"Style Kitchen" By Pico & Alvarado

Thrilled with the results of our first collaboration, Kevin Cogliano and tackled the next one: "Style Kitchen." Kevin sent the guitar and bass to me and I added drums, keys, mixing, and mastering, without altering his original style much at all. Here it is (with another great picture by Patrick):



Want more demystifying details? Here's the arrange window for the project, slightly more sane and restrained than "Sandbar" was:

The bass has been treated with some amp simulation and CamelPhat's "Acid Movement" preset, which adds a certain bum-shakiness. There's a rhythmic "jangly guitar" in there which was hellish to separate from the lead guitar, which I tried to fatten by panning two separate instances, detuning one slightly, and carving each a separate set of frequencies in the EQ.

I'm not entirely happy with the lead guitar...it can sound flimsy on some speakers, and there's a terrifying lopsidedness around 3k throughout the entire song (even more terrifying when mastered to bring the guitar out further). But they always say "trust your ears, not the meters," so I decided to just go with it, aware that we were deliberately invoking the tinny-guitar sound of '80s pop.

I made the mistake of choosing iZotrope's iDrum for the fundamental drum pattern, because I wanted it to sound like it was programmed on a somewhat limited pattern-based drum machine (which is what iDrum IS). But this program is SO goddamn flaky for me. Every time I wanted to tweak the mix a bit I had to weigh the possibility that iDrum might refuse to give me a workable drum track; about 60% of the time it will miss a beat during a bounce, stuttering a bit, which means you can't even walk away and let the bounce happen, you need to sit and listen to the whole damn thing.

In conclusion: I am finished with using iDrum as a pattern-based drum machine. It turns any sort of serious work into a nightmare, and all their technical support can say is "Have you tried reinstalling it?" I can still use iDrum as a MIDI-controlled sample-playback plugin, but I won't waste any more time trying to get it to do what it's supposed to do.

Reader, if you're looking for a drum machine, do not buy iDrum.

On a plus side I've discovered the joy of Logic Pro's EXS24 sampler, and their Steinway Piano patch is the piano stuff you're hearing throughout. I can't play the piano to save my life, so it's pretty much just a bunch of chords cut up to sound the way I imagine a semi-proficient (but ham-fisted) piano player sounds.

The pad sounds are also thanks to the EXS24, and they're from a beautiful set of Solina multi-samples courtesy of SampleTekk. People swear by them and I love all the samples I've purchased from them (the Solina, the Prophet, the Baroque Organ, and the "Anvils and Churchbells"), but their download procedure is archaic and they provide no installation instructions, just a bunch of samples in a bunch of cryptic folders.

Anyway, the Solina sounds beautiful. I melt every time I hear it, thanks to the opening minutes of Mike Oldfield's "Hergest Ridge."



The lead synth is a layered series of ARP waveforms from SampleTank's "SonikSynth 2" collection, the tinkly bells are from Logic's EFM1, the wobbly bass is actually a funky electric piano pitched very low, and the squishy rhythmic guitar mutilation is -- surprise -- CamelPhat and CamelSpace.

One other thing: I had a high-minded plan to live up to Kevin's proposed "Style Kitchen" title by actually RECORDING myself making food in my kitchen, along the lines of Pink Floyd's "Alan's Psychedelic Breakfast." The song would start and end with eggs cracking, bacon sizzling, and water boiling, and right in the middle there'd be the "DING!" of my toaster oven.

There were two problems with this plan: the only sounds my cooking usually produce are the sounds of my microwave running, and actually recording all that stuff would be a pain far out of proportion to the potential benefits to the song. Instead I just grabbed the "small bell" sample from Logic Pro's library and played with it until it SOUNDED like my toaster oven. Same result, no grease-spattering.

Works Automatically...Won't Burn Toast!

You might remember the spectacular introduction of the Toastmaster back in February of 1929. But holy shit, have you seen the new and improved Toastmaster? These two ladies in fur coats are looking at it right now!


Stop it, ladies! NO WATCHING! Don't watch it! Do something else for a while!

