She Looked So Pretty as She Poured My Coffee

I simply don't get it.

I didn't use to be much of a coffee drinker. Once in a blue moon, maybe a cup of Dunkin' Donuts (real cream, yum). Now and again for a really boring professor, I'd pick up a cup of joe to stay awake when I was in law school. But I'd drink whatever was cheap, and besides, coffee makes my breath foul (as it does for most people, a fact that is unfortunately lost on so many members of American society), so I didn’t drink it that often.

Then when I got out of school, I got a part-time job as a waiter in a coffee house. The first week that I was there was training week (the restaurant was closed at the time), and all of the new baristas learning to make the various espresso drinks got to try out their newly acquired skills on the servers-in-training. Including me. And a coffee snob was born.

There are several other reasons that I developed such a bourgeois attitude toward java while working as a coffeeshop whore. First, I was working a full-time day job, and the cafe kept me up well past a reasonable bed time for a guy with a 9 ayem start time. So when I was working (either at the day job or the night job), I was in dire need of a stimulant. Second, the coffee drinks at the cafe were free. Third, I'd actually never had a latte or a cappuccino in my life until that point. And goshdarnit, they just taste better than drip coffee.

However, once I left my job schlepping lattes to ungrateful, poorly tipping pimply-faced college kids and condescending suburban moms, I didn't really need the caffeine. In fact, when I'm well rested the stuff makes me sweaty, nervous, and virtually unintelligible I speak so fast. And let's not forget the stinky breath. I toned down, and now drink no more than 2 coffee drinks a week - the rest of the time it's green or oolong tea.

The thing is, when I do get a taste for coffee (or an inclination to offend a co-worker with firey-foul Juan Valdez breath), I can't seem to justify $4.50 for a freakin' latte. It's really just milk and coffee (albeit made with a somewhat fancy machine). So despite the fact that I think drip coffee makes Gatorade seem "full bodied," I occasionally succumb to my inner cheapskate, and buy it.

There are a lot of reasons that people use to justify hating Starbucks. And I really find none of them persuasive. Fair trade? Misplaced, xenophobic protectionism. Ruins local coffee houses? If people wanted to go to the local coffee shop, it would still be open, you Marxist buffoon. Big corporations are evil? Wow, that’s ignorant: Bill Gates has singularly done more to help sub-Saharan Africans than any other private citizen in the world in the last 5 years.

Here's a good reason, finally, to embrace the oh-so-fashionable Starbucks hatred: their coffee is gross. That's right, there is a mass delusion in this country that that nasty crap that they charge two bucks a cup for is GOOD. It's not. In fact, diner coffee is often better. Quite simply, Starbucks over-roasts (read: burns) their coffee beans. Somehow, the ignorant masses have interpreted this as being “full-bodied,” or “strong.” The crap tastes like my office smells when someone burns microwave popcorn (which, incidentally, should be a crime punishable by flogging). Yes, Starbucks coffee is full of flavor. So is burnt toast.

People, coffee is a delicate, diverse, and wonderful bean. It requires care, attention, and to be roasted with the proper temperature and duration of heat, in order for it to taste right. It also requires a minimal amount of water – which is how Arabs drink it (coffee probably originates in Ethiopia, but was popularized by Arab traders). Yes, coffee should be strong (the addition of steam and pressure is what allows espresso to be such a concentrated form of coffee). But espresso is not necessary – a French press makes a decent enough cup for everyday use. (The paper filter might be the single greatest scourge on the developed world’s palate.) But what Starbucks has done is decreased the flavor density by serving weak, American-style drip coffee, and tried to overcompensate by burning the beans. How do so many people drink this foul, putrid bastard product? Wake up, America, stop drinking that crap. To sum, here is all the average person needs to know about coffee:

(1) Buy good, properly roasted beans appropriate for the device you are using (espresso maker, French press or percolator). That means no Starbucks.
(2) The parenthetical in point (1)? NO PAPER FILTERS. A few grains in the bottom of your cup is a small price for flavor, you spoiled jerk.
(3) Brew for the proper allotted time.
(4) Less water, more concentrated flavor.
(4) Heat the milk. Froth if desired.
(5) Either drink it without sugar, or with sugar. That artificial stuff can’t be good for you. If your worried about the calories or diabetes, that’s good. Change your tastebuds, not your biochemistry.
(5) Pour and enjoy.

[Consider the 5 Moleskine Points offer as standing for all postings – sialacci, with 10 points, is currently leading Nigela with 5 points.]

