Now, it’s always good to have a plan in certain situations, Dearest Reader. [And yes, Zelda is aware that this entry is sounding more and more like a daily devotional.] And today, O Reader, Zelda would like to share how she deals with one of her unmentionables.

Which brings me to, right after these ellipses . . . A SHANE MACGOWAN VIDEO! ABOUT! DRINKING! IN WHICH! HE IS! SOBER! Or looks it anyway. This most fabulous video also stars (& was directed by) the Delectable Johnny Depp in 1994, back when Johnny Depp was still delectable. Near the end of the video, you will see someone dancing on a bar table in the background. This, my Dearest, Fashionable Readers, would be Zelda.

Head straight for the bar and get a glass of ginger ale.

I’ve had my share. Not on Thursdays, darling. No. No. No, but thanks. It wouldn’t mix well with the antipsychotics. Not with these boots on, dear. But I’m already holding one. No thanks. I’m good. I’ve had enough already. Thanks, but no.

That should change tonight. After work I plan on hitting up the first official stop on the Drunkard Express. It won't be anything too exciting. Just somehting to wet the whistle, so to speak.

Started bartending this week. So far I enjoy it and I feel relatively competant, considering I can't make anything more complicated than a vodka tonic.

What made this weekend odd is on Sunday night, near the end, I'm waiting on these two business guys, probably early to mid thirties, who I remember waiting on so many, many, hours before when I was working Friday lunch. I'm being nice and attempting to mildly chit chat with them while cleaning up and waiting on the last few people at the bar, when things start getting weird. This guy's just like, watching me, in an intent way that would only be acceptable if he had had more than 2 beers. He starts asking more personal, but fairly standard, questions like - where I'm from, what I'm going to school for, pretty typical stuff. When I say that I'm a journalism student he forcibly blurts out "I work for the Washington Times in D.C. and I have a lot of connections" the statement however did not come out as helpful but sort of pervy rather, very much like, 'if you're going to sleep your way to the top you might as well start with me' sort of thing. It got more odd when they started talking about the hotel room they were staying in, how "it had gotten upgraded to a penthouse suite" and "there's so many bottles of liquor left over from the weekend and I should come over and help them finish them, so they, you know, don't go to waste". They kept pushing the me coming up to their hotel room thing but I wasn't taking them too seriously until when they were paying they slipped their hotel room key card in with the credit card. How creepy is that? I realize that being hit on at work is just going to be a fact of life- I'm a bartender in a tight shirt, with a nice rack, who's paid to get people drunk, of course it's going to happen every once in a while. But this crosses any sort of line of normal, or socially accepted behavior, like the 'we tipped you now come to our hotel room so we can get you obliterated and double team you' mentality is really going to work on anyone, if anything it'll just make me call the cops on your creepy ass.

You messed up - bad - and you fear that your job may be on the line. I don't care if you work in the restaurant industry or not (probably you do), we all make huge mistakes that can only be remedied by offering your boss your first born child.

Let me give you an example: You're having a really crappy day. Your car wouldn't start this morning until you sweet-talked it for 15 minutes promising to get it a car wash and a new set of wiper blades. You get into work 23 minutes late and your boss is yelling at you for your lack of work ethic and iterates that it's in the employee handbook that you are to call ahead of time if you are going to be late. Finally he gets off your back but everyone else is still riding you for making them work harder to open the restaurant. The shitstorm just never ends. You get in the weeds - no, ass-raped without lube - and of course your tables start to complain to you about the service and food taking so long which you know you have no control over.

(In a nasaly tone) "Maam! This food is cold!" - "Maam, we've been sitting here for 25 minutes without food." - "Maam, I need some more tea".

And then it happens.

"I'll get your fucking tea, hold on!"

....

Oh no. You committed a cardinal sin of the service industry. You dropped the f-bomb on the dining room floor. Only this bomb has a reverse effect of what was dropped on Hiroshima: engulfing the entire room in silence and has a kill rate of one person: you. Not only did you swear, but you swore at a customer. The bread and butter of the restaurant industry.

As if your day wasn't stressed out enough, you get yanked into the manager's office and your ass is chewed like a pittbull at Michael Vick's house. How could you do this? Are you insane? Whatever is on that manager's mind, you will hear it. There are only three ways this situation ends, and only one of them saves your ass and your job: you quit, you're fired, or you beg.

Hopefully, if you're reading this blog, you care enough about your restaurant job that the third option is the only option available.  Now, I don't know if you do care about the job or not. Perhaps you hated that place and you just needed a reason to leave, but I certainly don't believe in leaving a job on bad terms. It's just bad business. The best option is to beg, in my opinion. First of all, in a restaurant, they're not going to fire you in the middle of a lunch shift. Well, that is unless they have the manpower to replace you. Then you could be screwed.