Of the hundreds of thousands who saw the remarkable first model which revolutionized toastmaking in America, not one would have believed it could ever have been improved upon.

Yet--that has been done!

It is even more simple, more amazing, more beautiful!

How has the Toastmaster improved in the last two years? They replaced one of the levers with a "small, new-type indicator," and it comes with "cool-type carrying handles" so you won't burn your pretty-type hands, and it also can't overheat and start your fur coat on fire at the flaming breakfast table! It won't burn your tabletop! It now does two slices at once! It's wonderful!

Ladies and Gentlemen, these ladies and I honestly don't think this toaster can get any better.

In response to Dave's timely posting of 25 Horribly Sexist Vintage Ads in the comments, here's an advertisement from Maillard's chocolates.

He didn't mean to let that early morning grouch get the better of him...even if the coffee was cold. And now he's making amends by bringing her a box of Maillard's Chocolats Miniature.

Will this fix things? Will it bring to dinner the entente cordiale? You know it will!

Why does her picture remind me of that guy in "Seven" who'd been strapped to a bed for a year? Must be the raccoon makeup and the crazy-eye look.

Trapping the Bird and Sealing it Up

What the hell is it with olde-timey people and their canned poultry?

You may remember the vacuum-cooked chicken-in-glass of a few days ago...in fact, I bet you've been unable to get the imagined taste of it out of your mouth.

Now, to cleanse your palette, I give you the Hormel jellied whole chicken.


But that's nothing compared to the advertisement on the NEXT page. It's SQUAB! Ready to eat! In tins!


What's "squab?" The advertisement spells it out.

Folks fall out of saddles and leap out of lakes--when you mention this!

NOTICE!!!
to all picayunish appetites!

Your horoscope says...squab. Fifty million Frenchmen say...squab. Don't overlook--have a look.

Okay, so the advertisement doesn't even HINT at the true nature of squab. Is it because they assume the sophisticated readers of The New Yorker already know? Or is it because they don't want sophisticated residents of New York City to realize that they're eating pigeons?

Whole, Vacuum-Cooked Chicken-in-Glass

For months I have been unsettled by these advertisements for Kingan's Chicken-In-Glass. It's not the idea of a pre-cooked chicken that bothers me, it's the fact that it's in a glass container like a fetal pig or an aborted fetus that makes me a bit squeamish.

But housewives in the '30s obviously didn't feel that way. No doubt they echoed the sentiments of the advertisements themselves:

YOU HAVE complete assurance of getting exactly what you want when you buy KINGAN'S CHICKEN-IN-GLASS. It is packed and cooked in a crystal-clear glass container...You see at a glance its size, its milk-fed plumpness, its inviting cleanliness. Never before has ready-cooked whole chicken been prepared to skillfully, so appetizingly!

They even advise that you "take a season's supply to your summer cottage," which makes me wonder how this stuff kept. Didn't it need to be refridgerated? Did the crystal-clear glass container allow you to see every step of loving putrefaction?

Sorry, when I think about Chicken-in-Glass, that's all I can think about.

A $100 Hamburger in Every Stomach

In response to my "Plane in Every Driveway" post, pilot-friend and musician extraordinaire Chad Faragher had this to say:

Cool! Well, I have two opinions. The "dream" of a plane in every driveway was squashed for the same reason as a car in every driveway - infrastructure. Car travel was made popular by two things: service (gas) stations and paved roadways. Airtravel was made popular by airports with paved runways. But at the time ...of the invention of each, nobody believed it was possible to put enough gas stations around so you could get everywhere you wanted to go. and the idea of travelling anywhere you want to go without leaving pavement was absurd. But mass production made cars popular enough that people had to build the roads. Henry Ford actually conceived of a plane for every person too. For some reason, the idea never "took off". There was no supporting infrastructure for aircraft. At least cars had horse & cart pathways, wooden bridges etc. to build on. Modern pilots are pretty lucky to have things like controlled airspace, radar, transponders, GPS, modern weather reporting and predicting, satellites, etc.

