The Coffee Guy's blog

BelleVegas or Vacillation Not on Vacation

We have breached the berm and brought the Big Box to the Belle’.  Wanton and libidinous libations not being imbibed on this junket.  The pace set near the pacers of yore.  American Motors not included.  Over 49,000 strong and an agglomeration almost leading the century mark, this `Ville of the great unwashed centered and sheltered behind the county of our late great Edward the Prince.

This could easily be considered the Royal city in the seat of loyalists.  Susanna Moodie, QE, P of Wales, Queen Vic’, Sir John A. Charles the Prince are just a few of the names touted in this town rubbed up against the ubiquitous Lady Fatima, (coal for another fire at a later date I am sure).

Between the head stones of a former Prime Minister, the great Canadiana writer Moodie, there resides or resolves innumerable famed  hockey players some with this writer’s family name.  Home of the inventor of the infamous churlish Cheezies.   Home of my favourite Rocker babe of the 80’s Ms. Aaron, former home of a Miss Universe Mori, home of ice master Orser, and home of the Wilkinsons.

We have the B and B doing the Digitosis Dance leading our troupe to top numbers.  With Solanum tuberosum being pumped and punched to levels unheard of in these environs in some time. Even Eryc enters eventually to even the field.  The only 2 H on a two up day.

The Moira meanders and moseys it’s way through town encumbering the populous to ford the river in Fords.  Don’t Kellogg that Joint my friend, pass it over to me.  You can Gamble that proxy on Proctor to ensure earnings in modern times.  John Walden, no pond intended, began this burb and the rest is history as they say.

Departure is such sweet sorrow, and I can’t wait to weep like a leaf. 

No food, no beer no pets, can’t get no motorbikes.  I’m a man of dreams by no means, gotta get home.  Every engineer and every train, all of their kids and all of their names.  King of the Belle.

Pour steady Raoul, don’t waste a drop.

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.

 

 

 

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.

 

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.

 

 

 

Dracheotmy Dangers Draft Dailies

In the extreme extent of examinations exhibiting exultant extortions one naturally defaults to the antepenultimate position.  Six exes and not sex ibexes are not the easiest to string together in a sentence of intentionality.  We fostered together words and forms, reports and by-laws, letters and memoranda, and we came off Scott free.

The man backed down on principles of sanity restored.  My partner in crime and I sat before the courts watching the dispensing of penalties both foolish and undefended.   A good civic lesson not distilled by Honda.  Of issues of fines one would ponder, that merely remitting the set fines would be cheaper by half that the added fees and penalties of lateness and judicial financial compensation to the city.

By neither do I digest nor do I press the forward buttons.  The season is nigh upon us.  When was the last time you sighed about the use of “nigh”?  LED’s day-lighted the street as of the first as is specified in the neighbourhood beatification and sanity act.  The strip of strings strung gaily about, Santa’s sleigh slightly slanted ajaunt.

This end of the week we trudge through knee deep snow In search of the perfect branch bearing balsam.  Probably leaving with numerous examples for friends and family alike.  The beauty and stature of conifers conferred on.  Decisions made slashed and dropped like a twig in the forest.

Lest I foist undesirables on one or ‘tother of yee plebes in the aether, let me assure you we will get use from said baums.  Lighted and delighted for the visiting masses.  This street viewing from near and afar.  Propitious as we wish it in the Christmas Season.   We await the 12 days to count down to have our pine become a pear.  Our bees knees stuck in the tree to become a partridge once the turtle doves had departed.  The annual yule tide greets and meets.  Smiles will abound on faces.

Grinch has always had an invite to the street, yet never has he called in his note.  It has once been totally green, and the remainder at least skiff white.  To date we are teetering on another skifficuous 25^th.  Gaiety and frivolity, neighbours and friends abound on the ground.  Truly blessed with health and home, we assimilate the colours of the season.   Perhaps imbibe too much, eat too much, talk too much, walk too much, relax too much,  burn too much firewood, socialize and cavort too much, but it is truly these excesses which meld us together in a season of giving.

Let me be one of the first this year, Merry Christmas to all!   Nuff said.

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 Jailer Man and Parking Pam

Tomorrow the judge presides of the fate of our lil’town.  The streetwise co-resident and I proffer our arguments up for the bench to belittle if need be.

We the people, hold our truly believed basis to be true and trusted.  We will not let this slide.  The funds in trust teeter on termination of all primary and tertiary termini to be totally razed.

The good Bürgermeister in his wisdom has finally moratoriumized his posse of posers.  Was it the documentation or the video surveillance which stopped this?  Perhaps , but not likely it was the wisdom of His Honour. 

I stand before thee.  Coffee in hand.

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.

