The Coffee Guy's blog

Averment to Amuse, My Guilty Pleasure

It has been some time, for some reason, for someone, for some things to be discussed in the open.  The time is nigh.  I reveled in the atmosphere of company, the brightness of oration, and presence overall.

I try to keep my cards close to my chest most times, living alone for 20 years made me that way.  I have tried openness and have difficulties disgorging my ways and methods.  The mind works the way it was developed.  Both by nature and nurture.  Once hardwired the dendrite connections are hard to alter.  I see things I saw as a child and still seem to interpret them similarly. 

“Whether it’s a symphony or a coal mine, all work is and act of creation and comes from the same source: from the inviolate capacity to see through one’s own eyes ----which means: the capacity to perform a rational identification---which means: the capacity to see, to connect and make what had not been seen, connected and not seen before.” . . . “He doesn’t know how he created his work or why, it just came out of him spontaneously, like vomit out of a drunkard.”…” Does affection make one a coward?”… A.R. Atlas Shrugged

In creating, the mind has its own motor, there is no steering wheel or gear shift.  The impetus comes from both within, and from outside stimuli.  A muse is one.  Valuable and unattainable.  Revered and admired. Nothing more.  Admiration and affection are undeniable and undefended.  As time progresses the ideas do not travel a roadway or direction, they morph and disfigure, transforming into something foreign from the original sin.

Now I must look to the world I wonder in.  Where will my failings foist forward to discover.  What will I see, envision, develop, conjure, and bring to essence?  Where will my mind drift to as the sands of time pour from the hourglass of my existence?  Each grain falls and joins the past.  Not the same, but inalienably identical in their differences.  As I delve into explorations the mind always travels the routes of the past, pondering benefits and features seen and unseen.

I do not apologize for my weaknesses.  A smile, a smirk, a line, a look, all drive the motor of thought.  Cogito Ergo sum.  It is said.  I agree, and want to learn more. Whence cometh thou with thine eyes.  I could not disagree, my drift was asea.  But I posit more from less, breadth from width, and ascension from a rise.  My inner outermost raison d’etre was not cunning.  It was appreciation.   Amazed in appreciation, in awe at the verve, essentially drinking in that which is presented.

I am I.  He who knows better but cannot do better.  Hopefully I amuse.

A nice pour over Patricia, make it pure Java.

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, Amused.

This is a Very Famous Blog about Darmstadt

So out and about in the environs of some of my ancestors and still currently the home of some of my kin, we were given a private tour of the town.  To start, lets introduce my Very Famous tour guide AB.  For all intents and purposes, a fully fledged local.

Knowledge of AB bas been gleaned both from the book and experience.  A proper blend of interpreting both is how you should receive information from your Very Famous guide. We did.  As we strolled the inner sanctums of Darmstadt, each turn revealed another gem in the city of industry, science and technology. 

Bohrium (1981), meitnerium (1982), hassium (1984), darmstadtium (1994), roentgenium (1994), and copernicium (1996) were discovered in this Very Famous city. The existence of the following elements was also confirmed at GSI Centre for Heavy Ion Research: nihonium (2012), flerovium (2009), moscovium (2012), livermorium (2010), and tennessine (2012).  As familiar as the average person could be with those elements, I might have just dropped a name or two off the top of my head and hit my big toe.

Even the Very Famous Frankenstein Castle resides in Darmstadt.  The namesake of that Very Famous Horror story.  But above that spectacle, is the Very Famous Mathildenhohe, or the Wedding Tower, also commonly referred to as the Five Finger Tower.  If seen, this becomes self-explanatory.  Many Very Famous Russian and Art Nouveau construction and design examples are found in the inside of the city reachable on a brief walking tour.  Jugendstil as it is known in Germany, relates to many still standing and gorgeous buildings in and around the central areas of town.

Many of the Very Famous parks and squares in Darmstadt are adorned with statues and monuments of the founders and original land lords of the region.  A column 33 meters tall holds a statue of the Very Famous Ludwig I, the first Grand Duke of Hesse the region in which Darmstadt resides.

