
I have an extremely sad announcement to make. I can no longer continue writing this blog. It takes up too much time, time I would rather devote to pursuing my country music career. So there will be no more wiggling it, just a little bit.
April Fools!
A day late!
Man, don’t you think that could have been really something? If I’d drawn it out more and gotten the entry up on the right day? I think that would have been fun. But I was too lazy.
In addition to general laziness yesterday, I was also busy celebrating my birthday, which as some readers may know, falls upon April Fool’s Day. It was a nice, low-key day, which is the way I wanted it, but unfortunately, this birthday will be forever remembered as the birthday where my Comcast service went out as soon as I sat down to watch some birthday television and read some birthday emails. So while I heard from friends and relations far and wide, the person I might have spent the most time speaking with was a Comcast representative. While Comcast was extremely sympathetic that I couldn’t watch the birthday editions of my favorite shows, they were not so sympathetic that they would fix my service immediately. It won’t be fixed, in fact, til Saturday.
Well, since I have this extra time on my hands, I thought I’d look back at some of my memorable birthdays:
April 1, 1982: I am born. To be fair, this is not a “memorable” birthday because I don’t “remember” it. But I have heard the legends of how I made it into the world. I was about a week late. When my mom went into labor in the wee hours of the morning, my dad didn’t take her at first because he thought it was an April Fool’s joke. But that might have been exaggerated because recently Mom said that she wasn’t quite sure that she was in labor. They started out for the hospital anyways, and were about halfway there when Dad realized he forgot to turn off the alarm clock that would be going off in a few hours, and that would freak out the cats, so they turned around to go home and turn off the alarm clock. That’s right, the mental health of their cats was a more important than the birth of their first child. But anyways, by the time they were headed back to the hospital, Mom was sure that this was actually labor and I emerged at 10:40 a.m. When the doctor announced it was a girl, my parents thought it was an April Fool’s joke because previous doctors had predicted that I would be a boy based on the strength of my heartbeat. I am such a trickster!
April 1, 1987: I turn five. I remember this birthday primarily because it was captured on home video. This video does not present the most flattering version of me…I got a vinyl record and jumped all around screeching and it was not attractive. It was a Randy Travis record, for anyone interested, and my first concert, Randy Travis at the Asheville Civic Center, was also a present that year as I recall. On this tape, I tend to get mad and yell at my brothers a lot, George because he kept trying to open my presents and William because he took his first steps and upstaged me on my birthday. What starts as a video of little Molly opening her presents turns into a video of baby William trying to walk. And I don’t know if our relationship has ever overcome this jealousy.
April 1, year uncertain: I’m not sure exactly whether I was turning 12 or 13 but sometime in middle school I had a birthday where I got like six CDs as presents and then went bowling with my friends. I remember that as an extremely pleasant birthday.
April 1, 1998: Sweet 16. The year that everyone in my group of friends turned 16, I remember we did a lot of scavenger hunts, because we could all drive and go around and look for things. So I remember I had a pretty cool scavenger hunt that turned mildly embarrassing when I couldn’t pump gas. The guy had to show me how. If only I’d paid more attention at the 10 previous scavenger hunt birthday parties I went to that year!
April 1, 2000: Despite being only a high school senior, I turned 18 at Emory because I was down there for scholarship interview weekend. Being interviewed on my birthday was a bit stressful, and since this was before cell phones, I called my parents on a pay phone, primarily because that was the day when all other colleges were supposed to let you know if you’d been accepted or not. But there had been a snowstorm in eastern North Carolina and so a lot of my decisions weren’t there yet. It was very frustrating to have only a brief pay phone call home and to get such crappy news. But that night the other people there interviewing took me out and got me a balloon, and I remember looking around and thinking that these people were very nice and that I could definitely see myself at school there.
April 1, 2001: Flash forward a year, when I was there. I had the most miserable birthday ever because I was extremely sick and trying to write a huge paper that was due the next day that was some ungodly percentage of my grade. All my friends in my freshman dorm came in and sang happy birthday but I was so sick and tired that I just burst into tears. A real low-point birthday.
April 1, 2003: But I would say that my highest-point birthday was turning 21 in Rome. I went to the Coliseum with a friend that was visiting and that night went to dinner with a few friends at this restaurant that was on my street that we all loved. The waiter, who we’d become friends with over the course of the semester, gave me a bottle of wine and had the street musicians outside play happy birthday. Then we drank, but since we’d been abroad for a few months anyways, it was relaxed fun drinking, as opposed to the, I’m 21 now and can drink for the first time drinking. It was a great night.
April 1, 2005: This was my first birthday in Seattle. I had just ended an internship and was only working at Old Navy at this point. The night before, a few people from Old Navy went out, because it was my birthday and this other girl’s who worked there. I know that several respectable adults read this blog, and I hope they won’t mind when I report that I got so, so drunk that night. It was the kind of drunk that makes you swear you’ll never drink again. The kind of drunk where you wake up with 50-year-old men’s phone numbers in your pocket. The kind of drunk where you wake up with big bumps on your head and you remember that that’s from when your head hit the toilet the night before. Oh my.
The next day on this same year, the actual birthday, I woke up and took myself shopping. I only worked nights so I had some free time in the days. I went to the mall determined to buy something, but the only thing I could find that I really wanted was some underwear at Victoria’s Secret. Well, I get in line behind this VERY pregnant woman, and she and the salesgirl start talking about when she’s due, and they start talking about how HORRIBLE it would be if she gave birth on April First. So I finally had to pipe up and defend my birthday, and they both looked at me so sadly. Maybe because I was buying underwear on my birthday in a very hungover state. It’s hard to say.