But I tell you what, my example was an extreme one. Hopefully you'd never do something like that because it's a death knell. To a restaurant, the most important person in that building is the customer. By swearing, you not only disrespected the customer you were talking to forcing them to call on the manager and promise to never come in again, but every customer around you probably heard you. In the manager's eyes, the probability of those patrons returning are slim, too. That is not good. That's money out of the pockets of the owners and the managers. You are replaceable. They aren't. Guess who's probably not going to be around tomorrow?

In my experience, I've only known a guy do something so egregious that he got fired. He walked out in the beginning of a shift to go spend time with family during a football game on TV. Now, I understand that he had requested off - and been promised off - weeks in advance and he had every right to be upset, but a job is important no matter how lowly of a job it is. He ended up being rehired after he signed a contract saying that he would be basically a perfect angel and take a demotion until he could prove himself.

I used to stress myself out a lot over my work. I try extremely hard to give equal time to every one of my customers so noone has to wait a long time. I realized that people who's food got out quickly, refills got to them in a timely fashion, and felt attended to left better tips. I guess it was my experience working for a corporate restaurant that had a policy that no table should go 30 seconds without being greeted. Later in my experience, I started to realize that bigger tips can also come from the attitude that you carry with you from table to table. I started to have a mantra "They can wait". My engrained 30-second greet time became a minute or two, especially if I was busy. Just this little change slowed me down and made me feel less rushed. A less-rushed waiter means a happier waiter. A happy waiter means happy customers (usually). Happy customers leave bigger tips. I hope you're following me.

Perhaps, before you lose your job over a four-letter word, realize that things aren't as bad as they really seem. Leave your life-stresses at the door, slow down and get yourself a mantra. You can borrow mine for $4.95 and hour.

Now, fuck off.

At least, I hope it will include training because right now it sounds suspiciously close to "Let's just throw Ed behind the bar and see what happens."

Maybe you can't tell so well from this photo, but the letters in the ad are falling off. Even then, this sign is not an effective deterrent.

Okay so just now I tried open another account on flickr hoping that it'll be pro cuz Chris told me that if I open on with an AT&T email it'll be pro.  Apparently it doesn't work so I have a second account t(-.-t) take that society!... So yeah.

A few weeks ago I became a certified bartender! YAY me! Now I just gotta find a job really anywhere.  I'll tell you kids so I can get you guys free shots hahah I know that what you all want.  John said I could bartend for his party, let's just hope I can get good by the time that comes around.

That would be sick! Imagine Bonnaroo, Comfest, or any party with that thing?! The only downside would be keeping that thing stocked. I'm still not sure how all those glasses and bottles fit in there...

via BoingBoing

This morning I ate strawberries and maple yogurt for breakfast, took out the trash and recycle, did the dishes from last night and this morning, took an amazingly super hot shower and got ready for work. Went by the Two Tartes bakery on my way to work and got a scone that I'm terribly disappointed with, but that's my baker snobbery kicking in. Now I'm at the coffee shop around the corner from my bar, wasting my time and catching up on mopeds, friends, and research.

Work has been really good recently, bartending and serving, working 10am-5pm three days this week and then 9am-5pm on Friday. Way more hours than usual for me, so I'm quite on the exhausted side this week. Dealing with people, food and booze for that much time gets old very fast, especially as the day bartender. Bloody Marys and margaritas at noon and pitchers of beer. It's Thursday! All these people are on their lunch break.

This weekend will be my first real weekend off in what seems like forever and I couldn't be more excited. It's Chelsea's birthday on Saturday and a trip to the Fremont Market on Sunday for junk antiques and trinkets. The rest of my time this weekend I will be working on mopeds and getting my bike in tiptop shape for my trip to San Francisco next weekend.

My art show at Smarty Pants has gone over pretty well thus far; sold quite a few paintings and have been brainstorming new ideas and themes. Good input from customers and friends. Unfortunately I don't have any good pictures of any of the art that is currently hanging, but I am going in new, different directions and the style is really pleasing me.

Also, I'm incredibly impressed by this fellow Eric Freitas and his amazing clocks. All my steampunk clockwork dreams come true. Ah...

So I wanted to throw something out there to our dear readers.  Times are tough obviously.  I'm actually having a hard time finding a full-time day job in my chosen field (Interactive Marketing).  So I was actually thinking that I should maybe become a bartender.  I could probably be flexible with a schedule, allowing me to maybe take some classes during the day, and would make good tips. Any bartenders out there willing to train me? Any clubs/bars willing to hire me and train me on the job?

