Another big ole’, hopefully humorous, review that’s a cross post from my blog.

OK, so I’m a sucker for a deal. Such a sucker that I would break my self-imposed ‘no fast food restaurant’ ban in order to take advantage of the Friday Free Latte deal at McDonalds: From 11am-9pm on Friday you can stroll into the chain and receive a free small latte. Granted, there is zero advertising in the actual store, so you have to casually inquire, “Are you participating in the free latte promotion?” I guarantee you will get a blank look, because it will most likely be the employee’s second day and he hasn’t been informed about the give-away. However, after frantically checking with a pissed-off looking manager the free latte promo will be confirmed and the drink will be presented.

I learned about this promotion on the TV–probably the first time I was aware (consciously) of an advertisement influencing me to go out and but their product. If you watch standard television you’ve probably seen the ad campaign for McDonalds’ new line of espresso drinks. The latest one features two stuffy looking twenty-somethings sitting in overstuffed couches at a cafe, the perky sound of jazz in the background. One of them announces that Mcdonalds is serving espresso drinks and after a moments hesitation the two are thrilled, THRILLED. Suddenly, they realize they can cast off their dower appearances and really cut loose from the confines of the cafe scene. “I can start wearing heels again!” One of them cries.

I’m sorry, WHAT? I know the ad is trying to imply that folks who patronize, say, a Tully’s are nothing but dumpy, turtle-neck wearing, practical-shoe buying, snobs but when was the last time you saw a McDonalds patron wearing heels? Have you been in a McDonalds lately? Because Seattle breeds the exact type of clientèle the ad campaign is making fun of, the standard fast food patron in this city tends to, oh, lack teeth. Call it classist, but that’s just the way things are around here. Now that I think about it, I really should have put on a pair of heels and strolled in for my free latte–unfettered and unrestrained. As it was, I admittedly was wearing old birkenstocks. (Damn, maybe the stereotype is right).

While working for The Bucks I used to comment that it was a “McDonalds for rich people.” Coffee is cranked out, branding is shoved down throats, and superiority is felt by all. However, customer service is very important for the elite coffee chain and this is why the person ringing up your espresso tends to be a shade more cheerful then your average McDonalds teller. So, while you might have to pretend that you actually like jazz (as the McDonald commercial jokingly suggests) the benefit is that you get someone who is relatively polite taking your money. At McDonalds the poor fellow who procured my drink was enduring his second day midst the chaos of a busy lunch rush. He fumbled with the push buttons on the screen, couldn’t find the ‘iced’ button, forgot to ask what type of latte I wanted or what kind of milk. He looked about 16 and was obviously miserable as the snapping manager practically punched out the buttons on his register.

The verdict? Well, the complimentary McDonalds iced latte (which normally retails for $1.99) was terrible…completely and utterly horrible. The idea of McDonalds selling espresso at half the price is alluring–and a brilliant marketing idea. However, the quality just doesn’t match up. You know that stereotype? The snooty girls in the commercial who toss off their glasses with relief at no longer having to put on airs in the cafe? Well, those girls don’t exist. Like myself, those girls would take one sip of a McDonald’s latte and grimace. I AM one of those girls and I have to tell you: I almost bought into it. Not because I find espresso chains exhaustingly snobby but because I love espresso and wanted a bargain.

My McDonalds unfettered espresso experience was similar to buying a latte in Kansas City: the shit sucked. Pallid, melted, and tasteless, the drink paled in comparison to what you’d receive in even the dankest of cafes. Somewhere in Italy (home of the original espresso) a barista is crying. Call me a snob: I went home, brewed up two espresso shots in my fancy pants machine and tossed it into the watery semblance they called an iced espresso drink. Free is a very good price and I’m glad I didn’t pay a dime for that craptacular latte.

I love looking at new inventions or improvements to crap we already have.  So here are my two favorites of this week.

The first one is semi-serious in terms of something I would LOVE to have in my basement room that is billed as a bedroom but has no space for an actual bed if you expect humans to be able to walk around it.  So check this cool shit out.  Damn.  If I were made of money…well I guess I wouldn’t have such a fracking joke of a third bedroom.

Next.  Totally cool for a lazy person like me.  I don’t love talking to people on the phone especially if I don’t know them, but add to that the room for error when ordering a food and I just found my wet dream.  Trouble is, I don’t like pizza or Domino’s (fucking commies).  But if you do like those two things or have no problem supporting the Christian Right, then know you can now order pizza online and you can get really detailed about it.  Check out this review from one of my favorite sites, The Sneeze.  Funny shit.