I guess fear is a factor too. I know that some people that first rode in cars were scared to drive them faster than a horse could run. I'm sure people have plenty of reasons to be afraid of aeroplanes. They are particularly dangerous when things go wrong, so you have to put a lot of effort into making sure that things go right.

That brings me to pilot training vs car-driver training. If everyone got as much training to drive a car as pilots to do fly a plane, I think the world would be a safer place. On the other hand, piloting likes to be exclusive, after all, if it were easy, everyone would be doing it.

And finally, what do _I_ want to do with my pilot's license? Apart from the personal achievement of doing it (because it _is_ difficult) I really like the freedom of being able to go wherever I want, whenever I want. Although as we are constantly reminded, freedom isn't free. In fact, renting it costs about $150/hour.

I will probably visit many of the little hole-in-the-wall places in Ontario, but only for lunch ;) An afternoon in the muskokas, some sightseeing, and just generally answering the call of the open skies (referring to "the call of the open road" that motivates many recreational motorists.)

And another reason that must be mentioned, is the $100 hamburger. Although I'd be more inclined to go to Boston for lobster dinner or something like that.

Cold Coffee Makes Cold Hearts

The last time we joined the Edicraft company, they were saving marriages with easy-to-make toast. But apparently that wasn't enough.

She poured. He tasted. She smiled. He scowled. She wept. He left.

What is the latest sin of the 1929 bride?

And thus was another romance drowned in a cup of pallid coffee. Higher courts have ruled that grounds in the cup are grounds for divorce in every state of the Union...

Yes, the folks at Edicraft must have realized that divorces happened even for those who owned the Edicraft Speed Toaster! A new innovation was required to keep men from scampering at the breakfast table...

...the Edicraft Siphonator!


(Mistletoe not included, and best not put inside the Siphonator anyway).

"Electric, automatic in operation, massively-modern in design," the Edicraft Siphonator was...well, a coffee maker. The advertising copy fails to state why it's so darn great, except for mentioning that it has a "left-hand tap" which dispenses hot water for tea...or for diluting the coffee you've poured out of the right tap.

So on Decemeber 14, 1929, the Edicraft people had found a new way to keep marriages together. But what, I ask, of the undercooked pancakes?

Summer! Summer! Summer!

Today I had planned to take a canoe trip down Guelph's Speed River, as part of the triumphant (possible) return of the Daily Muffy. Unfortunately the forecast rather sketchily called for afternoon thundershowers, and my trip organizer -- who is a professional canoe coach -- said "Lightning + Canoe = Death." And she didn't want to die just for a bunch of goofy photographs. We had to cancel.

So on a beautiful day, with the Co-op car booked and a totally free itinerary ahead of me, I decided to drive to New Hamburg and take my mom out for a surprise lunch.

And it worked! She hadn't eaten! We sat on the empty E.J.'s patio and ate pulled-pork sandwiches and talked about her trip to England. Then we took a long stroll around Baden -- which neither of us have ever walked around -- and chatted with children and played with a small dog. Then we went on the "Castle Kilbride" tour, which was quite beautiful, though I was disappointed we didn't get to REALLY see the basement. And I think that when I accidentally touched the tour guide's hand she thought I was groping her.

A side benefit of this wonderful day -- besides the joyful sponteneity of just making it up as we went along -- was the driving practice I got in. I'm becoming more comfortable with the car and am no longer white-knuckled when I drive it, and with each trip I become more thankful to the Grand River Car Share: they are professional, sensible, and they suit my lifestyle perfectly.

Sigh! Here's to a wonderful summer day! I don't have a "Daily Muffy" to show for it, but I think I ultimately got something better.

Monday Night with the Arts: Food Diva

One reason I decided to do the technical production for "Monday Night with the Arts" was so I could learn a bit more about the local arts community. For the first few weeks I was too busy learning the ropes to actually LISTEN to the interviews, but now I can finally pay attention (when I'm not preparing for the odious "Focus On The Family" which -- yes -- follows our show).

