The Coffee Guy's blog

Friendship not Fiends Foster Fellowship

Minds do not make a person: its how that is used that does.  Malevolence does not make a leader: benevolence will.  Warmheartedness breeds friends: willfulness will shun them away. 

To chat, as a verb describes a pass time I enjoy.  Seeing the understanding in the other's eyes and motions only makes me want to delve further in the mind of my interlocutor.  How does it work, parse, and understand? From where does that idea germinate?  Sounding ideas off a sponge requires patience and the will for things to grow.  The cognitive process is circuitous.  The loops and zags, popping through the dendrites of one’s grey mater is game of patience.

To enjoy that process you must pause and stimulate.  Pause with inputs and triggers, stimulate with verse and vocabulary.  Dissonance will only arise as blocks and barricades to the process are spat forth.  Ingest all that exudes and you will to be showered with more.  Ideas and concepts discussed and hashed out resolving the issues of the day.

Issues do not arise betwixt and between to build walls, but arise to meld and morph minds mixing in the miasma.  The joy, (pull up the song Joy by Carlos Santana at this point and listen while you read) is in the change and not the stasis. Equipoise has never gleaned newness, or originality.  The world must proceed through the universe as we must.  Whence thou could resist the evolution of mankind?  Or not.

To evolute, or to hold in stasis, you have no option.  Trundle on in the world, unfortunately or with promise.  Pressing needs oft determine your path, its best to have options.  Options discussed are the fun of the journey.  It is in your cognition of those that make for joy.

Jump it up a notch Julia, make it an Americano.

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. #garagelurker2019, also A.C., Cee Minus.

With 2 Cats in the Yard, and a Friend

“Life used to be so hard, now everything is easy ‘cause of you.”  Well, “cats” can be just people, and a friend can be a cat.  When Mr. goes stalking, we all look up and attend.  Attendance is not mandatory, obligatory, nor ambulatory.

I ride, some ride in cages.  I cage too but not if the temp is conducive to the ride.  Whilst the heat of summer is not upon us as of yet, I await those days for comfort and the ride.  The bitumen reflects the heat upward washing the view and raising the corn.  Those days of abandon have not met me yet.  There will be more and there won’t be less.

Pandering to the populous is never on my cognitive awareness chart.  I strum a different kind of instrument.  The instrument of justice does not touch me.  But decking can be a relaxing and enjoyable experience with two cats.  Chatter that does not matter waddling it way through topic and tropic.

Those times are the filler in the pillow of life.  Nothing hard and discomforting, no dispute, no discrimination.  Those troubled topics tenor the times with terse remakes best left for the solitude of singularity.  Jabs and jests of jocularity are just what the proffers of betterment have prescribed.  Under orders of course, but not a loop.

Distractions and attractions and actions mused and discussed.  Not subject or Mr. too small or too sly.  Mystery abounds outside.  Inside, just the house. Outside, the rest of the world.  Inquisitiveness and breath waft through the winds of chatter.  The milky miasma of mornings alerted by aromas of Java and the sounds of the city.

Slip in smooth Sonya, no splash.

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. #garagelurker2019, also A.C., Cee Minus.

Voice Your Vote and Vanquish the Villains

Duty and obligation are oft used interchangeably: they are not always so.  Duty, derives it existence from the requirement or owing of something. Obligation, has a moral root from the belief that you must perform something.

You as a member of a democratic society, have an obligation to go to polls and place your ex on a spot and vote.  Your have no duty to do so.  You do not owe me or any other person you action to make your make on the ballot.  Your moral requirement is derived from your acceptance by residing where you do.  A representative democracy places a moral obligation on you to state who will be the person to represent you.

You cannot simply say, “I don’t care who gets in, they are all the same.”.  by accepting to live here, you are obliged to do the smallest part of your obligation and pass your say on to a representative.  Society does not operate by rules or laws, it operates because we all agree there is a moral obligation to act in certain ways.

Now you may say my guy I voted for was not elected.  That may be true, but you completed your moral obligation to voice your opinion and toss your hat the way of the person of your choice.  That is all that is required.  The elected are then entrusted with your morality through them.  You are now absolved of responsibility until the term of office is complete.

