*

Are You Pondering What I’m Pondering?

Why Older People Should Not Have a Facebook December 23, 2008

Filed under: Life, Rants, Rants & Raves — glamourcliche @ 8:06 pm

So I just got an email from my mom, telling me that a relative sent her an email to join  facebook.   Thanks.   I’ve been telling her to stay the hell away from facebook and myspace for 10 years and you’ve just destroyed all the years of warnings (old people will develop carpel tunnel, become obsessed with the internet, contract AIDS and die) with a solitary email.

Now, not to be racist, but whether you’re cool with your family being on facebook or not has a lot to do with where your family is from.   For instance, one side of my family is Norwegian.   They say a lot of things like ‘yah das good,’  and enjoy cooking delicious meatballs.   They don’t call very often and are spread out as far as Norway.   In the random case of a family get-together, since they have a limited time with one another, they focus on the good things their kids are up to.   They are the kind of people that would be harmless on facebook.

Now, my other side of the family is Sicilian and Irish.   There’s nothing a Sicilian family enjoys more this time of year than a) nagging their offspring  b) baking delicious holiday treats and c) gossiping about other family members.    The plus side of visiting this side of the family during the holidays is that there’s always a plethora of alcohol readily available.   Plus they usually have cute babies to hold and play peek-a-boo with.   Don’t get me wrong, they’re an awesome bunch and I love them to bits.   And when you need 300 people doing the electric slide in perfect unison at your wedding, you know who to call to get the hook up if ya know what I’m sayin’.

But back to my point:   Facebook for parents is bad.   Facebook for mothers is bad.  Facebook for Italian mothers is worse.

So you’re on facebook, it’s 2am on a Saturday night.   You’re slightly intoxicated (and by slightly I mean very), you just got home and you decide to check your myspace and FB.   You write something clever in the status update box with five exclamation points, 2 misspelled words and no syntax.   Slowly, a little white box pops up on the bottom right hand corner of your screen.

Your Mom: Hello
You: Hi ma   (uh oh)
Your Mom: What are you doing up so late?
You: Uhhhhhhhh   I couldnnny get to sleep?
You: What r U doing up so laate?
Your Mom: Oh I got up early to watch my crocus start blooming and to take YOUR dog out for a walk.   What happened to your spelling?
You:
Your Mom: Are you drunk?    I bet you just got home didn’t you?
You: Ma…  no.   I’m not drunk. (at this point you’ve whipped out your spellcheck and are typing as quickly as possible in MS word using copy and paste in a desperate effort to appear sober.   Yeah.  It took you 3 minutes to write that.)
Your Mom: I think you are.   Why are you staying up so late?
Your Mom: Up till 2 am on a saturday night!   Unbelievable!
You: Actually, 2 isn’t bad.   The bars close at 4.  (fuuuuuuuuuccccccckkkkkk!   Why did I say that?!   She’s going to ask me how I know that!!!)
Your Mom: And how do you know that?
You: …  some1 told me?
Your Mom: You know your cousin Jessica in Florida would NEVER stay out til 4 am!    She walked to med school every day – she had to swim from Sanibel island to the mainland.   Once she got attacked by a shark, but she endured.   Because she’s a hard worker!   She worked at Taco Bell  60 hours a week to pay her college loans and now she’s an orthopedic surgeon in Miami.
You: But ma, she’s boring.
Your Mom: You should see the Italian marble countertops in her new mansion.   To die for.  Right on the water.   And don’t get me started on the bathrooms in that house – jacuzzi tubs, stained glass windows…  You’re spoiled.
You: Um… what?   I think you’re right.   It is getting late.
Your Mom: I put you through school for 16 years and what do you do?   You stay up til 4 am on a Saturday night and get drunk.    Your cousin Jeff isn’t drunk right now.  His facebook message says he’s fighting in Iraq.    Why can’t you do anything worthwhile with your free time?
You: I’m getting really tired now.
Your Mom: Your facebook page says that you were “partying dt”  yesterday at 9:23pm too!   What does “dt” mean?   And why where you out partying two nights in a row?   Out Friday AND Saturday – you’re going to become an alcoholic if you keep this up!   When are you going to do something with your life?
Your Mom: And two of your cousins just had babies.   When are you going to settle down?    Plenty of men are interested in you but you just dismiss them.   You need to lower your standards and stop being so picky.
You: My standards include:  must have:  brain, place to live, method of transport (other than bike), toothbrush and pulse.  I refuse 2 lower those standards.   It’s been nice chatting…
Your Mom: Don’t you close that IM box now!    I am not done talking to you.    I fell for that “lost my internet connection thing”  3 times now but I was talking to Aunt Bonnie and she says that’s what your cousin Brian does when he doesn’t want to talk to her anymore.
You: …  (by now you’ve given up and are playing solitare on another screen)
Your Mom: And when are you going to get a real job?   (translation = when are you going to get in some glamorous or highly paid line of work that will make my friends jealous that you’re not their kid?)    So, back to men.   Have you met anyone?
You: ….  (check back on the myspace page, read the above and consider gouging out your eye with a fork)
Your Mom: You know, online dating is very popular nowadays.
You: … (searching your apartment for a fork)
Your Mom: Well, fluffy’s barking so I better take her for a walk.    When are you coming to visit your poor old mother?
You: Um, in 2 weeks?
Your Mom: Good.   I need you to clear out the garage and your room.    We already have 3 guest bedrooms but we’re turning yours into one as well.   You won’t need it seeing as you’re out gallavanting til 5 in the morning anyway.
You: Great.
Your Mom: I love you!   Now go to bed!   It’s late!   Call me when you’re in bed so I know you got there okay.
You: ok.

