The blog “Coffee First & Then Love” (coffeefirstthenlove.blogspot.com) got me thinking about priorities, and long story short, I concur. In fact, for some people* coffee is love.
Now while you can't exactly date your coffee, you can wish that your boyfriend was more like your Starbucks barista.
So, I present to you:
Why Starbuck Baristas are Better than Boyfriends
1.Baristas understand you in the morning. You don’t have to feel bad about not wanting to talk to them pre-Grande Bold No Room, and they never mistake your pre-Grande Bold No Room mood as the silent treatment.
2.Some 3,709 Grande Bolds No Room later, which is roughly equivalent to five years of dating the same boyfriend, baristas can actually anticipate your needs.
3.Baristas always notice when you are wearing a new coat, get bangs or dye your blond hair red (duh).
4.Gender politics never enter the equation. Under those aprons, baristas—I’m pretty sure--are all the same.
5.Baristas are always there, exactly where you need them.
6.Baristas are always there, exactly when you need them.
7.Baristas never push their oatmeal raisin cookies on you. They respect your boundaries regarding shriveled fruit.
8.Baristas don’t care that you can’t cook.
9.Baristas speak Italian.
10.Baristas don’t lecture you about your totally legal addiction. In fact, they recognize and appreciate your undying loyalty with free refills, free WiFi, and the occasional free pumpkin scone.
11.Should a highly unlikely break up with your Starbucks barista occur, there is always another one just like him or her right down (or across) the street.**
12.Baristas never tell you that the only dog you’re ever getting is a pretend one or threaten to shoot the one you have.
*OK, OK, I speak of myself.
** Should this not be the case, a rebound with the Folgers pot at the Shell Station is always a viable if last resort option. It's called slumming it, and everyone from Tiger Woods to Jesse James has done it.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Not in Cleveland
In what many east coasters and west coasters are calling a typographical error, The Atlantic (The Atlantic!*) declared that Cleveland is "having a moment."
This "moment"--a reference to the new "Hot in Cleveland" sitcom--comes at the eleventh hour for me as I've been oscillating between returning to Cleveland or staying put. A few weeks ago, when I asked readers for input on what I should do, only one person said I should return to Cleveland. Her reason was valid enough as she eloquently hit on premature aging due to sun exposure and made an earnest comparison between Lake Erie and the Gulf of Mexico in one grammatically impressive sentence. Still, my decision was all but made.
And then: entrent Betty White and Valerie Bertinelli.
The start of “Hot in Cleveland” is convincing enough. Three middle-aged women are on a flight from LA to Paris when Bertinelli’s character Melanie runs into her ex-husband who is sitting in first class with his new-ouch, beautiful-ouch, younger-oh no he didn’t--fiance. But alas he did, and while Melanie is understandably in the throes of a small meltdown, the pilot comes on over the speaker and says "Everyone, brace yourselves for impact."**
However, rather than imminent death, in a keyboard stroke of mercy the writers of the show decide to lead the ladies to what they obviously consider the second worst fate***, which is heralded by "Everyone, we have made an emergency landing in Cleveland."
Well. Thank. Goodness.
The potential genius of the show is that it offers a look at the city from the perspective of an outsider who is neither A) on ESPN or B) Drew Carey. Also, it was smart for the show to premiere in late June since the NBA playoffs are in fact over--otherwise let's be honest even the hypothetical men in the hypothetical bar wouldn’t notice if Lara Croft walked in.
While it is too soon to call, I can say as someone who has regularly made emergency landings in Cleveland on my way to somewhere (oftentimes anywhere) else, the writers of “Hot in Cleveland” got a few things right.
For example, upon entering a nondescript bar full of women scarfing down party peanuts and Ohio boys who can’t seem to take their eyes of the trio despite the fact that the women are over the age of 20, Wendie Malick’s character Victoria looks around in astonishment and says plainly:
"We've landed in a new dimension where people eat and are not ashamed.”
