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May 23, 2005

Macchiato -- MAH-KEE-AH-TOE (sayin' it slowly)

All I ever want from an espresso bar is a macchiato. I do not want a CARAMEL Macchiato, which is what the Starbuck's crew often assumes. And then, because Starbuck's has made the macchiato profane by prepending the caramel, I am often confronted at other establishments with the question, "Do you mean 'Starbuck's style'?"

To which I must always roll my eyes and sigh knowingly and say, "Absolutely not. I mean, a real macchiato."

Another issue at Starbuck's is the question, "What size?"

This is my order: "Triple, non-fat espresso macchiato."

And the uninitiated behind the counter always queries, "What size?"

The size is triple, dipshit -- there's no Tall, Grande, Venti attached to the macchiato sizing -- only number of shots. I say this to myself and politely respond, "ESPRESSO macchiato, not caramel macchiato -- I'd like a triple."

They often look at me with a dumbfounded look upon their face until one of their colleagues approaches and explains to them while pointing at buttons on the cash register, "It's a macchiato--it's just espresso shots with foam."

Then, the helpful, more experienced Starbuck's barista picks up an espresso paper cup and writes MAC on it. "See, like this."

Well, today, my never-ending quest for the easy-order macchiato reached an all-time low. I was on my way to Wheelworks to pick up a Trico case in which to pack up my downhill bike for the plane and I stopped at the Starbuck's on Harvard Street near Commonwealth. I pulled right up to an open meter spot in front of the door, feeling that my luck was looking good. I went inside and delivered the order, "Triple, non-fat macchiato, please."

The guy behind the counter didn't quite get it. "What size?"

"No, just a macchiato -- no caramel. A triple."

"Oh." He hunts a bit on the register keys and rings it up properly. As I am handing him the money, I notice that the barista is grabbing a tall cup instead of the espresso cup. I worry momentarily, but think, 'nah, she heard me clarify about the caramel.'

I pay and move over to stand quietly in the designated waiting spot. The barista shortly thereafter places the tall cup on the counter and announces, "Triple macchiato."

I approach and take the cup. It is heavy. The macchiato by definition cannot be heavy -- it is espresso and foam. I pause to consider whether or not I want to deal with the issue. I do. I need my macchiato and I don't want to drink warm milk with a little espresso mixed in.

"Did you put liquid in this?" I inquire.

"Yeah, did you just want foam?" She asks with a stupefied look on her face.

"Well, you stupid idiot, yes I did -- that's why I ordered a MAH-KEE-AH-TOE. Espresso and foam." I said in my head and out loud, I said, "Yes, I just wanted foam."

And then, adding insult to injury, she has the audacity to state, "Well, you should order it dry, then."

DRY! What part of espresso and foam needs to be clarified by the word 'dry'? I used to order a dry cappuccino, but they never could get it dry enough (i.e., they always added too much liquid). Then, I started ordering a cappuccino with just foam, which they sometimes could do, but would often just add that little drop of liquid, like, "she couldn't possibly just want foam -- surely a little liquid. . ."

Finally, I realized that the macchiato price was significantly less than the cappuccino price and that, since I only wanted foam, it made more sense to order the macchiato. In fact, I think it was a nice dyke barista in Chestnut Hill who turned me on to this fact. The only problem with this is that ninety percent of the Starbuck's baristas are entirely unaware that they have a drink called the macchiato and that it consists only of espresso and foam. Most other coffee houses, however, are keen to this drink.

Anyway, she seems so self-righteous when she insists that I need to order it dry, that I had to respond. "Well, actually, a macchiato is just espresso and foam."

Again, she gives me the stupefied look, "Oh, really?"

I nod. I feel bad telling anyone how to do their job, but in this instance I had no choice.

Macchiato -- espresso and foam. It's so simple and yet it causes me so much distress in my attempts to acquire the beautiful beverage.

May 22, 2005

New Downhill Bike

This is a picture of my new downhill bike -- Norco bikes are awesome. This is the A-Line. It's damn heavy. Not to worry, I'll get pictures of my actual bike before too long (say next week at Whistler).

Note to Self: Do Not Ride Your Downhill Bike Cross-Country

I bought a new downhill mountain bike because I decided I wanted to try it for real this season. I ordered the bike before I broke my wrist and then almost backed out of the deal after -- but, I decided to give it a try, after all. I finally picked up the bike last week, but haven't had a chance to ride it. Downhill requires a longer trip in the car than cross country. I am leaving for Whistler Mountain next week with the new bike and thought I should at least ride it once before shipping it out there. I am going there to work on a film about women and mountain biking. I have been so busy getting ready for production that I have only been able to ride my trainer lately -- even after getting my cast off. I did do one road ride last week. Other than that, though, it's riding the trainer at night in front of the TV.

Anyway, today I finally decided to take the monster out to a trail. I was going to go to Lynn Woods, but I just did not have the time to get out there, so I ended up going to Blue Hills Reservation. I thought I could just spin around a bit and get used to the feel. But, alas, I kept pedalling and got lost. Even with my GPS I could not figure out how to get back to the car -- I have to say the GPS is a little wonky, or maybe I should read the manual. Anyway, I finally came up to this guy who was riding and asked him how to get back to Houghton's Pond. He was staring at my bike and asked, "How long have you had that bike?"

"It's brand, spankin' new," I said. I felt a bit embarassed--like, what kind of dipshit rides a downhill bike on a cross-country trail. I worried that perhaps he might think that I was not aware that I was riding a heavy downhill bike on a cross-country trail.

"Looks like it."

"Yeah, I just wanted to try it out before I actually take it downhill." I was trying to let him know that I know that it is a bike designed for downhill riding.

"Where do you ride a bike like that around here?"

"I dunno. I just started." There was just no escaping the appearance of ineptitude.

The guy told me I was pretty lost and told me to follow him and he'd direct me back to the pond. I chugged along behind him, huffing a bit to keep up with him on his sleek, light cross-country bike. I almost busted a lung on a hill, but I made it. At the top, he pointed the direction to the pond and went on his way. I finally made it back to my car. I was really lost.

May 20, 2005

No More Cast!

The nice doctor took the purple cast off yesterday. I cannot begin to describe my joy. I immediately went for a road ride and then took a long, hot shower, sans cast. It was truly magnificent. I had casts that were "waterproof" (both long and short), but the problem was that the waterproof lining soaked up water and it took about two hours for it to dry out after a shower. So, I'd be walking around with this sopping wet, dripping thing on my arm. It was better than the plastic bag method of showering with the non-waterproof cast, however, so it is not a huge complaint.

It is amazing that my arm is still bruised. And, my wrist muscle structure is completely atrophied. It's kinda ugly, but, hey, it's still nice to see it again, and especially nice to be able to wash it again.

They gave me one of those goofy wrist brace things to wear, but I worry that people will think I merely have carpel tunnel syndrome. It is very important that my badass nature is evident and that I don't seem to be some computer nerd with faulty wrists.