On a side note, part of the reason I went to the mall is because I have this thing about food courts that you might have noticed in recent months. But that day is when I started to realize that West Coast food courts SUCKED.
Then (this was a pretty epic birthday) that night I went out for Mexican food with my friends Matthew, Nekesa and Katy. We went to a Seattle place called Tia Lou’s. When the waiters found out it was my birthday, they gave me this shot and then grabbed my head and shook it all around (let me tell you, I didn’t need that in the state I was in). Then, one of the waitstaff lifted up his apron and showed me this puppet penis. It was fake..he was wearing pants…but under the apron was a giant puppet penis. In talking to other people from Seattle, I hear this comes out a lot at bachelorette parties. But I got it for my birthday. Then Tia Lou’s went from being a respectable Mexican restaurant to a weird club with a high cover charge, so we watched that changeover for awhile before going back to google “puppet penis” and eat cake.
Well, I guess I’ll stop there. I certainly have other birthday memories, like the time I had a McDonald’s party and got to work the ice cream machine, the time I made my college roommate throw me a hot dog bowling party, the time my grandmother made me a ooey gooey chocolate cake, the time in which my boss made me a funfetti cake. And joining the ranks, the time in which my cable went out when all I wanted to do was watch television.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
taste test
For several weeks, I have been intrigued by the ads that have been appearing for Diet Dr. Pepper Cherry Chocolate. It kind of seems like a win, because I love Diet Dr. Pepper, cherries and chocolate. I was leery, of course, about the combination. If it had just been Diet Cherry Dr. Pepper, well, I think that would be good because it would be kind of like Diet Cherry Coke which is delicious. It’s the chocolate that is cause for concern.
I haven’t tried any of the other specialty Diet Dr. Peppers, which I believe are Berries & Cream and Cherry Vanilla. Berries in cola has absolutely no appeal, and neither does vanilla for me, really. But this cherry chocolate…so intriguing. Especially when I found a single 20-oz bottle for sale in Kroger. Obviously, you can’t commit to a 12-pack with a beverage like this. When I bought the drink, amidst a whole array of other items, it was the only one that the grocery bagger commented on. “What, are they putting food in our Coke now?” she said.
Well, tonight is the big night to try this new beverage, and I am blogging about it in case anyone else has been wondering. For reference, I am drinking this chilled, as opposed to with ice. I don’t really like ice in my drink.
If you swirl it around like you’re supposed to do with wine, you see a very distinct red tint. Clearly we are dealing with some cherry flavoring along the lines of Cheerwine here.
A chocolate scent is immediately distinguishable upon opening the bottle. Followed by a strong cherry finish. It smells kind of like a chocolate covered cherry.
Oh my, it tastes disgusting.
I am trying to think of what this tastes like. I think it kind of tastes like liquid Tootsie Roll. Like, you know how when you eat a Tootsie Roll, and then you kind of have saliva left over in your mouth, and you swallow it? That’s how I would sum up Diet Dr Pepper Cherry Chocolate.
I really can’t taste the cherry or the Diet Dr. Pepper in this concoction. Perhaps all the flavors are battling for dominance and all that’s emerging is crap.
Okay, you know what the problem might be here? I’m kinda hungry. Maybe this drink needs to accompany food. I’m going to go heat up a burrito.
No, food does not help the situation at all. I’d rather drink a burrito flavored beverage than this Diet Dr. Pepper Cherry Chocolate. And bear in mind, again, that I am a person who loves Diet Dr. Pepper, cherries, and chocolate. I just feel that that bears repeating. I guess that concludes this taste test. I suppose it’s possible that after dinner, the flavorful soda might serve as a kind of dessert wine, a full-bodied port, but I have my doubts about how long I’m going to keep drinking this
I would just like to send a message to the fine folks over at Diet Dr. Pepper, if they should ever happen to stumble upon this blog: please don’t hold this poor review of your product against me. I really really love Diet Dr Pepper. Send me a free case and I’ll frequently write about how great it is. Just please don’t send me a case of this flavored crap.
Tune in next time when I evaluate Diet Cherry Coke and Cherry Coke Zero. WHAT’S THE DIFFERENCE? I HAVE NO IDEA!
I haven’t tried any of the other specialty Diet Dr. Peppers, which I believe are Berries & Cream and Cherry Vanilla. Berries in cola has absolutely no appeal, and neither does vanilla for me, really. But this cherry chocolate…so intriguing. Especially when I found a single 20-oz bottle for sale in Kroger. Obviously, you can’t commit to a 12-pack with a beverage like this. When I bought the drink, amidst a whole array of other items, it was the only one that the grocery bagger commented on. “What, are they putting food in our Coke now?” she said.
Well, tonight is the big night to try this new beverage, and I am blogging about it in case anyone else has been wondering. For reference, I am drinking this chilled, as opposed to with ice. I don’t really like ice in my drink.
If you swirl it around like you’re supposed to do with wine, you see a very distinct red tint. Clearly we are dealing with some cherry flavoring along the lines of Cheerwine here.
A chocolate scent is immediately distinguishable upon opening the bottle. Followed by a strong cherry finish. It smells kind of like a chocolate covered cherry.
Oh my, it tastes disgusting.
