Of Super Bowl Halfime Shows

U2, February 2002. There wasn't a dry eye in the house after Bono ripped open his jacket to reveal Old Glory.

It takes a lot to make a bartender emotional.

The Future of TavernWench

I would have loved to continue this blog, but technology got in my way the same way that it served as a blessing, at the time. Things catch up on you. Bosses find out. Shit gets real.

You can find my daily rants on Twitter, but I realize it's not the same. I hope to get back, one day, to telling anonymous stories and spinning delightful yarns about my guests. But, in the meantime, and yes, it might mean forever, I just can't blog anymore, not in the way I have in the past. So here we are, a year to the day that I posted my last update, and it was weak. I don't want to go out like this.

Isn't it sad? It certainly is for me.

The Audacity of Dipshits

Humor me...

So, like any other wide-eyed baseball-loving optimist, I entered the Cincinnati Reds post-season ticket-buying opportunity raffle lottery with the highest of hopes. Whatever it was, it was a chance at buying seats to watch my beloved Reds in the playoffs, I was feeling lucky, I've attended enough regular season games to feel as though I earned just a few post-season ticket-scoring karma points, and so I was all over it. It only required an email address, and a quick login process, after all. (And yes, of course I used two email addresses.) In love, anything is possible, right? And I am just head-over-heels with these Reds. Yes, it's completely irrational, but I was just sure I'd score tickets to at least one post-season appearance.

This afternoon came the sad news that I had not been selected, and I can live with that, but of course curiosity got the best of me and I scouted around eBay to see if anyone was doing the unthinkable, and sure enough, just under ten entries were returned, asking anywhere from $95 to $200 for the Reds post-season ticket code that allows you to compete for tickets at 9:00 am Wednesday morning. To reiterate: they're just selling access to the sale; there's no guarantee whatsoever you'll get tickets, or that you'll be happy with the ones you score if you're so lucky.

Look, I know nobody cares and "fuck the right thing, go for the money" has become the American Way and all, but I'm still incredibly irritated that someone, anyone who invested absolutely nothing has the audacity to charge a perfect stranger for the privilege of attempting to secure tickets to a home town game in their own damned city. Yes, I'm talking to you, Mr. NYC eBay Seller, and also you, Mr. Somewhere in Texas eBay Seller. You officially suck.

That's all, really. I won't take it so far as to wish, if by some strange happenstance said interlopers ended up attending a post-season game, that they'd get hit by a broken bat, or anything.

Look out kid
You’re gonna get hit
But users, cheaters, six-time losers
Hang around the theaters
Girl by the whirlpool
Lookin’ for a new fool
Don’t follow leaders
Watch the parkin’ meters

- Bob Dylan, "Subterranean Homesick Blues"

Technorati Tags: Cincinnati, Bartending, Ohio, Cincinnati Reds

Most Interesting Thing That Happened Tonight

While walking to work, I stumbled upon a shiny object, and, being human, picked it up. Turned out to be a homemade DVD of some sort, titled, "Oil Dat Fat Ass Up." I shit you not.

Tagline could've used some work, but, to be fair, I have to compliment the graphic artist. Wish I'd snapped a photo of it before one of my coworkers (immediately) snagged it from my hands. Coulda, shoulda, woulda.

In this case "woulda" = made a nice addition to the restaurant's "Lost and Found" section.

Shame, really.

So, this one's been looping through my head lately, mostly for beat reasons but also because I recently heard The Decemberists' worthy cover on the radio; just a sweet tune, no? Absolutely nothing to do with the post, except for the part where I was attracted to a shiny object.

If you ever get close to a human

And human behavior

Be ready be ready to get confused

And me and my hereafter

There's definitely definitely definitely no logic

To human behavior

But yet so, yet so irresistible

Björk, "Human Behavior"

Haven't quit yet!

But honestly, my new clientèle? Not so terribly interesting. Going to have to work on that. Maybe once they warm up to me a little? This blog sucks without stories, and makes work so much more like, well, work! I got into this business for the money, I stayed with it for the camaraderie of a professional kitchen, and the ever-changing cast of characters.

So far, though? Feels different out there than it used to...

The offered me the office, offered me the shop
They said I'd better take anything they'd got
Do you wanna make tea at the BBC?
Do you wanna be, do you really wanna be a cop?

Career opportunities are the ones that never knock
Every job they offer you is to keep you out the dock
Career opportunity, the ones that never knock

The Clash, "Career Opportunities"

Gettin' back in the groove

Wow, I forgot how much bartending makes my feet hurt. Ouch. They're practically throbbing right now. Much like the pain of childbirth (I'm only guessing here), it's one of those parts that escapes the mind when you decide to, you know, do it again. Hey, at least it's just a little part-time giggy-thing this time around. I think I can hang.

I also forgot how much I dislike serving the clergy (and when you live in a city more Catholic than Rome*, you get a lot of that). Well, serving the clergy is just fine, really, but settling the tab is often disappointing. Yes, I realize they took a vow of poverty, and that's super, but it doesn't exactly help me make my car payment...

It's been a hard day's night

And I've been workin' like a dog

It's been a hard day's night

I should be sleepin' like a log

The Beatles, "A Hard Day's Night"

*Not that there's anything wrong with that. Just adding a little local insight. Please, no hate mail unless it is accompanied by a large check.

Guess who's back in the muthaf'n house?

With a fat.... well, you know the tune.

That's right. So here I go again...

Night One. Sidework is brutal. I'm a little out of shape. But boy, have I missed the odd cast of characters one tends to meet in this business. Why did I ever get out? I was born to this.

There's talk on the street; it sounds so familiar
Great expectations, everybody's watching you
People you meet, they all seem to know you
Even your old friends treat you like you're something new

Johnny come lately, the new kid in town
Everybody loves you, so don't let them down

The Eagles, "New Kid In Town"