:D

"Oh, ho, ho! Although I write some pretty damn amazing stuff, it is only so limited to my experiences and beliefs instead of me criticizing the little day-to-day things!" I'd reply. Now, if you'd rather me write shorter blog posts about the daily things that I see that I could write on, I'll start doing that. However, it is my utmost belief that you, the loyal reader (all 6 of you), deserve exactly what you have been getting the past couple months: nice, long, TLDR (Too Long Didnt Read) walls of text, belittling the average man, woman and child to the point of sounding pompous and arrogant in my own special little way without actually being pompous or arrogant. Oh, and long-ass lines of sentences without periods or proper grammar.

I have a few topics in mind that I could write on, but I just write when I feel like it. That is, unless I was getting paid.

Today's topic is about the fine art of To-Go food. To-Go was a concept started by Mac Cromwell in 1927 in the podunk town of Sharpersville, Idaho when his potato restaurant had an abundance of people wanting to walk into his restaurant and walk out with food off of his regular menu. Now, that was a total pile of bullcrap, but hey, it made you think "really? huh, interesting", didn't it?

Just about every restaurant with a menu has the ability to take To-Go orders. Generally they might send out their menu in the mail to thousands of residents, or they'll have the menu online. But most of the orders come from people who have dined in once, but don't want to dine in again on a particular night. So, they call up and order stuff with which they are familiar and come in to pick it up to bring home to the chibblets and spouse.

Usually, one person in the restaurant is responsible for To-Go food. Your regular waiter isn't going to be waiting tables and taking to-go orders, unless it's a special job like a bartending/waiting/To-Go amalgamation; a "to-go specialist" as they are sometimes referred.

The unfortunate thing is the lack of actual ability of some people to place a To-Go order. It isn't too difficult to place a to-go order, but sometimes it seems like some people just left their brains sitting on the kitchen counter when they picked up the phone and smashed the numbers on their cell phones enough times until they got the right number like a team of monkeys typing Shakespeare. Let me give you a scenario: A 45-year old man calls up one of his family's favorite restaurant at 8:00 pm to place a to-go order. With the employee on the phone, the man turns to his family over his shoulder and asks them what they want. Little Timmy can't decide, the wife wants to order something that was a special 3 months ago and he cant decide between the steak and the chef salad (but he thinks he might want the chef salad without the cheese, though). Five minutes goes by and they finally get everything together, get their total bill - $21.54 - and hangs up after the employee tells him it would be 25-30 minutes. He goes and picks up the food that's waiting for him 45 minutes later, pays with a credit card and signs the bill without leaving a tip. Happily, he returns to his car and drives home until he realizes that his food is cold and calls up the restaurant to complain to the manager.

What's wrong with this all-to-common picture? Can't figure it out, Captain Oblivious? I'll spell it out in detail.

First, he called up in the middle of dinner rush without figuring out what his family wants ahead of time. If you don't know your favorite items from your favorite restaurants, then try to find them online, or have an idea of what you want to eat. Also, he's got to understand that a restaurant is usually extremely busy between 11:30 - 1:30, and 7:00 - 9:00. These are the "rushes". By delaying his order as much as he did, his one call took up a whole 5 minutes placing an order that should have been made in 45 seconds. He may have cost that to-go employee quite a bit of money from other orders because they decided to hang up and order somewhere else.

Second, he didn't ask his wife for a second option in case the special wasn't on the menu anymore. Usually if an item is a "special", it will only be on the menu for a brief period of time. You should always check to make sure that the specials haven't changed if you are planning on calling in to order one.

Third, He didn't leave any kind of tip for causing the person on the other line trouble. I know this may sound pompous, but this is someone's livelyhood. That person taking to-go orders rely on massive amounts of orders to make any kind of money. One out of every nine or 10 orders will leave a tip. That's sad.

And fourth, he picked his food up much later than he was told to do so. If the to-go employee says 25-30 minutes, get there 25-30 minutes if you want your food to be hot and fresh. Don't expect the kitchen to keep your food hot for you while the restaurant waits for you to pick up your food. We don't really care that your food is cold when you pick it up. It was hot when we made it 15 minutes ago. This is the only time that we are pretty much allowed to tell you that you're a failure to your face and you should have gotten here earlier. Well, in nicer terms of course (damn tact).

Listen to these rules and heed by them. Because if you are placing a lengthy order over the phone and you hear the other person let out a really long sigh, yes, it's because you're an asshole!

