On Friday morning, I ate my last H&H bagel. I didn’t know that at the time, of course, or I would have savored it. I might have saved it for Saturday morning, when I would have had the time to toast it properly, and to eat it slowly. I might have saved it for weeks and weeks, until a day came when I really needed an H&H bagel. I might have just eaten half. 

I would have done things differently, in any case.

Onion bagels are one of my favorite foods in the whole wide world, and H&H made my favorite ones of all. (I have not tried a great many New York bagels for comparison, but the H&H ones were so fantastic that I saw no reason to ever abandon them for something else.) Few things made me happier than making the trip back to Boston with bags full of bagels. 

Last time I went to New York I decided to buy several bagels from Ess-a-Bagel. I’d heard impressive things, and while I was skeptical that there could be a bagel in the world that was more delicious than H&H, I decided that it wouldn’t hurt anybody if I tried them out. I wasn’t impressed.

I could see why some people might brand Ess-a-Bagel the superior bagel, but they were too big for me, and took too long to eat. And the onion bagel was only coated on one side, and I could only eat half a time, so every other day I ended up eating a plain bagel with a vague onion flavor. 

H&H was just perfect. And I miss it already.

I was supposed to go to New York next week. I have things to do, but mostly I’d decided to go next Monday so that I could get bagels for my friend for his birthday. And also for me, because I love them. But now I don’t know. 

There are many, many bagelries in New York City. The prospect of finding a new source for onion bagels is overwhelming, to say the least. I keep reading reviews of the top rated ones, looking for bagels that are described similarly to H&H’s. And so far I don’t know. 

Part of me just wants to sit around until Helmer Toro gets his act (and a million plus dollars) together and reopens. It might happen. It can happen. 

I just hope it happens soon.

Originally published 1/30/2012

Baseball season is over, so unless I find the need to talk about how beautiful/wonderful Jacoby or Gordon is, I probably won’t be bringing it up for a while. Except for right now, because I need to get it out of my system.

This season has been terrible, more disappointing than I could ever have expected. There were high hopes for both of my baseball teams, especially the Red Sox, who were easily the early favorites to win the World Series. The White Sox appeared to have an exceptionally solid lineup as well, with a record payroll, so things looked promising. 

The White Sox got off to a good start, trouncing the Indians on opening day, sort of. They won 15-10 and also made snow angels on the field, because it was snowing in Ohio and the Indians weren’t awesome enough to think of it themselves. Gordon got three hits, and I thought: I love you so fucking much, Gordon Beckham, and we are in for a kickass year. 

Ultimately he ended up with a crappy batting average but a sterling defensive season, and at one point, super hot black eyes. (It is my professional opinion that Gordon would benefit from some more time in the minor leagues, but what do I know.) 

But things went badly for everybody, not just Gordon, not even mostly Gordon, and they lost more games than they won. C’est la vie, they were hardly the only team with a sub-.500 record. 

The Red Sox are a more complicated case. They went 0-6 to kick off the season, highly inauspicious for a team as celebrated as they were. After that they won about a million games, helped in no small part by one of the most awesome baseball players to ever baseball (verb), Jacoby Ellsbury. After winning lots and lots and lots of games and losing like eight, the Red Sox proceeded to go 7-20 in the month of September.

It was pretty much the worst meltdown ever. Jacoby was still fine, more than fine, a baseball god, really. He carried that whole team on his gorgeous shoulders. Their season would’ve ended even sooner if not for him, and if the Red Sox don’t at least buy him a cake, then they are terrible, terrible people. 

The whole season came down to two games last night — the Tampa Bay Rays vs. the Yankees, and the Red Sox vs. the Orioles. It started out fine, the Red Sox were up 3-2 and the Yankees were winning 7-0, and when it started to rain and they pulled the tarp and I went to bed, I thought, “we’ve got this.” 

We didn’t have much, our pitching is abysmal and our hitting is only barely better, but you know. There was the chance that maybe, miracles are not unprecedented for the Red Sox. But then I woke up to the season being over, the Rays having gotten the miracle, and the Sox coming back to Boston.

The season has been tumultous, to say the least. And I’m just tired. I’m glad I don’t like any other sports because this is… exhausting is too mild a word for it, I am just so burnt out. I’m starting to understand Billy’s perspective, all the times he’s just thrown up his hands in exasperation and been like, fuck baseball. 

As I explained to somebody recently, I don’t have time to follow much aside from baseball. Following two teams means that there is at least one game on every single day, some of which overlap and I can watch two at once, some of which don’t, and even though I don’t watch every single game, I watch a lot. It is a huge time commitment, even if there is a ton of multitasking going on. I mean, I never justwatch baseball, my brain doesn’t work that way. Thank god, too, because that would be a lot of time spent staring at the TV. Or whatever. I’m tired just thinking about it.

