The Coffee Guy's blog

Management by Mere Mouthing Monthly Digibonics

With the onslaught of media monitoring movements of moth eaten issues, I find it mind-bending that we have the appetite for such prattle.  What you knew yesterday, you will probably forget tomorrow, and what you learned today will be next week’s foggy bottom.  It’s no wonder that we have such awe when we hear about what the one minded ones come up with to study.

I say we study the studious.  Take “The Center for Intercultural New media Research”.  Please!

These schemlongs of the information age are promulgating educationism and perspicacity as it relates to the hunger we have for more of what we can forget before we get home because we had to stop for milk after we got gas while stopping for the daily newspaper which we heard had an article on the company you work for that produces widgets for the automotive market which is in serious trouble because of the world-wide technology revolution posited by a professor from Eastern Europe in a country recovering from a civil war with their ex- nasty tyrant on trial in the Hague which truly has no powers any more than your daughter who is dating that schlep from the other side of town who drives that Environmental Wacko Volvo and hugs so many trees his face is all chewed up from the bark. 

What did I stop here to pick up?

You don’t believe me?  And I quote from the esteemed aforementioned Center’s interweb thingy URL, “Study two explores text messaging within the US among African Americans and European Americans. It examines the social functions of text messaging within and across US co-cultures to illuminate the following questions: (1) Do African-Americans and Euro-Americans engage in interracial texting? (2) What is the content and language used (digibonics) of interracial text messages? (3) Do African Americans and Euro-Americans vary their content and language (digibonics) when text messaging within their co-culture rather than across co-cultures?”

Digibonics?  Did you read that? Ebonics?  Nitronics?  Nope, Digibonics.  Such a case of self-adulation should be banned!  No library would stoop so low as to admit this plonk into the stacks.

Here are more:

What coaching and quality assistance strategies related to quality rating improvement systems (QRIS) are being used to improve quality in early care and education programs and home-based settings?

The Gartner Predicts 2012 special report addresses the continuing trend toward the reduction of control IT has over the forces that affect it. As users take more control of the devices they will use, business managers are taking more control of the budgets IT organizations have watched shift over the past few years. Moving forward, IT departments will find that they must coordinate activities in a much wider scope than they once controlled.

Understanding the Web browser threat: Examination of vulnerable online Web browser populations and the "insecurity iceberg"

I could go on, but I feel too insecure.  Make it steam Charlie.  I need another coffee.

Mark Hull Du Calumet, First of the coterie of York, Son of Don, Scion of Karl in the House of Pfunkstadt, Connubial of Suzanne, Yeoman to the Hun of Honda, Prevailing in the Seat of Hespeler, Having been again to Australia, and now Grandad's Land, and for some, from The Dark Side.

 

Wagers Wafting Through Windows of Wisdom

With wisps of coffee aroma sifting through the air, targeting my nasal cavity, firing dendrites in my cranium I become conscious of the morning.  Whence cometh the orange factor no matter where I roam.  The Ontario feline oratorical and the Columbian with his anterior talons pinning me and not with a fruit communication thingy.

Speaking of which, a body in normal situ would deduce that battery life would be a paramount concern.  Mine got ripped.  1.5 to 1.25 days max then relinking to the umbilical for re-energization.  WHAT?  36 hours?  I have more zap in my zinger than that.  

Are we on a harvest and heap program where sheaves of slashed gleanings are thrashed till the lowest common denominator drops through the screen of technology?  My fruit is so small, the screen so inadequate, the depressors so precise, are they not aware that with my aging eyes worsening, and my fingers always cyclopean that the operation of such is dicommoding?

I know the Verge Company has a higher calling for culling the herd.  Those with ham like appendages, and non 20-20 fissures need not employ the technology.  I just wanna know if we are going bigger or smaller?   Or is there a dichotomy?  If you carry it, then it must get smaller,  if you have it in your abode, then it must get larger.  WIDE screen TV, Chair and a half, Deep pile carpet, thick Texas Toast, Double wide trailers, Wide are telephone service, surround sound, 4 slice toaster, jumbo paper towels.

