The Coffee Guy's blog

Moose, or Elk, or Golf, or Business Association, clubs have moved outside.

Wanton wantons abound in Chinese Restaurant parking lots, no lot lizards there.  We parry and strike as the dust settles on the battle over who and whom and what and where when the worried warts warrant wrath.  Focused foraging reaps fruitful cornucopias of currants on bushes not brushed with the bans of bunglers.

The battles of the day are stayed in the public courts of opining.  The council will re-write that which it erred on so many years ago.  What the region giveth the public takes to task.  One engineer not over his Google goggles will repent in the present when my present to him is our post.

Can one person related to the ground have such disdain for that which provides him remuneration?  The mass hysteria over why the property leviers insist on not righting about the writing errors of the past drives me to the brink of drink.  I should have known in the past, by my teacher of the scientific measurement of the earth, that a civil engineer has no connexion with reality.  And while some things morph through the ages, others are more stagnant than before.  Fear of the outside is no different than xenophobia.

Where I gather or chat and chiding is not inside some box or cube, it’s all plain talk.  No farming of geometrics where I gather, no gophering over divisions, no overhearing of others behind soft plush walls where I stand.  Outside is where life continues.  The inside is just that: the inside.  Outside is the rest of the world.  My java courses better in the wind that in the chair.

Chins wag wearily inside, yet outside the tongue is fluid and in flux.  Banter bona fides over blathering blitherers.   Take it outside me says.  Make your match on the maker’s turf.  No toughies here.  Just straight talk from the hip, no bureaucratize-eeze.  No mumbo jumbo from the desk drivers.  And I quote, “so tight you could read the date on a dime through them”.  Not just any lingo there.

No fear or forcing flatulence to the surface.  We let it ride like we do.  “ride it like you stole it”’ as I quote yet again.  When the dreary droll dampness of the office rolls over your eyes like the slime of pond scum, it is finally time to readdress your worth to society, and in fact our municipality.

If I were so blinded by malaise and banality I know my henchmen and associates would revolt, pushing me under to bench press Daisies from below.

Ganesh!  I drink coffee not tea!

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.

 

BelleVegas or Vacillation Not on Vacation

We have breached the berm and brought the Big Box to the Belle’.  Wanton and libidinous libations not being imbibed on this junket.  The pace set near the pacers of yore.  American Motors not included.  Over 49,000 strong and an agglomeration almost leading the century mark, this `Ville of the great unwashed centered and sheltered behind the county of our late great Edward the Prince.

This could easily be considered the Royal city in the seat of loyalists.  Susanna Moodie, QE, P of Wales, Queen Vic’, Sir John A. Charles the Prince are just a few of the names touted in this town rubbed up against the ubiquitous Lady Fatima, (coal for another fire at a later date I am sure).

Between the head stones of a former Prime Minister, the great Canadiana writer Moodie, there resides or resolves innumerable famed  hockey players some with this writer’s family name.  Home of the inventor of the infamous churlish Cheezies.   Home of my favourite Rocker babe of the 80’s Ms. Aaron, former home of a Miss Universe Mori, home of ice master Orser, and home of the Wilkinsons.

We have the B and B doing the Digitosis Dance leading our troupe to top numbers.  With Solanum tuberosum being pumped and punched to levels unheard of in these environs in some time. Even Eryc enters eventually to even the field.  The only 2 H on a two up day.

The Moira meanders and moseys it’s way through town encumbering the populous to ford the river in Fords.  Don’t Kellogg that Joint my friend, pass it over to me.  You can Gamble that proxy on Proctor to ensure earnings in modern times.  John Walden, no pond intended, began this burb and the rest is history as they say.

Departure is such sweet sorrow, and I can’t wait to weep like a leaf. 

No food, no beer no pets, can’t get no motorbikes.  I’m a man of dreams by no means, gotta get home.  Every engineer and every train, all of their kids and all of their names.  King of the Belle.

Pour steady Raoul, don’t waste a drop.

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.