Now that my mind is on track, I'm setting myself a task: to do some quick promotion for the cool people who drop by the show. Tonight I got to meet cook Maribel Linfield AND eat her double chocolate and black pepper cookies. Amazing.

Maribel is the Food Diva. Besides giving actual face-to-face cooking classes, she also offers online videos that describe ALL aspects of the cooking experience. What intrigued me most was her sympathetic understanding that for some people -- like me -- learning to cook is a strangely scary undertaking. And don't even get me started on hostessing. Apparently an important part of her courses is teaching you how not to worry about it all..."You shouldn't be thinking about what people will be saying to each other in the driveway after the meal," she says.

I have yet to take a Food Diva course and I don't know if I ever will -- the few cooking habits I ever had have now sunk to an embarrassing low -- so I can't endorse anything but those amazing cookies. I CAN, however, say that if you ARE intimidated by the prospect of learning to cook or entertain, and you DO want to learn to cook competently, I suspect that Linfield is the teacher you need.

And I'm not just saying that because I'm on a chocolate high.

Harpo Marx Talks At Last!

I admit it without shame: I'm a Marx Brothers fan. It's a real delight for me to read occasional Marx-related news in The New Yorker, particularly during 1929 when their star was on the rise. Reviews! Goofy letters! Gossip!

But whenever I run across a Marx Brothers tidbit I usually curb my enthusiasm, assuming that readers of this blog wouldn't give a damn. Usually their New Yorker stuff is pretty dumb anyway.

This advertisement from Rosoff's, however, is just fun enough to deserve mention.

Described as "The Broadway Night Club dedicated to good food," Rosoff's was apparently a popular eatery in its day, but it closed in 1981 and has left few internet footprints. Perhaps trying to imitate the "celebrity spy" advertisements from Reuben's, here's Harpo Marx giving a ringing Rosoff's endorsement.

"You needn't think that just because I play the harp I'm an angel. Nor even that I'm stringing you. After the performance of 'Animal Crackers' every other pay day I let the blondes take me over to your restaurant. I have one of your club steaks à la Rosoff, and after that I'm ready to be all four of the Three Muskateers.

"And I want you to know that if Groucho ever kills me for charging these feeds up on the swindle sheet, you can have him hanged for Harpocide.

"Yours for more clubbing and staking,"

(Signed) HARPO MARX

Fit to Ensnare

Nobody can resist the woman with the Hormel Flavor-Sealed Ham.

Sherlock Holmes Solves Some Mysteries

The Case of the Oily Foundation

Even if you have a singularly oily T-Zone, purchase a non-greasy prep lotion such as the one marketed by Quo. It will give you that "fresh-faced lass" smoothness and also prevent your foundation from sliding off.

It was worth being mocked by a cosmetician to solve this case.

Yesterday's Gluteal Soreness

You're wondering why you woke up with a mysterious muscle-soreness running all down your right side? It's because you spent the day previous chasing a duckling under the cars in the parking lot. Seriously, Muffy, have you not yet learned that nature is cruel? You must rest your old bones.

The Mystery of the Early-Morning Cat

Have you not noticed that the cat ONLY does her early-morning yowling when the balcony door is open? Had it not occurred to you that this door lets in an uncommon amount of light, making the bedroom brighter than usual? Have you yourself not been fooled by this illumination?

It's not a wonder that your cat is being fooled, as she is dim-witted.

The Strange Case of the Rotting Vegetable Odour

It's garbage day, and all your windows are open! While YOU eat food which is so packed with preservatives that its half-life is measured in centuries, others eat fresh provender which decays more quickly.

So not to worry, my dear Muffy...that smell is coming from outside!

Reuben's Strikes Again

I can't help imagining Evelyn Herbert opening The New Yorker on December 1, 1928, and shouting "Those NOSY STINKING BASTARDS!"

Yes, the folks at Reuben's restaurant have done it again. I think this is my favourite so far.

Masses of brightly burnished gold floated gracefully through our door the other November eve. A scientific phenomenon? Well...that's hardly the right appellation for the glowing, golden voiced EVELYN HERBERT, is it now? And though our heart was elsewhere, we could not help but notice, later, that not one delicious morsel of Reuben's priceless Chicken Madiola was escaping Miss Herbert's fork!