Now in the hand held thingy market, its microprocessors, and pin headed buttons and miniscule Blue Teeth, (is that two Blue Tooth Thingy’s?) pixels so small that ants have trouble deciphering the numerals.   Nay I say, there is a limit to the non-Asian hand.  Who is doing the trial testing on these?  They have a bunch of Lilliputians on staff? Have they started a cult of less than average stature people through the Personnel Department at Verge?

So am I happy and trusting in the fruit?  Not yet. At this juncture it is a inbound tool, when I figure how to make the obverse work, I may become more productive.  Until then, I will move at galactic speed on my full size keyboard and high band width connexion.

Java Jo never tasted to good.

Mark Hull Du Calumet, First of the coterie of York, Son of Don, Scion of Karl in the House of Pfunkstadt, Connubial of Suzanne, Yeoman to the Hun of Honda, Prevailing in the Seat of Hespeler, Having been again to Australia, and now Grandad's Land, and for some, on The Dark Side.

Coffee Causes Catastrophe Clearing Constellations

We wallowed yesterday as the winds whipped willows of lagging leaves.  As I flew the light fandango in “Easy Pick-up”, aka C-FGRI, the skies were clear, the air cold, and the power on!  Thoughts of letting it all go and taking a break in Tillsonburg, barren runway cleared for my struts.

I veered again eastward and pulled 90 overtop Delhi.  Could see the ice on the bay created by Long Point and the suns reflection made it appear smooth and glassy.   Stillwater not running deep.  For such a great day, traffic was light in the rock solid air.

Today’s yoyo weather gives us rain and snow later from -4 to plus 10 in 12.  As not gazing to the stars a cuzzin’ the clouds, I pondered the constellation of Cafficus Araibicus in my cranial vision.  Dark to the bare eye, but deftly hidden in the Milk Way.  At this juncture it rises slowly from the southeast around 11Pm.  Distinctive with its apparent waft above the handle.  The star Suchrus dead center in the image.

Now that you are all in accordance with the alignment of the stars, what’s in them this fair season.   No pepper for your soul today, salt and vinegar for your thoughts.  We Tandoori with the red meat, and curry ourselves to the Big Q.  Without the constellation we consternate upon visible, guidance is shy toward the fall of Pm hours. ARE YOU LOOKING YET?

In the constellation of Columbus you will find the smaller cherry-like aforementioned constellation.  Now with your head tilted back, your eyes straining, your back aching, your arms up holding the binoculars, your elbows poking the person in front of you, your shirt pulled up, your tummy cold, you stifling a fart, your mind wandering from the star-chart in your cranium, your partner still asking which way is up, your toes now chilling in the night air, all of this while you wonder what has caused you to be outside staring up looking for the coffee club? 

Recently Cafficus Araibicus has entered the house of Esspressonatta with Suchrus stronger now in the mix.  The constellations appears about a quarter the size, but hotter to start, but shorter lived.  At the point you can start to see Americanius rising from the west coast blending into the constellation.  Now from the north, along a line drawn from the zenith to the nadir, you can just start to witness Hortitcus Timonica edging upwards strongly at this juncture.

Either way the stars have it.  Java jewels in the sky cup of nectar.

Mark Hull Du Calumet, First of the coterie of York, Son of Don, Scion of Karl in the House of Pfunkstadt, Connubial of Suzanne, Yeoman to the Hun of Honda, Prevailing in the Seat of Hespeler, Having been again to Australia, and now Grandad's Land.

 

 

 

Flight Times and Flaunting from Falkenburg

Well spiccolis in my aether wary surrounds, I reminisce back to the days of floundering around in Falkenburg.  Just a stone’s throw from the Harper’s Corners School and a dung hill width from Bardsville off the Brackenrig road.