The end
or
Why Older Family Members Should Not Have a Facebook.

 

Teachers Don’t Tip/ The Limeaide Story June 28, 2008

Filed under: Rants — glamourcliche @ 1:18 am

I used to be a teacher. I have gone out to eat with other teachers and can officially say “most teachers are horrible tippers.” Unless they’ve worked in the restaurant industry, they are the absolute worst. They treat you like a student and have you fetch five hundred things and when they get excellent service, they leave a shoddy tip. I’ve gotten the impression from the majority of them that I’ve waited on that they look down upon me and think I’m a high school dropout with no career goals. Their way of “kicking me in the ass” to get career oriented is to leave a shoddy tip, to prove that the restaurant industry is not profitable.

I respect the teaching profession. It’s one of the hardest jobs out there. But just because you get a discount at Barnes and Nobles, Staples and on your car insurance because you’re a teacher doesn’t mean you get a discount at a restaurant. And chances are, looking at my academic track record and looking at yours, I probably outclass you in that department as well. I went to an Ivy League Prep school in NY (that was harder than my college) and went to a college that was recently named by Newsweek as one of “the New Ivies.” If/when I go to grad school, I’m looking at schools like Dartmouth, Middlebury and Yale.

Point is, you don’t know who’s waiting on you. Your waitress at Fridays might be enrolled in Harvard Law, so cut the shit. The restaurant industry, for the most part, is profitable. Some of my coworkers that I worked with two years ago are the most intelligent people I’ve ever met and everyone I worked with then had a college degree or was currently enrolled in college. In fact, I’d wager that 70% of waiters, waitresses and bartenders have a college degree or are taking classes. We’re not dumb people. And guess what? Unless you’ve got tenure, a masters and have been teaching at the same school for the past 20 years, we’re probably making more money that you and working half as hard. And I don’t mean to say we don’t bust our ass, but chances are that your students, principal and coworkers consume 90% of your time and thought. Whereas, when I walk out of the restaurant, I am done. I don’t have to grade papers, I don’t have to call parents and I don’t have to organize medieval banquets. I made a choice to take some time off and work in the industry and you made yours to become a teacher. I don’t walk into your classroom, enjoy your lesson and cut your budget in half, so don’t walk into restaurants, enjoy good service and leave half the tip you should have left. If you’re intelligent enough to be a teacher, you should be intelligent enough to do the math and know what an appropriate tip is. For fucks sake, CANADIANS and THE FRENCH tip better than you!