"The Canadian Settler's Guide"

Society is hanging by a thread. As the movies keep reminding us, all we need is a nuclear war, a viral outbreak, a terrorist strike, or a polar bear attack to bring all of our modern machinery to a shuddering halt. We are literally inches away from the stone age, and I don't mean the kind of stone age where we wear fur bikinis and fight dinosaurs. I mean the kind where we all die because we're too stupid to know how to make our own bread.

I picked up Catherine Parr Traill's "The Canadian Settler's Guide" because, after the zombies bring down our entire fragile infrastructure, I want to lend a helping hand when the time comes to reconstruct the world. I want to offer more practical knowledge than just how to boil Kraft Dinner and accentuate a lip-line.

The fact that you can't grow insulin in a garden sort of makes my whole plan moot anyway, but I want to AT LEAST build a whipsaw and plant some cabbage before I die.

So Traill's book -- written for the new 1855 Canadian immigrant -- has proved helpful. I now understand the importance building a veranda around even the meanest hovel, and I know one should keep the chickens in a coop while one is planting the crops. I have learned the best way to prepare fried corn (boil it first) and how to make a tasty beer out of beets. I could, if pressed, make a rag rug or a candle or a delightful pigeon pie, and I could tell you how many bricks a yard of clay will make (460), and I could even recite a verse of "The Scottish Immigrant Song":

The little gowans tipped wi dew
That 'mang the grass shone brightly;
The harebell waving in the breeze
That bowed its head sae lightly.

When Mrs. Traill devoted a section of the book to "the ague," however, I had to chuckle. "Oh those simple Victorian people, mistaking food poisoning or a tight corset for some mysterious vapor-disease." Little did I know that -- holy cow! -- malaria was a serious problem in Ontario throughout the 1800's. No wonder a spoonful of Epsom salts didn't help.

So when the world comes crashing down, feel free to stay with me for a little while. We'll have a quilting bee, clear some land, and dig a pit to put the potatoes in. But now that I know where rennet comes from, YOU can make the cheese.

I'd Buy Anything By...Komeda

I have probably already mentioned that I flirted briefly with Sweden. I can't give a good reason for why this happened, but it had something to do with being trapped in a dead-end job and feeling like my horizons were shrinking, and that I'd better get out and see the world before I grew too old to really enjoy it.

What better place for a socially-neurotic Canadian to go but Sweden, which is like Canada but more so? I put off actually TRAVELING there by plunging into Swedish history, language, and culture (though I didn't go so far as to try Surströmming, being of a delicate disposition weaned on things that smell good).

During my "Swedish wannabe" phase I ran across the music of Komeda. They exemplified the hip, unselfconscious, unclassifiable nature of so many great Swedish bands that I was hearing at the time...even if many people thought they just sounded like Stereolab.

They only released a handful of albums (only two of which were in English) but they mixed styles in a way that still sounds great today: part lounge, part rock, part laid-back retro electronic. To illustrate their eclectic nature, here's their first hit single, "Boogie Woogie/Rock 'n' Roll," silly on the surface but well-tempered with considerable skill. Don't worry, cubicle surfers...this is the version WITHOUT the bare tushes.



Their second English album ("What Makes It Go?") was much slicker, and it seemed like they were being groomed for North American college radio. Their video for "It's Alright Baby" might not have dispelled inevitable comparisons with The Cardigans, but it sure was fun.



Then they disappeared. Then end.

...

But wait! I just discovered that they released another album in 2003. I'll have to order it so I can justify the "I'd Buy Anything" designation.

Albums to buy: You don't have a lot of choices, but "What Makes It Go" is the easiest to find and considered my many to be the best. Albums to avoid: "Pop På Svenska" is a tad larval and monotonous, and...well, it's in Swedish. So that would also put it in the "For Fans Only" category.

"Grouse a la Cunard"

Only I have the know-how and the delicacy to get all of the "Campbell's Tomato Soup" concentrate out of the can in a single scoop. That's why you come to my blog for all the best grouse recipes.

