Caffeine Dealers

So I remember reading this a while back:

"Did you know that Starbucks coffee can have twice as much caffeine as other brands of "to go" coffee?"

Now picture the look on a dogs face when they hear a high pitched sound.  Something like this:

THAT was the look on my face when I read that...because I was perplexed as to what the point was to that question/declaration (btw, my autocorrect originally had the words "point was" as "pony waste" and I almost left it like that, because it struck me as funny). To me, that statement is akin to informing somebody that heroin has an intoxicating effect. Um...yeah. Exactly. It's kind of the reason I go there (for the coffee/caffeine, that is...not heroin. Although, based on their continual menu expansion, I'm sure it's only a matter of time before that's offered as well.  "I'll have a venti China white, please."
"Of course, sir! That will be $1,500 and your dignity. Would you like that with whipped cream? Or caramel? Or just the usual heated over a dirty spoon?")

Anyways, Starbucks knows what people like me need in the morning, and that is a hot cup of oooomph, preferably a venti, and not some black, benign liquid masquerading as the real deal.  If something is going to give me less than minty breath, and the need to urinate every three minutes, it had better put a bounce in my step, 'ya know?  So snap to it alternative coffee peddlers!  If you want to compete with The 'Bux, you'd better tweak (get it??????  A PUN!!!) that formula to a proper teeth grinder of a brew and then maybe, just maybe, some of those early morning, bleary eyed, disposable income zombies (like me) who have no desire to be up at that ungodly hour except to please The Man and Get Paid, might stumble into your roasted bean joint for a hot cup of giddy-up to get their day started.   

Necessity

How to tell you're a grown ass man: all of your thermal travel mugs are in the dishwasher, and rather than go without coffee, you take one of your daughter's thermal mugs to work instead.  After all, going to work without coffee is NOT AN OPTION, and the thought of a work day filled with snarky, coworker barbs is NOTHING compared to a work day without coffee (i.e. my preferred caffeine* delivery system).

*Caffeine: an amazing legal stimulant that allows people to get to work/school on time, keeps the digestive tract humming along, is a major headache antagonist, allows one to find the upside to their very existence, encourages conversations with coworkers/classmates/peers you would normally find intolerable, gently prevents sleep without all those nasty murderous rages and demonic hallucinations associated with other stimulants, and is the major cog that drives the Earth's economic engine.  

Starbucks, Bruno, Rush, and Teenaged Daughters

So, I have bitched plenty about Starbucks over the years and, thusly, I figyre (yes, I know it's "figure", but it was originally a typo, and I liked how it looked, kind of "Ye olde merry Englishe" style...so I left it.  As you can see, I am an iconoclast of the keyboard) "why stop now?"  So here goes:

The Starbucks drive through (or is that "thru"...at least according to the signs.  I'd like to believe the signs are misspelled  for brevity's sake...or at least to save on the expenditure for additional plastic.  However, I have a gnawing suspicion that it was a corporate decision to appeal to the average American who has the reading comprehension of a 7yr old.  Actually, that's probably not fair...to 7yr olds).  The drive through (or "drive thru" as it shall henceforth be known) is intended for quick service, i.e. (or is that e.g.?), get your coffee and go.  It's a great idea...in concept.  If you're like me, and want actual coffee, it would work flawlessly.  Place your order at the sign advertising their wares, and drive up to the window.  In the time it takes you to drive to the window and proffer up your payment, they have poured your coffee and added cream/sugar (if that's your particular predilection).  Again, this concept works great....in theory only.  Here's why: the coffee.  If you, like me, order actual fucking coffee, the drive thru works seamlessly...its perfection of movement so precise it would make a Swiss watch maker come in his pants (too much?  Eh...point was made regardless).  But, again, that's if you oder COFFEE.  Apparently, when the average American thinks "coffee", they don't think of a hot liquid beverage with a roasted bean base, they think of a thick, viscous, sugary, gooey, carmel, fudge, mocha, whip cream, and cinnamon chip filled liquid dessert that takes fifteen fucking minutes to concoct (funny word concoct.  Say it with me: "concoct".  Yep...I just chuckled).  When THIS sugar infused gut bomb is ordered, it mires the drive thru queue and defeats its purpose.  If you're the sort of person who likes dessert for breakfast and enjoys starting their day with a 700 calorie thirst quencher that you know takes a team of twelve to assemble (no doubt you need the caloric intake because you're on your way to your job of plowing a 700 acre field all by yourself, or, you are preparing to row across the Atlantic like some Thor Heyerdahl wanna be), you obviously have a few minutes on your hands.  So, if that's the case, why in the hell are you in the drive thru?  Go inside and order your drink and leave the drive thru to those of us who need a caffeinated adrenal infusion and are actually in a goddamn hurry.  Since you're a trans-Atlantic rower, you should have plenty of bounce in your step to park and exit your car and make that arduous trek across the parking lot and walk into the Starbucks to grab your team crafted insulin buster.  The rest of us would really appreciate it as we quickly grab our hot, liquid- bean, pulse amplifier and get on with our lives.  So, in conclusion, I propose Starbucks has TWO drive thru's: one that says coffee only, and another that says "non-coffee drinking coffee drinkers here...and Thor Heyerdahl too".  Think about it Starbucks.