I am trying to think of what this tastes like. I think it kind of tastes like liquid Tootsie Roll. Like, you know how when you eat a Tootsie Roll, and then you kind of have saliva left over in your mouth, and you swallow it? That’s how I would sum up Diet Dr Pepper Cherry Chocolate.
I really can’t taste the cherry or the Diet Dr. Pepper in this concoction. Perhaps all the flavors are battling for dominance and all that’s emerging is crap.
Okay, you know what the problem might be here? I’m kinda hungry. Maybe this drink needs to accompany food. I’m going to go heat up a burrito.
No, food does not help the situation at all. I’d rather drink a burrito flavored beverage than this Diet Dr. Pepper Cherry Chocolate. And bear in mind, again, that I am a person who loves Diet Dr. Pepper, cherries, and chocolate. I just feel that that bears repeating. I guess that concludes this taste test. I suppose it’s possible that after dinner, the flavorful soda might serve as a kind of dessert wine, a full-bodied port, but I have my doubts about how long I’m going to keep drinking this
I would just like to send a message to the fine folks over at Diet Dr. Pepper, if they should ever happen to stumble upon this blog: please don’t hold this poor review of your product against me. I really really love Diet Dr Pepper. Send me a free case and I’ll frequently write about how great it is. Just please don’t send me a case of this flavored crap.
Tune in next time when I evaluate Diet Cherry Coke and Cherry Coke Zero. WHAT’S THE DIFFERENCE? I HAVE NO IDEA!
Monday, December 24, 2007
Do you need a last-minute stocking stuffer?
If you need a last minute item to put in someone's stocking this Christmas, let me recommend Hershey's Goodnight Kisses Milk Chocolate Hot Cocoa Mix. This is an extremely delicious product that will surely brighten anyone's Christmas!
What really sets this cocoa product apart from other cocoas is that it is made with tiny bits of Hershey's chocolate. When you get near the bottom of the cup, you may be sad, because your cocoa is almost gone, but let me tell you, the best is still to come! For, lingering at the bottom of the cup, are these tiny little Hershey's Kisses. I guess they don't all get melted by the hot water, and so your last sip of this delicious beverage is a sip of little chocolate morsels!
I will put out the disclaimer that my brother William found the appearance of these mini Kisses to be somewhat similar to rat poop, but if you can get past that, then you are in for a wonderful treat! This beverage is so sweet that I forego dessert and just have a cup of this instead! That is probably a good thing, because looking at the nutritional info, I am realizing how unhealthy this product is! Do not give this product to someone who has weight issues!
Hershey's Goodnight Kisses Milk Chocolate Hot Cocoa Mix is 99.9% caffeine free, which I guess is why they call it Goodnight Kisses. Because it won't keep you awake. However, it might kind of keep you awake if you have to get up in the middle of the night to go to the restroom. If you need a morning cocoa with a little bit of caffeine in it, I can recommend to you Swiss Miss Pick-Me-Up Cocoa, which claims to have as much caffeine as a cup of coffee. It does not however, have those little mini-kisses at the end of the cup, which is why I'm more wholeheartedly recommending the Hershey's Mix.
This product can probably be found at grocery stores, but I happened to find it at Wal-Mart. I realize that today is probably the least appealing day to go to Wal-Mart, but it will be worth it when you see the expression on your loved one's face when they realize that there are Hershey's kisses waiting for them in the bottom of their cup!
What really sets this cocoa product apart from other cocoas is that it is made with tiny bits of Hershey's chocolate. When you get near the bottom of the cup, you may be sad, because your cocoa is almost gone, but let me tell you, the best is still to come! For, lingering at the bottom of the cup, are these tiny little Hershey's Kisses. I guess they don't all get melted by the hot water, and so your last sip of this delicious beverage is a sip of little chocolate morsels!
I will put out the disclaimer that my brother William found the appearance of these mini Kisses to be somewhat similar to rat poop, but if you can get past that, then you are in for a wonderful treat! This beverage is so sweet that I forego dessert and just have a cup of this instead! That is probably a good thing, because looking at the nutritional info, I am realizing how unhealthy this product is! Do not give this product to someone who has weight issues!
Hershey's Goodnight Kisses Milk Chocolate Hot Cocoa Mix is 99.9% caffeine free, which I guess is why they call it Goodnight Kisses. Because it won't keep you awake. However, it might kind of keep you awake if you have to get up in the middle of the night to go to the restroom. If you need a morning cocoa with a little bit of caffeine in it, I can recommend to you Swiss Miss Pick-Me-Up Cocoa, which claims to have as much caffeine as a cup of coffee. It does not however, have those little mini-kisses at the end of the cup, which is why I'm more wholeheartedly recommending the Hershey's Mix.
This product can probably be found at grocery stores, but I happened to find it at Wal-Mart. I realize that today is probably the least appealing day to go to Wal-Mart, but it will be worth it when you see the expression on your loved one's face when they realize that there are Hershey's kisses waiting for them in the bottom of their cup!
Monday, December 10, 2007
I got a bone to pick-with-a Chick-fil-a
Look, I hate to have to do this, because Chick-fil-a is one of my very favorite restaurants, but I have a major problem that I need to share.
This weekend, my parents and I headed to the South Asheville Chick-fil-a location, which we do most weekends, because my parents seem to habitually win some contest where they get free sandwiches or free combos for a year. Now, this seems like a minor detail, but I have to note here that I had a slight headache. I was about to take some Excedrin Migraine, but that medicine is loaded with so much caffeine that I can’t have any more caffeine within like 48 hours or I’ll have a seizure. So anyways, I decided against the Excedrin Migraine because I was about to go to Chick-fil-a, and I figured that by having a delicious and refreshing Diet Coke with my chicken nuggets and waffle fries that I would consume enough caffeine to zap that headache away.