--MILF

Dear  MILF: Since from your tone I'm guessing you're also going to rule out a Sloe Comfortable Screw Against The Wall (or even better: a Sloe Comfortable Screw Against The Wall With Satin Pillows The Hard Way), I'm not sure what's left. How about you just do the old fashioned thing and get him drunk? Short of hitting him on the head with a club, it's about the easiest way for a woman to see if she and some guy she wants to fuck can manage to "hit it off."

Dear Reader,

Last night i was roped into serving drinks at a charity function Princess had helped arrange to raise money for homeless BASE jumpers. Or something.

I've never worked behind a bar before, but i have, on many occasions, poured fluids into glasses. This was purely a softdrink/wine/champagne bar i was tending, so it wasn't mentally challenging.

Thing is, i don't like touching other ppl.

Seriously don't like. Weapons grade don't like.

So imagine my distress when a patron would belly up to the bar, ask for a glass of white, and - after i've poured the glass and i'm lifting it to the front of the bar where they can pick it up - they reach out and take it from me!

Inevitably, the patron's fingers would touch my fingers.

Which i did NOT sign on for.

It was all i could do on a number of occasions not to just let abruptly go of the glass and let it drop from their grasping fingers.

I've been to real bars, and customers do not, in my experience, reach out for the drink that the professional barkeep is placing onto the absorbent towel thingy for them. Oh, no. They wait patiently for the glass to land, and then they pick it up.

So why were they reaching out to take it from me, with all the unpleasantness (for moi) of them making contact with my hand?

Just damn rude, if you ask me.

Equally as confronting (though with less contact involved) was when they'd "help out" by reaching over and grabbing a glass and then hold it out for me to pour the fluid into.

It's a very personal and intimate act, pouring fluid into a vessel that another person is actually holding. Especially when you're a guy and that other person is a hot blonde chick in a partially-buttoned white blouse.

Or is that just me that finds that personal and intimate?

I noticed that not one dude did the i'll-hold-the-glass-and-you-pour-your-fluid-into-me thing (thank goodness). It was all chicks.

What's with that?

Your,
Gullybogan

Chapter One

“Take the veins out of her feet,” Carstairs dictated into the phone, drawing a raised eyebrow from the bartender as he slid a Cosmo to a stop on the bar beside her laptop.

“Catalog stuff,” she said, closing up the phone. “This swimsuit model we hired shows up with big Fred Flintstone-size feet. Covered in blue veins. They look like an L.A. freeway map.”

“She looks perfect to me,” Jack answered, leaning his wiry frame across the bar to look at the screen, “a goddess.”

“I see her before the hair and makeup team gets to the shoot. First thing in the morning? This lady’s not going to sell tankinis and sandals, trust me.”

Jack looked skeptical, a valuable skill for a bartender.

“They call it ‘aspirational photography,’” she said. “Buy this stuff, live this life. That’s the conceit of every ad ever made. People know it won’t really happen, but they buy the stuff anyway. What else are they going to do?”

Car was on the island for a week, art directing the shoot of her company’s big swim collection for the following spring. The weather two days along was steadfastly cold and foggy. The light was no good. So here she was at a local bar, drinking at noon, like she never did. And on the company dime, since her new pal Jack was helpfully spelling Cosmo “sandwich” on her tab.

Back at the Casa Suites, three swimsuit models slept in, by agency contract earning more asleep than anyone at work on the entire island that morning. One model slept less well, the tightly tucked sheets binding her feet.

© 2008 Jeff Sawyer

So, yay, I got a job!  And, no, I'm not a hooker.

Naturally, it's not the film-business-entry-level-perfection I'd hoped for, but it's turning out to be way more relevant than I forsaw.  I'm bartending at an Irish-owned bar/pub in North London, in a trendy district known for its bohemian community.

As such, the owner of the bar has given me reign to organize and execute film-related events, like mini-festivals and group screenings at the bar.  I get to keep all the cover money, and I get a cut of bar intake, plus my hourly wage, which isn't bad, not bad at all.  

So, somehow, getting hired as a barmaid has put me in a position to learn about my chosen industry.  Crazy.

All that aside, which looks great on paper, my boss is a bit of a loony, very rural Irish, loves her booze, over-shares her personal life, and one time, offered me cocaine.  It's going to be a trial to separate myself from the personal connotations to working in such a close knit environment, but I've only been there for three days, so I'm sure I'll get the hang of it.

We close late, especially by London standards, and generally aren't finished clearing up behind the bar until around 2:30am.  Then, it's expected to stick around and drink with Molly, my lady guv, her friend Christian, also Irish, who owns the pub next door, and a small assortment of regulars and hangers on whom Molly has deemed worthy of staying after doors close.