I present the recipe for "Grouse a la Cunard," revealed in a Cunard Liner advertisement from the November 3, 1928 New Yorker Magazine:

Take a young and tender grouse...cook it ten to twelve minutes in a hot oven...Place on toast two-thirds of an inch think, fried in butter and spread with foie gras...Serve with potato chips and watercress.

There you are: "grouse on toast" -- sometimes known as a "jolly grouse butty " -- complete with trademark breathless Cunard ellipses. And potato chips. On a plate it looks like this.


We previously documented the speech of the grapefruit fetishist. This time, let's see what a grouse fetishist sounds like.

A young bird, a whole bird, is the Cunard motto...There is never a cold storage grouse on board...They are sent to Cunard from various parts of the country...from Scotland as well as Yorkshire...The very pick of the market...And served...without extra cost...as a part of the regular à la carte menu.

Pant! Pant! Pant!

A "To Hell With It All!" Weekend

Sometimes -- for chemical, psychological, social, and environmental reasons that I can barely understand -- I find myself feeling SO BITTERLY MISANTHROPIC that I need to have a "to hell with it all" weekend. Like the spoiled, petulant child that I sometimes am, I just want to close the curtains, unplug the phone, turn off the lights, shush the squirrels, and moan in a corner until it all just goes away.

When I'm in the throes of this mood I find myself desperately craving an undefinable something, a medicine or a cure that will make me happy again. Unable to find such a thing I fall back on the second best option: lots of movie rentals and a big bag of Ched-a-Corn.

The thing about Ched-a-Corn is that it makes you physically ill, especially if you start at the bottom of the bag where the puffies have literally melted due to high oil content. My craving for Ched-a-Corn makes me wonder if I'm short-sighted, a masochist, or if I'm merely missing certain essential greases in my diet. In any case it's just the ticket for how I'm feeling.

The movies?

The Invasion

With Nicole Kidman as protagonist I can finally root for the body snatchers. The emotionless nature of the alien replicants will at least prevent them from the curse of syrupy overacting. My heart will always lie with the '70s version (which I should have included in that "scariest movies ever" list I made a few months ago, simply on the basis of sound design alone).

Can you forget Donald Sutherland walking between rows of alien pod trees towards a deserted government landmark, while Veronica Cartwright screams and pulls her hair and rehearses next year's encounter with a Gigerrific alien? I can't. God, that movie freaked me out.

The Corpse Grinders II

I was intrigued by the alien catwoman on the front cover, and then I saw that Liz Renay was in it. She inspired me in a way that only John Waters fans can ever understand. R.I.P.

Constantine

Once again, thanks to Keanu Reeves, I can root for the villains. I picked it because it was alphabetically next in the "horror" section, and also because I enjoyed Constantine's "Swamp Thing" appearances (though I was less impressed with the first Constantine trade paperback, which seemed so DESPERATELY new wave).

Judgement Day: Intelligent Design on Trial

I firmly believe that one of the most insidious forces at work in the modern world is the manipulation of words for dishonest ends. "Intelligent Design" is a case in point, and I rented this documentary simply so I could "top up" my already-bubbling fury.

This is the only one of these movies that I've watched so far. Through my gut-aching Ched-a-Corn haze I can at least say that it made the ID proponents look suitably deluded and/or deceptive, and it's awfully funny to see an actor portraying Michael Behe get totally trashed.

I'd rather see Michael Behe HIMSELF on the hotseat, but he's too smart to expose himself to real scrutiny on film. What a maroon!

Seen at Reuben's

For a few weeks I've been coming across these disturbing 1928 New Yorker advertisements for Reuben's Restaurant and Delicatessen. They were pretty laid back at first, but now they've exploding into a voyeuristic combination of celebrity-taunting and food fetishism. I quote:

Of course you didn't hear us chuckle, Mr. DUDLEY FIELD MALONE, but odds bodkins, our sense of humor just won't down when we see a legal luminary engaged in victorious debate with a fragrant, savory Reuben's hot Turkey Sandwich! No schoolboy at the jam pot (again) ever displayed more earnest, unqualified appreciation. The pleasure was ours as well as yours, Mr. Malone?

