yester yes

the list

Many of us go over this list in casual conversation at various times throughout our lives, often revising it upon new shoulder-to-ear worthy discoveries. Some are nouns, some adjectives, verbs--just words, really, that may or may not be repulsive in meaning, but they all share one common feature; they sound gross. Not everyone will agree with what they're about to see--please, feel free to make the necessary adjustments to your list at home.

(in no particular order, except for the first one...)

moist
ointment
wad
tender
crusty
supple
wipe
lard
runny
damp
creamy
panties
fester
plump
smear
warm
juices (juice, juicy not included. only juices.)
churn
gullet
flap
sift
veal
yeast
thigh

money money money

if only things were this simple, J.G.




but i suppose this strategy is worth a try.

room

There is one question I'm asked just about every single day, and I would be fine with that--I might even appreciate it--if I thought my answer actually meant something to the seemingly 'with it' barista doing the asking:

Do I want room for cream?

Now, I know that want cream, without a doubt. I also know that I want the most for my money-- if I'm paying for a 12oz. cup, I want 12 ounces of liquid. The mystery lies in the room leaver's judgment of how much "room" should be left, and this is where things start getting out of control. Before I go on, I would like to note that I am aware of how trivial this is. Good, it's nice to have that out of the way.

Something must be done about the room. I'm sick of answering this question and never knowing what I'm going to get back. I like my coffee with cream and not the other way around, and I think this is true for most drinkers. For this reason, I usually reply with a "no, thanks" or I say "just a smidge" or something stupid like that, holding up my fingers and giving some kind of visual representation of what a smidge might be.

Here's what it isn't: 1/3 my cup of coffee. When I'm handed the sad-looking paper cup after embarrassing myself with the whole smidge act, I'm wondering how much they leave for the people who just say "yes" to the dreaded question. I'm thinking I'll just retire from doing anything that implies I want room, it's too risky and I'm usually disappointed.

However, while the "no" response often produces a suitable amount of room, I'm still getting the occasional balance master who gives me a brimming cup of lava that usually gets all over my hand as I try to choke it down by the trash can until it is at an appropriate level for creamin'. And then there's the tension between the barista and me as I inquire of the half & half, looking at me like "no room, huh?"

Put your right index finger in front of your face and point to the left, or vice-versa. Most people have this finger, and probably a lot of baristas have this finger. THIS, people-- the girth of the index finger (left or right) should be the universal size of the room we are so often asked about, and no more. If we can't all agree on an appropriate standard of cream allotment, we have officially failed as a caffeinated people.

That is all.