So we get to Chick-fil-a, and I’m ordering my combo, when I notice that all the soda machines have stickers that say ‘Caffeine-free Diet Coke.’
“Is that sticker right?” I asked the lady at the counter. “Is it really caffeine-free Diet Coke, or is it just a sticker that you put over the regular Diet Coke spigot?”
“The sticker is right,” said the lady.
“Well what else do you have that is diet?” I asked. Because it just seems silly to consume soda calories when I can drink fake calories and use the real calories for something later, like cookies.
“That’s the only diet thing we have,” said the lady.
Now, I applaud having caffeine-free things. And I applaud having diet things. But I don’t think the two, combined, should be the only option for each. Plenty of people are on diets but need caffeine; in fact, I am sure there are plenty of studies where the two are linked. And plenty of people don’t want caffeine but don’t mind soda calories (Sprite drinkers). And at one point, this Chick-fil-a offered both caffeinated and caffeine-free Diet Coke because my mom remembers having to specify.
So, because the lady was not really enthused by my request to mix a little regular Coke and a little caffeine-free Diet Coke, I ended up with caffeine-free Diet Coke and a raging headache. So I took a comment card and I am making a personal plea to Larry Meadows, Operator of the Chick-fil-a in South Asheville (I am including his name in case he ever googles himself), to please bring back the caffeinated Diet Coke.
My worry here, though, is that Chick-fil-a’s are franchises with individual owners, and will I have to fill out a comment form in every Chick-fil-a that I visit so that Diet Coke junkies can get their fix? But you know, I am willing to do that, because I need some caffeinated Diet Coke with my combo. In return, I would ask all my readers, who might ever be in a Chick-fil-a, to note whether regular Diet Coke is available, and if not, please fill out a comment form. Coke Zero is an acceptable substitute although I can’t say I understand how it differs from Diet Coke.
As long as I am complaining about Chick-fil-a, I would like to share a few other minor beefs (Get it? Beefs? But it’s Chick-fil-a? Get it?) with this otherwise fine restaurant:
-Failure to expand into the Pacific Northwest. Right after I moved to Seattle, my dad mailed me a coupon for a free combo or a free drink or something, and I had to mail it back and say, “sorry Dad, no Chick-fil-a’s out here.” Isn’t that story just so sad you could cry? Also, this incident led to my dad not really understanding why I had chosen to live where I did.
-The advertising campaign with the cows. I think the cows part is actually clever. What confuses me is why they are such poor spellers. Like, when they spell “chikin” instead of “chicken.” These cows were smart enough to mobilize, create an advertising campaign, steal some posterboard and paint, paint signs, and then hold them up, but they didn’t take the trouble to consult a dictionary or use a spell-checker? That just doesn’t add up. And since poor spelling is a pet peeve of mine, I would be more inclined to eat a cow, just to rid the world of bad spellers.
-This complex about being the “first” restaurant to do anything. This one is really my dad’s. Chick-fil-a likes to claim that they invented the chicken sandwich, and that they were the first people to serve waffle fries, and that they invented the modern day food court as we know it. Well, I can’t speak to the food court one, but apparently my dad’s mom made chicken sandwiches way before Chick-fil-a came along, and he’s pretty offended on her behalf. He’s also pretty sure he saw waffle fries before Chick-fil-a as well. So he’s just sick of their attitude.
-The business practices of the Chick-fil-a in the Biltmore Square Mall. This is a store-specific complaint, but if you’ve ever been to the Biltmore Square Mall in Asheville, then you know that the “food court” is a Chick-fil-a and a bunch of empty businesses. Apparently, particularly during the time in which I was in high school, because that’s where I heard it, that Chick-fil-a would stop at nothing to run out competing businesses. Some might say that this is "good business" and that "the market has spoken," but trust me when I say it sounded pretty unfair. I can’t really spell out what I heard they did (because the aforementioned Larry Meadows might find this on Google and sue me), but let’s just say that you have to eat Chick-fil-a at the Biltmore Square Mall if you want to eat.
This weekend, my parents and I headed to the South Asheville Chick-fil-a location, which we do most weekends, because my parents seem to habitually win some contest where they get free sandwiches or free combos for a year. Now, this seems like a minor detail, but I have to note here that I had a slight headache. I was about to take some Excedrin Migraine, but that medicine is loaded with so much caffeine that I can’t have any more caffeine within like 48 hours or I’ll have a seizure. So anyways, I decided against the Excedrin Migraine because I was about to go to Chick-fil-a, and I figured that by having a delicious and refreshing Diet Coke with my chicken nuggets and waffle fries that I would consume enough caffeine to zap that headache away.
So we get to Chick-fil-a, and I’m ordering my combo, when I notice that all the soda machines have stickers that say ‘Caffeine-free Diet Coke.’
“Is that sticker right?” I asked the lady at the counter. “Is it really caffeine-free Diet Coke, or is it just a sticker that you put over the regular Diet Coke spigot?”
“The sticker is right,” said the lady.
“Well what else do you have that is diet?” I asked. Because it just seems silly to consume soda calories when I can drink fake calories and use the real calories for something later, like cookies.
“That’s the only diet thing we have,” said the lady.