The Limeaide Story:
Today I had two teachers (a coworker used to go to their high school) order alcoholic fresh squeezed limeades. “I’d like a limeaide,” they said. “Alcoholic, or regular?” I asked. “Alcoholic.”

I’m at the bar, their drinks finished and sitting on the tray, making a black and blue for the guy at their table and in walks the teacher who ordered the drinks, straight up to the bar. She sees them sitting there, already made and says “we wanted raspberry ones. In your menu it says limeaide, made with citrus or raspberry rum.” Now, I can’t justify throwing away two perfectly good $6 limeaides. That’s money the restaurant loses and besides, they ordered LIMEaides, they should be LIME flavored. I did everything I was supposed to. “Well,” I said, “you said you wanted LIMEaide, so I used citrus rum. If you had asked for raspberry limeaides, I would have made raspberry ones. If you’d like, I would be happy to make your next round with raspberry rum.”

They drank every drop of the lime ones and the next person who joined them got a raspberry one. Half an hour later they still had sourpusses on their faces and were bitching amongst themselves that they were right and I was wrong. The two female teachers sitting across from them and the male teacher they were sitting with looked embarrassed to be sitting with them. Seriously! That’s like walking into the administrative office, saying “I want to talk to a middle school teacher!” “Well, here’s the homeroom teacher. Talk to her.” “What? Obviously I wanted to talk to the Math teacher! Your course catalog here says that students have Math, Science, English and History! How stupid of you to assume I’d want to speak to my child’s homeroom teacher!”

Here’s a “tip” for ya: you get what you order. If you order a LIMEAIDE, it’s going to be LIME flavored, dumbass. If you order a chicken quesadilla, it’s going to have CHICKEN in it. Likewise, your veggie burger will not be made from beef. It’s not rocket science. They probably would have left me a shoddy tip to boot, but luckily they had a big table, so I added the gratuity to be on the safe side.

xoxo
GC

 

My Name’s Not “Hey.” April 29, 2008

Filed under: Rants — glamourcliche @ 9:05 am


As some of you know, I’m a waitress and bartender at a trendy local cafe.   My job rocks and I meet awesome people all the time, but sometimes I just need to bitch and vent on the crappy customers.  The ones who come through the door with a frown, whom you cannot please (no matter what you do) because not only did they wake up on the wrong side of the bed, but someone pissed in their cheerios this particular morning.  So, bear with me here.  Feel free to comment or add anything you think deserves to be in here as well.

Service Industry Rant in
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Pet Peeves
People who order 5 beverages for themselves



I can’t stand people who walk into a busy restaurant, ask for coffee, beer and a water just for themselves (not to mention the other people at their table, I’m talking 1 person drinking all 3 of these). When’s the last time you went home and made yourself 3 drinks and drank them all at once?  Hm, while I’m at my fridge getting some milk, I think I’ll pop open a diet coke and make myself a cup of coffee….  ::no::  I mean, first of all – you’ve only got TWO HANDS.  At the very best you can only lift two of these to your mouth at one given time, unless you have feet worthy of an acrobat.   Why do you need so many liquids?   Are you going to clandestinely pour that coffee into a giant to-go mug once we leave your table and leave the restaurant with a whole pot of coffee that you’ve stored up, camel-style during your stay?   Are you hiking across the Sahara?  Are you perhaps afraid we’ll run out of things to drink?  Like “guys we better get 10 waters and five iced teas for the 3 people at our table, cuz there’s a 5 top that just came in and they might run out. Those people next to us look like they might drink a LOT of water.  Gotta be proactive and prepared in case there’s a drought.”

