FireVaney's

Must get Erryk and Izodd gifts. Erryk’s birthday is tomorrow and Izodd’s was several weeks ago. (Oops!) If I can find it, I think I’ll get Erryk one of those little plastic little boys that pees when you pull its plastic pants down. I couldn’t get Ian—I mean, Izodd —the same gift. Why? Well, firstly, that would be weird. One plastic peeing boy is funny; two will earn you a reputation. (And by “you,” I mean “me.”) Secondly, Izodd and Erryk are close friends. Thirdly, Izodd is more mature. Or rather seemingly more mature. Fourthly, Izodd has a wife and a kid (a daughter). Fifthly, Izodd wouldn’t appreciate a plastic peeing boy as much as Erryk would. Must get Ian something more respectable. You know, like maybe a glass ashtray from the ill-fated O’Hareport Hotel and Convention Center. Not that Izodd smokes, no. It’d be a “collector’s item.” He could build a collection of glass ashtrays from defunct hotels from around the world. And once he accumulates a thousand of them, or at least fi

Manager Mick says you give the “guest” what they order, and charge them for what they order, and never try to correct them if they order in error. For instance, if the “guest” orders a latte with extra froth, do not explain that they are really ordering a cappuccino. If the “guest” orders a latte with a shot of chocolate syrup, do not explain that they are really ordering a mocha. Ok, but this is akin to hammering in screws, ordering a McDonald’s cheeseburger with everything that comes on a Big Mac, or concluding that a chocolate milkshake without ice cream is still a milkshake and not simply chocolate milk.  22 February 2001

OXYGEN BARS?!? Yes, according to once source, they started in Los Angeles (naturally), spread to New Mexico, and have recently been spotted in Cincinnati. That’s right, you pay money to inhale a few minutes’ worth of scented air from a tank. The “bartenders” will happily list many of the innumerable (bullshit) health benefits of breathing tanked air. Granted, breathing tanked air might be healthier than breathing LA smog. But how would you know that your tank of choice wasn’t filled with air from the breathing bar’s parking lot?  In other news, Donny and I got into it yesterday. Not about oxygen bars (although I’m sure he’d be happy to plop down twenty bucks to suck it up), but about lattes and mochas. A customer ordered a latte with a shot of cocoa—which, by definition, is a mocha. Donny disagreed. But what, then, in this day and age, does one call the combination of espresso, steamed milk, and chocolate syrup? While, yes, whipped cream is often a standard feature of the American moc

This is not the time for apple pie and pudding. No, this is the time for wilted roses in the dust layered over the seventh floor of a condemned midrise apartment building. The apple pie and the pudding will have to wait. But that’s the good thing about well-prepared food: it has patience. You might say the same of the well-prepared person. Who eats apple pie and pudding during the same meal? Such a gourmand must have one heck of a sweet tooth. And the sun rises on the blue statue of your great uncle Samuel. He was an adventurous man. Well, for his time, he was considered adventurous. Today, however, folks would dismiss him as something of a shut-in. When your great uncle Samuel ate, he only ate apple pie and pudding. (Didn’t see that comin’, did ya?) I gained a pound over split pea soup, several dinner rolls, and half of an egg salad sandwich on rye. It had to be all that bread. Nary a forkful of apple pie, nor a spoonful of pudding. I wouldn’t touch pie – the lard involved and all tha