Can Bishops Save Notre Dame Football?

I saw someone post this up on Facebook. Thought I'd share quote from Commonweal:

The Administrative Committee of the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops (USCCB) will convene an emergency meeting here today to discuss the University of Notre Dame’s decision to retain its embattled head football coach, Charlie Weis.

I don't know if God himself could/would bother trying.

Ella's Out of Business

...Equals cheap drinks.

My Goodness! My Guinness!

So I was in an area bar recently, preparing myself for an awesome concert and enjoying a nice happy hour. I arrived their around 5 o' clock. The bar was mostly empty at that point. This particular bar has happy hour from 4 to 6 pm. That information isn't really pertinent to the story, but I gave it to you anyway.

On to the meat of the story. Around 6 o' clock, it started to pick up. I'd say slightly more than half of the bar stools were full. At this point, a middle aged gentleman enters the bar area. I am currently sitting in the bar stool next to the cash register where all the waitresses, waiters, and bartenders are ringing up their orders. It is located at the end of the bar. The middle aged gentleman saunters up next to me at the end of the bar and proceeds to greet a waiter currently ringing an order at the cash register.

"How's it going [manager's name], I haven't seen you in a while, how about getting me a guinness"

"Actually [patron's name], I'm not working behind the bar anymore. I'm a manager now, but [bartender's name] can get you one if you wish"

All of this was paraphrased from what I can remember (Apparently I can six scotches down in an hour and half at happy hour). The patron then says something about asking the manager to tell the bartender he needs a Guinness. The manager kind of nods then continues with what he was doing.

Now at this point, I am sitting there with an empty scotch glass patiently waiting for the bartender to finish with the drinks he's making and to come over. As he approaches, I start to lift my scotch glass, when he says the patron standing over me.

"Can I get you something sir?

"I thought you were getting me a Guinness"

"Oh, you would like a Guinness? I'll get you one."

The bartender proceeds to start the tap on the Guinness and walks away. The patron the remarks, I'm not sure to who, "I wouldn't mind such a bad pour if I didn't have to wait so long."

When the bartender returns, he begins to passive aggressively explain the proper way to pour a Guinness to the bartender. The bartender even offers to repour him another one.

Am I wrong in thinking this guy needs to get over himself?

1. It's happy hour at a fairly busy bar. You can't expect a bartender to spend time carefully crafting your Guinness while other people are waiting for drinks.

2. Usually there is etiquette for ordering drinks. Either you get a seat at the bar or you stand near the dripmat by the taps and place your order. You don't stand near the high traffic cash register area and force the bartender to wade over to you.

3. Just cause you "know" the manager doesn't mean he is going to place orders for you. Do it yourself!

4. Beer is beer. Drink it.

Drink to Support the Alumni Fund?

For $45, you can have the 2005 Aloysius Cabernet Sauvignon.

Holiday Parties

Inspired by Mary's previous post, I have decided to make my way back into the blog-o-sphere. I was so pumped about starting up Spokanicity and then I sort of disappeared for awhile but now... now I'm back, bitches.

Back in December, Tooley and I made a deal that we'd go to each other's (work) holiday parties in search of free booze, amusing coworkers, and general hijinks. Tooley's Little Software Company holiday party was first, taking place in the Davenport. Because we got there early, we wandered around looking at these fancy gingerbread houses that were on display. When the party itself started, we sat at a table with Tooley's coworker Kit and his then-fiance and his coworker Alex, which made for some... interesting conversation. The food was standard catering fare, but the booze was FREE, FREE, FREE and Tooley was driving so I had three glasses of wine.

My second-favorite moment was when Alex saw me playing with the silver ring I wear sometimes on my right hand and asked me if I was married. When I replied no, he asked me if I had any single friends. Now, he sends me invitations to at least one Facebook application a day.

My favorite moment was when Tooley and I decided that we needed to lighten the load of booze that the Davenport would have to put away. We're considerate, right? So we lingered not at all obviously (read: incredibly obviously) by the beverage table while almost all of his coworkers left to go home. When the members of cleanup crew had their backs turned, Tooley stuffed a bottle of white wine in my purse and we booked it. Once back in the Logan neighborhood, we burst into Matt and Becca's apartment while they were in the middle of domestic bliss (i.e. watching Arrested Development and playing on their laptops side-by-side) and split the bottle. Even though I don't like white wine usually, this tasted delicious. Because it was free? I'll let you decide.