Maybe things will happen in the offseason that will get me excited again. I don’t know.

I’m tired. And I’m done with this topic. And baseball. For now.

Originally published 9/29/2011.

Today is Gordon Beckham’s birthday. As has become tradition (twice = tradition, right?), I donated to the National Parkinson’s Foundation in his name via his Out of the Park for Parkinson’s charity. I’m also wearing my sparkly Gordon Beckham t-shirt. That’s also a tradition of two years. 

Given that his team got eliminated from playoff contention last night, I am not sure how happy his birthday is going to be. On the bright side I guess he probably won’t be dealing with any quarter-century crisis angst; he’s got enough to worry about, trying to figure out why things went so badly for him at the plate in 2011, and how he can turn that around next year.

I’m sorry for the negativity. This season was really bad, though. I’m glad it’s over. I watched the last inning of the game last night, just to watch it end; Gordon walked, so he wasn’t the final out or even really a factor at all in the end. That actually meant a lot to me at the time, I don’t know why. (I think it has something to do with watching Jacoby pop out in his final at-bat of 2009. I don’t think he was the last out, either. Maybe second-to-last.)

Anyway, I hope Gordon has a good birthday. I hope his teammates bring him cake, and that they win the game (meaningless though it is) and that twenty-five is better for him baseball-wise than twenty-four was. I hope that his birthday wish is to be extra awesome next year and that it comes true. 

And I hope lots of people donate to NPF on his behalf today. It’s a good cause and he’s a good person, and the Sox just got eliminated, so let’s help eliminate Parkinson’s too. 

(Fun fact: 25% of my posts since I rebooted this thing have been to wish Gordon Beckham a happy birthday. Seems about right.)

Originally published 9/16/2011.

Jani Lane, the lead singer of Warrant, was found dead last night. 

I don’t think that this is big news to most people, not by a long shot, but honestly I feel like I’ve been punched in the stomach. I don’t think I’ve ever been this sad over a celebrity death (Ted Kennedy doesn’t count) and it’s thrown me for a loop. 

Jani Lane was the first rockstar I ever met. I was fifteen years old and Aunt Di drove my best friend Elena and I to the Hampton Beach Casino Ballroom to see Warrant play. I got all dressed up in vinyl pants and a zebra print halter top and I’m pretty sure that I have never looked more adorable in my whole life. I was by far the youngest person in the crowd, and I probably looked so out of place rocking out to Warrant, but I didn’t care. I was so close to the stage that I was getting hit by the beads of sweat flying off of Jani’s body, and it was really as awesome as it was gross. 

After the show the band hung out to meet and greet fans and I got a bunch of autographs and hung around and chatted with Jani Lane. I was, as mentioned, fifteen years old and even more spastic than I am now. Instead of blowing me off, Jani was exceptionally cool, taking pictures with me and talking to me and making me feel completely at ease. 

I met him several times after that and he was always the same. It’s possible that I’ve met nicer rockstars than Jani, but I was probably too busy freaking out to notice. 

If I’m being honest with myself, however, Jani never really seemed particularly happy. He had major alcohol problems, weight issues, a crazy ex-wife (Bobbie Brown) and he seemed to really, really hate singing “Heaven.” Or, well, he didn’t seem to hate singing that. He did hate it. 

Midway through every show he’d let out this deep sigh and inform the crowd that we had reached the “pussy ballads” portion of the evening. Then he’d launch into “Heaven,” “I Saw Red,” “Sometimes She Cries,” etc. Even though they weren’t my favorite songs (though I do love “I Saw Red” more than almost any other power ballad) I used to get really annoyed because really, dude? Power ballads were pretty much the backbone of glam rock. Power ballads put food on your table. STOP BITCHING. 

But I get it. I always have gotten it, really, because that is legitimately the most boring part of pretty much every 80s rock concert I have ever been to. It’s breaktime for the band, because the crowd does the singing for them. 

So Jani Lane, I appreciate that you preferred to rock out with the crowd rather than let the crowd sing your songs, because I liked that better too. 

I wish I could help how sad I am about this. I just have so many memories of Warrant, and they were such a huge part of me becoming me — I know I credit Poison with that, but Warrant was there too and I loved them. I still love them. 

They haven’t released any real information about his death, and I don’t think I want to know anyway. Mostly I hope that he was happier than I remember him, and I hope that I was wrong about him being sad. I wish that heaven had been a little farther away for him. 