Now, I applaud having caffeine-free things. And I applaud having diet things. But I don’t think the two, combined, should be the only option for each. Plenty of people are on diets but need caffeine; in fact, I am sure there are plenty of studies where the two are linked. And plenty of people don’t want caffeine but don’t mind soda calories (Sprite drinkers). And at one point, this Chick-fil-a offered both caffeinated and caffeine-free Diet Coke because my mom remembers having to specify.
So, because the lady was not really enthused by my request to mix a little regular Coke and a little caffeine-free Diet Coke, I ended up with caffeine-free Diet Coke and a raging headache. So I took a comment card and I am making a personal plea to Larry Meadows, Operator of the Chick-fil-a in South Asheville (I am including his name in case he ever googles himself), to please bring back the caffeinated Diet Coke.
My worry here, though, is that Chick-fil-a’s are franchises with individual owners, and will I have to fill out a comment form in every Chick-fil-a that I visit so that Diet Coke junkies can get their fix? But you know, I am willing to do that, because I need some caffeinated Diet Coke with my combo. In return, I would ask all my readers, who might ever be in a Chick-fil-a, to note whether regular Diet Coke is available, and if not, please fill out a comment form. Coke Zero is an acceptable substitute although I can’t say I understand how it differs from Diet Coke.
As long as I am complaining about Chick-fil-a, I would like to share a few other minor beefs (Get it? Beefs? But it’s Chick-fil-a? Get it?) with this otherwise fine restaurant:
-Failure to expand into the Pacific Northwest. Right after I moved to Seattle, my dad mailed me a coupon for a free combo or a free drink or something, and I had to mail it back and say, “sorry Dad, no Chick-fil-a’s out here.” Isn’t that story just so sad you could cry? Also, this incident led to my dad not really understanding why I had chosen to live where I did.
-The advertising campaign with the cows. I think the cows part is actually clever. What confuses me is why they are such poor spellers. Like, when they spell “chikin” instead of “chicken.” These cows were smart enough to mobilize, create an advertising campaign, steal some posterboard and paint, paint signs, and then hold them up, but they didn’t take the trouble to consult a dictionary or use a spell-checker? That just doesn’t add up. And since poor spelling is a pet peeve of mine, I would be more inclined to eat a cow, just to rid the world of bad spellers.
-This complex about being the “first” restaurant to do anything. This one is really my dad’s. Chick-fil-a likes to claim that they invented the chicken sandwich, and that they were the first people to serve waffle fries, and that they invented the modern day food court as we know it. Well, I can’t speak to the food court one, but apparently my dad’s mom made chicken sandwiches way before Chick-fil-a came along, and he’s pretty offended on her behalf. He’s also pretty sure he saw waffle fries before Chick-fil-a as well. So he’s just sick of their attitude.
-The business practices of the Chick-fil-a in the Biltmore Square Mall. This is a store-specific complaint, but if you’ve ever been to the Biltmore Square Mall in Asheville, then you know that the “food court” is a Chick-fil-a and a bunch of empty businesses. Apparently, particularly during the time in which I was in high school, because that’s where I heard it, that Chick-fil-a would stop at nothing to run out competing businesses. Some might say that this is "good business" and that "the market has spoken," but trust me when I say it sounded pretty unfair. I can’t really spell out what I heard they did (because the aforementioned Larry Meadows might find this on Google and sue me), but let’s just say that you have to eat Chick-fil-a at the Biltmore Square Mall if you want to eat.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Special Guest Blogger
I thought I'd continue on yesterday's post to show Bev Night from Matthew's perspective. Once we went to a reading at Elliott Bay Bookstore because it was required for one of his creative writing classes. He sent me the write-up of the event that he did for the class, I think to pacify me, because I was always begging to be in one of the stories. And eventually I was! But I can't post that.
Do I feel guilty about not really writing a post today and instead using someone else's writing? No, I do not. Because it's kinda like I wrote it, since I was there and all. If you would like to be a special guest blogger, just write something about me.
Without further ado, I turn it over to special guest blogger Matthew, and the assignment he wrote about a year ago:
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
I enter Elliot Bay Book Company just after six-thirty. Molly is there, browsing the wall of staff recommendations, and we greet each other with familiar comfort. She’s looking for a copy of Mary, the book we are about to attend a reading of, to mill over. The novel is historical fiction, told first person from the perspective of Mary Todd Lincoln as she recounts her life during her brief middle-aged stay in a mental institution.
I quickly look around, “there’s some over by the cash register,” I say.
“Yeah, but it would be awkward to look right there,” she says, eyeing the three cashiers manning the lone register. We’ve formed a friendship around noting and sharing our everyday anxieties and awkward moments.
Molly’s companionship was a given. Every Wednesday we meet for coffee in a ritual we saccharinely refer to as Bev Night. Bev is, naturally, short for beverage. Additionally, it’s the only time me and Molly ever hang out. Forgetting the copies of Janis Cooke Newman’s Mary piled at the registers, we go downstairs to the book store’s café. She orders a tall mocha while I linger, thumbing through the counter menus. Eventually I settle on raspberry iced tea and an espresso brownie, leaving a dollar tip out of guilt for the waiting barista.
We sit and begin sipping our drinks. A woman across the room enters with her large golden lab dog, prompting me to glare over at Molly. We both hate it when people treat dogs like humans.