Yes, it’s true Victoria: you’ve entered a new dimension where eating cheese fries and beer makes for a light supper and really you should order some pie because you are looking a little too frail, where the sexual orientation of good-looking men is not necessarily a question, where men pull out chairs from the table to make room for you-- not their super egos, where a 7,000 square ft. house is nearly free, and where on this side of the rainbow even plumbers own boats.
Very clever.
Thus far.
*Yes, you know it is a cold day in hell (or at least a warm day in Cleveland) when a group of editors who consider anywhere west of the Potamac and east of LA uninhabitable are giving a shout out not only to Cleveland but to a television show about Cleveland.
**Sorry but aside from the blatant absence of blue shirts, this was the biggest oversight on the part of the writers because in the event of engine failure the head-to-knees position is doing nothing for you. Yeah, I’m here to say in the spirit of verisimilitude, "Everyone, you're going to die."
***I question the validity of this plot maneuver, particularly for anyone who 1) likes Girl Scout Cookies (see previous posts), 2) left her swimming pool, dog, and health benefits in Vegas (see previous posts) or 3) all of the above (you know the drill).
This "moment"--a reference to the new "Hot in Cleveland" sitcom--comes at the eleventh hour for me as I've been oscillating between returning to Cleveland or staying put. A few weeks ago, when I asked readers for input on what I should do, only one person said I should return to Cleveland. Her reason was valid enough as she eloquently hit on premature aging due to sun exposure and made an earnest comparison between Lake Erie and the Gulf of Mexico in one grammatically impressive sentence. Still, my decision was all but made.
And then: entrent Betty White and Valerie Bertinelli.
The start of “Hot in Cleveland” is convincing enough. Three middle-aged women are on a flight from LA to Paris when Bertinelli’s character Melanie runs into her ex-husband who is sitting in first class with his new-ouch, beautiful-ouch, younger-oh no he didn’t--fiance. But alas he did, and while Melanie is understandably in the throes of a small meltdown, the pilot comes on over the speaker and says "Everyone, brace yourselves for impact."**
However, rather than imminent death, in a keyboard stroke of mercy the writers of the show decide to lead the ladies to what they obviously consider the second worst fate***, which is heralded by "Everyone, we have made an emergency landing in Cleveland."
Well. Thank. Goodness.
The potential genius of the show is that it offers a look at the city from the perspective of an outsider who is neither A) on ESPN or B) Drew Carey. Also, it was smart for the show to premiere in late June since the NBA playoffs are in fact over--otherwise let's be honest even the hypothetical men in the hypothetical bar wouldn’t notice if Lara Croft walked in.
While it is too soon to call, I can say as someone who has regularly made emergency landings in Cleveland on my way to somewhere (oftentimes anywhere) else, the writers of “Hot in Cleveland” got a few things right.
For example, upon entering a nondescript bar full of women scarfing down party peanuts and Ohio boys who can’t seem to take their eyes of the trio despite the fact that the women are over the age of 20, Wendie Malick’s character Victoria looks around in astonishment and says plainly:
"We've landed in a new dimension where people eat and are not ashamed.”
Yes, it’s true Victoria: you’ve entered a new dimension where eating cheese fries and beer makes for a light supper and really you should order some pie because you are looking a little too frail, where the sexual orientation of good-looking men is not necessarily a question, where men pull out chairs from the table to make room for you-- not their super egos, where a 7,000 square ft. house is nearly free, and where on this side of the rainbow even plumbers own boats.
Very clever.
Thus far.
*Yes, you know it is a cold day in hell (or at least a warm day in Cleveland) when a group of editors who consider anywhere west of the Potamac and east of LA uninhabitable are giving a shout out not only to Cleveland but to a television show about Cleveland.
**Sorry but aside from the blatant absence of blue shirts, this was the biggest oversight on the part of the writers because in the event of engine failure the head-to-knees position is doing nothing for you. Yeah, I’m here to say in the spirit of verisimilitude, "Everyone, you're going to die."
***I question the validity of this plot maneuver, particularly for anyone who 1) likes Girl Scout Cookies (see previous posts), 2) left her swimming pool, dog, and health benefits in Vegas (see previous posts) or 3) all of the above (you know the drill).
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