 

 

 

Coffee Causes Catastrophe Clearing Constellations

We wallowed yesterday as the winds whipped willows of lagging leaves.  As I flew the light fandango in “Easy Pick-up”, aka C-FGRI, the skies were clear, the air cold, and the power on!  Thoughts of letting it all go and taking a break in Tillsonburg, barren runway cleared for my struts.

I veered again eastward and pulled 90 overtop Delhi.  Could see the ice on the bay created by Long Point and the suns reflection made it appear smooth and glassy.   Stillwater not running deep.  For such a great day, traffic was light in the rock solid air.

Today’s yoyo weather gives us rain and snow later from -4 to plus 10 in 12.  As not gazing to the stars a cuzzin’ the clouds, I pondered the constellation of Cafficus Araibicus in my cranial vision.  Dark to the bare eye, but deftly hidden in the Milk Way.  At this juncture it rises slowly from the southeast around 11Pm.  Distinctive with its apparent waft above the handle.  The star Suchrus dead center in the image.

Now that you are all in accordance with the alignment of the stars, what’s in them this fair season.   No pepper for your soul today, salt and vinegar for your thoughts.  We Tandoori with the red meat, and curry ourselves to the Big Q.  Without the constellation we consternate upon visible, guidance is shy toward the fall of Pm hours. ARE YOU LOOKING YET?

In the constellation of Columbus you will find the smaller cherry-like aforementioned constellation.  Now with your head tilted back, your eyes straining, your back aching, your arms up holding the binoculars, your elbows poking the person in front of you, your shirt pulled up, your tummy cold, you stifling a fart, your mind wandering from the star-chart in your cranium, your partner still asking which way is up, your toes now chilling in the night air, all of this while you wonder what has caused you to be outside staring up looking for the coffee club? 

Recently Cafficus Araibicus has entered the house of Esspressonatta with Suchrus stronger now in the mix.  The constellations appears about a quarter the size, but hotter to start, but shorter lived.  At the point you can start to see Americanius rising from the west coast blending into the constellation.  Now from the north, along a line drawn from the zenith to the nadir, you can just start to witness Hortitcus Timonica edging upwards strongly at this juncture.

Either way the stars have it.  Java jewels in the sky cup of nectar.

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.

 

 

 

Anybody Want a Cat?

Larger than normal specimen.  Not fat large.  Orange exterior pigmentation.  Bengal model, (webbed feet and loves water).  12 years of aging practices with all the upgrades.  New schooling techniques used in sanitation matters.  Anterior feet missing all talons.  Good home not necessary.  Willing to pay for removal.

Got Junk?  We do too, over and above the live sample above.  Really, you too can be the proud owner of this model.  My spousal compliment has issues.  This biomass has typical felinous like habitué.  Excessive sleeping most days, up to 23 hours per day, ready and wanting scratching when you are tired, will not endure scratching when you are ready.  Will stand on you when busy.  Will not sit on you when relaxing.

Now if you are inclined toward making and offer, the bidding has started with us paying a mere €20. Euro to the purchaser.  So you can see we are already in an international bidding war.  Get your stilos ready.  Sharpen you graphite based writing instruments, microwave your markers, just bid and bid frequently.

No shotgun bidding allowed.  All auto-bidders will be rejected. Only homo-sapius like responses accepted.  The winner of said auction will present themselves at our abode post-haste.  Our funding remuneration will be made in the hard currency of the nation.  No take backs, not touch backs.  Entrance to our domicile will be restricted on further postdated visits until thorough body and clothing searches are completed.  (it’s not that we are worried you will try to return your purchase unwantingly, but we are a paranoid crew).

Get your sorry butts over here and save us from our mystery.  This cat must go! Clearing out to the hardwood floors!  No unreasonable offer refused!  MSRP accepted on an OAC basis with VISA, MC, or AMEX.  We DO NOT accept Diners Club on felines.  This is not China!

Gotta get a cuppa’!

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.

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Dracheotmy Dangers Draft Dailies

In the extreme extent of examinations exhibiting exultant extortions one naturally defaults to the antepenultimate position.  Six exes and not sex ibexes are not the easiest to string together in a sentence of intentionality.  We fostered together words and forms, reports and by-laws, letters and memoranda, and we came off Scott free.