Days were good there.  The thick soft swish of summer breezes brushing my forehead as trodding toils were performed in the bush.  Hot sun warming the earth creating that plush musty odor of leaves beginning to rot.  Not a sound from steel or concrete here.  Crunching of twigs and leaves underfoot reveal my presence to the unseen critters.

The oft scurrying sounds of mice, moles and voles skittering under the leaves as I pass their hidden abodes.  The odd pernicious caw of an overhead crow waiting for another meal al á fortunado.  I wander aiming off the path, avoiding anything I remember about a tree or swale.  Finding a new way, seeing new trees, perspectives, and orientations.

The goal is not to DO anything, but to DO something I haven’t before.  Perhaps trod on a rock never before a humans boot had scoured the lichens on.  (again as before never end….).  Ponder the possibility of postulating a locus from where I could see clearly.  Is there further to go?  Can you get there from here?  Can I make that ridge?  Is that for me?

As always the confines of reality bring me to a recognizable.   I have been through this bush so often, in so varied a ways, with so many people, in so many seasons, by so many directions, it is inevitable that I eventually espy familiarities around me.  Turn once or twice in nether or any direction, a hundred paces and I am returned to the knowledge of from whence I came.

On machines to this day on which I operate in my garage, they bring familiarity with time and touch.   Do I stare at the complexity of composition for naught?  No.  It’s that repetitive analysis, disassembly and reassembly that raises my awareness of the machine's limits and possibilities.  I know of drips and scripts which vary by process and procedure.  I sup on the knowledge gleaned from inspection and reclamation.

I knew tree from tree, and stones from stones. The day awakened with a knowledge of my surrounds.  Has the interweb thingy really helped?

Mark Hull Du Calumet, First of the coterie of York, Son of Don, Scion of Karl in the House of Pfunkstadt, Connubial of Suzanne, Yeoman to the Hun of Honda, Prevailing in the Seat of Hespeler, Having been again to Australia, and now Grandad's Land.

By Request not Behest or to be Beheaded

The history books abound with nothing but speculation and non-specifics.  A mere 100 years ago and the best they can come up with is a goat story.  A GOAT story.  Well there is that bird story, but it is the same drivel.  The leaps of faith are wider than the Ganges.  The strength of argument thinner than Indian cotton.  Perhaps Ethiopia, perhaps South America, I probably can conjure up a Hawaiian story.

One schlepping old fart of a farmer spots one of his animals acting weird.  They are also eating the coffee cherries at the same time.  (Man why doesn’t Caffeine work on me that fast?)  immediately suspicion lays it’s queried eyes on the  Cherries.  Just as all good scientists would assume I am sure.

One story has it that this farmer IMMEDIATELY gathers the cherries, roasts them, grinds them, then pours water over them.  I know that would the first three steps I would try with any new food I find. Yeahhhhh right.  Another story has the cherries tossed in the fire as inedible.  They smell them burning then, (get this leap)  pull them from the fire, crush them, then pour hot water over them.  Oh, I see naturally.  “Third base!”

Just like Abbot and Costello this act is going.  As much sequitor as mushy peas have to Lamborghinis.  And we have our young children using this medium for research.  The basic necessity of life can’t even be discovered.  Ask not what we have found if thou hast no solution.  My solution ist that which can be that tawny liquid from the heavens.

Again the interweb thingy only produces a web of knowledge more thingy than fact.  Direct calls to this scribe will direct you to press “3 “ for information.  His story turns out to be HISTORY on the aether of the electronics.

Coffee still not stirred is more than the less of with cream.

Mark Hull Du Calumet, First of the coterie of York, Son of Don, Scion of Karl in the House of Pfunkstadt, Connubial of Suzanne, Yeoman to the Hun of Honda, Prevailing in the Seat of Hespeler, Having been again to Australia, and now Grandad's Land.