On Thursday night, my second night on the job, I decided to stick around for only an hour or two, since I hadn't gotten home until after 6am my first night, and was sipping coke that was I was pretending was vodka and coke with Molly, Christian, and two local boho activists who run a localized serial publication.  One was a young Irish poet, with pretension out his ears, and the other this quiet, English publisher who was actually pretty hot in a Viggo Mortensen kinda way.

Anyway, soon after we'd settled in with our respective drinks, Christian's barman, whose name I think was Sam(?), showed up with some food, which is really why I was still there, so I stuck around to eat, and argue with the pretentious Irish poet guy, who was obviously trying to impress me by attempting to intellectually outdo me, about how the film industry has become "artifice over art."  What a tool.  

Sam(?), Christian's barman, was also clearly attracted to me, but was much more tactical and English about it.  He's tall, and has long, blonde, curly hair, and very angular features.  He's not unattractive; he's just not my type at all.  Not someone I'd ever go for or dream of fondly during solo-activities.  But, I kind of flirted back just because regardless of physically not being my type in the least, and honestly only minimally impressing me personality-wise, he was somehow sort of sexy.  I don't know what it was.  I still don't know.

My phone alarm went off at 4am, and they wanted to know what that was all about.  I told them I was expecting to be home, and it was to wake me up so I could watch Obama speak at the convention.  Suddenly, here came this tirade of angry judgement about how Obama has no policies, how he's a patsy being set up to be assassinated for martyrdom, because he's black, etc. etc. etc.

Really some of the most absurd shit I've ever heard.

Most of it was my drunken manager and the "poet," yelling things they don't really understand at me, attempting to educate me, because, being an American of course doesn't give me any perspective on the American political system, and what they've heard on TV is much more accurate.  I attempted to participate in the conversation, but it was clearly an attack in which my input was both unwelcome and futile, so I decided to excuse myself.

Christian and Sam(?), both of whom had been defending me and trying to get us off the topic also took their leave at this point in time.  The publisher, heretofore no longer attractive, said, softly, to me, "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes, I do," I said, and continued out.

"You don't," he insisted, and Christian told him to let it go, which then almost resulted in a brawl.  Disgusted, I continued toward the door with Molly apologizing to me, saying it wasn't a personal attack, etc. 

Once I got outside, Christian and Sam(?) invited me back to their pub for some wind-down time and a free pint.  Considering I was on the verge of tears, I thought it might be a good idea to take them up on it.  We sat and listened to Christian do Monty Python impersonations for half an hour or so, to cheer me up, and then Christian offered to get me a cab.

I declined, ever missing my car and the ability to just leave.  There's a night bus that takes me very close to home, so I wanted to just go catch my bus and not be a trouble to anyone.  Finally, Christian relented on the condition that Sam(?) walk me to my bus stop and stick around until I got on.  I was more than happy to agree to this, since waiting for a night bus is pretty unpleasant if you're alone.

Sam(?) and I walked to a bus stop a bit farther away than the one I usually go to, and sat to talk.  An hour went by, and I learned that Sam(?)'s Girlfriend (The girlfriend revelation was made by Christian, and clearly wasn't something Sam(?) was planning to reveal) is 30, and he's 24.  He once worked in a gay bar, and also spent a year teaching drama at a boarding school.

The bus still hadn't shown up, which was very odd.  Both of us were losing steam quickly, having been on our feet all night, then drinking, then in a political argument.  He suggested maybe just crashing at his place for a few hours and catching a regular bus once they were back on the rota again.  He said he'd take the couch; it wasn't a big deal.

I declined about eight times, and we'd almost hit the hour and a half mark when I realized that maybe it was the best option for me.  

We jumped the fence at a nearby park to cut through, and continued talking as the sun rose, we jumped another fence, and then ended up at his flat.  

Sensing my discomfort, he offered to put on a season of Extras for me to watch if I just wanted to wait until around 6 to catch a morning bus.  He put it in and, curled into a ball on the corner of his bed, I fell asleep fairly quickly.  He fell asleep similarly, curled into the opposite corner.

Several hours later, I have vague memory of being nudged into normal sleeping position, under the covers, then him taking off his shirt.  Spooning commenced a few hours later, and was pretty inappropriate, all things considered.  Maybe it was just waking up next to a male body in a bed, but I wasn't really thinking logistics, and instead was just cuddled up with the topless form of a man I'm not even really attracted to, whose name I don't actually know, and who had his arm possessively thrown over my waist.

I could tell he wanted to kiss me, but that wasn't going to happen, just because I was awake enough to remember the girlfriend, the fact that he's not my type, and that I'd probably have to see him lots in the future, considering the working relationship and proximity of our two bosses.