I’m the Type of Guy That Likes to Roam Around

Rough Guide has a book called First Time Around the World. As fortune would have it (or perhaps if misfortune would have it), my plan to circumnavigate the globe didn't come into fruition (at least yet), and I was left with the booby prize of a two-month journey through Southeast Asia. (By the way, my trip was amazing and I still have a job I like, so I'm being a bit melodramatic.)

Anyway, in the book they talk about how tough it can be adjusting back to "real life" after an extended period of living out of a rucksack. It hasn't been as bad for me as I've expected - and so mostly I've been focusing my childish whims on buying a houseboat rather than traveling. But you know, no matter how often I scratch the travel itch, it comes back. Rough Guide's suggestion to adjusting back: go somewhere, even if just for a weekend. And the truth is it's been almost a month since I've left metro-DC: I gotta move.

And I looked and behold, a pale horse, and it's name it said on him was "Williamsburg".

So I'm off this weekend for a visit to fellow ABA member Moose. Little Sister - a unique quasi-member of the ABA as a non-blog-owning blog poster - will also be there with spousal unit in tow. Should be good fun, but I'm afraid it'll be so hot I'll be jumping like a jumping jack. Then again, it can't be hotter than Singapore, so I'm sure I will survive. Check back here or at Nat's blog for details on the weekend. If it works, maybe I'll have an ABA party.

Anyone got any cool travel plans this summer? Anyone got any cool thoughts on travel? Here are two of my favorites:

Not all who wander are lost. - JRR Tolkien

There are three wants which never can be satisfied: that of the rich, who wants something more; that of the sick, who wants something different; and that of the traveler, who says, 'Anywhere but here.' - Ralph Waldo Emerson

You Can Stop Genocide

Friends in the Blogosphere,

I feel like one thing that those of us on the left and right can agree on is that genocide is very bad. Please consider this petition to ask the US government to pressure the UN and African states to intervene in the crisis in Darfur. If you aren't familiar with what's going on there, please see Nicholas Kristof's recent work in the New York Times.

I know that many of you have problems with the United Nations, but I think this issue is far too important for the world to sit idly by. Please note that this is NOT a call to send US combat troops to Sudan, it's merely a request that the administration use its bully pulpit to stop the slaughter, rape and torture of hundreds of thousands of people. It only takes a few minutes, and it seems the least that each of us can do to give meaning to the phrase "Never Again."

Warning: Blogging May Be Dangerous to Your Career

Ladies and Gentlemen of the Blogosphere,

This article is a must read if you have ever blogged about your job.

Dragostea Din Tei

I was trying to find this really catachy Eurodance song that I heard a million times in Thailand - and here it is. This dude has too much free time, but it's pretty funny. It's Romanian, for those that are curious.

An Endless Stream of Cigarettes and Magazines

The District of Columbia is considering enacting a
comprehensive smoking ban in bars and restaurants. (Interestingly, pundit Christopher Hitchens actually testified before the DC Council over the matter.)

I hate smoking. It’s bad for you, bad for me, makes you smell bad, and it tastes like you are licking an ashtray if you kiss a girl who smokes. On the other hand, I enjoy passing around the flavored-tobacco hookah once in awhile, and also like to have a nice cigar every 2 or 3 months. But I’m OK with only being allowed to do those things in a private home (people who smoke cigars in regular (i.e., non-“cigar bars”) are obnoxious anyway). And if Hollywood has taught me anything, it’s that smoking is sexy (I don’t care what the American Cancer Society says, it is.)

I suppose I have a bit of a libertarian streak in me, and I have some sympathy with those who resent the ever-encroaching “nanny-state.” Libertarians, broadly speaking, believe that you should have an absolute right to do what you want with your body. But not really. No libertarian that I have ever met thinks that one’s absolute right of self would extend to being permitted to blow themselves up in a crowded shopping centre. So, the rule is really more, you have an absolute right to do what you like with your body as long as it doesn’t harm anyone else. Which is why smoking bans have absolutely nothing to so with libertarianism at all. Science firmly establishes the health risks of second-hand smoke.

The libertarian argument might hold water if what DC (or, in the past, NYC) was proposing a complete ban on use, possession, or sale of tobacco products. (Regardless of the issue of bodily freedom, the government already wastes enough money on an ineffective war on drugs, I’d much rather the government spend its limited resources on securing the citizenry from criminals and terrorists than enforce a total ban on tobacco use.) But NYC’s, California’s, and now (probably) DC’s smoking ban don’t prohibit anyone from smoking – they prohibit you from smoking in public indoor spaces where you are polluting the lungs of the people who work there (and, incidentally, the patrons).