You owe no body anything that you should vote.  When this occurs, it is called patronage.  Somebody paid you for your vote.  In a representative democracy, it is known as corruption.   While this does happen more often that one might think, it is not the reason to vote or a good reason to vote.  Corruption is unavoidable with the human spirit.  Freedom of thought is inviolable.

These times occur at various terms and opportunities as we all live and age.  When you are able, morally you must. 

Foam it on the top Fabriana, make your mark.

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. #garagelurker2019, also A.C., Cee Minus.

When Ingenious and Industrious, Tribulations are Trivial

Hobby is an unknown word or action to many if not most.  Too many it is rare; occupation is a must.  There are those that think they could become active.  Activity is a mindset.  I feel Atlas is about to Shrug.

Intensity and determination do not mean speed, it’s a formula for concentration.  Grey matter needs exercise as much as red matter.  One thing that makes me smile every time is watching the act of being industrious.  Mind by means, making mother earth better.  It is not merely the acts themselves, but the actions entwined in those acts.

It is a pleasure to savour the labours of others.  Respect and reflect on the processes from body part to brain and back again.  Some repetitive, some talented, some unique, and some definitive.  From idea to design through implementation.  How obvious it is from the etymology, from the Latin “diligent” and “assiduous”.  Exactly how I saw it, and see it.

I am the opposite; I prefer the privacy of my mind while I persevere in my toils.  Me plugging away, solving problems and plotting my diligence.  To be the watched or the watcher both have their benefits.  I could have sat back and beheld for hours.  But here as I toil on one task, pondering another, my mind is discovering new techniques, subtle changes and alterations, new roads to the end.

I posited about the GNP a while back, it too is wrapped up in this.  There are so few with the drive for new different and the creation of objet d’art.  To me, any “thing” you have done is that described as such.  Colour, texture, material, materiel, medium, and the message all ooze forth from the crania of the masses.  You have to let it out after you excavate your brain.  Play with it and cajole it into that which pleases you solely. 

When the weight of the world is too great, the forces acting upon it will need to scratch that itch.  It will not be smooth, there will be jostling of the orb to reach JUST that spot.   Shrug as you would.

Rainy day Rhonda, make it a hot pour over today.

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. #garagelurker2019, also A.C., Cee Minus.

Quintessential Quilting Qualifies Quarterly as Quality Quakes

At what point does a quilt become a mosaic?  Both have a salmagundi of pieces and colours.  Both are assembled. Both can depict a scene. Both are considered both art and craft.  Both can be of varied media.  Both are an expression of performance.

I know of a few who partake in the activity in various mediums.  That which is appealing is that which is a manifestation of an idea, a fugacious vision retained and brough forth.  Placed in detailed orientation on a breadth and width.

The eyes of those that behold, all see a new form.  All see that which relates to their past and present danger and pleasure.  It is not the “I” that matters, it it’s the “eye” that sees and enjoys the vision.  In fact, the eye sees all as a quilt of reality.   The mind or brain derives its conclusion.

Whether or not the description belies the reality is of no importance: it is the act of placing an image in front of an ocular interpretation that arrives at a conclusion which has import for the world.  World views vary as do images depicted.  Whence has thou depicted that which you wish to show the world?

The one whom dost do that which comes from within, sees that which is of interest or disinterest.  The need to exude is unstoppable.  The need to show cannot be quelled.  It just comes out.  The product cannot be pushed asunder.   It is.  As you are: cogito ergo sum.

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. #garagelurker2019, also A.C., Cee Minus.

Frisky Friends Flinch at Foghorns

Following forecasts, the fellows who fry fingers at the chicken joint are acutely aware of over cooking.  Activity at its base, is the act of change over stasis.  Moving and manipulating ambulatory limbs is the minimum.  You can jig or jag, but there must be a delta in the equation.

The painter applies a medium to a medium, the art comes from the conjoining of those multitudinous applications.  While some appear random, the gist is obvious.  Depth and breadth create the third dimension in our minds eye.  The artist does not push anything, the image is pulled from within the medium.

Once on a stretch, the kernel grows into an image.  The image is then developed by the third party being you, the interloper.  Morphology transcends the objet d'art.  Sometimes the missing is that which creates the substance.  Visually and with tactile developments, the artist evokes both emotion and recognition. 