Rest in peace, Jani Lane, and thank you for everything.

Originally published 8/12/2011

A couple of weeks ago I accidentally subscribed to the “popular ideas” feed of the “My Starbucks Idea” blog. (I was trying to subscribe to the actual Starbucks blog feed, the one that is actually updated by Starbucks people that tells you new things about Starbucks, but it turns out that every RSS button you click just subscribes you to “popular ideas.” It’s stupid.)

Anyway, I haven’t gotten around to unsubscribing, mostly because it is on occasion hilarious. But it’s getting a bit tedious to read even just the subject lines, which overwhelmingly have one of the following three suggestions:

1) Give us a gold star for every beverage purchased, not just every transaction! 

1b) Then, in the comments, inevitably: Not every BEVERAGE purchased, that’s unfair to us who buy FOOD. Every ITEM purchased or, alternately, a gold star for every dollar spent!

2) Stop mailing out the free drink coupons! It’s environmentally unfriendly/my cards get stolen, there is no reason that we know of why you can’t have the drink be automatically granted via my gold card!

3) Reduce the number of stars needed for a free beverage from 15 to 10!

Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep let me back up the train.

I should explain Starbucks’s rewards program. Basically, it starts with getting a Starbucks card. After you load it up and register it at starbucks.com, you get a free beverage on your birthday. After five transcations you graduate to “green level,” and you get a few extra perks including free syrups/milk substitution (which during the autumn/winter/spring saves me like $1/drink). After thirty transactions you graduate to “gold,” at which point you get a fancy gold Starbucks card with your name on it anda free drink every fifteen transactions.

This is the only rewards program that I am a part of, so I don’t really have anything to compare it to, but I love it for the free syrups/soy milk alone. That’s actually what I’m in it for, really. If they bumped it to cover one extra espresso shot (which I think they should, if only because venti drinks should really receive three shots of espresso — tall gets one, grande gets two, venti gets… also two?) then life, at least insofar as it relates to Starbucks, would be perfect.

The fact that the “popular” ideas overwhelmingly are pleas to Starbucks for easier ways to take advantage of Starbucks bothers me. I’m pretty sure that there is no way that Starbucks will ever institute a system in which patrons receive a “star” per beverage vs. “star” per transaction, if only because there are a lot of people who are going to buy coffee for their entire office, pay with their Starbucks card, and pocket the cash. I just think that’s shady.

This affected me the other day, which is why I bring it up. Friday afternoon I was going over to Starbucks to pick up an iced coffee and my boss asked me to get her a passion iced tea lemonade. She gave me cash, and I walked over to Starbucks. 

After emphasizing to the barista that I wanted separate transactions, she swiped my Starbucks card for my drink, and apologized because the system was lagging. It was taking forever, so I was chatting with her and her coworker, not paying attention — when I suddenly noticed her swiping my card again, for my boss’s drink. I immediately pointed out her mistake, and she apologized, but was unable to refund it because the system was having problems.

It wasn’t a huge deal, but it really does bother me. When I worked at Starbucks, if a customer wanted two drinks rung up separately, I’d automatically assume that the two drinks were being paid for by two different people and expect two separate forms of payment. Because that is what people usually do. That is the logical thing to do. 

The “stars,” and the free drinks, are supposed to be a reward for being a loyal customer. That’s the whole point. It sucks that greedy and obnoxious people are gaming the system and making baristas’ lives more difficult. And not only that, they think they should be rewarded with free stuff five “stars” earlier! 

All I can think is, no wonder my Starbucks people like me so much. (Barring those times when I marginally change up my order and throw everybody off and then they tell me that they don’t actually like me best anymore, which frankly just wrecks my whole day.) 

So all I have to say is, Starbucks, don’t change a thing. Except make it not one “star” per transaction, make it one “star” per transaction per hour. Wreck the day for all those people who are trying to game the system. 

In fact, I think that I will submit this to My Starbucks Idea. Because I think it is the best idea ever.

Originally published 7/25/2011

I love being Irish. I don’t know why, I’m not particularly into poetry, music, revolutionary action, alcohol or any of the other big Irish stereotypes, but for some reason that part of my heritage is hugely important to me. (I do love potatoes, but I don’t think it’s that.)

My mother always made a big deal of St. Patrick’s Day. She would have the whole family over for dinner and we’d eat corned beef and cabbage. I actually hated St. Patrick’s Day dinner, because corned beef and cabbage is disgusting, but everybody else seemed happy and I mostly got away with eating just the boiled carrots and potatoes. Plus, you know, usually there was also cake with green frosting, so that was a win.

