The Coffee Guy's blog

Broken, Pinned, and Cast

So one small slip and there you are pined and cast.  No more plaster on this body though, I know Noah and that boat and beasts used it: nothing that old is going on OR in my body unless its Scotch.

So a fortnight with a splint.   Looks like a cast, feels like a cast,,,,,, well, it’s not a duck anyhow.  Been under?  Not down under, not under the influence, not under the covers or under cover, not under the weather or under paid.  Not under slung or swayback, not under wired or under-serviced.  

Just under?

Saw it coming, missed it and woke up thinking I was still waiting for it.

Yup was under.

Now with stanchions of steel screwed or bolted to my interior I feel even more like the man of steel.  Well so much for tricking out at the airport.  I had a strategy which worked seamlessly.  Knew which shoes, belt, shirt, trousers, everything to wear to do the screening waltz.  Nary a time did I ever go for a search or a Wanda weenie.

Although I found that in the early testing days of the round about, it was faster to go in those lines.

So on a level, if Zeno’s paradox and the Fibonacci serial, the senses are piqued.  VERY UNCOMFORTABLE.  Would I say it was pain?  Not in a pure sense like at the point if impact.  That hurt.  This, distracting, irritation, of a pestering pant, yep now it hurts.

Not that there are not sundry apothecial supplements available to me.  But as ya’ knows, I am a natural man. 

Brain freeze, gotta move or drop some.

Make it quick Francesca, I need the jolt.

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. Not am Main nor ab der Elba, but down the Donau, and with Turkish Chai.

“It’s all going to pot, whether we like it or not”

The Interweb Thingy

Best video I’sa seen in a while.  Lookie it uppie on the thingy.  So let me ask the age old question, “why do you need to know?”   We are all on a need to know basis these days and for the most part, we don’t need to know.

What was your desideratum for searching out this blog?  Was there something about coffee you needed to know? What could anybody possibly NEED to know about the Java?  Was it Arabica or Robusta?  There are ONLY two kinds.  And you needed to know that?  So’sa now as you sippa you can twitta, “hmmm that was some fine Arabica”?

The difference here is that I NEED to know to be able to write this.   I have been the portent of information since time immemorial.  Well at least as the 24-hour new rotation goes.  The exigency of the corporeity is that we all know too much.   Oh wait.   Want to think we know too much.  What would you do when?

“Cogito ergo sum” that should be the end of it.  Just being cognitive of our own cognition allows us to exist.  Proves our existence.   I, just seconds ago, used the Googler, (Even though I use DogPile, I still call it the Googler), searched “two dimensional protoplasmic array”.   35000 references came up.  I posit that the last few of these would have a tenuous connexion to the ole protoplasmic display.   In fact, I just jotted those four words down out of pure haphazardness.  Hard to believe I know.

So next time you get the compulsion to get out the info thingy, put it away and be thankful that you are in complete knowledge of your existence.   Any and most of the so called information you would glean from your device on the aforementioned topic, you will either forget shortly, won’t understand, or it will be just out and out false.  Not false information, that’s an oxymoron.

Short and strong today Carmela, I need to look up to it.

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. Not am Main nor ab der Elba, but down the Donau, and with Turkish Chai.

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