The “Chicken and the Egg” quandary comes to mind, was the vision there prior to execution?  Or was the vision only after completion?   Having seen, sketched and gestated upon, was that iconic piece finished with the exception on simply laying down some paste?  Conversely, was that final product in mind all along and the dreaming, sketching and cogitating was simply a road needed to be travelled to get there?

Cats on the other hand have no apparent volition.  Mere momentary mental mythical monstrosities managing their movement at any one time.  One moment calm and serene, the next a devilishly Tasmanian frenzy of motion.  The feline foibles are vastly underrated.  Unlike the, on first glance, method of application of a thick past on thin canvas.  Did Van Gogh paint in a flurry or in a slow intentional baste of oil on velum?

While I write in response, I see the digested words of others and wonder.  Can I or would I write in a way contrived to be desirable or even cogent?  I have.  Innumerable pages of it in past lives.  Dissertationous pablum directed at a small cadre of consumers.  I am beyond that now and simply inspired by the life in a day of what I see and experience.

Unusually a Cappuccino Corrine, make it emblematic.

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. #garagelurker2019, also A.C., Cee Minus.

Concerns of Coffee Confuse the Conscious

No goat will know better.  No goat will not eat cherries. No goat ate my coffee cherries.  Yup, they are not beans, they are roasted cherry pits.  The African villager who found frisky fonts of energy when he shepherded his flock away back, knew at that point he was in for some fun.  Lest it be known that the process was refined much later.

Whilst those in the know are aware, there are two “coffees”, the Arabica and the Robusta.  What you pour into your vessel now is either a blend of the two, a crossbreed of the two, or one or the other.  Both have functions in the flavour and aroma departments. 

Robusta the necessary part of the Crème for an espresso blend, the deep rich flavour of Arabica for the dainty an undeveloped palate.  Roasting methods and procedures also play a part in flavour development.  As well, the level of caffeine varies between the two with Robusta being the higher of the two.  Shape and other factors are more market sensitive and have no influence on flavour.

Futures on Coffee have nearly doubled over the past year, with Covid issues, fuel, transport bottle necks, and economic issues in general fueling the fire.  The future is fine otherwise, caffeinated for sure.  What has not changed it the roaster community growth.  While some are good and some are bad, others have consistency problems, on the whole the breadth of options has increased.

The down side of small independent operators and their numbers growing, is the certification and quality control of the final product.  Large producers know and can control chaff and shell amounts.  These are things in your coffee that make for bulk and weight but deliver no taste or quality.  Of course, the best coffee is milled in home immediately before brewing.  But who doesn’t love the aroma of freshly opened bags of ground coffee?

A big home brew mistake is getting a “basher” rather than a “mill” grinder.  A basher has blades that spin very fast and just bash the coffee “beans” apart.  A mill has two plates through which the “beans” are guided and slowly rolled apart to a certain size. 

Any way you lie your coffee, take the time to enjoy all stages from sourcing to drinking.  Take note of your likes and dislikes to avoid waste and distaste. 

Coffee for the Nation today Clarissa, Make it national.

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. #garagelurker2019, also A.C., Cee Minus.

Lets Loquate about Ludicrous Lockdowns

There are three types of lock-down.  Type one is languishing.  Type two is lovingly.  Type three is ludicrous.  Each on its own can be desirable or destructive.  Once implemented there is not switching form yon to fro.  Stone etching is as permanent.

Exploring alone will glean insight and instruction.  Once I was on a beach in a far-off land west of here.  I had no resources to leave, desire to move, or ability to select other options in life.  The sand, white and warm, slipped through my toes like four little hour glasses ticking off the duration of entrapment in granular form.  There was glee and glasses as we swam in the sunlight and saltwater.

The desire to depart was unknown.  The want of tergiversation into ways of olde had vanished form our cranial reserves.  Sated on the sand was our stead.  Gladly locked down on a nearly vacant stretch of sand in a far-off dominion.  Thus was our way, opted in willfully and with wanton need of the environs.

Locked down into love with that person who returns the affection is also done uncompromisingly.  That lode of thanks for lust lets one languish in time.  We spare nothing to bring what we need to the other.  What one speaks the truth to unfalteringly.  We could harvest hours of pleasure just in that company.  Crave for more as our eyes turn shortly away.  Return to look again and be even more in need of the same.

