The Coffee Chronicles

It's autumn.

Well, technically it's autumn, which in the north-eastern region of America means darkening skies and a dull chill in the air; there's a brooding sense in the soul and partially-open windows constantly pass an unending chorus of the brush-stroke sounds of falling leaves.

Here, in southern California, it's just October - which is pretty much like April with a World Series. But, don't even get me started on that tangent. Anyway, where was I?

Right, autumn in the West. Well, the strange thing is that even though the climate here won't ever leave the indelible marks of Fall on the landscape, there's still that feeling. You know, the brooding sense, blah blah blah. It's as if Hallowe'en spirits were chased across the face of the continent by American commercial expansion, only to pile up against the Pacific coast in a tangled heap of spooky sunsets and dark sensibilities. Like the only spirits left in the East are the old timers that have found the odd home to haunt - those rattletrap poltergeists still lingering (and malingering) about in the cul-de-sacs of the suburban Atlantic states. All the rest of them are here, sipping cafe lattes and ignoring the current governor shortage.

I, for one, am glad. Happy autumn.

The astute reader - you know who you are - will note that there is at least one duplicate post in my recent chain of drivel. I'm taking this as an indication that when Blogger does its "500 - Server Error" thing, it's not simply dumping my uploaded diatribe, but rather shoving my post into the queue, ready to be published later. It did this, in point of fact, three times. In a row. Boy, did I feel silly when I browsed to my own blog (all narcissisus references aside, thank you) and found that the mountain of new text there was simply a single post, repeated four times.

Such is life for the stupid. My head hurts; I'm going home. I'm also leaving a single duplicate post in place, as a monument to the absurd. Share and Enjoy.

Sometimes, once in a great while, work just clicks. It's as if you're firing on all cylinders for a brief moment, and things that need getting done are actually getting done. Whether you're responsible for legions of humanitarian workers in the Congo or your job is sanding down square pegs until they fit in round holes, this is your time. It can be described as a sense of completeness, a satisfying, Zen-like state in which each task has a definitive resolution and there's always a fresh pot of coffee on the brew. In a motion-blurred haze brought on by a constant flow of legal stimulants, you smile a crooked smile and think, "Now, we're getting somewhere. Bring it on, dammit!"

Moments like this just might make up for those desperate times when the roach coach runs out of coffee before the lunch rush. But only just.

Please note: this post should've showed up two days ago, but a server glitch kept my ebullience from the general public. Needless to say, I am still very excited. And I have a fresh cup, so all's right with the world, blah blah blah. How are you?

Shipwrecked.

So I'm sitting at home today, warding off what might become a more debilitating flu, when I realize that something is amiss. A bit off, some might be wont to say. Now, I'm not easily bored - one only has to look to the weird things I do to entertain myself - but the feeling I had was akin to the selfsame melancholy complaint. Am I bored, sitting here, on the mend? Hmm.

Of course, you may know what I'm thinking - what it is, I conclude cynically, is that I'm actually lazy, a condition often mistaken for boredom when encountered in a solitary, vulnerable state. I have things to do, plenty of them - both obligatory and optional, as it turns out - but I persist in sitting upon my orange-slipcovered couch watching Bobby Flay on the Food Network.

You'd think I could've chosen less mind-numbing entertainment. Then again, I could've sucked it up and actually gone to work today. Things to ponder, no doubt.

Sometimes, once in a great while, work just clicks. It's as if you're firing on all cylinders for a brief moment, and things that need getting done are actually getting done. Whether you're responsible for legions of humanitarian workers in the Congo or your job is sanding down square pegs until they fit in round holes, this is your time. It can be described as a sense of completeness, a satisfying, Zen-like state in which each task has a definitive resolution and there's always a fresh pot of coffee on the brew. In a motion-blurred haze brought on by a constant flow of legal stimulants, you smile a crooked smile and think, "Now, we're getting somewhere. Bring it on, dammit!"

Moments like this just might make up for those desperate times when the roach coach runs out of coffee before the lunch rush. But only just.

Happy trails.

A fellow you work with gets "let go" by the management, and you think, "Well, that's unfortunate for him," and wonder about what he'll do for another job in this climate of government-sector layoffs. You're sure he'll land on his feet, but perhaps you speculate upon what this event means for your job security. And then you think, "Man, that cat was annoying, though." Is this some post-industrial form of emotional denial, or are you just a selfish bastard?

Hmm.