August 31, 2007

-image-the best thing ever: america — player assignments!

All righty. Half of you are about to learn your U. S. Open Women’s Singles Player!!

The rest of you are still on slips of paper sitting quietly in our Impartial Best Thing Ever Blog Game Bowls and will be assigned as soon as the matches have been played that dwindle those players down to eight.

So, MB and I randomly drew these from our aforementioned bowls with drumroll sound effects and The Simpsons playing in the background, to add to the general solemnity of the occasion. I’ve added links to some info/photos of the players so you can learn a bit about yours, if you like. Oh, and may I say that some of you are verrry pretty ponies? (Mazeltov, Baseball! And also Gene Wilder! Finally!)

The Women’s draw is really exciting and unpredictable this year. Any of you could win this — that includes those of you still sitting quietly in my bowl.

So hang on!

Here we go. Player assignments — first half:

Opportunity — ricki
US Open Women’s Singles Player: Dinara Safina (RUS)
lemonade4.jpg

Old Glory — Sal
US Open Women’s Singles Player: Serena Williams (USA)
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Baseball — Lisa
US Open Women’s Singles Player: Ana Ivanovic (SRB)
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Mark Twain — nightfly
US Open Women’s Singles Player: Marion Bartoli (FRA)marktwain1.jpg

American Idol — Maggie May
US Open Women’s Singles Player: Sybille Bammer (AUT)americanidol.jpg

Gene Wilder — Brian
US Open Women’s Singles Player: Venus Williams (USA)
genewilder1.jpg

The Liberty Bell — Kate P
US Open Women’s Singles Player: Jelena Jankovic (SRB)

*NSYNC — sarahk
US Open Women’s Singles Player: Justine Henin (BEL)
nsync1.jpg

Okay. That’s it for now. Read up on your player. Check them out. Fall in love. And you bowl sitters … just sit tight. I promise I won’t eat Trader Joe’s O’s on top of you or anything. You’re safe where you are until your big moment!

See you on the court, peeps.

-image-the best thing ever: america

Oh, I forgot to mention. Since I used the men’s draw for Wimbledon, I decided to use the women’s draw this time around. Just to mix it up.

August 30, 2007

-image-the playahs + images

All right. It’s embarrassing — I can’t believe how long it took to find images I liked for a few of these. What is wrong with me??

(And uhm, Denzel? I love you, but, hon? Why do you look perfectly the same in evvvery photo of you? Why? Why? doriangray doriangray doriangray)

Well, anyhoo, it is finished and …

Here you ARE, in all your living, dead, real, pretend, papery, intangible GLORY!!

Alexander Hamilton — sheila

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The Constitution — Cullen

constitution.jpg

‘NSYNC — sarahk

nsync1.jpg

Baseball — Lisa

baseball3.jpg

The Liberty Bell — Kate P

Jazz — Katie
jazz.png

Old Glory — Sal

oldglory2.jpg

Opportunity — ricki

lemonade4.jpg

Gene Wilder — Brian

genewilder1.jpg

Google — Sarah

google1.jpg

Mark Twain — nightfly

marktwain1.jpg

American Idol — Maggie May

americanidol.jpg

Denzel Washington — Kathi

denzel.jpg

Dean Martin — WordGirl

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PostSecret — red fish

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Paul Bunyan — Anita

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August 28, 2007

-image-the playahs: the best thing ever, america

Okay. Here’s our final list. Images will be up for your Thing sometime tomorrow, Thursday. I’m still searching for some of them!

HERE ARE THE PLAYERS:

1) Alexander Hamilton — sheila

2) The Constitution — Cullen

3) ‘NSYNC — sarahk

4) Baseball — Lisa

5) The Liberty Bell — Kate P

6) Old Glory — Sal

7) Opportunity — ricki

8) Jazz — Katie

9) Gene Wilder — Brian

10) Mark Twain — nightfly

11) American Idol — Maggie May

12) Google — Sarah

13) Denzel Washington — Kathi

14) Dean Martin — WordGirl

15) PostSecret — red fish

16) Paul Bunyan — Anita

Stay tuned to be assigned to your U.S. Open Player. The tournament hasn’t progressed that far yet, but we are prepared!

-image-because I need me some fun!

All right, peeps. I’m in desperate need of some fun. It’s hot. Hot is not fun. Boheme is rife with crazies. Crazies are not fun. And I have a hangnail. And as everyone knows, hangnails are BARELY SURVIVABLE!!