If *I* went someplace for dinner, and then the next day read an advertisement that said "Muffy St. Bernard came into our restaurant and ATE LIKE A CRAZY PIG!" I don't think I'd come back. But I guess any publicity is good publicity...

Here's another:

When a wit once asked us, mock-seriously, "Is this table large enough for a Reuben's apple pancake?" did we rush pell mell to the kitchen to reduce portions? No, we merely smiled smugly--for we knew that GEORGE WHITE would happen along shortly and--demon for details that he is--would surely detect the difference in his pet dish, inimitable spicy deliciousness or no. When you did arrive, Mr. White--did order--did demolish one of our famous over-stuffed apple pancakes--we knew there was little the matter with our blooming policy after all. Reassurance is a great tonic!

Odds bodkins, what a pancake that must have been!

Empowering the Servile Employee

It goes without saying that serving customers at Tim Horton's was not an empowering job.

I worked there for five years between 1994 and 1999, and while the owners were fantastic and we usually had good managers, workers, and customers, a shift couldn't go by without some jerk trying to "put you in your place" (meaning, make you feel bad and inferior).

As a result we felt justified in empowering ourselves in passive-aggressive ways. The employee motto was "the customers are always right...except when they are wrong" and it was open season on evil, obnoxious, and greedy people.

I now present portraits of each type of person, and techniques of empowering yourself when confronted by them.

The evil people behaved with undisguised maliciousness. They'd come in angry about something that had happened to them at work, and they'd instantly try to mess you up by being intimidating or deliberately confusing. They wanted to find something to yell at you about, and if you weren't going to screw up accidentally they'd make sure you did it in some other way.

They'd order something, then say that they didn't order it. They'd claim that you shortchanged them, even though you didn't. They'd mumble their orders, then scream at you when you asked them to speak up. They'd watch you like a hawk and question your every move: "Did you wash your hands? When were the donuts made? I said I DID want a tray, aren't you listening to me? Do you want me to call your boss and complain about you?"

What set the evil people apart from the simply anal people was the smirk on their faces: they made sure that you knew that they were out to get you, because they knew you couldn't call them on it.

But the perfect weapon against these people was an equally evil smirk in response. Just as you couldn''t refuse to serve them because they were smirking, THEY couldn't complain that you were smirking BACK. I followed their orders, and I was always polite, but I'd SMIRK at them in the most obnoxious way, and they HATED that. I'm sure it spoiled all their fun.

Plus, you had nothing to fear from such people: if you were a good employee, you knew your manager wouldn't give such complaints a second thought. So when the evil customers pulled out their trump card -- "I'm going to talk to your manager" -- I'd always reply "She'll be in tomorrow at 9am...do you want me to write down our store number for you?"

Obnoxious customers behaved as though they were part of a performance called "entertaining everybody at Tim Horton's." They'd crack annoying jokes or ask you "funny questions." They'd put on a big show of deciding what to order. What they considered to be entertainment was what other people called "a waste of time."

There was a kid who used to come in who we called "The Orange Drink Kid." He'd always say he wanted an "orange drink," and when you tried to clarify -- "you want a peach drink, right?" -- he'd say "no, I want whatever's orange-coloured." He would pick out his twenty timbits one at a time, giving a running commentary on each decision. He'd ask for HALF of a timbit, or say stuff like "How many can I get for 83.25 cents?"

Obnoxious customers weren't just annoying to the staff, they were annoying to EVERYBODY. So you could very easily be rude to them and refuse to put up with their crap. It helped that they tended to do the same routine every time, so you could be prepared: "We don't serve anything called 'orange drink,' so look at the menu and call me when you can name what you want." You could just walk away from them and leave them chuckling to themselves, or you could bypass them entirely and take the next customer until they got hungry enough to stop acting stupid.