-I was watching Saturday Night Live this weekend, and was left with one question: who, in the hell, is Bruno Mars?

-While watching I Love You Man a while back, I was struck with a truism that was a crucial element in the movie: all men, no mater what their musical tastes, have a soft spot in their heart for Rush.  We may be fans of alt, indie, country, metal, R&B, hip hop, jazz, classical, progressive, etc., as our first and foremost musical choice.  But, put Tom Sawyer on the stereo, and well, we'll be grooving right along with it.  There's something in the male DNA, a Rush chromosome if you like, that compels to have varying levels of affinity for this band.  I have the greatest hits album to prove it.  Whether it's the drumming pyrotechnics of Neil Peart, the bass shredding of Geddy Lee, or guitar textures of Alex Lifeson, we will uncontrollably air-guitar/drum the minute a Rush song is played.  We cannot help it.  In fact, if a Dr. Evil type was ever looking into turning the human male population into an army of controllable automatons, he'd figyre* out what it is in Rush's musical vibrations that is hard wired into the XY brain, and use it for nefarious purposes.  Maybe they could simply play a Rush song on a world wide public broadcast and formulate a plan for billions men simultaneously air drumming to be used as a weapon of mass destruction.  So there you go madmen of the world, your blueprint for world domination.  "A modern day warrior, mean mean stride, today's Tom Sawyer, mean mean pride..."  Muh-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! (or whatever evil laughter looks like in print)

-Yes, I have 17yr and 15yr old daughters.  So, you may or may not be asking yourself (or "yourselves", should you be reading this is some sort of weird group setting.  Hey, I don't judge...I'm just saying...), what's it like being the father of teen daughters?  Well, it's like this: this photo (warning: it's not for the faint of heart) is the singular most succinct image I can think of to fully explain sharing a home with teenaged, female offspring:



What you are looking at is not, in fact, a partially decomposed marmot I found behind some shrubs in my back yard, but a rather foul plug of hair I had to remove from the drain in the sink located in my daughters bathroom.  I can understand a bunch of hair being in the SHOWER drain (of which I have removed many a time), but this was in THEIR SINK.  Unless they shaved their heads in the sink (and, judging by the hair currently on their heads, I am guessing they have not), I cannot imagine how this much hair got in there.  When I asked, they both sort of looked at me with a blank stare, before my oldest said her younger sister "sheds a lot."  To which her younger sister said, "Yeah.  I kinda do."  So, apparently, one of my daughters is (as I remarked to another a while back) part alpaca.  Needless to say, I had no idea she had genetically mutated on me.  Perhaps she can be a source of family income going forward if I can knit the occasional scarf from her (apparently) abundant coat.  That's me, always thinking outside the box....

*Yeah, I used it again...Anglophile that I am.  

Overly Caffinated on a Friday Night...

It used to be the dumbest things I could think of were extolling the virtues of Republican politics at a Jesse Jackson rally; using a running microwave as a pool toy; being a Mormon missionary in Las Vegas; trying to train a cat; getting in the grocery store line behind an elderly person clutching a fist full of coupons AND a check book; and of course, expecting your pet to actually walk one more inch before puking as to make it on the tile and not on the carpet. But I have a new one that eclipses all of those: drinking two strong cups of coffee late at night. Dumb, dumb, dumb...