Passing the ticks of time is endless yet unknown.  We can pronate here until time immemorial.  Or till that time as we all pass on.  Further and farther, fonder and for ever.  The locks of this jail are willingly left clasped together.  The key not sought and the lock rusting over.  Glad of our stead in life.

The final lock-down is ludicrous.  Un wanted, un willing, un wished for, un washed, and un worked.  The raison d’etre and sanctification is that not of our doing, but that of others.  Wanton wry wrist constraints, mental or physical are not ours.  We posit options and opinions erstwhile denied.  Say that which our druthers expect.  Unfortunately, the shackles are clasped too tightly to shake. 

The key unknown and tossed in the detritus of life.  Speed forth and solemnify extrication.  We are leaving.  Lost and listless.  Southbound and slipping the light fantastic in our loins.  Get me hack home.

List it as a Latte and froth it up Lily.

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. #garagelurker2019, also A.C., Cee Minus.

Educate and Emulate, Encourage and Enlighten

The term 'education' is the noun form of the verb educate. It comes from the Middle English educaten; coming from the Latin term educare, educatus meaning 'bring up, rear'; linked to educere meaning 'to lead forth' or 'bring out'. The suffix 'ion' refers to a particular action or process. It could also refer to the result of the same.

What the result is, is learning.  As it turns out, from the Middle Dutch leeren, Dutch leren.  Is it by coincidence, nature or nurture that we have a revelation that from information, you can get to knowledge?  Cogito ergo sum.  This does not mean that just because you are here, you know.  It must be either delivered or encouraged to be brought forth from that which has already been given.

From what we give, is what can be gleaned.  Nothing given, nothing gained.  The zero-sum game played here is unnerving at best.  What is it that we should give?  What is it that we are trying to deliver?  Air, water, land, sound, sight, touch, and taste.  All methods of conveyance.  The receiver must be aware there is something on the way; “I sent you something, didn’t you get the tracking number?”.

My German supplier has a subtle way of delivering the tracking number for which I wait endless days, weeks, and months for consummation of the contract.  Here in the instant world of the interweb thingy and Amazonian deliveries, I ponder the image of arrival.  Daily I get no education from this.  Perhaps weekly there comes a smidgeon of Pidgeon droppings of information bringing my level high.

To end the process of education, one needs to lack cognition.  Lacking cognition means you are no longer there.  Dementia proves this wrong.  It’s the delivery method which must change as well as the receiver.  We still orate, “pick up the phone”, “dial the number”, “tape it”, and many other phrases from the past.  No referential exercise to learn this from other than the intention of language.

Intonation and visual clues lead to odd conclusions.  Even in trended linguistic learning occurs on the streets of the virtual world.  We need more people red pilled into the fact we are at A.C. 646!  Keep your distance.

Make it eddy Edith, some movement in my Cuppa would be nice.

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. #garagelurker2019, also A.C., Cee Minus.

Secrets in Society, or Society in Secrets

Sussing out sisters of the nation is difficult at the best of times, Sistering any Joist in a descent Joint can be tedious if nothing else.  And so the tomb of knowledge buries itself in a miasma of societal indifference.  “They” used to call it the “Pablum of the Masses”, well I did, now it’s the incessant race to the bottom of the lowest common denominator.

Passive indifference is the same as passive anything.  One always needs a driver, three eighths or better.  When the world changes at a pace not seen since Ole man Ford made a line, we need guides and getters, finders and fixers.  I was “retired”, have never been busier.

I need to find ANOTHER job to get some time off.   My casual time is at other’s behests.  The telephonic devices have taken over.  I will be on Hiatus for the following 30 days, getting me nearer to the 7th millennium.  There are a select few that can circumvent the ignorant.  There has never been a time more Tome-like than the present. 

I could write a river to the Amazon and still not let the flood gates abate.  Whence cometh the 12 days?  That is when I go on line for the duodecimus days of Christmas songs.   Some old, most new.  I am not a fan of the minor key pushing melancholy out.  It’s a good exercise, and difficult practice. 

Wouldst, thou have this any other way?  If you listen, I appreciate it.  If not, you too will just be part of the Masses dining on Pablum for days and weeks.  Think of the joy and bliss. Delve in delight at delusional dreams of delinquency.  There will be noshing and drinking along the way.  What is your preference for libations?  Perhaps I join you in one.

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. #garagelurker2019, also A.C., Cee Minus.