And I don’t buy that the conservative panacea of “the market” should be relied on. The market is failing – in my informal, but broadbased survey of DC bars, I am aware of none – zero – than ban smoking (I can only even think of a couple of restaurants that do it). I also know that DC has one of the lowest smoking rates of any city in the country. The simple fact is that bar managers are mentally stuck with the status quo, and the market is simply failing.

But are there less restrictive means? It depends. If you truly believe that the ban is designed to protect workers, probably not. (I’m not an expert on these anti-smoke tobacco filters, but my understanding is that they are quite expensive, and not extremely effective). On the other hand, if you cynically believe that the purpose of the ban is to protect patrons (which is almost certainly true – if jurisdictions cared about the health and welfare of bar staff, they would have a minimum wage higher than Uncle Sam’s shameful $2.13 per hour), I think that the proper way to handle the issue would be to sell smoking licenses. A proposal:

(1) Ban smoking in restaurants, except in outdoor seating.
(2) Take the number of bar liquor licenses, and multiply that by the percentage of people who smoke in the target jurisdiction.
(3) Take that number, and auction off the smoking licenses.
(4) Require smoking-licensed bars to prominently display – inside and out of the restaurant – that they allow smoking inside.
(5) Raise the minimum pay for employees in smoking establishments.
(6) The auction proceeds, along with the proceeds from any fines levied against unlicensed bars who allow someone to smoke, should be used to (a) pay for the smoking police, then (b) what’s left should be sent into the jurisdiction’s public health programs.

Not perfect, I suppose, but seems like a reasonable compromise to me.

Michael Jackson Look What You’ve Done

I've been reading the news today, and I've the following thoughts about the verdict in the MJ case:

(1) What a colossal waste of energy, money, and (barely remaining) credibility by the US media outlets. This is not a right-left things (although Fox News may have been the worst, it's enough of a close call that there is plenty of shame to go around). And I don't care that the media is simply paying attention to what the people want. I’ve been trying to avoid this like the plague, and all four cable news outlets had this story running yesterday evening – and I’m trying desperately to avoid it. In a fit of elitist delight, I'm going back to getting my news exclusively from NPR and the NewsHour.
(2) Every day, he looks more and more like his likeness standing in Madame Tussaud's, and less and less like a human being. What that man has done to his face, is, quite simply, disgusting.
(3) "Smooth Criminal" and "Billie Jean" - those are absolutely sweet jams. No amount of child molesting will change that.
(4) That kid's parents should be prosecuted, or at least heavily investigated by child services. How awful are those parents for risking the health of their child by allowing a man, for whom there is a reasonably possibility of being a molester, to be alone with their child? Shameful.
(5) I mean, where there's smoke there's fire...or is there? Seems to me that in all likelihood, MJ has inappropriately touched a child. But did he with this one? Or is he just really, really weird and childlike?
(6) No doubt, in any case, that verdicts are still for sale in this country. The jurors did their job, but would reasonable doubt have been present had MJ had a public defender? The scary thing is that the Supreme Court, in its recent decisions about ineffective assistance of counsel in capital murder cases, pretty much acknowledges how bad public defenders can be - IN DEATH PENALTY CASES. Can you imagine the overworked, underpaid schmucks that defend your average assault case?
(7) Five Moleskine points to anyone who gets the title reference without aid of a search engine.

I Don't Like Mondays

Exactly 52-weeks ago, I spent the weekend in a flurry of charity. On Saturday, I walked in "Lawyers Have Heart," an annual fundraiser that benefits the American Heart Association. On Sunday, I rode in "Cure de Tour," a 100-mile bikeride, raising money for the American Diabetes Association. This weekend, those events were again held here in the National Capital Area.

What did I do this weekend? How does one top a blockbuster weekend of charity, health, and hope for the human condition? One doesn't. Instead, he spends the entire weekend eating out, drinking loads, chasing skirts, shunning all exercise, and laying on the couch watching marionettes copulate on DVD.