Then there’s the decorative water.   Like the people who ask for 3 waters and some other drinks as well and then proceed to watch the glass of water sitting in front of them but never actually touch the glass.  Thanks.  I needed something else to balance out my tray.  Better yet, I needed five of them.  I know what you’re thinking – no flowers on the table, let’s order a water.  It’s pretty and if we run out of things to talk about and get bored, we can gather around it like a television and watch the ice melt.  It’s both an intellectually stimulating and thrilling conversation piece.  Better yet, we can place bets on how pissed off our waitress will be when she clears the table to find 16 glasses of water with the straw tops still on because we couldn’t be bothered to take one sip of the water we made her carry over to our table.  $5 dollars is a ‘oh no they didn’t’ head shake, $10 dollars if she mutters “motherfuckers,” under her breath and $20 dollars if she gets so pissed off she makes the bus boy clear them.  Fun times.  Unless you’re planning on putting an orchid in there or (I know it’s a crazy idea, but….) actually drinking it, don’t order it.  [On a total side note, the above looks like a really fantastically delicious Japanese cocktail.  Lychees in the bottom and a nice flower garnish.   Yum.....  But, I digress.]

Picky Bastards
Then there are the people who are so picky you wonder why they don’t look like a starving child in Africa.   Christ sakes, they could *be* starving in Africa, have a Peace Corps volunteer offer them a burger and fries and then refuse to eat it it unless it was cooked in partially unhydrogenated thai soybean oil.  Like “I want a salad with no cucumbers, no tomatoes, five onions, make sure you count them with russian, balsamic vinagrette, oil and vinegar and the lettuce on the side.  Oh, and that girl next to me just wants a plate of pickles too.  She’s on a pickles only diet.”   When’s the last time you walked into a restaurant, popped open a menu and saw “side of pickles – $2.95?”  Those people are also usually the ones who then cop a ‘tude when it takes a minute. We get it, you’re a picky bitch and want everything just “so.”   So, don’t be surprised if you have to wait 5 minutes longer than another table and don’t be pissed when the server forgets your oil and vinegar, but remembers your other 2 dressings or the kitchen forgets to take the cucumbers off your salad because they’re *insanely busy.*  If you’re going to be so high maintenance that you can’t pick the 4 huge freaking cucumbers off of your salad, then go home and make your own goddamn salad.  There’s a reason the menu is the way it is.  Unless you have an allergy (we get that – it’s cool and we’ll run to the kitchen and freak out to the cooks to make sure nothing touches a peanut because the last thing we want is to call an ambulance), man up and order the meal as it’s meant to be.  When you own the restaurant or are a frequent customer who tips well, then you can create  your own dishes.   Or, if it’s slow in the restaurant (read: you’re one of the only 3 tables there) you’re polite about it, and willing to wait an extra 5 minutes (while we run around to find an owner/manager who can tell us how to go about putting in an order of pickles and how much to charge for it), we’re most likely happy to cater to special requests.

Most of all, I hate people who completely ignore the menu and create their own dish, regardless of what the restaurant serves. Especially if the restaurant is ridiculously busy.   You can spot them right off the bat.  When you hand them a menu, they hand it right back.  “A menu?  WHY would I need that?  I’m in a restaurant!  You serve food!  I want pancakes!  Yo quiero pancakes!”  Yes.  You’re very funny and clever.  You appear to have a command of two languages.  Gold star for you.   When told “we try not to deviate from the menu and we don’t serve breakfast,” they’ll still try to order pancakes at a restaurant that only does sandwiches and will argue with you that you have all the ingredients in the kitchen to make them.   “Well, since you have bread, you have flour and you must have salt and eggs.  Tell your cook to come out here and I’ll teach him how to make pancakes.”   Thanks, but I’d rather stand in front of an Afganistan firing squad with an outfit made out of the American flag than tell any of our cooks that they “must come out of the kitchen because a customer needs to teach them how to cook.”   ”No” is not typically in this type of customer’s vocabulary and they pitch a fit worthy of a 5 year old when they hear it.   “I can go in the kitchen and make them!  I want pancakes, I’ll show you how!”  And I’ll show you my foot before I put it up your ass.  Better yet, I’ll show you the door.  No pancakes for you!  And no soup either, just because you’re being a jackass!   And too bad for you, we just had a massive drought and the five top at table eleven just drank all the water.