A subset of obnoxious customers were those who'd bypass the speaker and drive right to the drive-thru window to order. Drive-thru had to be done in a rigid way because it could so easily go haywire, so a person who just decided to order at the window was potentially screwing you up.

It was easy to deal with these people: you pretended not to see them. You'd hear them "ding" at the speaker and then you'd hear their car speed off, giving you time to quickly run to a part of the store where they couldn't see you. Then you'd amuse yourself serving other customers, doing dishes, or sweeping the floor. After a few minutes you'd come back and pretend to notice the furious guy at the drive-thru window, and if he complained you could say "since you didn't order at the speaker, I assumed you drove off." This was IRONCLAD.

The Greedy people wanted something for free; they wanted to bypass the rules. They knew that bagels could not be microwaved or sliced and still be purchased at "bulk bagel" prices, and they knew that they couldn't get a raisin tea biscuit instead of a plain tea biscuit with their soup deals.

But they'd ask for this stuff anyway, and then act surprised and offended when you refused. They assumed that by making enough of a stink you would eventually just give in.

The key to dealing with these people was to know the rules, know the situation, and know your manager. If you were 100% certain that the people were breaking the rules, and the situation offered you some free time to argue about it, and if you knew your manager would back you up, you could have SO MUCH FUN simply refusing. You had to be polite, but also firm, without any waffling: no, I can't do that, it's against the rules. No.

If your manager was a wimp or there was a huge line-up, though, you'd have to give in.

Another type of greedy person was the one who'd order something, take it away, and then hand it back to you and say "actually, can I trade this in and get something else?" The rules said you had to obey, but it was fun to shame them publically anyway. You'd take the food out of their hand and then dramatically throw it into the garbage, and everybody would gasp. Then you'd politely hand them their next item of food as they sputtered "I didn't think you'd throw it away!"

We had to throw it away. And we threw everything out at night anyway. But it was GREAT fun to make them look like they were snatching the food from starving third-world children.

BONUS:

It always surprises me that customers will be unpleasant to the people who prepare their food. They know what is freshest, and -- if you're particularly nasty -- they can spit in your drinks. You might think that, just because they're standing in front of you, they can't get a foreign substance into your coffee...but what if they rub their finger in something gross, then stick their finger into the coffee while they stir it?

I did spit in coffee, but only once, for a particularly evil regular customer. Otherwise I was always sure not to muck with people's food.

But here's the most important thing to remember: if you're nice to the servers, and they see you enough, you may start to get deals: the freshest coffee, free stuff, and little bits of rule bending. I was very happy to slice the bulk bagels for NICE customers...but you always needed to warn them, otherwise they'd come back and say "Why won't you do it for me? That OTHER person always does!"

Pie in the Pundit

I am fascinated by the slow accumulation of hits, comments, links, and subscriptions that my videos are pulling in. I wonder what I am doing that is "intriguing," what people EXPECT me to be doing, and what I might do to actually turn them off.

When I noticed that some of my subscribers were interested in pieing -- no doubt in a fetishy way -- I got even more curious: what do they like about pieing, and what makes a good "pieing video" for them?

I decided to make a pieing video in my own way, without ever having watched any of the OTHER videos. Over the holidays I built up the idea in my head, and then at 3am on New Year's Day I decided the time was right; also I had to do it soon or the pie would go bad.



Off the top of my head I can say that it was a cold, wet, and slimy experience, and that lemon meringue doesn't stick to CoverFX E20 cream foundation. I also think it would have been more fun to have the pie THROWN at me -- in the true spirit of a vaudeville pastry-attack -- but there was nobody else around so it had to be me.

I'm most interested to find out if "pie in the face" fans HATE the video. They probably want to see gorgeous, scantily-dressed, model-perfect women getting surprised by the approaching pie, not a scruffy, post-bar drag queen, pontificating without eyelashes and wearing a very old T-shirt.

So for the next few weeks I'll be eagerly watching the comments and anticipating the "hate comments" that I have managed to totally avoid so far. Are people ready for a gentler, smarter, uglier "pie in the face" video? We'll see, but I doubt it!