My closest chum here in DC, "F", is moving back to his hometown, and this was his last weekend to go out as a DCer. The good thing about F is that he and I are not just friends, but what (I think) mental health professionals call co-enablers. Hey, as any good drunk knows, it's much easier to justify one's existence when surrounded by similarly unhealthy individuals. So of course, all weekend F is like, "C'mon dude, it's my last [insert day of week] in DC, you should really [drink this/go out/ skip work]."

Thursday night was Happy Hour @ Penang (Malay food, yum!), then the ultra-stiff drinks at Ascot (I love any bar that serves 22-ounce bottles of beer) followed by an evening on the rooftop deck at Five. Suffer through a workday redacting documents (if you don't know what that is, thank your lucky stars) all day on Friday, then hit the rooftop deck at Local 16 for F's farewell party, which was followed by karaoke in Adams Morgan, then dancing at a club, and then a trip to The Diner - sleep sitting up on a couch as a friend's. Go home, take shower, nap, and jump on a bus to head to Bloody Mary brunch in Georgetown, followed by an afternoon sipping beers on the Georgetown Waterfront. Evening drinks in Adams Morgan, again.

Based on the foregoing, I have the following random thoughts about benders:

Take Milk Thistle. This stuff is gold - take one before going out, one when you get up, and then another at lunch and one at dinner. Nurse the day with tea (green or oolong), water, a B-vitamin supplement and a green apple. Exercise if you can.

Laugh. Preferably with a childish film - this weekend it was "Team America," but I also suggest "Eurotrip" or "Old School." Such a film should be in your DVD player as you were sure that you were going to stay up and watch it the night before at 3 ayem.

Even if you are going to go back to drinking before your body is done flushing out the prior day's toxins, do at least some minimum maintenance - eat, and drink as much water as you can. But once you start drinking, give it up, man. Don't get responsible about your bender, that's lame.

It's OK to switch from beer to booze and back again. And it's probably actually wise, as it's much easier to moderate your level of intoxication by mixing in a barley pop every now and again.

Shower, but under no circumstances should you shave. Look the part, you derelict.

Most importantly, don't feel bad about yourself. Youth isn't wasted on the young as long as you refuse to grow up. I'll try to find a way to balance out this decadent, hedonistic weekend in some way, but for now, I'm still laughing at puppets having dirty sex.

This One Thing's Always Supposed to Stay

Is it strange that I can derive intense, soul-satisfying pleasure from finding a new song that I really, really like?

Natalie, a friend of mine from my Ohio youth, was in town a few weeks ago on business (you can read about it on her blog, if you like). She'd recently been cleaning her place, and has discovered a mix tape some boy had made for her back in the '90s when she was at university. She was going to throw this tape away, but thought kind enough to have me see if I enjoyed any of it - and if not, I could throw it in my dumpster. I'm coming off a four-day bender, and couldn't seem to find the energy for a proper work-out, so I plopped on a stationary bike yesterday for all 90-minutes of the cassette. And frankly, it's not that exciting. And I was reading at the same time, barely even paying attention to the thing.

But somehow, towards the end of side 1, I was hooked on a track - and while I'm dubious of love-at-first-sight, there is something almost as amazing, love at first-listen. The vast majority of songs require repetitive exposure - I love Radiohead's "OK Computer" and Lauryn Hill's "Miseducation," but owned each album for over a year because the first few spins, well, I didn't get "it." Anyway, I've been walking around with my Sony Walkman Cassette Player, rewinding & replaying the same song again, again, and again.

I suppose life's all about simple pleasures, and finding a new song can actually make my day (even if it's a 10+ year old song from a band no one listens to in the States). And it has made mine - thanks Moose.

Come on knock on our door...

This is my life, with very little exercise of my literary license. I’m Jack, and my friend Larry stops by yesterday afternoon.

“Jack, I need a huge favor from you – one that I know you’re gonna love.”

“What now, Larry.” Jack was used to Larry constantly asking favors.

“You know that fox that I’ve clamoring to go out with who lives on the same floor of my building as me?”

“Of course, Lar’, you’ve been talking about her for weeks.”

“Well, I was down at the pool today and who sits down right next to me – but my tenth floor beauty!”

“That’s great, Larry, but what does this have to do with me?”

“Well, she said that she and her friend were thinking of going out tonight, and so we are meeting them at the Regal Beagle at 8:30 tonight!”

“WE, Larry? Without even asking me. I can’t.”

“What do you mean, you CAN’T. These girls are young and fun and looking to party!”

“You know I promised my friends Janet and Chrissy that I would make dinner for them tonight,”

“Jack, dinner for Janet and Chrissy can be any night. Did I mention that they were STEWARDESSES!”….