Soooo …. uhm, guess what’s going on in the world of tennis?

Wait. Is that sarahk I hear? What’s that, sarahk? Yes! You’re right! The U.S. Open!!

That means it’s time again for:

THE BEST THING EVER BLOG GAME!!

AMERICAN VERSION!!

And you’re not sick of it. You’re NOT, dammit. I say so.

All right. Remember how this works? Please say yes. I explained it badly here, if you need to revisit the explanation I gave for Wimbledon. It’s the same dealio; just with America.

So I need 16 people to leave their pick in the comments here for The Best Thing Ever to come out of the good ol’ US of A. It can be a thing, a person, an event. Whatever. It’s your choice: The Best Thing Ever: America.

Remember: I take these entries on a first-come, first-served basis. With our English version, there were lots of people de-lurking to enter. De-lurkers are always welcome, of course, but you should be aware that your comments go into moderation first. Still, I will try my dern’dest to get to these as quickly as I can. Also, duplicate entries will be decided based on who got here first.

Once play at The Open gets down to the Round of 16, each Best Thing Ever will be assigned randomly to an Open player using our impartial Best Thing Ever bowls. In The Best Thing Ever, basically, you as a person no longer exist, so in that sense, you will know what it is like to work at Boheme and we will share a moment of strange solidarity.

You are Your Thing and Your Thing is Your Player.

How your player does in The Open is how your Best Thing Ever does in this game. Got it?

Oh, and it’s ruthless single elimination here.

Winner gets A POUND OF THE BEST COFFEE EVER!!

Eventually!!

(Right, Sheila?)

Also, because I’m a rather whimsical creature, I’m adding a wrinkle this time ’round: If your Thing/Player is eliminated, I think it would be fun if you make a post-match comment as your Thing explaining what the heck your problem was, why you lost, venting against the winner, whatever you think your Thing would say if interviewed after its unfortunate elimination. Make it as punny and silly and dramatic and bitter as you like. Say your “Thing” is Abe Lincoln and you lose. And maybe your Loser Comment starts with, oh, I don’t know: Fourscore and 40-love ago …. which is completely lame and that’s what I want! I mean, I just made that up here. But, basically, the lamer and sillier the better, Losers!

So when you choose your Best Thing Ever, go ahead and give some thought to what your Loser Comment might be, should you lose. Think of it as planning your acceptance speech for the Academy Awards …. only the total opposite of that, mmkay?

And I’m open to suggestions for a name other than “Loser Comment.” It seems kinda harsh, but it’s just what I typed here on the fly. Any ideas on that?

Okay, peeps!!

READY?

16 PEOPLE.

THE BEST THING EVER: AMERICA.

GO!!

August 27, 2007

-image-froth

Saturday morning. A man and woman walk into Boheme, approach MB, and order.

“I’ll have a nonfat mocha, no whipped cream, NO FOAM,” the woman snarls.

“Yeah,” the man adds, “if it has foam, she’ll scream and break things.”

I stop and look at him over the espresso machine — to see if he’s joking, to see if she’s getting pissed, to see if these people are for real. He catches my eye for a split second; he’s serious. His look is equal parts fear and threat. What’s more, the woman doesn’t seem annoyed that he’s just outed her to strangers as a total beeyotch. It doesn’t even seem to register with her. She just sort of drifts around the room. How weird, I think.

Or maybe it’s that dance that boxers do seconds before they make someone hemorrhage from their head.

I’m kinda scared now, I also think. I hesitate for a second.

Do I really want to make a drink for someone who might scream and break things, someone who is drifting and/or doing the boxer’s dance of death? On the other hand, I decide, they seem like your basic Boheme muttonheads. Plus, they are staring at me, so, mechanically, I lug the milk out of the fridge, pour it into the steam pitcher, and start to steam.

Now, you may be surprised to learn that something happens to milk when you stick a hot steam wand into it. It gets hot, yes — but also, and even more surprisingly, its texture changes. Even if you’re not trying to make foam — and I know how to make some mean foam — it gets frothy. It’s more full-bodied, not thin anymore. And when you pour frothed milk into a drink, you will likely get a thin layer of — gasp! — white froth atop whatever brown concoction you’re making. The white may cover the brown. It’s just the way it is. To me, froth is not foam. Foam is something you carefully create; froth just happens.

