The Coffee Guy's blog

Coffee Caisse Populaire

With blends aplenty sheathing the shelves in options how does one choose the blend of many to accompany our cornucopia if courage?   Will it be strong, dark, and handled?   Or would I be smooth, thick, and pungent?  Most would agree that the need for speed accelerates with the blend of choice.

My preference, and only for a blend, leans toward the Continental or French blends.  While a day sip can be like a day bike unlike a day-bed, this can feature smooth Arabica beans roasted in the “Americano” formula without the E for exciting edge of the aforementioned.

But in such environs one must be like those in the house of Rome, make like Nero.  With non-baking temps in the town, we sauntered and tarried as all would in the wending world of lower town.  The entrance of many ajar to the world, eschewing difference and distinction for the masses.

Masses?  How is it that with the sense of individualism, a case for culture and more legislation backing you than the second coming, that in this day your wares are so similar to those in other areas of the country?  I can buy a Quebec widget here or return to my neighbourhood and buy the same one only with a  locally proclaimed titular broadcast?  Distinctiveness or Kitch? 

With the tiniest of exceptions in some of the local artisans, we could have been in Airdrie.  The self defined artist or artists of loci undetermined cannot be all that sets you apart.  Yes the walls, vistas, and constructs of the old town are rare to find on this side of the Atlantic.  But distinct?  Hardly!  Oh no, we don't parade our past politicians in name or statue nearly as much.  We have fewer boulevardiers.  Shorter distinctions for thoroughfares.

Perhaps they have more paint and metal for street signs.  Quaint?  Perhaps.  Distinct?  Not in this district.  Enjoyable?   Absolutely. 

But to legislate compliance and conventions is unnecessary.   What Englander would engulf the world too foreign to him to survive?  None.  Done.  Dinner is over.  Can we all just get along?  There is no bicker from without.   And no wicker on the streets.  So how is it that the few and the statufied can push and pester the rest and resolved around?  Get your acts and actuarials ducking a line.  Define or demise.  You cannot make a law of people's nature.

No nurturing of this cross contaminated culture will survive under the thumb of law.  Promulgation of pushy puppies in your parliament cannot press forth the printing of your own money.

To name it as a nation without passport  or coinage cannot make you one with the world.

Coffee comes forth when Levis are worn.

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.

 

Moped Meyhem

They are gone.   Gone, gone gone, been gone so long.

So how perspicuity fogs the Parietal Lobe

GIGO.  The mantra of the eighties, before we wore the shawl of Microsoft on our desktops.  Garbage In, Garbage Out.  We have the InFo Hiway available to nearly everyone on the interweb thingy.  We cruise and surf ad-nauseum for facts and figures we won’t ever employ, printing out stats and stadia, pics and epistles merely adding fodder to our recycling bins.

We to whom coffee is revered have better benches to fill on a Saturday.  I recently made a search query on an addy.  The addy came up fine but with already known Stuff.  Stuff??   Let’s not revisit that skit, but on that note; I just posted one of my favourite George Carlin monologues in my video section.

Now with the cootie revolution and those untapped reserves of celestial photons penetrating our persons, why is there an energy crunch?  Are we simply wastrels on a journey to oblivion?  Pre and post processing chemicals and creations to move us to an already limited world view.  Or do we have the option of transport to nether regions of the solar system or galaxy?

The moon was the first hurdle, then Mars.  Neither promises greatly for life sustaining environs.  When you need an electron microscope and a mass spectrometer to find water on the samples returned, there probably won’t be enough for out thirsty ears.  It may be deep frozen and mined later, but I never got a hankering for all that freeze dried stuff.

How is that you are stranded ON a deserted island but you are lost IN the dessert?  The power one”S” has can be staggering.  It can put you in what you could be on, and can turn some (sample) into quite a lot (ample). 

Those are the last preceding words before I return as a complete Francophobe.  Not that I am terribly enamoured with them as it is.  After all that Plains of Abraham stuff I would’a thought theyd’a got the message.  Now as I see it, all their fresh water is basically our waste water.  Not that most of all water is a desirable commodity, but as I see it I wanna be as far upstream as my nature will allow.

So GIGO is the same in the world of nature as it is in the Puter world.

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.

 

 

Remote revelations

T’was a cool night in the environs occupied by the Silver Nugget on Monday night.  The frost was staved off by the heavy weight in the air of mining propositions.  Iron ore extracted lay about like spent shells in war laying about the roads and yards of natives and Auslanders alike. 

Gold and Molybdenum are the state of the art.  Now with more than 2 OPT are expected with hundreds to build and hundreds to mine after setup.  This sleepy town will explode at the sewers with the excrement of beer swilling temp’s in for the build.

I will attempt the PDF of the engineer’s report on the body of this forum.

The Porter is the way to fly.  Up in the sky with a Q400, light and flight of wing.  Leather seats, cheap rates, free booze and food.  Don't sit in row 8.  Unless the prospect of a dis-rotored turbo blade slicing through your knees is something you have thought of for decades.  Now that I know, I will react accordingly, and not because I have a friend on Cordingly Cres.

Now that which you read this for: the rant and rave about that which we live in.  The earth as we know it.  Now in the whole history of the world there has never been a wetter year.  The pundits and the billion dollar computer conjurors have told us about global warming and the effect we will feel immediately if we don't change our ways.  Ok.  I changed.  The meagre water receptacles proffered by the municipality barely water the roses. 

I don't want 80 litres or what I have 200 litres of water to moisten the soils which add to beautify my lands.  I want 160,000 litres.  I want to be able to build a cistern under my drive which holds enough water to feed the plants, flush the toilets and if needed wash my car.  It’s possible.   It’s happening.  It’s normal.  North American’s can’t do it.  Too much red tape, too much bureaucracy, too much cost.

It’s the norm in many countries round the world.  What study do I have to do to make this happen?  None.  Go somewhere where it is already done and read.  Or as a politico or bureaucrat can you read?  Perhaps only in the “other” official language!  Too bad the rest of the modern world abandoned that language after the Plains of Abraham.  Dig a hole, line it with cement, cover, then reap.  Too simple, too obvious. 

Not far off my Moped dilemma.  The “government” wants us to conserve and down size.  Many want the Peds I have, but with insurance at 1200 dollars a year, most just go buy a gas thirsty Rent-a-Wreck cast off.  Cheap transportation should be cheap.

Water saving should be water saving.  I posit that the water it takes to make one of my two water receptacles is several hundred times the water it will ever hold.  Cheaper by the volume I say.  The Eastern Bloc survived for 60 years with recycling ideas raised out of necessity not fashion.  Nobody wanted to conserve, recycle or make such efficiencies; they were driven to it by the lack of what they needed and wanted.

We are stuck with the freedom of fanatical bureaucrats, deaf politicians and self serving idealists.  Prodded on by the retail drive to the bottom of the lowest common denominator.  Oh, and don't get me wrong. I love this system.  Just stop acting like jerks trying to fortify your own lil’ fiefdom in that concrete jungle of downtown.  Dump the regulations.  Dump the regulators.  What did hell leave in a hand-basket?  Uhhhhh.. nuttin’.

Just thought and reason.  Get a life. I stop watering when the town stops allowing flowers to be sold.  You let me buy it; you have to let me maintain it.  Mow your dandelions before they flower and I won’t need to go to the chemical black market for herbicide to control YOUR weeds encroaching on my turf.

Tuff on you my turf tucks Tse Tse flys.  No mossies hiding in my fairway breeding ground.

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.