The inappropriate cuddling and topless nature of his garb maintained through two more episodes of Extras and a cup of tea.  I got calls from Tim (I've never been so happy to hear Tim's voice.  He's seriously the only English man I've met so far that I trust completely, and would believe capable of monogamy), and Jane (who really doesn't approve of this tale at all).

Reaching my usual level of lucidity, I strapped on my shoes and made my exit, after the awkward comment he made that was something like, "We're doing a lot of hugging for people who only met yesterday."  

"Yeah, I need to go."

He gave me a hug at the entrance to the park I ended up cutting back through, but I didn't even give him a second glance.  How effing awkward, really.  I would be completely okay never seeing Sam(?) again, though there are no extreme feelings about the situation either way.

Just the hint of the bizarre when I remember the thing as it was, and the sincere hope that it never gets back to anyone who knows both of us, or that he ever expects anything similar to happen again.

I guess in the end, as long as it's a good story, it was a worthwhile experience.

No, I don't know why I'm posting these random sketches. I guess so you can see what goes on in my little pea brain...not worth it, huh?

There are some professions that require a higher level of self defense training so that they can enjoy their profession along with some of the negatives that come along. The job of a waitress or a bartender is one such profession. Waitresses and bartenders have one of the highest chances of being robbed. Waitresses have a higher probability of becoming a sexual victim.

There are some very specific reasons why this profession attracts the attention of attackers and assailants. Firstly, the job involves leaving the bar in the wee hours of the morning or extremely late at night. Secondly, most people know that waitresses and bartenders get tips from customers. If the dining place is popular, a good waitress can expect to take home a couple of hundred dollars or more. Thirdly, most people in this job meet new people each day and the profession demands that the waitresses make the strangers feel comfortable and relaxed in the new setting of the bar or the restaurant. There is a fine line between being friendly and warm and sexually inviting and there are many who would like to assume friendliness as an invitation for a sexual assault. Getting to know the schedule of a particular waitress is not difficult and these perpetrators can get drunk and wait outside the hotel to stalk potential victims.

Most of these aspects that are part of the waitress or bartending profession are unavoidable. There is nothing that one can do about the late hours since night time is when the business flourishes. A large number of good outlets assume a certain percentage of tips as a given and the salary of the waitress or the bartender is fixed accordingly. This necessitates that requirement for carrying all the cash each day. Days on which there is like to be heavy traffic are potentially more dangerous times. Additionally, if a waitress wants to maximize the tip-earning potential, she needs to be courteous (and sometimes a bit more than that) to be able to make both ends meet.

Even though there is nothing that waitresses and bartenders can do to change the nature of their profession, they can definitely take certain positive steps towards ensuring their own self defense. To start with, there are certain measures that each one can take immediately.

- Remain alert at all times. Make sure that you do not relax at any time. Be alert even when you are going about your normal daily chores. Try and be aware of your surroundings and the small moves that other people make. While walking towards your car, make sure that no one is following you. Ensure that no one is slipping in the backseat of your car when you get in.

- Do not hang around in the car once you are inside. Lock the doors immediately and leave.

- Never count your tips while you in public view and definitely not when you are waiting for a cab to come.

- It is important that you do not reveal personal information to customers even if they seem pleasant and friendly. It is not easy to judge people by their appearance and manner and sometimes the most gentlest of people turn vicious.

Beyond these simple steps that anyone can take, waitresses and bartenders need to make sure that they think about self defense proactively. Look for various self defense weapons or self defense products that you can use. These could include pepper sprays, stun guns or tasers. You may need to use some self defense product that is disguised and should consider lipstick pepper sprays or cell phone stun guns. This is required because you definitely do not want to make your regular customers uncomfortable by brandishing a stun gun all the time. At the same time you need to be prepared all the time.

(Above: A refreshing Negroni is the perfect cure for a case of the summertime blues)

Gotta love summer. Easily my busiest work period of the year and everyone else gets to go on vacation. Bastards. Anyway, because I've been buried under multiple deadlines recently, rather than post something original, I'm going to pinch work from colleagues. Well, not exactly. My friend Jordan Mackay has a cool article in the current issue of 7X7, where he talks a little about his experiences as a bartender at San Francisco's Cantina--a hub of this city's current cocktail revolution, and easily one of the most enjoyable places in town to get sauced.

A fun side/end bar from the article:

What Your Drink Says About You

1. Shot of Patrón You think you know, but you have no idea.
2. Pacifico and a shot of anything Fine-dining restaurant employee.
3. Sommelier Sidecar Your knowledge of wine is not as good as you think it is.
4. Vodka Soda Marina chick (even if you're a guy).
5. Jack and Diet Ex–frat boy who spends too much time at the gym.
6. Dark and Stormy Seasoned drinker who's "on the wagon."
7. Milk of Millennia You're likely from L.A.
8. Mojito European tourist who will later ask whether we know of a good disco in the area.
9. Vodka Red Bull Show us your ID.
10. Pisco Sour Young woman from a South American country, or a dyed-in-the-wool cocktail geek.

