First World Problems
The whole concept amuses me so much.
Especially when I catch myself whinging to myself, and realize how first world whatever I’m complaining about is.
I’m packing, and deliberating on how many pairs of shoes to take with me is the largest challenge associated.
…Wow.
It has certainly been a while.
I should pick this beast up again, I think.
Due Care
I’m continually mystified by the folks that call in without putting in due care and attention in advance.
Like the people who go to the effort of digging out their card to get our number off the back, then put it away despite the fact that we’ll plainly ask them for the customer number from the other side. Or, the folks that call in with questions and the like, but have to put shit on hold and go get their card, ’cause it’s in the desk on the far side of the house, or in their car in the garage, or on file in the basement …
…Seriously, we ask you for your customer number every time you call. Seems to me they should work that out and just have it on hand next time they give us a ring.
CLOVER
I finally get to add another notch to my coffee-nerd cred.
I got to have brew coffee off a Clover machine. The company and their device are touted as the greatest thing to happen to coffee since Gaggia invented the espresso machine – the Clover box is effectively a very high-tech hybrid of a french press and a vacuum pot – intended to allow the operator to manually control with great perceision all three factors that have the greatest effect on the end flavour of the brewed coffee. The barista has complete control over the quantity of coffee going in, and the machine can be set to any brewing temperature – guaranteed accuracy to something ridiculous like 1/10 of a degreeand the capacity to set the exact temperature to teh 1/2 degree, as well as the means to exactly control the brew time. According to those that have such luxuries to play with – running a full pound of coffee through the machine and tweaking minor details at each turn will produce variations in the taste of the coffee as details are adjusted – one can find and hold to a sweet spot for any coffee depending on the end desired flavour and the profile available within the particular roast.
AGRO Cafe, my new favourite joint (barring, of course, Re-Entry Espresso) is down on Granville Island; Mother and I have been in a few times and I was thrilled to note their ownership of the Clover machine last time were in. This time, I went in with deliberate intent to try Clover-Brewed coffee. My first selection was their “coffee of the day”; meaning they’d mass-brewed it a earlier. (Mass pre-brewed. On a Clover. SACRELIGE.) so I changed my selection to a Mexican so I could get the fresh-off-the-machine brew.
It lived up to the hype. Utterly and completely. The various subtleties of the coffee came through majestically, and the whole thing tasted suitably … fresh and clear. It was something else, in terms of comparison to regular brew elsewhere.
I still prefer Espresso, mind, but the Clover is certainly a close second.
Awful Quiz
You all (hah.) know that I hate these things. But this amused me a lot, I wanted to see if I could pull it off with my favourite of favourite bands.
The challenge being to answer all of the questions using only track names from a single selected artist.
Pick your Artist:
W/IFS
Are you a male or female?
Your Younger Man
Describe yourself:
Addicted To Bad Ideas
How do you feel:
With a Good Criminal Heart
Describe where you currently live:
…and Embarked on a Life of Poverty and Freedom…
If you could go anywhere, where would you go:
The Devil’s Ball
Your favorite form of transportation:
The Evil Dance of Nosliw Pilf
Your best friend is:
Sweetwater Interlude
You and your best friends are:
Glamour Ghouls
What’s the weather like:
Incendiarism
Favorite time of day:
A Night In The Woods
What is life to you:
Zen and the Art of Breaking Everything in This Room
Your last relationship:
The Naughty Little Rat Makes New Friends
Your fear:
The Models and the Mannequins
What is the best advice you have to give:
Tattoos Fade
Thought for the Day:
All of California and Everyone Who Lives There Stinks
How I would like to die:
Me V. The Angry Mob
My soul’s present condition:
Just the Best Party
My motto:
Stay on the Charming Side of Drunk
I was very amused by this. I think “describe your last relationship” couldn’t have worked out better if I’d selected the band just for an answer to that question alone. The only one that’s a real stretch is “What’s The Weather Like,” and I’m willing to argue that one given our current heat wave (34˚? Holy fuck.), though “Form Of Transportation” is a little shaky as well. I’d totally do it if I could, though.
Also, I feel it’s very important to remind you all that this is not a meme.
Awful Things
After World/Inferno, Keto and I got a call from the bloke we were supposed to be meeting at the W/IFS show.
“Lets get really drunk, guys, just had the worst night of my life!”
Seems he’d been in holding at a psych eval clinic for the past seven hours – one of the hardcore ones where signing up for the assessment is the same as signing a statement saying “until proven otherwise, I’m too crazy to be sufficiently mentally fit to sign myself out”. As in they have security who’ll sedate you if you try and peace, apparently. Regardless, we met up with him at his room and he cheerfully told us he’d just been diagnosed as one of the varieties of schizophrenic. Despite likely being a very bad idea, we decided that getting very drunk was definitely the best temporary solution.
He certainly joined Keto & I’s ambition of causing mayhem with a gusto, and we set out to explore U of T campus.
We started off at a funny little set of benches next to a path, overlooking a large hill. There were still pathmaking supplies lying about, and we decided those were much better suited to being at the bottom of the hill rather than the top, and helped them along that way. We figured that the large manhole cover at near the bottom of the hill would be a perfect target. Keto and I couldn’t hit shit, but Crazy had uncanny aim with a brick. The manhole made some pretty amusing “bong” noises whenever he hit it.
We then explored a local construction site and rearranged tools and lumber in more aesthetically pleasing arrangements – “can we make these odds and ends look like a cock?” being the guiding design ethos of the evening. We succeeded, but against photos for fear that the flash would give us away.
From there, we moved into the Works Yard, where Crazy nearly made Keto and I shit ourselves by climbing into a Bobcat and then playing with the horn; we thought he’d set off the alarm, and Keto and I had made it halfway down the driveway out before the horn stopped and Crazy nigh on fell out of the cab laughing hysterically.
Strolling hence from there, we were immediately entranced by the Athletics Arena at UofT. We hopped the fence and explored the groups, prowling all over the track and well up the bleachers. We tried to talk Crazy into shitting on the track but he was having none of it. We tried to get into the pressure-inflated dome in the middle, bailing out in a panic when we saw through the window in our door, upon trying the handle, all the LEDs on all the other doors around the dome turned from green to red.
We decided the best place to hide – obviously – was the adjacent construction site. We climbed up onto the under-construction roof and chilled there for a while, drinking more, cracking jokes, and trying to play javelins with the tools left up there onto the lawn four stories below. (Note: shovels fly well, rakes do not.) In time we decided security weren’t approaching immenantly, and crept hence from the building. Crazy played around in some more construction equipment while Keto and I stole him a “DANGER Due To ________” sign. Crazy caught up, swiped himself one as well, and we kept wandering. We spent some time tossing odd objects over a fence, Keto and I tag-teaming to get large shit over; and Crazy took off ahead, pilfering one of those silver bowls used as the ashtray top to rubbish bins.
He cut arouna corner while Keto and I launched into a discussion of what our “panic code” was should we run into an ugly situation, settling on “Cheese It” as the best bet while heaving a large metal garbage bin over the fence to an immensely satisfying “BONNGGGGG” noise as it landed. We ducked around the corner to catch up to Crazy only to find a bloke who was definately not Crazy holding the ashtray dish and the sign, talking into a radio…
“So… I need security to building [XYZ], we got three guys here, fuckin’ around. Hey you guys – quit fuckin’ around!”
From me, “Sure thing, chief” and from Keto “CHEESE IT!”