The Coffee Guy's blog

Next stop Chi-town, Lido put the money down, Let it Roll

As did we.  Two-by-two added fun and frolicking.  From the south side of Chicago, we were the baddest men in town on the University and Museum grounds.  To the fields of Wriggly and Comiskey, and then a nice Segway to the lakeside.  Dishing Deep at Uno’s, the originator of said Panned Pies.

Nothing but heat and humidity, and nary a rain fall on the head space.  The head spaced out as well as we should on off and down times.  The fire destroyed a lot of history but made up with achievements and feats; not to mention the bipedal on all two pair.

Whilst the Aquatic Dimension is prevalent, it is not beseeching the individual to comply.  Relentless attempts at draining the unlimited Mass Mover Card go importunedly unanswered.  The deal is too good to swipe.  One simple inexpensive seamless card does it all. No transfers, no ID cards, no line-ups, no waits.  As explained on local Big Smoke Radio, Chicago has one simple system, extensive and well serviced, and integrated.  23 smackers and you can travel till you tip for seven gruelling days.

Stunning views of the downtown and a visit to the “Mag” Mile made money mean much.  A slip out to dad’s father’s Stovery shows progress awaits no one in this town.  437 is under the concrete of the 290 and the Blue Line.  Still have the pics and stood on the spot.  The Dark Blue Pier is slated for a revisit Saturday night for dinner and fireworks.  Nothing like a trap for excursionists stacked full of the same.  We will see as we saw.  One large lunar globe browbeating a lighthouse and sailing vessel; awe inspiring image on the site.

Betwixed private tours of the members-only, Jake and Elwood take it all in with their hunnies. Beaching hot on the penultimate day, to the beach we say and saddle up the ponies for the only self driven excursion in the Windy City.  House of Blues Back rooms with possible unauthorized shots of the great room and private environs.  Mercilessly matched by Transformers 2 on the streets.  Burnt Cars staged and shot.  Film exposed on the streetscapes. We now know more than we dangerously should about architecture from the aqueous humor reversedly flowing through said town.

Needless to say anyone who has ventured upon a Segway, wants a Segway.  Where are the enviro whacko, Volvo driving, Birkenstock wearing, tree hugging, hemp wearing, tie-dye crowd when there is this ultimate transportation mode available?  Well.......uhh.....possibly they know that once we all get on a Segway, they will have nothing to protest and nothing to attempt to raise money for.  Nope.  There should have been a revolution.  The Aquamarine Pacific Do-gooders just don't want the strife to end.  It’s their industry to have Enviro Strife.

Nice segue.

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.

 

 

 

What you would do when?

Flatulent orations from well meaning polititcians about adding new taxes or fees puts them in a state of understanding similar to a one celled Amoebea.  What self respecting Rhizopoda would allow itself to be compared to these snivelling expectorants?

Our dear Environment Minister still calls his tax on the Eco?, a fee.  Because the cheques written for these people are not on government letterhead cheques, he feels they are not government themselves.  Let us look at the organizational or should I say dis-organizational chart for this business.

The government sets up an “Orange Program”.  Sets fees related to electronics, and waste paint and solvent recycling and recovery.

Then they, by legislation, set up a corporation to operate these programs and to levy the fees.  The government sets regulations on what they must achieve, who they can levy, how much they can levy, what and where the programs are to be operated, and legislate fee recovery from industry and individuals.

Here is the definition of a “steward”, “a person who manages another's property or financial affairs; one who administers anything as the agent of another or others.”  Hmm  sounds a lot like an employee or at minimum someone working at the behest of someone else.  Definitely not an independent person or agency.

It’s called Pass the Buck, Shirk your responsibilities, Don't buy the cow if you get the milk for free, Not in My back Yard, It wasn’t me, any number of attempts at making it sound like “them” are not “me”.

When an announcement regarding this “Stewardship” is made, it’s made by the minister from when this organization has sprung.  Why?  Because it’s supposed to be the person at the top who makes statements to the press in a time of crisis.  Who is at the top of this cash cow patronage office?  The Minister.  Plain and on white bread.  This is so cut and sun-dried my head is feeling like a new age pizza with those hard tomato thingies on it.

A tax is a tax by any other name.

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

Potato Preferred Pricing

With the recent onslaught of post panic boredom we need to readjust our starch and carbohydrate intake rates.  The notorious influx of starch into our food stream is causing a log jam in our diets.  With more and more root vegetable and farina/semolina options than ever before we neglect the lowly vine grown alternatives.  The beans, peas, sundry other legumes and tomatoes need to be stocked into our up-brooks for our intake reservoirs.

Making headway we drive forth down the highway of preparation of the ingestibles.  More starch based product mixed with Avian globuli cooked in the squishings of the Rapeseed plant seeds.  Following?  Not including the centerline halved portions of the aforementioned fowl’s peritoneum  into Dagwoods and digits.

More, faster, longer, with less delay, ASAP, el pronto, chop chop, on the double, and in no time.  We do not hesitate to procure that which is unattainable in this haste of hurry.  A walk is a pace one or two gates beyond our need.  Dumped and dragged kicking and sweating in the HHH of southern Ontario’s hottest steelcase inferno.  The Hammer does not endure weenies with sweat glands over taxed by a flight of stairs.

Nether escarpment directs winds over our heads, leaving a churning staleness of haze and humidity.  The warming stench of nearby waste sites permeates the civic aura.  Not that a cruise downtown past Tat parlours and Speak-easy’s won’t cure you for the “burbs” of Steel Town.  Mountaineers besmirched by the lowlanders, a feud long in the making from whence management lived aloft and mere mortals down below.

No foggy bottom here as a walk along the southern shores of the Lake by the name of the province.  Lulled by the clarity and calmness of the water.  A hellish fury wryly cumulating in mayhem awaits our return.  Again bodies in absentia are no help for the one on site.  With the long arm of capitalism reaching into our guts for one more hoof at the feline.  Penchant  awaits no one.  If there is not the drive originally, then you will not create one in the wilds of ones heart.  The need for speed is only surpassed by the greatness attainable.

One needs to see before they can move forward.

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