People Who Use the Menu to Play Trivial Pursuit with their Waiter
If it’s crazy busy in the restaurant and you ask us 500 questions about the menu, we will want to strangle you.  It’s called reading.  You learned how in first grade.  Read the goddamn menu before asking us questions like (example of a question a customer asked me a month ago:)  “are all of these sandwiches listed here different?”   No.  We listed the same fucking sandwich with the same fucking ingredients 10 times and used 10 different titles.  We like confusing people like that.  It gives us waiters a chuckle now and again.   Then there are the obvious questions: “So, that burger, tell me about it.”  Well.  It’s made from a cow sir.  The animal that goes “moo.”  It’s a patty, circular in shape.  You consume it, typically with ketchup and or mustard.
There are questions that are okay to ask your server.  “What do you recommend?” is one of my favorites.  That implys that you realize I’m fairly competent and probably have eaten most of the food served at said establishment.  I will be happy to point you in the right direction and tell you about certain dishes.  “Which is better, this or this?”  Is also a good question.  “My son’s allergic to wheat, we were thinking this dish, this dish, or this dish.  Might any of those be a problem for him?”  = good question.  As a waitress, I like giving advice to nice people.  However, I am not there to hold your hand.  Choosing something from the menu is not like a choose your own adventure book.  If you choose the wrong meal, you will not fall down a chute and be impaled by giant spears.   After you ask a question or two and we give you advice, you should not take forever and a day to decide what you want.   If I have to visit your table more than 3 times, only for you to ask for “just another minute to decide,” you will wind up waiting a long time for your food.  I have other customers who are capable of deciding what they want within an hour of getting their menu and they need food too.  So, don’t be mad when you look at your watch and realize you’ve been sitting at your table for an hour without getting your food.  I visited you three times and tried to get your order in before that 20-top, but you kept me from doing my job by being indecisive.  Also, if you see your waiter running around like the roof might collapse if they stay in one place for more than 10 seconds, now might not be the time to use the menu to take an anecdotal trip down memory lane.   We really don’t care how our chicken sandwich reminds you of the time you went to Aunt Sue’s farm back in 1892 and plucked a live chicken, or how the portabello salad reminds you of how your husband Chuck got food poisoning on your honeymoon in Iowa and how while in Iowa you fell in love with potatoes o gratin and oh, could you just whip some of those up for us?  I’ll tell you how to make them!

Annoying Children and the Parents Who Let Their Animals Run Unleashed
And another thing. If you’re going to bring wild or messy kids into a restaurant, you better tip well. It’s a bitch to move and carry high chairs and I really don’t enjoy picking cheerios off of the floor and moping up spills if you so choose to remove the lids on the kids cups for your bratty children. If you make such a mess that we have to pressurewash the table after you, you better tip more than 20%. Now, don’t get me wrong. I love kids. I used to be a teacher. Well behaved children are fantastic in a restaurant. We love them. I put like 5 cherries in those kids’ shirley temples and sometimes they get extra animal crackers.  We hook it up.  Those kids get big smiles.   We’ll go to the ends of the earth to get crayons for nice kiddos and we’ll take time to talk to them about how cool Hannah Montana is and how neat their Spongebob toy is.  But parents who allow their children to smear chocolate sauce with their fingers all over the table and watch it go down without a single reprimand, deserve to be shot. It’s not the kid’s fault, it’s the parents’. It’s called discipline. How would you like if I came to your house and fingerpainted all over your coffee table with Hershey’s syrup?   Maybe I’ll spell out something clever.  I’m sure you’ll be pleased.  EXACTLY.  It’s not *cute,* it doesn’t make the waitress giggle a tee-he and say ‘oh those kids these days, bless their lil hearts!’  I can tell you, from experience that one thing is going through your waitress’ mind when she comes over to your table after you and your devil spawn have left the building.  After she tries to decypher the chocolate sauce, mustard and ketchup condiment heiroglyphics left behind, she thinks one thing.  Here’s what it looks like.  She stares at the table and surveys the mess that has radiated 2 feet in each direction from your table like a volcano at a 3rd grade science fair.  She puts one hand on her hip and she reaches for the check with the other.  And one thought goes through her mind: “those bastards have better have left me a damn good tip.”