Also be sure to check out the video at the end where Jordan describes how he makes one of my all time favorite cocktails, the Negroni. Yes please!

(Go here to read the whole thing)

I've always enjoyed going to ethnic restaurants, being adventurous with new flavor sensations. I never understood why some people had such a hard time trying new things with food. Even working in an Italian restaurant for four years, I never understood why people still ordered Fettucine Alfredo. It's pasta, cream and parmesan cheese. Very simple, and somewhat dull in flavor. Why not order the Chicken Alla Napoli with the herb-encrusted chicken breast, sun-dried tomatoes, green onions, and carmelized onions with the bolognese sauce? Just the description makes my mouth water. But, for some people, the idea of trying new things or ordering menu items with fancy words like "bolognese" makes them turn away. I don't know whether it's because they don't understand the words or they just aren't adventurous. If it's the former rather than the latter, then I assume they are ignorant and they just don't know any better. Being illiterate is forgivable. Too bad they'll never read this blog to know that they're forgiven.

It's always, in my opinion, important to try new things and experiences. Just recently, I spent a week and a half in the Middle East. No, that's not Tennessee or Kentucky. We're talking Iran, Israel, Iraq, Lebanon, and Syra. Generally what you'd call "Greek and Lebanese" food. Shawarma, Gyros, and Falafel. I ate anything and everything I could. If they served me a camel's testicle, swimming in a sauce made of sheep brains and the blood of unborn Jordanian children, I probably would have eaten it if it was on the menu. Of course, I saw some of my lesser adventurous trip companions eating McDonald's in the local mall, too. This was rather disturbing. You're on the other side of the world and you eat McDonald's because it's food you know. I wanted to stab them in the tongue with a two-pronged fork designed to flip pita bread.

I think that reverting to traditional, comfort foods are an insight to the personality of the diner. Sometimes I'll have people come into the restaurant and order the same items every time. It's great for me, since I know I don't have to explain much, but it would be nice if they learned that there are many other delicious foods on the menu. It gets depressing to know that they will never try new things.

Someone once told me that it was a money issue. They said that they were afraid that if they ordered something new that they had never tried before and didn't like it, then they would feel like they had wasted their money. I can see why this would be true, but this can be combated by actually looking at the menu, or asking for a description. If they ingredients are things that you like, then chances are that you'll enjoy the dish. Another solution is that if you do order it, you can always return it saying that it was not what you expected. This would be the time to order something reliable that you know. I realize that it can be embarrassing returning a dish that you ordered on expectation, but at least you know that it's something you don't like. Personally, if it's not what I expected and I can tolerate it, I'll eat it anyway but just not order it again.

Restaurants don't put nasty food on their menus. It's just bad business. So, complaining that something doesn't taste right to you at an ethnic restaurant is like walking into a kennel and complaining that the room smells like dogshit. My advice to you is to read the menu, taste new things, and stay away from the males because they might mark you with pee.

[caption id="attachment_420" align="aligncenter" width="214" caption="Lucid"][/caption]

Lucid took the United States by storm in 2007 after Viridian Spirits negotiated the return of genuine absinthe to U.S. soil after years of it being prohibited.  Since March of 2007, Lucid has become quite the hot commodity in markets where imbibers look for the unusual and daring. 

 

After being prohibited in the U.S. for such an extensive time period many may not know what absinthe really is.  The Lucid Info page answers that question and many more, but for a quick run down:  Genuine absinthe is always distilled directly from a mixture of whole herbs in a neutral spirit of agricultural origin.  The herbs must include Grande Wormwood, European green anise and sweet fennel and may also include other culinary herbs.  The traditional green color is derived directly from the whole herbs and never from artificial colorant or chemicals.  Absinthe never contains sugar as bottled, therefore it should not be classified as a liqueur.  The high concentration of alcohol (60-70% on average) is needed to preserve the herbal content and natural green color.  Lucid starts out at 124 proof, but the traditional French manner of preparing absinthe lowers the alcohol content to approximately 30 proof.