For the record, corned beef and cabbage is not traditional Irish fare. My mom was way wrong about that one, which means that I spent thirteen years choking it down for no reason. Thanks, Mom.

To be fair, Irish immigrants ate a ton of corned beef back in the day, but corned beef and cabbage tends to be presented as traditionally Irish, not Irish-American. My mother certainly served it to us as a traditional Irish dish.

That is a small and mostly harmless misconception, but I feel like it is representative of a larger issue. Specifically, that of actual Irish culture being overshadowed by stereotypes. Granted, all cultures suffer this to an extent, but as far as I know, Ireland is the only one that gets a whole holiday where everybody “becomes Irish” and therefore is permitted to booze it up and act like loud, rowdy assholes to their heart’s content.

And why? Because they’re Irish. 

Don’t get me wrong. I know that is something that is never going to change, St. Patrick’s Day douchebaggery is an American tradition. There’s no denying it. But I resent all of the people who get all excited to be Irish for St. Patrick’s Day because it is an excuse (nay, a reason) to get sloppy drunk, and they don’t even wear green. 

I don’t get it. Here you are, appropriating an entire culture for a day just so that you can use an awful stereotype as an excuse (reason) to act like a drunken fool, and you can’t even put on a green shirt? I don’t care if you look bad in green, you don’t look any better stumbling into walls, let me tell you.

So anyway, that is my (corned) beef with St. Patrick’s Day.

For the record, I am indeed wearing green. Are you?

Originally published 3/17/2010

Dear Bret Michaels,

I don’t love you anymore. In fact, you might be my fourth favorite member of Poison. I know it’s hard to hear, but I’m sure that your legion of brand new, couldn’t-care-less-about-Poison, reality-TV-loving fans will help cushion the blow. 

The problem, Bret, is that you are everywhere. I guess that is more my problem than it is yours, unless you are seriously concerned about how my love for you has waned. (If it really does bother you, please let me know; I would be more than happy to discuss the situation with you.)

I’ve been a Poison fan since 1999. I probably would have liked you in the 80s, but as I was born in 1984, you were a little before my time. You made your big comeback in ‘99, I caught you on VH1’s Behind the Music and after that I was hooked. I bought all of Poison’s CDs… except for Native Tongue, of course, because Richie Kotzen? Fuck him. 

When Crack a Smile was finally released I was overjoyed. Blues Saraceno seemed like a good guy—no C.C., but who is? The point was that I loved Poison and was thrilled to have more Poison to listen to even if it wasn’t C.C. Devillified. 

And yes, I bought your solo stuff. Soundtrack to A Letter From Death Row? Check. Show Me Your Hits, that crappy cover CD? Check. Songs of Life? Check check check. I went to great lengths to get a copy of A Letter From Death Row and I am not even going to lie, Bret, it is one of my most favorite movies ever. 

My bedroom walls were covered in Poison posters, including one that was just you, Bret Michaels. I got it at a flea market. You had no shirt on. I am scouring the internet for a new copy of that, actually. You were incredibly hot in the 80s, I am just saying.

You might be wondering how a girl who has loved Poison and loved you for so long can possibly forsake you now. It’s a valid question, but honestly? I just can’t take you seriously any more.

First of all, Rock of Love. I suppose that I can’t really comment, given that I have never seen it, but I have a good reason for not watching it and that reason is Kristi Gibson. I’ve never really understood your breakup; in addition to being your kids’ mom, she is pretty much the hottest woman that I have ever seen in my whole life. Like I said, I haven’t seen Rock of Love, but I would bet cash money that not a single woman who competed for your affection could hold a candle to Kristi. 

Granted, looks aren’t everything, but you have to agree on some level, because all of your Rock of Love ”relationships” went down the drain and you ended up popping the question to Kristi anyway. I will get to that in a minute.

Now, in the midst of all this fame and fortune, you had a couple of near-death experiences. Each served only to increase your fame, but that was okay. My only concern was for your health, because I could not (and, for the record, cannot) imagine what my life would be like without you. I can’t even imagine a world without Bret Michaels, it would be a sad and gray place. 

As much as I love you, I feel like things are going downhill for you and me. Celebrity Apprentice? Really? Okay, that actually has nothing to do with anything, I just felt like I should mention it. I didn’t watch that either, by the way.

It just seems like you’ve stopped being the front man of Poison and have started being famous just for being famous. You went from rockstar to socialite in practically no time at all. We’d be okay in spite of that, however, if you weren’t putting Poison on the backburner. And for what? A solo career?