Keep Dennis the Menace on a leash if you have to.  Watch your demon spawn and keep them well behaved when they’re out in public.  The restaurant is not a theme park or a play pen.  Freeze tag and capture all the silverware from all the tables in the restaurant are not suitable activities.  The tables and chairs are not junglegym fixtures and if you watch your brats throw their silverware on the floor and do that to all of the 7 rolls of silverware on your table and sit idly by, be prepared to wait to get replacements (fyi: in those cases, your waitress is secretly hoping that the restaurant runs out of clean silverware and you will be forced to eat with your hands or use the dirty silverware your brats threw on the floor).  And just so you know, not all waitresses will let this kind of bad behavior (letting your children behave like skunks in a trash can) go unpunished.  One day, you’ll walk into a restaurant and after you get perfect service, make a mess, let your children run wild and leave a shitty tip, your waitress is going to stop you before you go out the door.  And they’re going to ask you if anything was wrong with the service or the food and make you feel like the asshat you are.  So, when you go out with the little monsters who trash the place, plan on leaving at least 30%.   Or, better yet, use your brain.  Pack a little bag that has a picture book, a coloring book and some crayons.  To the parents of the well behaved, polite children, thank you.  Come often.  We like you.  There’s nothing cuter than when a parent tells their child ’say thank you to the waitress.’  Way to practice good manners and set a good example for your kids.

Coming soon: Stay in your seat
&
Don’t Ask 5 Other Waiters to Get You Your Side of Mayo

Disclaimer
I’m not a bitter waitress.  I love my job, I really do.  I work with fantastic people.  We all have our ups and downs and no one’s perfect, least of all me, but it’s really not all that bad.    I do more than my fair share of bitching and complaining, but the truth is, I kinda like it.   I get to meet cool people every day and each day is different from the next.  Not to mention it keeps me in shape.  Who needs a treadmill when you work in a restaurant?
For the most part, I like people who are polite and decent human beings (about 70% of our customers).  People who smile, say thank you when you get them something and who don’t fingerpaint on their table or set things on fire with the candle.  To all of you out there:  thank you, love you,  come often.   It would be awesome if there was a “nice customer discount.”  Like if the customer were super nice, we could just press a button and you’d get like a senior citizen like discount.  That would just be cool, and if our bosses invented it, that would make everyone happy.  On the flip side, there’s also a restaurant in Killington, VT (Outback Pizza) that has/used to have an asshole button.  If you are an asshole, the bartender or waitress presses the asshole button when they cash you out and you get charged a misc. non-gratuity 10% that shows up as misc. food or liquor tax on your bill.  I think every restaurant should have those 2 buttons: asshole and nice customer.  If every restaurant had those buttons, I think good karma would abound.

Here are the lyrics from one of my favorite local musicians, Chad Hollister.
The song is called

Waitress:
My name’s not hey
Or honey, sweetie come over here
I’ve got me a first name
And I’m gonna tell it to ya clear

Don’t snap your boney fingers
Cause I think that is really quite rude
It makes me take extra time with your waters and I
I wanna spit in your food

But I would never do that
But sometimes I wish that I could
Ya see the chicken dish that ya ordered
Well it sucks, but ya bought it
And that makes me feel really good

This isn’t how I wanna spend my life
Dealin with you and your pain in the ass wife
I actually have my college degree
And I’m offering you some free therapy
On what it is, what it is to be nice
A courtesy I’ve learned in my short sweet life
Here is your bill, thank you so much for the tip
That’s 50 percent to put up with your shit.
To put up with your… shit.

You want a coke with no ice?
A water and a beer and a glass of wine too?
Shall I get you some more liquids?
Maybe some slippery nipples or a pitcher of woo-woos?