OK, the girls weren’t stewardesses, and I’ve never been to the Regal Beagle. But they were fun and young, and did like to party.

I need a night off.

Find My Blog Boring? Try These

Some new posts by Gas Guy and Giant Bladder. I'm related to Giant Bladder, but Gas Guy's just some random dude whom I find both talented and hilarious. Be prepared for a healthy dose of cynicism from each.

Katie buys a kitchen size

I love hungover Fridays. I feel crappy, but it makes everything a little funnier than it should be.

Rip-roarin' time bar hopping in the Nation's Capital, and for those of you who live here, or even for those that occasionally visit, some thoughts:

-Two dollar Bud night at Lucky Bar - good call.
-The nachos at the Meeting Place are foul - cold cheeze whiz poured over chips, with a couple of dollops of salsa and sour cream and some jalapenos. They're like the ones they serve at baseball games but much, much worse.
-Smooth jazz doesn't sound any better live than it does on the radio. Awful, awful stuff.
-Bucket night at Front Page in DuPont Circle - way, way too many frat boys to be fun. I'm proud to say that for once, my idiot friends went, and I didn't.
-Nobody gets a cell phone signal in Buffalo Billiards. It's really pathetic how much we have become dependent on those goofy things. I'm as bad as anyone, too. But can't they put a cell tower in a basement bar?
-Patron Tequila - very, very nice. Doing shots of tequila after 5 hours of drinking? Very, very dumb.

This burn in my gut is soon to turn to rather wrenching pain - I need to say off the booze for a couple of days. Beers only for me tonight.

[Five moleskine points to anyone who can get that title reference without use of a search engine.]

The Big Cheesy

How is it that I can spend 2 months wandering Southeast Asia, eating mostly street food, brushing my teeth with tap water, and drinking alcohol every single day, and come back feeling fine, thin, and without any stomach ills, yet a mere three nights in New Orleans and I still feel hungover, with stomach pangs and look like I haven't slept in weeks? What a great, fun, hilarious place. And while a few of my friends had their wallet/credit cards stolen, no one was arrested or kicked out of our hotel rooms, so I suppose all's well that ends well.

A friend of mine is getting married, and several of our friends have been throwing bachelor parties of late. We've done Las Vegas a few times, so it seemed that a change of pace was in order. Was it ever.

As I mentioned, one of the guys lost his wallet at some point on Friday night, under circumstances that are still uncertain to all of us (due to the obvious condition that results from several hours on Bourbon Street). My friend realizes that his wallet is stolen, and that he cannot (a) get any money for the rest of the weekend, or (b) get on the airplane on Sunday. I suggest he call his woman to see if she can FedEx him his passport. The one-sided exchange:

Hi.

I'm never going to see you again.

I lost my wallet somehow last night.

I'm not sure.

Well, people were yelling at me, I don't know.


Well, my friend then decides it is appropriate to call and place and incident report with the security guard at the hotel. The guy gets there, and he's a good sport, as we all have a sense of humor about this whole affair. The guy asks us if we are sure that it isn't in the room (suggesting that perhaps my friend hid the wallet from himself the prior evening). So, he pulls up the mattress from the bed.

And there it is.

No, not the wallet, but three hard core gay pornographic magazines. After the guard has regained his composure, he calls Housekeeping. "Hi, Christina, you might want to tell your staff to be a little more careful when cleaning the rooms, a guest here just found some porno mags in between the mattress. Yes, gay porn magazines were in the room."

It actually gets better. This same friend goes to the airport with no money and no ID to get on the plane to fly home. Of course, at this point the boys decide to create one for him. On the bottom of a pizza box. And he walks up to the TSA officials with this as his ID. Unsurprisingly, they pull him out of line. Surprisingly, after a thorough investigation and search, they let him on the plane.

And some idiot spent all night Saturday walking around with a feather boa, a Thai tribal hat and several strange women. Not that I know him.

As you can imagine, most of the weekend consisted of gallivanting about New Orleans, drinking too much, sleeping too little, and spending far too much money. You can see some of the action on my photo page. I had quite a bit of fun at the karaoke bar - that's me in the Von Dutch shirt singing "It's the End of the World as We Know It" at the Cat's Meow - a rather fun bar, as best as I can recall.

Anyway, I'm now a very big fan of New Orleans. Anyone else got opinions on the place?