So many of you may recall a certain place of employment during my college years. The kind of video store where the patrons are mostly male and very polite out of fear they may lose their renting privileges. While most of the customers tried to limit eye contact and some just smiled and said the usual “thank you,” there was one gentleman, we’ll call him Harvey because he looked like a Harvey, who always wanted to get something out of me.

I suppose I didn’t smile much, not wanting to encourage any misconception that I was interested in acting out scenes from their favorite videos with them (or in some cases, for them). So every time Harvey would come to the counter he would write me little notes on a post-it pad or say a joke about me frowning and I would give him a patronizing smile as if to say, “you poor poor man, you just aren’t funny or cute or clever or winning me over in any way” and he would sigh and take his movie and leave. Until one day. The fateful day.

A lot of you may also remember bringing me food to this place of work many many many times. Boypan? Well, maybe your boyfriend brought me food more than you did. The Goat definitely was generous in this regard. And Kables served on a few “bring Toftie dinner missions.” One night Harvey was checking out his movie, writing a post-it to me, and Boypan’s boyfriend walked in with my dinner. My face lit up. I mean literally you could see the most dramatic change in my facial expression and emotion if you watched me go from no food to Yeah Food! Harvey had an equally obvious facial expression that said something like, “Oh my fucking god, I figured it out! I’m golden!”

From there on out Harvey stopped with the notes, the clever remarks, the flattery, and he simply brought me treats. A candy bar, a bag of chips, a soda, whatever was probably easy to get at the gas station next door. While I thought this was sort of an unfortunate learning on his part since I didn’t really want to smile for him, I also had a soft spot in my heart for how he suddenly seemed less sleazy. He simply gave me the treat, said “thanks!” for the video and smiled his way out the door, without the teasing or flirting. Totally harmless for the next two years.

Why the hell am I telling you all this? Because if you lasted this long through this post, I have a treat for you. A special, mmmm….wonderful, beau in my life noticed what a lot of you have already figured out: I dance a little when I’m really excited about the food I’m eating. And sometimes, yes sometimes I even hum a little song. No specific song. Just humming and bouncing in my seat. So when he stumbled upon this clip from a kid’s show he shared it with me and asked, “Is this what’s going on when you eat?”

And oh my god, spot on. Yes. Yes! Yes it is! Completely. I am a big green striped monster and there is always a party in my tummy.

And then there is the group party if you guys ever want to join me (also not meant to be suggestive)

(Side-note: looking back at the title of this entry and the fact that I reference porn for the first half makes for a tease that this could turn into a kinky euphemism. Sorry to disappoint.)

That’s right, kids, Beer Fest is upon us again. In fact, its sooner than you think for the Seattle crew. Beer Fest runs this weekend at the Seattle Center. Dinibop, Toftie, myself, and a crew of others will be there Friday afternoon, and we expect the rest of you to join us (Aaron, I’m looking at you).

“What is Beer Fest?” you ask. Well, it’s a magical heaven where the finest Belgian beers are flown in by magical fairy monks and given to those fortunate enough to pay the reasonable entry fee. A select few (aka “those that leave work early”) are chosen to enter before 5PM, which means 50% more beer for the same low low price.

Again, “what is Beer Fest?” you ask. “Beer Fest is Seattle’s Elysian Fields,” I answer, with a wink toward the sky.

I’m so fortunate, in fact, that I might just be in Portland during its celebration, and so I may, if all parties involved are liberal and understanding, be able to attend twice this summer. Double the awesomeness! As Diniboppersonpalooza says, “BOO YAH!”

Now, the benediction.

“Dear Beer Gods. Please do not let us this year repeat the foul incident of last year, whereby one amongst our flock did lose his coffee out the realtor’s car, thus soiling the driveway of some fine Queen Anne resident. Lord, please do not let us be tempted by the burning water hawked by Tini Big’s, nor the non-Belgian swill peddled by McMennamin’s. (Brent, my apologies.) Yaweh, may we remember to stay hydrated and to take a cab home. Amen.”

Amen.

Some of you know that I’m one of the many boring people that is trying to get in shape and lose weight. (I won the partner contest in December for the Biggest Loser at work by losing 14.8 pounds!) But I gained 7 back and we’re doing it again. Since it worked before, against everything I used to believe in, I’m dieting. The hardest part of dieting is not the giving up of all the things you like to eat or the dragging your ass to the gym, but instead it’s the becoming high maintenance that kills me.

Here’s the thing. I’m doing Weight Watchers and I love it (I never thought I would say that). It appeals to the database girl inside of me that likes to fill my spreadsheet with what I’ve eaten and calculate the points (see “google-whore“). It’s ilke a puzzle I get to do every night. But I also like that I really can eat what I want if I realize that eating that piece of chocolate means less steak and no wine. Or drinking that glass of wine means veggies for a snack instead of popcorn. You know what I mean? It’s all about realizing moderation and how you just can’t eat on impulse and fill your gut with everything your heart desires without having to live with the consequences.