The man backed down on principles of sanity restored.  My partner in crime and I sat before the courts watching the dispensing of penalties both foolish and undefended.   A good civic lesson not distilled by Honda.  Of issues of fines one would ponder, that merely remitting the set fines would be cheaper by half that the added fees and penalties of lateness and judicial financial compensation to the city.

By neither do I digest nor do I press the forward buttons.  The season is nigh upon us.  When was the last time you sighed about the use of “nigh”?  LED’s day-lighted the street as of the first as is specified in the neighbourhood beatification and sanity act.  The strip of strings strung gaily about, Santa’s sleigh slightly slanted ajaunt.

This end of the week we trudge through knee deep snow In search of the perfect branch bearing balsam.  Probably leaving with numerous examples for friends and family alike.  The beauty and stature of conifers conferred on.  Decisions made slashed and dropped like a twig in the forest.

Lest I foist undesirables on one or ‘tother of yee plebes in the aether, let me assure you we will get use from said baums.  Lighted and delighted for the visiting masses.  This street viewing from near and afar.  Propitious as we wish it in the Christmas Season.   We await the 12 days to count down to have our pine become a pear.  Our bees knees stuck in the tree to become a partridge once the turtle doves had departed.  The annual yule tide greets and meets.  Smiles will abound on faces.

Grinch has always had an invite to the street, yet never has he called in his note.  It has once been totally green, and the remainder at least skiff white.  To date we are teetering on another skifficuous 25^th.  Gaiety and frivolity, neighbours and friends abound on the ground.  Truly blessed with health and home, we assimilate the colours of the season.   Perhaps imbibe too much, eat too much, talk too much, walk too much, relax too much,  burn too much firewood, socialize and cavort too much, but it is truly these excesses which meld us together in a season of giving.

Let me be one of the first this year, Merry Christmas to all!   Nuff said.

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.

 

 

 

The Coffee Rained on My Palisade

Park your butt on the line of scrimmage and make for the end zone.  No coffee without pain.  You can try for a try or just go to ground with a touch down.  Your moon shot won’t be the last thing you see as your Apollo becomes my Zeus.

On further discovery of the Greek and Roman Gods the crossover is not by Ford but more likely by Ramses the third.  Let us explore the rehearsed or unrehearsed naming of vehicular travel in the county.  Lexus, makes one think if nexus and hence that which is going extinct like thems’ that was to be level 6 in The Blade Runner.  Then the Equinox speeds down the crossover to announce its blundersome entrance with a solid rear linked axle.

Cognizant of the Civic, a city man’s car now touring the byways in the touring version.  And who would need a Grand Lux version just popping about the urban environs?  And ultimately the Altima comes to mind, is this a play or ploy on worlds or words.  Perhaps it would be more apt as the PenAltima?  To be first would require a more stylish capable version of itself.

The new kid on the block comes unpronounceably to us as the Scion.  So jocose is that name, I wanna enter it onto the JFL’s web site.  The one definition I like is that of “child”.  Hmm let me ponder if I want a child transporting me?  Nope. Done.  Finito.  Danada.   Nice handle though.

Then the “Escape”.  Do they market these to second story guys or just cons still in the big house?   Perhaps they meant “Get Out of Town”, would be a nice contrast to the old “Towne and Country”. 

Then there are the ones like Armada, and Chillkoot, or Blazer, or Santa Fe.  Never having been in or needed and Armada, I wonder how this one vehicle gets a name referring to a “large number” of war vehicles.  And to posit that more than a handful of Yanquis know of the pass to riches would be a lesser liability.

No. for me the days of the rational “Firebird, GTO, Parisienne, or Continental” car names is a quondam question.

Let me rest on my laurels on this one, give me a cuppa Joe.

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.

 

 

 

To Newf or not to Newf

Whence cometh the splatter gun we move furtively through the heather.  Now nether shall we leave our brethren behind in the dust.  We now reside in the easternmost place on the continent.  More than a decade and half has passed under the bridge of time since I have graced these shores.