A side salad sounds nice!
With no tomatos
Or cucumbers
And could you put the lettuce on the side?
Shall I get ya every dressing?
It would be such a blessing
To have you out of my life!

This isn’t how I wanna spend my life
Dealin with you and your pain in the ass wife
I actually have my college degree
And I’m offering you some free therapy
On what it is, what it is to be nice
A courtesy I’ve learned in my short sweet life
Here is your bill, thank you so much for the tip
That’s 75 percent to put up with your shit.
To put up with your… shit.

I just had to get this off of my chest
I truly love life to its fullest
Ya see I dig people who are just like me
Cause they smile and they laugh and they even
Say Please
Now I feel much better, thanks for the ear
If this song sounds like you please try to change gears
Take care of all the people who take care of you
cause ain’t that what it’s all about, Charlie Brown?

Charlie Brown
Charlie Brown
And Lucy and Linus too
Don’t forget about Pigpen

This isn’t how I wanna spend my life
Dealin with you and your pain in the ass wife
I actually have my PHD
And I’m offering you some physical therapy
On what it is, what it is to be nice
A courtesy I’ve learned in my short sweet life
Here is your bill, thank you so much for the tip
That’s 190 percent to put up with your shit.
To put up with your shit.

OK, rant over.

 

More News From Our Sucky Economy April 20, 2008

Filed under: Rants — glamourcliche @ 4:48 am

Today I have two pieces of advice for you that will hopefully make the next 5
years of your life suck just a slight bit less than usual.

1.  Buy honey.  Go out to BJs and buy about $40 in jars/plastic jugs of honey.

2.  Buy stock in beer companies that have extended contracts with hops dealers, like BUD.

 

Why?

Apparently, there is somewhat of a honeybee epidemic going on.  Honeybees
have been infected and are producing about 1/2 as much honey as they would
normally.  In addition, there are half as many of them as there were 50 years
ago.  Scientists say that they get to the flower, do their thing and instead of flying
back to the hive, get disoriented and just keep flying.  Sounds like my grandma
after a trip to Grand Union.  Anyway, the end result is the honeybees wind up in
places other than the hive and thus don’t make honey.   Since honey is used as
an ingredient in so many products (from food to luxury bath items), cutting the
regular supply in half is going to be huge.   Expect the price of honey to
skyrocket and just about quadruple in the next few years.   However, the great
thing about honey is that it is the *only* food on the planet that never goes bad. 
You could find a jar of honey covered in dust an inch thick from 1946 and it
would be just fine and safe to consume.  Cool, right?  So, save yourself the
money now and buy more than you need so you’re not shelling out insane dough
at the grocery store in 2010.  Who wants to spend $20 on something you could
have bought for $5?  More info on the bee story here:
http://www.associatedcontent.com/article/243481/bee_shortage_why_are_the_bees_dying.html

Why buy stock in beer?

Hops production is wayyyy down and therefore the price of hops is on the rise. 
Huge corporations like BUD have contracts with the guys who harvest hops, so
they’re set, but all of the cool mom and pop microbrews are *screwed* unless
they’ve got contracts with the hops distributers that were made before the
shortage.  Expect imports to go up and local breweries to shut down or become
super expensive.  And don’t bitch at your bartender, cause it’s not their fault!!! 
Expect this to hit and start affecting you in the next 2 to 3 months.  Go out and
enjoy your $4 corona now, because that same corona is probably going to cost
you $6 or $7 this summer.  More info here:

 http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=16245024

 

So, do yourself a favor and buy a few shares in BUD (that’s the stock symbol
for Anhauser Busch).  It’s at 48.36 a share now.  Not bad.  And from what I’ve
seen in the past year, it’s stayed pretty steady and retained its value.  Because,
come this summer, BUD products will be making money.  They’re all set with
their hops and are guaranteed them at a lower price.  They’ll be one of the only
companies that can afford to sell their beer at the price is is currently this
summer.  However, since the other corporations will be forced to raise their
prices, BUD will probably do the same.  The difference is that they will be
making a more than substantial profit from it, while the other companies will be
barely making ends meet, and BUD will still come out as the “cheaper” beer. 
Mix that in with the state of our economy and… well, you get the picture. 
People who are struggling to pay their rent and car payments are going to forget
the heinekin they usually get (cuz now it’s $7) and they’re going to buy the Bud
Light for $5, thinking it’s a bargain.