“When I was younger,” Molly says to begin a story, “My parents drove me and my siblings around to all the civil war battle sites as a vacation.” She grew up in North Carolina and I always love hearing about the differences between our upbringings. “On one trip we took a tour of Mary Todd Lincoln’s childhood home. At the start of the tour, the woman who was running it, some elderly volunteer, asked if there were any questions. Now, keeping in mind that I was seven or eight at the time, I raised my hand and said that Lincoln once told his wife that God only had one D in his name, but the Todds had to have two. The families around all laughed, but the woman ignored me for the rest of the tour.” I laugh and easily imagine Molly as a precocious seven year old.
Minutes before seven-thirty I use the bathroom, as I wouldn’t want to interrupt the reading and there’s nothing worse than really needing to use the bathroom in public but being unable to do so. The room where Elliot Bay holds readings is dank and dimly lit with a tile floor you would see in a gym’s communal shower. Old books line the walls in rustic shelves, serving as a backdrop to a wooden podium in front of dozens of chairs with blue seats. Molly and I have been to readings here before, joining the crowd of fans anxious for readings by Bret Easton Ellis and Margaret Cho, on separate occasions.
Barely on time, we entered the room to see the employee coordinator chatting with the author off to the side. There was one lone woman seated in one of the chairs, curiously hiding at the edge of the row. I led Molly to the second row, center. “Maybe we should think of some questions,” she whispered.
Another couple and woman entered the room, ten minutes late, making us an attentive audience of six. Upon the suggestion of the coordinator, the author ignored the podium and
formed a circle with us in the chairs. She read a passage about Mary Lincoln volunteering at a hospital for injured civil war solider. In the six page segment she used the word “sweetest” three times and variations of the phrase “scent of death” at least five. I started to wonder if the problem with writing historical fiction was that the author becomes trapped in needing to tell certain events and while adhering to certain boundaries of a historic figure’s personality.
I shyly kept my comments to myself and instead sought to glean from the conversation going on around me. The manuscript was over one thousand pages long, her publishers wanted 500 to make the work more accessible and she settled at 700. The publishers wanted a one word title for the novel, initially suggesting Asylum. The author took three years to write and research the novel, and for the first two for fifteen minutes before sitting down to write she would read old letters written by Mary Todd Lincoln to get in the proper mindset and voice.
The author said that for her, writing the novel had been easier than memoir. Hearing this was the biggest surprise of the night for me, as I knew that all writers were taken up in voyeuristic obsession with other people, but I thought most also loved to talk about themselves.
Do I feel guilty about not really writing a post today and instead using someone else's writing? No, I do not. Because it's kinda like I wrote it, since I was there and all. If you would like to be a special guest blogger, just write something about me.
Without further ado, I turn it over to special guest blogger Matthew, and the assignment he wrote about a year ago:
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
I enter Elliot Bay Book Company just after six-thirty. Molly is there, browsing the wall of staff recommendations, and we greet each other with familiar comfort. She’s looking for a copy of Mary, the book we are about to attend a reading of, to mill over. The novel is historical fiction, told first person from the perspective of Mary Todd Lincoln as she recounts her life during her brief middle-aged stay in a mental institution.
I quickly look around, “there’s some over by the cash register,” I say.
“Yeah, but it would be awkward to look right there,” she says, eyeing the three cashiers manning the lone register. We’ve formed a friendship around noting and sharing our everyday anxieties and awkward moments.
Molly’s companionship was a given. Every Wednesday we meet for coffee in a ritual we saccharinely refer to as Bev Night. Bev is, naturally, short for beverage. Additionally, it’s the only time me and Molly ever hang out. Forgetting the copies of Janis Cooke Newman’s Mary piled at the registers, we go downstairs to the book store’s café. She orders a tall mocha while I linger, thumbing through the counter menus. Eventually I settle on raspberry iced tea and an espresso brownie, leaving a dollar tip out of guilt for the waiting barista.
We sit and begin sipping our drinks. A woman across the room enters with her large golden lab dog, prompting me to glare over at Molly. We both hate it when people treat dogs like humans.
“When I was younger,” Molly says to begin a story, “My parents drove me and my siblings around to all the civil war battle sites as a vacation.” She grew up in North Carolina and I always love hearing about the differences between our upbringings. “On one trip we took a tour of Mary Todd Lincoln’s childhood home. At the start of the tour, the woman who was running it, some elderly volunteer, asked if there were any questions. Now, keeping in mind that I was seven or eight at the time, I raised my hand and said that Lincoln once told his wife that God only had one D in his name, but the Todds had to have two. The families around all laughed, but the woman ignored me for the rest of the tour.” I laugh and easily imagine Molly as a precocious seven year old.
Minutes before seven-thirty I use the bathroom, as I wouldn’t want to interrupt the reading and there’s nothing worse than really needing to use the bathroom in public but being unable to do so. The room where Elliot Bay holds readings is dank and dimly lit with a tile floor you would see in a gym’s communal shower. Old books line the walls in rustic shelves, serving as a backdrop to a wooden podium in front of dozens of chairs with blue seats. Molly and I have been to readings here before, joining the crowd of fans anxious for readings by Bret Easton Ellis and Margaret Cho, on separate occasions.
Barely on time, we entered the room to see the employee coordinator chatting with the author off to the side. There was one lone woman seated in one of the chairs, curiously hiding at the edge of the row. I led Molly to the second row, center. “Maybe we should think of some questions,” she whispered.