 

 

The Watched Pot Never Grows, But Springs Ahead

In Greenwich they nominated for Spring coffee on February 25^th.  The earth shook, and the ground trembled.  But not in that sleepy town where whatnot turned to not what they did not do.  Nobody had a posting for the Spring Coffee Guy.  I toss my hat belatedly in that direction.

Now with more postings than I can be banned for, the last one only had a warning, Germany is still rated highest on my banned videos list, should I and perhaps not in jest this time, protesteth my abolishment for posting a family viddy?

Or perhaps find new ways of bolstering my position so couched in obscurity not to be found by the whole of Washington’s alphabet soup?  As I had doth and will further,  all the proclivities people have toward assuming that their non or real progeny or siblings or any other form or familia or genus might or might not be presently engrossed in Face Plant, I proffer my viddy materiel on every subscribed format  and media I am a member to.  (Never end a sentence prepositionally)

It’s a sad state of xenophobia when Demand Media drops my writing application like a Hot Banana.  However, I could conger a position in that less than esteemed habitué and sit back into a life of Reilly as I surf and write my way to the bottom of the lowest common denominator.  Pith and vinegar are obviously not on the menu at the Demanded writings of the “How To” crowds most desirous wants.

After all, I have been unacceptable, persona non grata, unwanted, superfluous to their needs, de trop, unseemly, invidious, unneeded, over the top, possibly not what we need, not a good fit, inessential, non-essential,  bombastic, unsought, supererogatory, unallowable, just plain unwanted, malapropos, and mostly palaverous and pleonastic at many a web site’s applications center.

Does that bother me?  Nopers.  It’s a cuz’in I can blather together my own straw man argument.  Do I need their 3 cents a word for contentious crap?  Nopers again on that account.  Thinkin’ I am un-connecting myself to the Guru as well.  Have offered a many proposal for scribbles and scribes, and with the odd negotiational e mail back and forth, nadda to come of it.

So I depart again from the unctuous trodding to the bottom of the lowest common denominator well of worthless content.  Past offers of guest columnists to this forum have also come up shy of a rational number.

Perhaps it’s back to Haiku on coffee?

Mark Hull Du Calumet, First of the coterie of York, Son of Don, Scion of Karl in the House of Pfunkstadt, Connubial of Suzanne, Yeoman to the Hun of Honda, Prevailing in the Seat of Hespeler, Having been again to Australia, and now Grandad's Land.

 

 

Cursivity Croaked as the Canister Crinkled

While in motion, I had a notion to make a potion of innovation and observation.  When the newbies on the planet amass in halls of learning, a skip of the draught has left these Smucks without a Star.  The writing of yore has lest and less to be appreciated as the understanding of such cursive writing is not taught.

Yes they know what the letters mean and they know what the words mean.  But they for the life of them could not repeat the act even closely or incoherently as is mine.  While it has been postulated in my few years of cursivity, that my “hand” could not be deciphered by a college of surgeons, I still can and still do utter such astounding depictions of the written.

With a Jo close by, I can scribble out a litany of derision and discussion with the best of them.  No faster can you say Faceplant, than I can lay down enough ink to drain a well dipped stilo.  Whereas the young folk of the day, not back in it, are at a logger-head of deciphering.  Let alone scribbling their Hancock on a note, or old-style scratching out a signat’ on a cheque.

Here in the times of the keyboard, it’s not even called typing.  The olde IBM Selectric and dad’s old Underwood, had the same Quirky keys and odd config’ for a layout as these new silicone sisters have today.  The only difference is, we have flaccid pale fingers.  To merely touch and have a red key or a hot key seems eerily unnecessary.  Other than flaming a co-Qwertiest, what would the use of several fffffffffff’s or rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr’ or bbbbbbbbbbbb’ be?

