By Maude Perkins

Customers say – and do – the darndest things.
“Grande Large”
A woman orders her coffee this way every single time she comes in. And then she gets mad when you don’t know what the hell to do. Lady, you just ordered two sizes and no actual drink there. Every time she comes in, I correct her and tell her how to order her medium coffee in a large cup, but she would just assume go through this frustrating routine each and every time she comes in and says it to somebody new.
“Blueberry”
Blueberry what!? There are rarely less than four blueberry somethings in the pastry case at any given time. Pointing your finger while you say, “Blueberry,” also doesn’t help. We speak a common language for a reason. And again, we take the time to put those little labels on the pastry trays for a reason too. Put the two together and let’s keep this line a-moving. Likewise, “Coffee cake,” is not sufficient information. There are three of those. And guess what? One of them has blueberries!

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Posted on February 28, 2007

Dear Macy’s:

It’s been two months, and only now am I beginning to deal with the horrific experience of Christmas at the State Street Macy’s, aka Marshall Field’s. If I had a therapist, he or she would be pleased with my progress. I don’t have one, so this letter will be my therapy.
Now, it is not entirely your fault that the Walnut Room sucks. And suck it does, so royally that the outrageous prices should include one of those minor titles frequently sold off by impoverished British aristocrats to fund rehab for themselves or the ancient family manor. Had I been charged $6.50 for a small glass of eggnog but left the Walnut Room a duchess, I might not complain.
Ever has it been so, and thus, Marshall Field’s must take its share of the considerable blame. However, when you made the churlish decision to erase the Field name from Chicago entirely, I had hoped some small good might still come from your corporate ownership. Specifically, I hoped the Walnut Room would raise its standards slightly higher than a combination Dunkin’ Donuts/Kentucky Fried Chicken. But no.

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Posted on February 27, 2007

By Roderick Heath

Dateline: Pickled in a motel room on Sepulveda Blvd.
Oscar time comes like the rain in Los Angeles – once a year, hot, sticky, and causing alarm for the Hummer drivers. Where the red carpet runs and the buffalo roam, the heat becomes so severe under the glare of flashbulbs and arc lights and the collective breath of several thousand expectorating gawkers, it’s a wonder some of the cheaper plastic surgery doesn’t begin to melt. Over here in the City of Angels, new standards are being set in social development. Britney Spears has become the new poster child for the inevitably well-adjusted, emotionally-healthy type of young woman who embarks early in life on a successful career, carefully guided by loving parents and corporate benevolence, graduating to a life of spiritual and physical well-being in Bush’s Moral America.

Here’s Oscar: Red Carpet Ride The Oddscars Best Song Won’t Be Geeks & Freaks

But it’s been a controversial year, perhaps the most controversial year in Hollywood history since Fredric March and Wallace Beery arranged an impromptu wrestling match to determine which of them would take home the statuette after they tied for the 1931/32 Best Actor Oscar. Why, I have no idea. Such upright citizens as Mel Gibson, Michael Richards, and Isaiah Washington continue to spread peace, love, and understanding in the most noble Bush tradition. Gibson in particular has reinforced his public pronouncements that reveal his deep and nuanced view of history with insight into Mayan culture in Apocalypto, which, after The Passion of the Christ‘s fascinating reportage of the techniques of crucifixion, gave an anthropologist’s-eye-view of Native American practices of impaling and heart-removal. Kebabing the cast is certainly a novel move for a non-vampire film. Apocalypto will be competing against Clint Eastwood’s Letters from Iwo Jima in a new category, Best Fake Foreign-Language Film.

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Posted on February 22, 2007

What to look for on the red carpet.
Best Actor in a Supporting Role
ALAN ARKIN will be wearing a single-breasted, two-button, peak-lapel tuxedo from Hugo Boss, a white formal shirt, and a rose-colored tie in a shade that matches the second degree burns on his Johnson.

Here’s Oscar: Hitchhiker’s Guide The Oddscars Best Song Won’t Be Geeks & Freaks

DJIMON HOUNSOU will be wearing a one-button tuxedo with peak lapels and besom pockets by Ozwald Boateng paired with a silver formal necktie accented with a simple emerald-cut cubic zirconia tie pin, but he will be too sexy for his shirt.
JACKIE EARLE HALEY will raise eyebrows in choice number three: the classic single-breasted, one-button, notch-lapel tuxedo from Rent-A-Tux. The traditional double-pleated, black tuxedo pants will be included at no extra charge. His accessories – a black silk adam’s apple cozy.
EDDIE MURPHY will be wearing a foam-latex, female fat suit by Rick Baker and a short, purple, pareo-style Hawaiian muumuu with floral-shirred sleeve and ruffled neck from Hilo Hattie of Waikiki. Hair by Wig Barn of Beverly Hills. His accessories – advertising fliers for his new movie, Norbit.
MARK WAHLBERG will hit the red carpet in a single-breasted, three-button tuxedo from Calvin Klein, paired with underwear from Calvin Klein that will be filled with the notorious 13-inch prosthetic penis courtesy of the producers of Boogie Nights.
*

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Posted on February 22, 2007

The Beachwood Bookmaking Affairs Desk

For entertainment purposes only. And wagering.
The chance that . . .
Host Ellen DeGeneres will make a crack about being gay: 100 percent. It’s still the Academy’s idea of titillation. Hers, too.