Another couple and woman entered the room, ten minutes late, making us an attentive audience of six. Upon the suggestion of the coordinator, the author ignored the podium and
formed a circle with us in the chairs. She read a passage about Mary Lincoln volunteering at a hospital for injured civil war solider. In the six page segment she used the word “sweetest” three times and variations of the phrase “scent of death” at least five. I started to wonder if the problem with writing historical fiction was that the author becomes trapped in needing to tell certain events and while adhering to certain boundaries of a historic figure’s personality.
I shyly kept my comments to myself and instead sought to glean from the conversation going on around me. The manuscript was over one thousand pages long, her publishers wanted 500 to make the work more accessible and she settled at 700. The publishers wanted a one word title for the novel, initially suggesting Asylum. The author took three years to write and research the novel, and for the first two for fifteen minutes before sitting down to write she would read old letters written by Mary Todd Lincoln to get in the proper mindset and voice.
The author said that for her, writing the novel had been easier than memoir. Hearing this was the biggest surprise of the night for me, as I knew that all writers were taken up in voyeuristic obsession with other people, but I thought most also loved to talk about themselves.
Bev Night
This is my 100th post! Granted, about a fifth of those posts are due to my August resolution to blog every day in the month, but still, a nice accomplishment. Maybe I will subconsciously strive to make it to 200 by the end of the year. But that is a lot of blogging.
To celebrate the 100th post, I am going to write about something that I have been meaning to write about for awhile--the tradition of Bev Night.
As has already been discussed in my Capitol Hill post, Bev Night started around the time my friend Katy quit Old Navy. Wednesday was one of the few nights of the week that I had off, so Katy and I would meet to chat, catch up, and have a beverage. We always went to Joe Bar; Katy had gotten to know everyone at Joe Bar really well, and there was never a question of going anywhere else. We'd chat for an hour or so, and then we'd go over to Nekesa's for Wife Swap or the Surreal Life or something.
One night, Matthew, another co-worker at Old Navy, who also knew Katy, asked about her, saying something like, "Don't you two get together and sit on the porch and drink iced tea on Wednesdays?" I told Katy this, and she agreed that it was hilarious, and that Matthew should come to Beverage Night one week.
Based on an old e-mail I was able to track down, this meeting took place on June 8, 2005. That was the week I started my job, and about the time that Katy left Seattle to get ready to go to Africa for the Peace Corps. It was a passing of the torch, and the next week, it was just Matthew and me, having a beverage in the U-District, and Bev Night was up and running.
While Katy started the phenomenon, Bev Night really became what it was under this second regime. For one, Matthew's the one who shortened it to "Bev Night." Also, Matthew and I weren't tied down to one place like Katy was to Joe Bar, so we've gone all over to Seattle. We didn't do a repeat for a really long time, but I guess now we have our favorites. Today I tried to think of a list of everywhere we've been, and this one is probably woefully incomplete. It's organized by neighborhood:
U-District: Espresso Roma, Dick's Smokin' Barbeque, Tully's, Haagen Dazs, Jalisco, Trabant Chai, Ginko, Starlight on the Oasis, some place that I don't remember the name of but it had shells on the table, Northlake Pizza, U-Village Starbucks
Capitol Hill: Top Pot, Bauhaus, Victrola, Online Coffee Company, Chapel, Bimbo's Bitchin Burritos, Cafe Vita
Downtown/Belltown/Pioneer Square: Tia Lou's, Fado, Elliott Bay Bookstore, Starbucks in Barnes & Noble, Dragonfish, Twist, McCormick & Schmick's, Nijo, Cosi
Queen Anne: Sushi Land, El Diablo, Uptown Espresso, Peso's, Tini Big's, Jalisco, Dick's, Cafe Zingaro
Ballard/Fremont/Greenlake: Cupcake Royale, Mr. Chai's Something, Tully's, Postmark Gelato, Cafe Ladro, Chocolati
I should have kept better notes about all the places we went, as well as all the conversations we had. There have been some funny ones. I have followed Matthew's progression through school, he has kept track of all my workplace enemies. We've had supporting characters and "special guest stars" (people who are allowed to come to bev night, but rarely and usually only once or twice). What was once just grabbing a cup of coffee has expanded into happy hours, dinners, game nights, book readings, even a Fiona Apple concert.
Some nice things about bev night:
--Its constancy and its dependability---Every Wednesday night, we are doing something. It's just not a question. Even my coworkers know not to ask me to do something on Wednesday. For one brief "quarter" (apparently, that's how UW measures time), we had to change to Tuesday night because of Matthew's class schedule, and that was truly a dark time in my life.
--The way it has allowed me to try many beverages and snacks and other food items I otherwise wouldn't have
--Matthew's company. (Awww!) Mainly, I enjoy trying to shape Matthew's life and complaining to him about mine.
Bev night was tonight, as usual! We went to Cupcake Royale. I had raspberry apple juice and a cupcake, and Matthew had water and a cupcake.
Anyways, I am probably not doing this phenomenon justice. It probably just sounds like two friends hanging out about once a week, but it is much more than that. One time, Matthew and I were comparing Bev Night to a two-person play. I do not enjoy thinking about how it might end.
To celebrate the 100th post, I am going to write about something that I have been meaning to write about for awhile--the tradition of Bev Night.
As has already been discussed in my Capitol Hill post, Bev Night started around the time my friend Katy quit Old Navy. Wednesday was one of the few nights of the week that I had off, so Katy and I would meet to chat, catch up, and have a beverage. We always went to Joe Bar; Katy had gotten to know everyone at Joe Bar really well, and there was never a question of going anywhere else. We'd chat for an hour or so, and then we'd go over to Nekesa's for Wife Swap or the Surreal Life or something.