So, as I sit and type this, I am tweeking on caffeine like a....uh....well, tweeker. Since I'm not in the mood to do usual tweeker activities like stealing cars, disassembling 20 year old VCR's, replacing the transmission on a 1983 Harley Davidson, or leaving nude Polaroids of myself in strangers cars, I decided to write a ten item stream of consciousness thingamabob here.

-one CAN completely express anything one feels without fear or reservation of the consequences if it's honest and without agenda. One caveat: this does not apply to having ripped one at a funeral and then giggled about it. That's one you want to keep on the down low.

-getting older isn't fun. Dying before you're really old is less fun. You can decide for yourself which is best for you.

-I can cook better than most non-professionals, even their own dishes/recipes. I love tacos. They are my favorite food EVER. And yet, tacos are the one food a non-professional individual I know, hands down, without argument, makes better than me. This is a paradox I feel. But it's not the ultimate paradox. The ultimate paradox was somebody thinking Keanu Reeves was a good fit for a Shakespearean comedy...or the acting field in general.

-Fresnan's drive 11mph in the rain when you can see a mile down the road, but speed up to 92mph in fog with 10ft of visibility. This is absolutely the definition of suicidal retardation. Oh, wait, it's the second tier definition of suicidal retardation: the first definition is-eating off of the Cherry Auction taco truck before your wedding day, job interview, or meeting the girlfriends family for the first time. That's just not going to end well, ever, for anybody involved.

-Fresno got labeled the 'Drunkest City in America'. Considering so many of our bars in the nicer parts of town closed at midnight, it just goes to show you besides being a town full of lushes, we're MOTIVATED LUSHES. "Barkeep! Bring me three!!!! I need to get my DUI on by 11pm!!!" (This survey was of course a joke, because it labeled Boston as the soberest. Really? BOSTON??? A town full of Irishmen? Obviously the survey didn't take into account the fact all these east coast cities have superior public transportation ((part of the survey was based on DUI arrests)), and so the drunks don't have to drive to get home. They can just hop on a bus, train, subway, etc. Because, let's be honest...saying good old Irish Boston is the soberest city in America due to low DUI arrests when nobody really has to drive, is like saying Salt Lake City has the least sex because they're all virgins when they get married (but they all have 15 kids after they get married...do the math!). Please...there's lies, damn lies, and statistics....

-people love their pets more than they love human beings. How do I know? Well, your pet can keep you up all night making noise, and peeing and puking on everything, and be loved just the same. Last time I kept somebody up by noisily peeing and hurling all over the room, I gotta tell 'ya, I wasn't feeling the love...and I was even dressed as a Jack Russel Terrier when it happened (it's a long story that involves a bottle of brown liquor, a bet, two midgets in plushie costumes, a trampoline, and a drinking game gone horribly awry).

-the most self confident male I have EVER met? A guy called The Gypsie who was wearing black gucci loafers WITH a red Armani tracksuit, and was as relaxed as can be. Wow. That took BALLS. CANNON BALLS.

-I've been known to go to the grocery store in an old school Adidas Firebird tracksuit wearing flip-flops...but that pushes the limits of my self confidence (and laziness). And let's face it...flip flops are to Gucci loafers as a librarian is to a stripper. One is just waaaaaaay more out there (but who doesn't enjoy a stripper dressed AS a librarian, right?).

-I'm ready to buy a new car, but Arnold keeps threatening to try and cut my pay. So, I'm on pause until we see what happens. I think Arnold needs to back the hell off because I would really, really, like to buy a new car. Like, you know, tomorrow. I think my need for a new luxury car is far more important than petty politics, don't you? So, Ah-nold...get a grip and enjoy a bratwurst or something. Daddy needs to bring that new car smell home baby!

-started cleaning my own home again, and have discovered I really enjoy vacuuming and mopping floors. I think it's primarily because I enjoy the feel of a freshly mopped floor/vacuumed carpet on my bare feet. Maybe that's TMI, but to me a clean floor on bare feet is a better feeling than......ok, really struggling for an analogy here, but it's good. Some have accused me of having mild foot issues, and perhaps this is just an extension of that. Fine. Whatever. I'm just saying a clean floor on bare feet is.......dammit!......well, you get the idea....

OK, still wired, but I'm going to go listen to some music and get inside the souuuund maaaaannnn.......