News to you, Bret Michaels, but your solo music isn’t very good. Your solo music actually kinda seems like recycled Poison music. “Riding Against the Wind”? Come on. I mean, there are literally lyrics from Poison songs inserted into your solo music and vice versa, in Hollyweird and Power to the People and Crack a Smile, neither of which were very good. (Did I still love Power to the People and Hollyweird and Crack a Smile anyway? Yes I did, not the point.)

Theoretically you are touring with Poison this summer. I am looking forward to it, also theoretically. I am not getting my hopes up. I am sad that you are refusing to work with Rikki, C.C. and Bobby on a new Poison album. Given the fact that Poison hasn’t made a great album since Flesh and Blood (1990!), I wouldn’t say that my life is any emptier for lack of new Poison music. (That said, you have made great albums before and you can do it again, so my life is the emptier for lack of awesome new Poison albums.)

Anyway, that’s not the point. 

I miss you, Bret Michaels. I want you to love you again, and I want to not be annoyed every time I see your name. I want you to not be the primadonna I think you’ve become, and I want you go go back to your roots. And FYI, you’re not country—you’re rock and roll. I have pictures to prove it. 

Share the wealth, Bret. Throw your brothers in rock and roll a fucking bone—with your current fame, you can make Poison bigger and badder than ever. You can keep your old fans happy, and maybe get some new ones in the bargain. Don’t be selfish. Be awesome. 

Maybe I lied when I said I didn’t love you anymore. Maybe my feelings are just hurt. But I love you by virtue of what you were and should be to Poison, I don’t love you for you. Maybe I did, but not anymore.

Missing you,

Ashley

Originally published 1/10/2011

I feel like I am semi-sort of jacking this post from Rikki Rockett, but I have my own Starbucks problems. (Also, I call them “first world problems,” and not “white collar problems.” Key difference.)

On Monday when I attempted to make my daily coffee run I was dismayed to note that my favorite Starbucks was apparently closed for renovations. This came with no warning whatsoever. Sure, their stock had dwindled… I just assumed they were preparing to go red, like they do. But alas, not the case. 

I immediately hoofed it over to the Starbucks around the corner, but that Starbucks is terrible and it is miniscule and I hate it. I know that “hate” is a very very strong word, but it is a very very bad Starbucks… with the exception of one barista, a fine young chap who transferred from the awesome Starbucks to the awful one. I miss him at my Starbucks, but not half so much as I miss my Starbucks.

In an effort to compromise, I went to the cafe at Whole Foods on Tuesday and Wednesday. Somehow, that was worse. I ended up waiting in line for ages and ages while the people manning the counter chatted with the customers in front of me. Not cool! (Have I chatted at length with my Starbucks baristas? Of course. When there is a huge line? Never.) It literally took me half an hour to get to and from a place that is all of five minutes from my office.

Today I trekked back to the Starbucks that I hate, figuring that even a mediocre double-tall soy peppermint mocha was better than a ten minute wait for a fucking cup of tea. And it was better. Much better. But it still took me about twenty-five minutes, including time spent waiting for/on elevators, and that is too much time. 
Also, the barista on bar today seemed to be anti-soy milk for some reason, because I and the person in front of me both had to wait for a very long time for our drinks, while people behind us got their drinks in record time. You know where that doesn’t happen? My awesome Starbucks.

I’m aware that the world doesn’t rotate around my caffeine needs, though it would be really fantastic if it did. I wish I knew when my Starbucks was reopening, but nobody’s answering the phone and there’s no voicemail. 

Yes, it’s a first world problem. But it is crippling me. (Not literally.)

Originally published 11/24/2010

Today is Gordon Beckham’s birthday. I know that he’s only been my favorite baseball player for a couple of weeks, but I’m choosing to celebrate the fact that he became my favorite player just in time for me to get my act together in time for his birthday.

I mean, seriously. My timing has rocked. I ordered my Gordon Beckham t-shirt from MLB.com just in time; it arrived yesterday, and I’m wearing it today. Speaking of which, it sparkles. Do all White Sox t-shirts sparkle, or just the ones made in a girl-cut? (I suspect they might all sparkle, but I’m a little wary.) 

Anyway, all that aside. It’s Gordon Beckham’s birthday and he has established a program, Gordon Beckham’s Out of the Park for Parkinson’s. He is making a donation to the National Parkinson’s Foundation for each home run he hits this season; donations made via the Out of the Park website will go to the National Parkinson’s Foundation also. 

So everybody should donate to that. Because it’s his birthday and he is awesome and if we don’t beat the Twins tonight, he’s going to be sad, but if lots of people donate maybe he’ll be less sad. Give the man a happy birthday, guys.

Originally published 9/16/2010