Here’s Oscar: Hitchhiker’s Guide Red Carpet Ride Best Song Won’t Be Geeks & Freaks

DeGeneres will have the critics pining for Billy Crystal: 50 percent. Some will pine for Bob Hope.
DeGeneres will joke about the show running long, thereby making the show even longer: 100 percent. Worst-directed televised event year-in, year-out.

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Posted on February 22, 2007

By Don Jacobson

The best thing about covering the Best Song category in the 2007 Oscar prognostication sweepstakes is that it’s got to be about the easiest of any of them to pick – there’s a 60 percent chance that the winner will come from one film. That film is Dreamgirls, which like a Supremely powerful R&B steamroller is crushing all in its path. Three of the best five original songs in all of moviedom come from this one film – imagine that. The only question is, which Dreamgirl – Beyoncé, Anika Noni Rose, or Chicago’s own Jennifer Hudson – has put her song over well enough for it to win. Coincidentally enough, each of the three Dreamgirls sing lead in one of the nominated songs (Beyoncé, “Listen;” Anika, “Patience;” and Jennifer, “Love You I Do.”)

Here’s Oscar: Hitchhiker’s Guide Red Carpet Ride The Oddscars Geeks & Freaks

The music for all three of the nominated songs was either written or cowritten by Henry Krieger, who has a long and impressive resume as a composer in the world of Broadway musicals. So if a Dreamgirls song wins, he and his collaborators will be the ones who actually collect the Oscar. But in my mind, it’s not the compositions that will matter as much as the how they were performed in the movie. That’s because the music in Dreamgirls is, for the most part, interchangeable. It is to real R&B what Hair was to rock ‘n’ roll: some consummate Broadway professional’s calculated, ultra-slick take on an indigenous musical form. Therefore, it’s the personalities and individual talents of the three Dreamgirls, both on- and off-screen, that will probably decide the winner in this category, not the minute differences in mainly-mediocre songwriting.

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Posted on February 22, 2007

Dear Lin Brehmer:

When I get up, I sit for a moment on the side of the bed, I stare at the floor, and I say, “Fuck.” Every morning. Every single morning. Doesn’t matter how great a day might theoretically lay ahead. That’s what I say, and that’s how I feel. I have one variation: Sometimes I say “Oh” first.
I wonder if it’s any better for you, getting up at a time which is really very late at night and doesn’t count as morning at all. I’m going to bet it’s not – you still have to haul yourself out of bed like anyone else, and Daylight Savings Time would have to be quadrupled before it made a dent in your morning horizon.
Yes, morning is a very bleak time for me. The last thing I want to hear before breakfast is something like “I Will Follow You Into The Dark” by Death Cab for Cutie, which you played again today. I mean, have you listened to this yourself? “Love of mine, some day you will die/But I’ll be close behind to follow you into the dark.” And that’s the upbeat part.

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Posted on February 19, 2007

By Maude Perkins

Aside from my aforementioned resistance to suggestively sell, I have compiled a short list of other reasons that the world’s finest coffee purveyors may not appreciate giving me a paycheck.
1. Whenever we are supposed to sample the latest featured pastry to the customers, I typically only end up sampling about half of what I cut up. The other half goes towards my personal product knowledge gain. I like to taste enough to be able to articulate effectively to the customers, of course. Aside from my genuine desire to be a knowledgeable employee, I am being realistic as well. You would not believe how many of our customers refuse free, bite-size samples because they are watching their weight. That, to me, is a sad existence. Especially since, as we all know, everything tastes better in sample size.

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Posted on February 18, 2007

Date Taken: 2/17/07
From: Streeterville
To: Wicker Park
The Cab: A red Royal 3CC Cab Co. sedan that was classically squeaky and rough-hewn. A puddle had formed in the rear left floor space. I guess the cabbie hasn’t learned the newspaper-as-mat trick.

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Posted on February 17, 2007

Date Taken: 2/17/07
From: Wicker Park
To: Streeterville
The Cab: This was a van cab. I’ve never known if these were strictly for airport use or large parties; I confess, in my embarrassed ignorance, I’ve stood on cold corners and let van cabs go by with nary a wave. This time I gave a half-hearted, barely perceptible wave and the guy pulled up and lowered the front passenger window, as if I wanted to ask for directions or something and not for a ride because, well, this is a van cab. I admitted to the driver that I was clueless about van cabs, but needed to go downtown. “I’ll do it, no problem,” he said – leaving the question of van cab etiquette and use unanswered. Maybe he was just bored.

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Posted on February 17, 2007