<3 GC

 

Musings… April 14, 2008

Filed under: Rants, Shopping — glamourcliche @ 4:29 am

So, it’s official.  In case you’ve been living under a rock for the past year and a
half, our economy has taken a serious dive.  Like the Titanic, it’s just about hit
rock bottom and I’m beginning to wonder if our government can resurrect it.  So
far, one major bank has reached financial fuck-ville and the feds have rushed in
to save it.  Google, which was at $644.71 a share on October 19th is now at
$458.19 a share.  It appears Apple is digging itself out of its grave and
Microsoft is currently at a whopping $28.56 per share.  The only stocks that are doing well
are high end luxury stocks like Gucci and True Religion (yes, girls, it’s a publicly
traded company now!)  However, even Ralph Lauren and Tiffany are
sliding downhill.  My advice?  BuyNetflix.  It’s steadily increasing and not too
expensive at $37.86 per share.  Not to mention its awesome internet and tv ad
campaign.

Piece of advice 2:  Prepare yourself for the worst.  Seriously. 

Start by fixing things when they break.
I’m so sick of how society just throws things away.  In the 1920s, when your
car broke down, you got it fixed.  When your blender broke, you called GE and
when your favorite shoes needed new soles, you took them to a cobbler.  In
2008, when your car breaks down, you lease a new one, and you throw out
your blender, your shoes and that table lamp that still works and looks fine
because you decided to redecorate with Pier1.   I think this is CRAP.  Start
fixing things!  If you don’t want your lamp anymore, give it to a friend, put it up
on craigslist, donate it to a homeless shelter!  And don’t get me started on fixing
shoes.  Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a cobbler within a 5 mile
radius?  There used to be one in every town in America!  Every.  Town.   I’m
convinced the only reason they still even exist are Manolo Blahnik and Christian
Louboutin.  What’s a girl to do these days when her favorite pair of heels need
some tlc?

             Frankly, I’m quite appalled at how “temporary” our society is becoming. 
Don’t get me wrong, I love Forever 21, but I have a problem with the fact that
most of their clothing is only good for one use and self-shreds in the washing
machine.  In the 1930s, when you bought a shirt, or a pair of pants, you took
them to the tailor, got them fitted exactly right and wore them for a number of
years.  They were made to last.  They took the beating from your washer and
dryer and were made of sturdy material.  The buttons were sewed on
adequately and hems didn’t fall apart right and left.  It was the era of hard work
and planning.  You went to work all week and passed that one store that had
whatever you deperately wanted in the window.   You pictured how you’d look
it in, how all eyes would be on you and how fabulously amazing you’d look.  
Funny how a simple shirt or pair of jeans can make you a rockstar for a day,
isn’t it?  You saved up for 3 weeks, went in, bought that item and cherished it.  
 And it didn’t fall apart.  Partly because it took time to save up for;
therefore you felt compelled to take care of it.  Today, you see something in the
mall, think ’eh, it’s kinda cute!  I’ll put it on my card and worry about it later.’ 
And then, when “later” rolls around, you’re left with a sweater you wore once
that has 2 missing buttons and is unravelling at the armpit and $16.95 worth of
damage on your Visa.   
              I’ve decided that its time to stop.  Instead of spending my pocket
change on temporary crap from chain stores, I am going to save.  I’m going to
be pickier.  I’m going to stop settling for stuff that looks “okay,” and hold out for
“bombshell.”  I’m going to walk by that cute Jackie O jacket in Forever 21 and
that adorable dress at H & M because 2 or 3 months later, I will be walking by
in a fabulous new pair of to-die-for Manolos.   And, when my new Manolo
Blahniks or Christian Louboutins break, I’m going to a cobbler.

<3 GC