The welcome was timely and graced.  Hospitality overrode any pre-conceived ideas of past places.  Sic. Remote areas such as Iqaluit, and Yellowknife NWT.  Accommodations at the http://www.splashnputtcabins.com/

are above expectations and reservations.  All at our disposal and better.  Weather on arrival was more than acceptable, with much cooler arriving in overnight.  I suspect the snow we saw on our air approach was not surprising in these night-time temperatures.  The following lighted portion of the 24 hour clock started with much cooler and greyer climes. Couch this outside environ with Spruce and Birch, and you have the makings of a great Alfred Hitchcock movie script.

Diner dillies and dallies leads to further discouragement on the timeline, thoughts of prior and apriori openings.  No dallying while the dilly is out dithering.  We forge ahead and then cast our plan in iron.  Stone readily available but affixed to the terra nova too soundly to extract with our meagre tooling.  Not technically “Nova” here as there is exploration and excavation proving the Vikings led the charge to this land.  Let me recite the signoff at this time, “and a return to my grandfathers land”.  Now that is a few extra generations in the background but, once a Viking, always a Viking.

As progress raises it’s apportioned head above the grey mist, openings and bears come forth.  Hospitality and gratitude abound in this place of neighbours.  One birthday leads to another and a party goes around.  Not an American Way to be found: although attempts were made in jest alone.  Streaking Blue with us for a few days and the dinner procession leaps from cabin to cabin.  One chef to another and then to the next cabin. 

Good food, hard work, weather for wear, but no bear in our house.  The house came together with training days and nights.  Live by Sunday as the lord rested we toiled the groundings in the service industry.  Procedure and policies posted and altered.  Now for the departure not too soon awaited.

How ya gettin’ on Cocky?

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.

 

 

Willowy Whispy Leave my Coffee Alone

At the heart of heat is the fire of the furnace.  6 cords and not done yet.  Stacked and racked ready for the fire.  One man’s old tree becomes another man’s cat’s heating magnet.  How can a cat covered in fur get so hot for so long so close to such heat?  Our’s, and I have seen others, cower under stoves of the fibrous burning kind endlessly soaking it in.  Their heart rate must be below one!

In the land of the climactic change, oh the world, I note trends are perceived after merely two instances of the seasonal drift.  Hmm let me take a dendrites amble back to my days of theoretical and practical combinatorics, can two define a sequence?  Nope.  Not even close when some logarithmic based sequences are created and plotted.

But in the minds of some geo-climatologists, two of anything can define long term change.  Does twenty of man’s self imposed cycles of life, (read, a year) make a geological trend?   Hmmm, let’s see.  If you can measure the tectonic plate movement in a year or ten, then I suppose yes would be the cogent answer.   However, we are looking at tens of hundreds of consistent years to sum to a defined change.  One earthquake does not a progression make.

My wood stove, on the other hand, burns consistently from day one.  A trend to the warmer and away from the frozen regions outside the four stuffed walls of our abode.   The felines immediately scrounce their way to the edge of the heat field.  Playing coy with the rising waves of radiation.  My Coffeecius Incutabius genus Arabica, rests wearily on the edge, maintaining 176 F for sipping and serving.  Too hot and the tongue tactile oils separate.  Too cold and the aroma wanes sorely back into the nectar.

No homo erectus or sapiens can laze so closely to such radiant heat.  Sweating like a Swede in a Cedar box.  My proximity is pushed back as my habiliments add up.  More means more.  I rest and sweat meters away, felines practically touching the iron.  A yell or shout raises their ire so slowly you need to be a geologist to see the movement.

And I Quote Emerson, “We think it trivial to speak of the weather, yet there is nothing more important”.  My cup spilleth forth it’s duly filled nectar, hissing as the content engages the heated cold rolled steel top of my woody firebox.  The cats scramble and the aroma of firewood is preplaced temporarily with the caramel roasted scent of burnt coffee.

Ahhhhh.  Relax me.

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.

I Berry and Black Pods

What have you seen that is Berry Berry pretty.  It is also a first person singular cellular.  Or have you dealt with the black side of iPodular life?