But no, I even have a nut of an American overseer inside the guts of the machine I plinkle on, running around through American spelling dictionaries playing around with my typos and misdeeds.  As if I don't know what I am cursing about!  Had I been doing this cursively, there need not bee any You Ess of Eh inside my ballpoint.  I could get away with noughts of thoughts without having to drop a You, or mispronunciate a French verb.

So when you can scratch out the seven deadly sins and the anthropologic basis of such in a cursive script faster than I can toe tip around this flatboard, then I will read your blog too.  Thanx for the seed DH.

 Mark Hull Du Calumet, First of the coterie of York, Son of Don, Scion of Karl in the House of Pfunkstadt, Connubial of Suzanne, Yeoman to the Hun of Honda, Prevailing in the Seat of Hespeler, Having been again to Australia, and now Grandad's Land.

 

Cold Coffee for Cold Thoughts

Who’d a thunk?  Well the Jo and Java crankers, Espresso and Cappa crowd, Turkish or Americano Europeaneates, or one of the five types of bean lovers never suspected a cold version.

First let’s take the aroma and image of coffee.  Without cup in hand, think it over.  First the swirling steam rising and the warmth of the waft as it caresses your septum entering your proboscis.  Is any of this possible if the water were cold?

Secondly let’s explore the possibility of getting the bean to release the tawny nectar using frigid water.   Well after a millisecond’s though let’s not wait that long. It will not happen. 

So one fine concessioner forgets to turn the heating element on, and serves a cold coffee through the thoughtless fingers of some adolescent “Barista”.  The laggard at hand actually likes it and comes back to mention this banality.  Next day, menu has a new item.  “Forgetful Coffee”.

Not a big seller and shoulda’ stayed that way.  Remarketed by some west-ender or east-ender if that is where the La La landers in your city reside.  Now not only is it made, it’s still claimed to be a Cuppa.

This trifle should be banned by national edict.  In fact, seeing as how I have the good Stephen’s ear, I think this may become high on the docket as we forge ahead in our sloth-like progress through the next session in sitting. 

Twenty cents of every dollar sold from this frigid formula will be remitted as a tithe of repentance to The Coffee Guy. Oh did I say that?  Sounds like a reason to push the sloth a little further down the branch.  And to any and all who foist this feather to their MP, they will receive meagre considerations after my trough diving is complete.

For those of the StarSchmuck’s bent, get over it.  Anything small and tall at the same time not being the CN Tower should definitely not be marketed as cold as well.  Injury added to the insult already might or might not henceforth or pre-posed to be deleterious to the brand being sustained.  Let’s get is straight even for those who litigate over the fact that coffee is a hot beverage.  It is not to be confused with colas or teas.  Ugghhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.  I just expectorated.  Perhaps more facts than are warranted at this time of the day.

Mark Hull Du Calumet, First of the coterie of York, Son of Don, Scion of Karl in the House of Pfunkstadt, Connubial of Suzanne, Yeoman to the Hun of Honda, Prevailing in the Seat of Hespeler, Having been again to Australia, and now Grandad's Land.

I Berry and Black Pods

What have you seen that is Berry Berry pretty.  It is also a first person singular cellular.  Or have you dealt with the black side of iPodular life?

Hmm, in all this excitement, I seem to have lost count myself.  So you have to ask yourself, “Do you feel connected?”.  Twenty-five years ago, without the assistance of Cell Phones, E mail, Conway and his Twitter, Faceplant, MyTube, YourTube, Texting, Sexting, MSN, TSN, Ip’s, Ups, TLC, and almost any other sort of ethereal social medium, we survived.  Went to the Moon numerous times.  Lived.  Died.  Thrived.  Suffered.  Warred and Pieced.  (intentional spelling)

Yes, I am connected multifarious ways.  But I still step out.  Take it off the hook

Don't answer it.  Don't respond.  Don't take the thing with me.  Don't turn it on. 