[caption id="attachment_419" align="aligncenter" width="214" caption="Intoxicologist Tasting Lucid Neat"][/caption]

Dan prepared the Lucid in the traditional French manner, explaining each step as he went along.  As the water drips over the sugar cubes, through the slotted absinthe spoon and into the Lucid, it begins to cloud releasing the herbal essence within the spirit.  The scent of the licorice permeates the area.  Once four to five ounces of ice-cold water have been dripped into the Lucid, it is time to taste.  To be perfectly honest, Lucid prepared in this manner has the flavor of Good & Plenty Licorice candies.  It is light and sweet on the palate with a certain gentleness to it.  There is definite licorice flavor to be sure, but it is not harsh.  While I am not a fan of licorice or anise, sipping Lucid in the true way it was meant to be consumed opened my eyes to something new I may have never tried otherwise. 

Lucid is truly a unique spirit worth learning about.  The traditional French method is not the only way to try Lucid either.  Lucid went to great lengths to appeal to the masses.  Their Lucid Cocktails are a testament to this fact.  There is something for chocolate lovers (Starry Night), a Mojito-ish cocktail for muddled mint lovers (The Mint Muse) and a touch of comic book hero worship (The Green Lantern).  For cocktail enthusiasts who need a taste of the old-fashioned with a mix of the new, James Meehan created versions of the classics with Lucid shaken in; Corpse Reviver #2, Sazerac, Chrysanthemum, ’75 Cocktail, and Ernest Hemingway’s Death in the Afternoon.  With a name like that, who could pass up giving it a whirl?  All of these recipes and more may be found in my pages section by following the link above or go directly to Lucid’s website.  

While I gave you a stripped down version of the traditional French method of preparing Lucid, I have attached a You Tube video below with absinthe information.  This was a feature on CBS Sunday Morning with Lucid prominently featured. 

So many S words to describe this morning. Two of my dearest friends have now skipped town for school or love, in one case both. I was about to be walking distance neighbors in a great area with one of them... too bad. the going away party last night was disappointingly unceremonious. There was feeling in the goodbye hug but not enough grief. I find it naive when people move away and shrug it off with musings of future visits. Sure, they will come visit, that's not disputed, but the friendship... well, we'll just visit that too I suppose.

I don't want to visit my life. A rug was pulled out from under me last night, but not in the fun way where things are rearranged and put back in a new exciting order. Not something new to keep me alert. Connected. This rug was the kind that keeps your feet from touching the cold floor. Now that it's gone I have to accept that feeling and find the strength to walk cold footed through my life without losing my sense of trust and security.

Of course, this blog was a two parter.

Dear Bartender: So, Saturday night I went to a bar with a group of friends and I decided to buy a round of drinks. I'm usually a nice customer and I asked the bartender to take a shot with me and tipped him well after he closed my tab.

I asked for his name and I told him mine. He then told me that he is moving to a different bar and will be working there Tues and Wed. I asked if he was going to remember me if I go visit and he said yes.

Is he working me to become a regular customer or was he interested?

And the 2nd letter:

Dear Bartender: About a month and a half ago I was introduced to a bartender at the bar where my coworkers and I were having drinks. I'd always assumed that his flirty attitude was him simply "doing his job." Recently though he suggested I go to a bar where he was going after work. i asked if the place was worth going to, and he replied I will be there so of course it was worth going to. I went and we spent most of the night talking, sharing our life stories, he introduced me to some of his friends, and anytime he would leave he would assure me that he would be right back. I am still quite apprehensive simply because he is a bartender.

Is he really interested?

So, Readers, I was tempted to simply say that I've answered this question before (and not just once, either) -- but then I read the second letter more carefully.

People: Bartenders flirt. Enjoy it. Have fun. By all means, flirt back. But it's a safe bet in the end he's not trying to sleep with you.

I gotta admit, however, that if he invites you out to another bar, one he doesn't work at, and spends the entire night exchanging life stories and introducing you to his friends -- you may indeed have found your next squeeze.

Can you give me any advice on how to be a successful beginner bartender and prove to the management that I am the right person for the job? I'm not in this just to make lots of money or to get free drinks or meet attractive men. It just seems like a good job to talk to lots of different people in a laid-back environment.

I hope this message doesn't sound too stupid. You're a very witty and sarcastic person, so the last thing I need is a smart-ass response because I'm trying to be serious and hopefully get some good advice from a professional.

--Jackie

Dear Jackie. Ouch. Here I was all ready with a sarcastic, witty response and you go ahead and ask me to restrain myself.

So I'm stuck with, what? Answering your question? Jeez.

You're already good at listening; that's a great skill. The only things left are confidence, a killer smile, a quick wit, an ability to accurately count change and an uncanny knack at remembering who drinks what.

If you can manage all that, you're home free. If you can't, figure out your weak spots and compensate with an extraordinary ability in any of the other categories.

OK, people, your bartender Mitch will now return to his usual sarcastic and witty self. Beware.