Hmm, in all this excitement, I seem to have lost count myself.  So you have to ask yourself, “Do you feel connected?”.  Twenty-five years ago, without the assistance of Cell Phones, E mail, Conway and his Twitter, Faceplant, MyTube, YourTube, Texting, Sexting, MSN, TSN, Ip’s, Ups, TLC, and almost any other sort of ethereal social medium, we survived.  Went to the Moon numerous times.  Lived.  Died.  Thrived.  Suffered.  Warred and Pieced.  (intentional spelling)

Yes, I am connected multifarious ways.  But I still step out.  Take it off the hook

Don't answer it.  Don't respond.  Don't take the thing with me.  Don't turn it on. 

It is possible.  Very few people actually die because they don't respond to an electronic prod.  No cattle were harmed in the posing of this blog.  Very few people have ever had a catastrophic episode because they forgot their thingy at home.  Very few people have been saved from mortal danger by a silicone chip carrier.  Are we all so paranoid and fearful form watching and getting Tweeted about the latest breaking news based on the gore principle?

Let’s deconstruct the average plastic and metal pocket gizmo and see what we possibly have in there that which could save us materially from peril.

The antenna.  More than likely a weak think filament.  Few phones actually have extending wire antenna any longer. 

The battery.  Not enough power in Amps to start a fire.  Not enough chemical to cause a burn.  Not enough heavy metal to be used as a lethal weapon.  Not strong or wide enough to stop those crushing sides of the ever shrinking elevator found in James Bond movies. 

The screen.  Too small to watch a  movie on even if the battery is charged.  Too thin to lever up the lid on the locked dungeon.  Not bright enough to signal an over flying plane when lost on a deserted isle.

The CPU.  Not running hot enough to start a fire.  Not enough lead to kill a Mockingbird.  Too small for using as a door stop.  Not enough wiring to tie up a robber.  Not really even enough silicone to seal up the water closet.

Step out and turn it off for an hour.  See the serenity of your ways.

So here I am on my own lil Silicone based RAM using device, plunking away on my TypePad type pad blogging about my twittering thoughts about Tubing my video out on the interweb thingy, all the while my Java Jo close at hand.

This DOES NOT happen with Tea drinkers.

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.

 

Crinite Crania Cop better Custard Cups

And, as Marie Antoinette had, nice cups.  In fact modeled in wax impressions for the old style wide mouthed champagne glasses.  Custard on the other hand more like gruel than food unless  mixed with lugubrious amounts of butter.  Now that's cream!  Butter creame.  And with my Java  Jo I have a desirous dessert.

But not when not slathered nor blathering about the issue will it wreak cause to couch this issue in cotton swaddling clothes.  Municipal elections are afoot and the delirious drivel from most of them plying for your affectations amounts to more of the old, same as the thing before.  What most advanced democratic societies need now are not yes-men and do-gooders, what we need now are harsh realists with no resistance to speaking truth to power.

Intraurbanites who stand and run for the caput of others in these arbitrary, non-collaborative, non- allegiant allegiances are due their kudos.  Who would endure the anal gazing of reporters, the infantile behaviours at meetings, the pleas for alms from the poor, who has room to store the vast amounts of  lagniappe from prospective developers, who has the blind wit needed to communicate with bureaucrats?

Not I. Then you?  Do I hear the old college cheer as you strundle up to the captain of elections tossing your ten gallon in the ring?  Are you one of those deemed to aid, arrange, benefit, support, yield, serve, please, gratify, convenience, humour, indulge, supply, defer, help, assist, and follow the pleas of everyone?   Can you stretch your political umbrella open far enough to keep enough of us dry in the downpour of desires from the electorate?

Essentially if your busby is not filling with the fodder of support, then it is your obligation to get your sorry duffus out to the polling booth and scratch your EX on the spot!  I know there is the old adage that if you don't vote then you have no gam to stand your complaints on.  It is in itself the verisimilitude of the democratic system.   After all, we don't drink tea, and Boston is some distance away.

If your medulla oblongata is stuffed with enough percipience to read this, or even log onto the interweb thingy, then get your keister out and scratch your mark on the spot.

Mine is mucked up but modular in its depiction.

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.