It is possible.  Very few people actually die because they don't respond to an electronic prod.  No cattle were harmed in the posing of this blog.  Very few people have ever had a catastrophic episode because they forgot their thingy at home.  Very few people have been saved from mortal danger by a silicone chip carrier.  Are we all so paranoid and fearful form watching and getting Tweeted about the latest breaking news based on the gore principle?

Let’s deconstruct the average plastic and metal pocket gizmo and see what we possibly have in there that which could save us materially from peril.

The antenna.  More than likely a weak think filament.  Few phones actually have extending wire antenna any longer. 

The battery.  Not enough power in Amps to start a fire.  Not enough chemical to cause a burn.  Not enough heavy metal to be used as a lethal weapon.  Not strong or wide enough to stop those crushing sides of the ever shrinking elevator found in James Bond movies. 

The screen.  Too small to watch a  movie on even if the battery is charged.  Too thin to lever up the lid on the locked dungeon.  Not bright enough to signal an over flying plane when lost on a deserted isle.

The CPU.  Not running hot enough to start a fire.  Not enough lead to kill a Mockingbird.  Too small for using as a door stop.  Not enough wiring to tie up a robber.  Not really even enough silicone to seal up the water closet.

Step out and turn it off for an hour.  See the serenity of your ways.

So here I am on my own lil Silicone based RAM using device, plunking away on my TypePad type pad blogging about my twittering thoughts about Tubing my video out on the interweb thingy, all the while my Java Jo close at hand.

This DOES NOT happen with Tea drinkers.

Mark Hull Du Calumet, First of the coterie of York, Son of Don, Scion of Karl in the House of Pfunkstadt, Connubial of Suzanne, Yeoman to the Hun of Honda, Prevailing in the Seat of Hespeler, Having been again to Australia, and now Grandad's Land.

 

Crinite Crania Cop better Custard Cups

And, as Marie Antoinette had, nice cups.  In fact modeled in wax impressions for the old style wide mouthed champagne glasses.  Custard on the other hand more like gruel than food unless  mixed with lugubrious amounts of butter.  Now that's cream!  Butter creame.  And with my Java  Jo I have a desirous dessert.

But not when not slathered nor blathering about the issue will it wreak cause to couch this issue in cotton swaddling clothes.  Municipal elections are afoot and the delirious drivel from most of them plying for your affectations amounts to more of the old, same as the thing before.  What most advanced democratic societies need now are not yes-men and do-gooders, what we need now are harsh realists with no resistance to speaking truth to power.

Intraurbanites who stand and run for the caput of others in these arbitrary, non-collaborative, non- allegiant allegiances are due their kudos.  Who would endure the anal gazing of reporters, the infantile behaviours at meetings, the pleas for alms from the poor, who has room to store the vast amounts of  lagniappe from prospective developers, who has the blind wit needed to communicate with bureaucrats?

Not I. Then you?  Do I hear the old college cheer as you strundle up to the captain of elections tossing your ten gallon in the ring?  Are you one of those deemed to aid, arrange, benefit, support, yield, serve, please, gratify, convenience, humour, indulge, supply, defer, help, assist, and follow the pleas of everyone?   Can you stretch your political umbrella open far enough to keep enough of us dry in the downpour of desires from the electorate?

Essentially if your busby is not filling with the fodder of support, then it is your obligation to get your sorry duffus out to the polling booth and scratch your EX on the spot!  I know there is the old adage that if you don't vote then you have no gam to stand your complaints on.  It is in itself the verisimilitude of the democratic system.   After all, we don't drink tea, and Boston is some distance away.

If your medulla oblongata is stuffed with enough percipience to read this, or even log onto the interweb thingy, then get your keister out and scratch your mark on the spot.

Mine is mucked up but modular in its depiction.

Mark Hull Du Calumet, First of the coterie of York, Son of Don, Scion of Karl in the House of Pfunkstadt, Connubial of Suzanne, Yeoman to the Hun of Honda, Prevailing in the Seat of Hespeler, Having been again to Australia, and now Grandad's Land.