And then there’s the exercise. Even though it is really hard to get into the habit, I am generally happier after the gym and I try to tap into that emotion every time I go. Having books on my mp3 player to listen to or NPR or watching the food network while I do the machines (I know, crazy?) helps get through it.

So what is this high maintenance crap I’m talking about? Well, I always prided myself in being someone who likes most food, will try anything, and even though I may have some favorite restaurants I’ll lobby for, I’ll go almost anywhere and will order everything if people will let me. But now I have to carefully choose the restaurant and when people want an appetizer I have to decline and if my sisters want to share something and they pick a dish that will kill my points I have to bow out. It’s really hard for me to be the picky one. I hate it. But I’m learning how to work with most places now that I am memorizing how many points everything is. It’s not just food though either. I need to start to be high maintenance about my time as well. “No, I can’t meet you for dinner after work because I need to go to the gym.” That kind of shit. Realizing that I really won’t go if I don’t go right away. Maybe I need to go in the morning, but that’s like rewiring my entire personality.

How boring is this post? Well let me leave you with two things I have come to love. Because I rarely eat pasta or cheese while trying to lose weight, because those eat my points up so fast I wanna cry, I have to find alternatives. You can imagine how happy I was to discover Carba-Nada noodles which are hardly any points and actually taste like fresh pasta (and cook in four minutes, I love that).

And then there are the cute little Light Laughing Cow cheese bites. They taste really good and I can have 5 of them for only 1 point! Inside the wrapper they also have fun factoids like today’s was “New Zealand was the first place women got the vote.”

I’ll keep sharing if anyone’s interested and I apologize in advance if some of my posts begin to get too focused on this. But there it is.

My other sister, not the Madster that frequents this site, is not usually the type to share much of anything and this pertains especially to drinks. I think she has a huge fear of backwash. Now that I stumbled across this experiment I may be more forgiving of this quirk.

On Saturday night, I ate a donut with bacon on top. It was a maple bar topped with two strips of bacon. It was delicious, mouth-watery goodness.

I now understand the genius behind the Krispy Kreme burger. I will hereby refrain from talking smack about it. Voodoo Doughnut has made me a believer. Portland is fantastic.

It’s looking like there’s a drug that might reverse the effects of liver disease.

Any of you who’ve seen me drink, will know how very, very important this is.

Some of you may know that I’m a homebrewer-I make my own beer. Like anything, sometimes I make good beer, and others, less good. So to get better, I joined a group of home brewers to learn more about this craft.

Now as it turns out, a local English pub, the Horse Brass is having their 30th anniversary this year. As part of their celebration, they’ve asked local brewers to come up with some special beers just for this event, and they asked the OBC to produce one.

So the OBC created some teams, one of which I joined, and we made 6 different beers, and then the OBC voted which one they liked the best. And my team’s beer won! We made a chamomile wit beer, in the Belgian style. For non-beer geeks, think a lighter Hefe, but with a peppery dryness in front, and then coriander + orange middle, with a chamomile finish.

Anyway, it friggin rocks, and it’s going to be made for the masses by the fine folks at the Laurelwood pub. And my team will get to help brew! Which is also really cool, if you’re a beer geek.

They’ll be serving it the last week or so of October, and if you’re in Portland, for some crazy reason, then I’m the kinda guy who’ll buy you a pint.

My sister was recently at a liquor store (surprise) stocking up on the basics when she suddenly found herself convinced she was in the middle of some marketing scheme. One customer was buying this new bottled beverage and EVERY person in the store started raving about how much they liked it. So many perfectly timed comments about how great the drink was made the whole experience seem eerie. The outcome? She didn’t buy it, but she did come home and tell me all about it and the next time we were at the store I snatched it up.

You see I am a marketer’s wet dream. I’m lazy and hungry and susceptible to advertising and subliminal or even blatant messaging. The drink? Jose Cuervo Golden Margarita. It comes premixed with Cuervo Gold Tequila and Grand Marinier Liqueur. For two weeks now we’ve been dipping our glasses in salt and pouring this amazing drink over ice with a slice of lime. SO EASY!!! And better than most restaurant margaritas. I highly recommend it.

And for good entertainment while drinking, I am now also hooked on what I like to think of as the grown up version of Mr. Rogers’ segment on factories (you know like when we got see how crayons were made or straws?). The show is on the Discovery channel of course and is called “How It’s Made.” I can’t get enough.