The largest employer in Darmstadt is the Very Famous Merck the pharmaceutical company.  Many locals use the extensive and intricate tram/streetcar system for travel inner city and trains to nearly everywhere in Europe.  The Very Famous European Space Operations Center and the EUMETSAT, The European Organisation for the Exploitation of Meteorological Satellites, both call Darmstadt home.  Additionally, there are several electronics research centers in the area.

Hence the statement that the Very Famous Darmstadt can definitely be a destination.  Regardless of the fact I have relatives in residence in Darstadt, and the nearby Pfunkstadt, (my mother’s birthplace), has more of my family in residence.

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.

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.

Sun and Swill on a Sunday

As the gold orb rose, and the Riff Raff rousted, plans proceeded preciously preening probable uses of the hours.  It only lasted a few, and I was out for it all.  As air nearing the lake to the east became cooler, we rode west young man.  Into the reserve not using mine.  The S was sipping but for a few needed twists to catch up at times.  And I did.

Fresh and nippy, burping and squawking at the beginning, expected after a long cold winter.  All that should and could tan did by all reports.  Some had donned too many and some not enough.  Herds and heards about as we wended our ways.   Each decision based on which was the turniest, and which would deliver the most fun. 

Hill and dale welcomed up at each juncture.  Some on muscle power had us using the French contractor routes.  Some gravel and some lined, most were free of encumbrances.  Sightseeing stops added and passed the golden orb hung up all day.  Stopping for a tube steak and pommes frites added a fresh resolve to rip’r again. 

Thinking of others and pass times of theirs, glad that all would be out that day.  As expected, vintage and resto’s shared the bitumen readily and often.  Shined up and ready for the ocular receptors.  Playing “my car, your car” in my head.  Would I wonder if?  Spring breezes pushing and pulling on my decisions on which direction would be next.  See a turn, miss a turn, take a turn for the better.

Each dodge and weave a new sense and sensibilia.  Winter begone my friend.  The super-tropics brings a shorts summer, stilted again this year with a shortened spring.  Eagerness to make rotations on the twos, decisions to be made on which ones.  I try to keep the wear and tear even, but sometimes the decision is made for me by the destination.

T'was good to get out twisting and turning till the sun tipped off the horizon.  Next day, next bike, next ride, next adventure.

Make the steam curl Maria, I like the aroma that way.

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.

Yen and Yearn for Your Yesterday

When what I did when comes around, I polish off the old and revel in the new.  The platitude, “get back to normal” is in error.  What I yen for is a new day where masks and protocols are not in the mix.  Why would I go back?  Where would I lead me?  I want to break free, to quote a good songster.

They yore of yesteryear will never return except in your yearnings.  Worry not of the past, not of the future, but of what you can control now.  Dr Leo Buscaglia posited this some 35 years ago.  It holds true today.  The coming year will determine following years.  Will things change?  Yes.  Will they be something you know now? No.

The tomorrow of wishers is the fluff filling the interweb thingy with trash.  Trash talking the world away will get you less of the more.  Working your world into what you want will guide you to that which is desired.  We all desire something different.  We all wish for the nought and the hole.  Wish for the torus, not the void.

Substance is that which you can, vapour is untouchable.  Could the secret service use it and find the money?  Nope.  Only consume what you can use, use it wisely.  Only purchase what you can carry, employ, or ply.  Storage lockers around the world belie the folly of the past.  “I though I would.”  “I was going to.”  “I need that.”  Fair estimations of decisions fraught with fallacy.

The future is not going back to “normal”. It has been to long, move along. Move with stealth, determination, and fortitude.  The fray is not to be joined, but to be directed.  Move with earnest tenacious resolve.  This will pull and sway that which you want closer.  Anything less is imprudence. 

In chess, the game, your move is unreturnable.  There is no stale date, no period of limitations, no undo function.  You will survive the board if the process of movement is correct. Your King will fall to folly.  Flake that bark off gently, the tree survives by covering it base.  Scarring and marring will lead to dried out membranes and life loss.

Perked piques my palate Paula, Pour slowly.

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.