One night, Matthew, another co-worker at Old Navy, who also knew Katy, asked about her, saying something like, "Don't you two get together and sit on the porch and drink iced tea on Wednesdays?" I told Katy this, and she agreed that it was hilarious, and that Matthew should come to Beverage Night one week.
Based on an old e-mail I was able to track down, this meeting took place on June 8, 2005. That was the week I started my job, and about the time that Katy left Seattle to get ready to go to Africa for the Peace Corps. It was a passing of the torch, and the next week, it was just Matthew and me, having a beverage in the U-District, and Bev Night was up and running.
While Katy started the phenomenon, Bev Night really became what it was under this second regime. For one, Matthew's the one who shortened it to "Bev Night." Also, Matthew and I weren't tied down to one place like Katy was to Joe Bar, so we've gone all over to Seattle. We didn't do a repeat for a really long time, but I guess now we have our favorites. Today I tried to think of a list of everywhere we've been, and this one is probably woefully incomplete. It's organized by neighborhood:
U-District: Espresso Roma, Dick's Smokin' Barbeque, Tully's, Haagen Dazs, Jalisco, Trabant Chai, Ginko, Starlight on the Oasis, some place that I don't remember the name of but it had shells on the table, Northlake Pizza, U-Village Starbucks
Capitol Hill: Top Pot, Bauhaus, Victrola, Online Coffee Company, Chapel, Bimbo's Bitchin Burritos, Cafe Vita
Downtown/Belltown/Pioneer Square: Tia Lou's, Fado, Elliott Bay Bookstore, Starbucks in Barnes & Noble, Dragonfish, Twist, McCormick & Schmick's, Nijo, Cosi
Queen Anne: Sushi Land, El Diablo, Uptown Espresso, Peso's, Tini Big's, Jalisco, Dick's, Cafe Zingaro
Ballard/Fremont/Greenlake: Cupcake Royale, Mr. Chai's Something, Tully's, Postmark Gelato, Cafe Ladro, Chocolati
I should have kept better notes about all the places we went, as well as all the conversations we had. There have been some funny ones. I have followed Matthew's progression through school, he has kept track of all my workplace enemies. We've had supporting characters and "special guest stars" (people who are allowed to come to bev night, but rarely and usually only once or twice). What was once just grabbing a cup of coffee has expanded into happy hours, dinners, game nights, book readings, even a Fiona Apple concert.
Some nice things about bev night:
--Its constancy and its dependability---Every Wednesday night, we are doing something. It's just not a question. Even my coworkers know not to ask me to do something on Wednesday. For one brief "quarter" (apparently, that's how UW measures time), we had to change to Tuesday night because of Matthew's class schedule, and that was truly a dark time in my life.
--The way it has allowed me to try many beverages and snacks and other food items I otherwise wouldn't have
--Matthew's company. (Awww!) Mainly, I enjoy trying to shape Matthew's life and complaining to him about mine.
Bev night was tonight, as usual! We went to Cupcake Royale. I had raspberry apple juice and a cupcake, and Matthew had water and a cupcake.
Anyways, I am probably not doing this phenomenon justice. It probably just sounds like two friends hanging out about once a week, but it is much more than that. One time, Matthew and I were comparing Bev Night to a two-person play. I do not enjoy thinking about how it might end.
Wednesday, February 7, 2007
jingle bells
In the past 24 hours, I have consumed three things with raspberry:
1. Last night's aforementioned raspberry Italian soda
2. The new Tully's Raspberry Truffle Mocha (pretty good, but does not taste very much like raspberry. Yet, comes with a Ghiradelli chocolate)
3. Raspberry sorbet for dessert tonight.
Is 2007 going to be the Year of the Raspberry? Possibly.
Today was the end of an era. Yes, today I ate the Lean Cuisine Fiesta Chicken while reading my Time Magazine at lunch. Frankly, it was pretty good, and didn't deserve the bad reputation that I gave it.
Alright I'm going to drink beers, watch all of the television that I've been too busy to watch in for the past few days, and read the weeklies. Hopefully tomorrow I will have more interesting observations.
1. Last night's aforementioned raspberry Italian soda
2. The new Tully's Raspberry Truffle Mocha (pretty good, but does not taste very much like raspberry. Yet, comes with a Ghiradelli chocolate)
3. Raspberry sorbet for dessert tonight.
Is 2007 going to be the Year of the Raspberry? Possibly.
Today was the end of an era. Yes, today I ate the Lean Cuisine Fiesta Chicken while reading my Time Magazine at lunch. Frankly, it was pretty good, and didn't deserve the bad reputation that I gave it.
Alright I'm going to drink beers, watch all of the television that I've been too busy to watch in for the past few days, and read the weeklies. Hopefully tomorrow I will have more interesting observations.
Tuesday, February 6, 2007
Pho sure
Today Lean Cuisine Fiesta Chicken lost yet again, to some tofu salad rolls and sliced steak pho. My coworker picked pho because it was a very gray day, so gray you couldn't even see Elliott Bay from my desk, but weirdly, for the time in which we were eating pho, the sun burned off all the fog. Then pretty much as soon as pho was done, it rained.
Tonight was bev night at Bauhaus in Capitol Hill. I had a raspberry Italian soda that was excellent.
Tonight was bev night at Bauhaus in Capitol Hill. I had a raspberry Italian soda that was excellent.
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