So I pull the shots, add the chocolate sauce, and, finally, pour the steamed milk. At the top of the cup, there is the thinnnnnest layer of white. Maybe an eighth of an inch. I look at it and decide it’s fine. That’s not foam, right? We’ve established that, right? Still, I feel a little twinge in my gut, but think better of it. It’s a beautiful drink, I buoy my inner barista. Only a crazy person would make an issue of this, I soothe my inner frightened child.

Oh, Tracey. Tracey. You poor sad cow.

Gently, I push the drink across the counter to her and say, with fake certainty, “Okay. There ya go.”

She stares at it. The man stares at it. There is a huge pause. Huge. It’s like they’re having a moment of silence in honor of my wrongness. Really, it’s practically an homage, like for the dead people at the Oscars. I busy myself with, ah, cleaning my area.

Silence? What silence? They are admiring the perfection of .. it … all …

Then, as I straighten up from putting the milk in the fridge, I see it. The move of ultimate dismissal. Perfectly executed. It goes like this: the woman moves her head to the left as she says, “Oh. NO,” while, at the same time, her right hand pushes the drink to the right, towards her husband. Head moves one way, hand moves the other. She verbally AND physically rejects the drink. In one smooth move. Really, in retrospect, it was perfect. Left no doubts. You should all try it next time you want to make someone feel like crap.

The man now stands there alone and bug-eyed with the rejected drink. She has walked away. She hates the drink, obviously, but somehow, it’s his problem. Here we go. I wait for her to start screaming and breaking things. She actually seems to be doing breathing exercises now. Maybe to forestall the imminent statewide killing spree. The one that will start with me.

“Do I need to remake the drink?”

“Yes,” she throws over her shoulder.

“Well, it has foam,” the man whispers.

And I say — slightly defensively, I admit — “Um, well, milk does froth when you steam it, but I can remake it if you want.”

The man looks nervously at the woman, now pacing around Boheme, and offers, “Well, honey, if you want I can just drink that part off for you.”

“No.”

Since I only steam enough for each individual drink, I reach down and take the milk out again.

“Okay. Don’t make more milk. Uhm, just scoop this off, will you, and add some hot coffee. You have hot coffee, don’t you?”

No, Slappy, we sell blood sausage. Pleease.

I skim the layer of offending froth from the top of her drink and splash some coffee in it.

“Okay. Thereyago.”

“Here, honey.”

The woman scowls at the drink, at me, at the man, and stomps out, leaving him trailing after.

August 26, 2007

-image-running commentary

MB and I are sitting in the living room. I’m reading, writing, looking stuff up online, also baking biscuits for peaches and cream with biscuits. (Uhm, yummy.) MB is watching a movie in German. And giving a running commentary, albeit intermittent. Here’s some of what I’ve learned so far:

Oh. He’s cutting him a break.
Here’s some socialist lovin’.
Ew. Old man ass.
This is very interesting.
So he’s watching her go in ….
Man!
Eastern bloc countries don’t report suicides. (This seemed like a non sequitur to me, but what do I know?)
Our girl is in trouble.
Oh, wow. Okay. She doesn’t remember meeting him.
Oh, she’s ratting him out.
Uh-oh. Here it comes; she’s gonna kill herself.
See? I knew it. She’s dead.
“Four years and seven months later ….”
“Two years later …..”
Confession time.
He’s finding all the bugs.
They’re finding his dossier, all the files on him.
Oh, he put all this crap in there!
Oooh. Red ink.
Hahahahaha.
“Two years later ….”
Now he’s like the mailman.
Hahahahaha. There’s the East German Barnes and Noble.
He’s got a Members Only jacket, poor bastard.
Wow. He dedicated the book to him.
Cool. That was cool.

I’d tell you the movie but I don’t want to give it away, you know. Still, if you’re ever watching something in German and some poor bastard has a Members Only jacket …

-image-passion flower

On the back patio at Boheme. A customer took this picture and emailed it to me.

Ain’t it purty?

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-image-when he wears that t-shirt

Watch out.

MB is wearing his Ruger t-shirt at Boheme today. This means he is in NO mood to take any crap from our incredibly demanding, gun-hating customers.

It always cracks me up watching the looks he gets. What can I say? The dude was raised a mountain man.

Watch out, all you Slappies.

August 25, 2007

-image-missy’s the poo

…. so take a big whiff.

Anybody else watching “Bring it On” tonight? Man, I love this movie.

Uh, that’s all.

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