 

 

Flinkitrina and Folonarios

Periwinkle, and Hens and Chickens wouldn’t crocus my tulips.  I keep mine shut and avoid controversy over things I have spoke.  I do need new ones at that.  Have popped off the vulcanized, and abraded the orbicular.  The need to platinize the rims ever-present. 

The Jo flows from the bulwark mounted carafe heater.  Steam rising from the brim like a pyre searching for the Gods.   Jube overseers take care of my grinds: needed for running a strong bead with the MIG.  I lay down enough wire to set up the LCD on a completely new bearing.  Two new shelves for the inputs and my output is a “Whooo-rahh that's a fine brew”.

Now you can locate these Doo-hickies at some ethereal place you find on the Interweb Thingy.  I found over 3000.  However, our LCD sits on a one of a kind and there is no show of crafts here.  Strict adherence to a non ribald plan and attack.

 
Here is the secret to execution; don't show your aeriali.  If I were to do this again, I would relocate the white plug and cord you see in the picture.

Now as it has been posited here in the past, all conglomerates are into one thing; continued shrew-like monthly billing and attendance to said invoices.  There are available canals up the delta off the ocean of info delivered to our abode.  HD, not of the Harley type.  Although one in a myriad of pieces finds itself on the floor and in boxes of my garage.  No vision yet of that.

I pondered the pictorial process and persecution of that project too.  My decisions more lie to the reconstruct than the construct.  Whence cometh all the parts and assemblies in their proper and precise format, as they flow forth from the river of Aermacchi, then shall I create a document of images.  For the less than experienced at stripping, you would find the tedium and monotony of pulling, polishing, and posting 72 semi-identical spoke pullings as a might flaccid.

As well, the cleaning supplies are not always the best for newer technologies.  Nay I say one small drop of a contaminated solvent bath justa’ mighta’ do some harm to the ole electronic image capture device.  Device, device, device.  When George was around we had things and stuff.  A TV, or radio, Camera, cooker, now nothing in the world is anything more than a device.

Like me in the garage askin’ the Samaritan for that pounding device over there.  Alternatively i say, “Hey, pass the hammer”, a lil more precise?  We now have devices for this or that.  Hmm  doesn’t it have a name?  Crack artists and addicts have been known to double out the lingo.  Hey call me on my CrackBerry device.  Or can you help me on my computer device?   Nopers.  We are slip-sliding away to times of yore.  When to know a few words more, was better than the other guy.  Trog knew the work for Sabre-tooth before the rest of the tribe, he is our leader.

My garage still has the KISS principle; note it’s the politically incorrect one too.

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.

Willowy Whispy Leave my Coffee Alone

At the heart of heat is the fire of the furnace.  6 cords and not done yet.  Stacked and racked ready for the fire.  One man’s old tree becomes another man’s cat’s heating magnet.  How can a cat covered in fur get so hot for so long so close to such heat?  Our’s, and I have seen others, cower under stoves of the fibrous burning kind endlessly soaking it in.  Their heart rate must be below one!

In the land of the climactic change, oh the world, I note trends are perceived after merely two instances of the seasonal drift.  Hmm let me take a dendrites amble back to my days of theoretical and practical combinatorics, can two define a sequence?  Nope.  Not even close when some logarithmic based sequences are created and plotted.

But in the minds of some geo-climatologists, two of anything can define long term change.  Does twenty of man’s self imposed cycles of life, (read, a year) make a geological trend?   Hmmm, let’s see.  If you can measure the tectonic plate movement in a year or ten, then I suppose yes would be the cogent answer.   However, we are looking at tens of hundreds of consistent years to sum to a defined change.  One earthquake does not a progression make.

My wood stove, on the other hand, burns consistently from day one.  A trend to the warmer and away from the frozen regions outside the four stuffed walls of our abode.   The felines immediately scrounce their way to the edge of the heat field.  Playing coy with the rising waves of radiation.  My Coffeecius Incutabius genus Arabica, rests wearily on the edge, maintaining 176 F for sipping and serving.  Too hot and the tongue tactile oils separate.  Too cold and the aroma wanes sorely back into the nectar.

No homo erectus or sapiens can laze so closely to such radiant heat.  Sweating like a Swede in a Cedar box.  My proximity is pushed back as my habiliments add up.  More means more.  I rest and sweat meters away, felines practically touching the iron.  A yell or shout raises their ire so slowly you need to be a geologist to see the movement.

And I Quote Emerson, “We think it trivial to speak of the weather, yet there is nothing more important”.  My cup spilleth forth it’s duly filled nectar, hissing as the content engages the heated cold rolled steel top of my woody firebox.  The cats scramble and the aroma of firewood is preplaced temporarily with the caramel roasted scent of burnt coffee.

Ahhhhh.  Relax me.

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.