My Little Software Company had its party at Gonzaga, and Becca was ill, so it was not nearly as fun-filled, buuuut we still got drunk and played Rock Band after. So, all's well that ends well.

early booze experiences

Spokanicity has been a little dead lately, my friends. This makes me sad. So I thought I'd post about something we can all relate to: booze.

The first time I ever got drunk was October of freshman year. I mean, I'd definitely tried alcohol before, but I'd seen so many people do so much stupid shit while drunk that I tended to stay away. Well, enter the college party scene and peer pressure and I was a goner. The culprit that time? Good ol' Mike's Hard Lemonade.

Well, not entirely. Greg served me my first gin & tonic in his room in CM (I still think they're gross), and THEN I drank two Mike's(es?), and THEN I was drunk as a skunk. Becca was there too, even though she claims not to remember disappearing with the backpack full of hard lemonades. I proceeded to drink more at a house party somewhere on Sinto, have my first of many embarrassing, regrettable drunk makeouts, and then pass out in my room in Crimont in front of MTV. I remember thinking that Dave Matthews' "Gravedigger" video was craaaazy. Also, my roommate didn't come home that night - she'd passed out at 1003 Mission. Needless to say, this was the beginning of many good times.

Fast forward to the summer of 2004. First college summer, first time living "on my own" not in the dorms. Becca and I had some fun times in our adjacent basement rooms. I believe that Becca introduced me to Bacardi 151 that summer, a drink that I never, ever developed a taste for. I'm going to defer to Becca for stories from her 151 days, since I'd never be able to do them justice. I do remember the night that I got kicked out of the Big Easy (a blog post for another day), Becca, Teresa, and I took some classic drunk-girl pictures with the bottle of 151. I wonder where those pictures are now.

That summer was also when tequila and I stopped being friends. I never really liked the taste of tequila, but I got custody of a bottle after the Second Annual Chelan Trip that summer. One weekend, Scott was in town, and I thought it'd be a good idea to take some tequila shots by myself before going to a "crew party" (turned out to be like, four crew girls watching movies) with him and Becca and Ben. Mistaaaake. It was fun wandering drunkenly through Mission Park, barefoot, but the next day I had one of the worst hangovers I have ever experienced to date. I remember it like it was yesterday. I had to lie motionless for hours - any movement would cause head pounding and severe nausea. I've only had tequila three or four times since then, only once or maaaaaybe twice in shot form, and I still hate margaritas. Ugh. Just thinking of the taste gives me shivers.

The third alcohol experience of that summer has to do with the Nevada wonder-drink that we all know and hate: ethanol. Let me make clear that I think it is disgusting to drink the stuff. Why not drink nail polish remover, huh? Or turpentine? Or make a hobo cocktail of milk and gasoline? Yeah. Gross gross gross. But at the end of summer, some of the boys roadtripped back to Spokane with a huge jug of the stuff. They landed at Piraeus on the evening before we were allowed to move back into the dorms, and so the glass behemoth full of ethanol lived on my microwave for a night. One whiff of the stuff and I was drunk, I swear. Yuck. I will be grateful for the image that it gave me, though, of waking up to Swift sleeping on my floor and cuddling with my stuffed bunny the next morning. I'm sure he doesn't remember that, but I do.

I hate the taste of Mike's Hard Lemonade now. And tequila, of course. What kind of booze did YOU all imbibe in our early college days? What kind of booze can you no longer drink? Post, post, post. I demand it.

If you make cheap wine cost more, it tastes better

At least that's what the boys at Stanford say (never heard of such a school, I think it's a made up con run by pimps).

In a study that could make marketing managers and salespeople rub their hands with glee, scientists have used brain-scanning technology to shed new light on the old adage, "You get what you pay for."

Researchers from the California Institute of Technology and Stanford's business school have directly seen that the sensation of pleasantness that people experience when tasting wine is linked directly to its price. And that's true even when, unbeknownst to the test subjects, it's exactly the same Cabernet Sauvignon with a dramatically different price tag.

So if Casarsa was $90, would it taste better? I mean, it IS the best wine out there that no one knows about--watch out Carlo Rossi!