I Kicks The Flavor

September 23, 2009

CLM said something sweet. Now that she’s on her own for coffee in the morning, she bought a coffee pot to make her own. And she noted: “It doesn’t taste as good as when you make it in the office.”

I responded with “that’s because I make mine with love.”

A horrible joke because:
A – Like I have some to spare.
B – That requires a recipe and I ain’t thinking before coffee.
C – I was actually trying to be mean and imply she has issues loving herself. Self loathing, low self esteem, that kind of thing. But it missed its mark completely. But this isn’t about her emotional baggage. It’s about the nectar of life, coffee.

The truth of the matter is, my 11-year old coffee pot is a tested veteran in the ways of rich, delicious coffee. Her pot is a brand spanking new rookie. Just up from Double-A, with wide eyes that are caught in headlights over every little thing in The Show; not quite sure if it belongs; and still smelling of like fresh plastic.

Which leads me to think of all those times CLM looked down at my coffee pot and commented about how it needed to be cleaned and was gross or disgusting, only to hear me respond: “That’s flavor!”

See? Guys are more than just disgusting slobs who don’t want to clean something we need daily. We’re brewmasters. Each layer of previous coffee grime has its own aromatic purpose.

And while that primary purpose is “to prevent me from having to clean the pot,” it still makes a darn good cup of delicious coffee. I think someone owes the disgusting coffee pot an apology.

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Leonard Bernstein!

September 21, 2009

Last night, while watching the preview for “Flash Forward” some show where everyone on the planet blacks out and at the same time and sees their horrific future; and the fall of civilization ensues (I assume). And then another show advertised on the History channel, like the White House has been nuked, get outside a fallout zone to somewhere safe, etc, etc.

I enjoy movies feature the zombie apocalypse, plagues, alien invasion, rise of machines, and other disasters which essentially try to wipe out the existence of civilized mankind. I can only assume that since I enjoy the movies, I’d also enjoy it when the real thing comes.

Such movies will feature the plight of a small group of heroes fighting against all odds to stay alive and remain functioning civilized humans in this post-apocalyptic world. But watching those ads last night, it made me realize that the odds are… I’m NOT going to be one of the people who are in the movies when stuff like that happens.

The odds are heavily stacked against me, that I’m just one of the schmucks who doesn’t realize what’s happening until it’s too late.

I could easily be in an arena full of people or airport when the zombie apocalypse breaks out. Or in an airport and be one of the first to get the airborne plague. Or be on the interstate when people blackout, crash and die.

How much would that suck? To be one of the first idiots to die in an apocalyptic event? Man, that would bother me. I want to be one of the last few standing. I think there’s pride in that, and not being one in the ignorant masses, who’s toast at the onset.

Who wants to be a zombie hor d’ourves? I wanna be the guy who severs the zombie’s brain stem just before dessert. And then says something witty


Stream of Consciousness X (Toasted Laptop Edition)

September 17, 2009

Hours before my trip to New York, I got online to confirm my flight reservations and discovered my computer had a virus. So, instead of being online constantly, as per my usual, I went virtually six days with no internet access. I checked email occassionally, and did a fantasy draft from my grandma’s computer. But nothing significant.

When I got back, I fired up my old personal one (with re-attached N key) and set the other one to IT. But I lack my documents and settings. and have felt naked for 10 days. Since I created the site on the work computer, I also lost my password for this site, so that explains the lack of updates.

Lucky for me, I kept some notes while I was gone, so Brought to you by my missing N key, here’s the Toasted Computer Random Notes/Stream of Consciousness X:

When can we make High Definition TV the standard, and dump standard def?

My brother things the Death Pool is too sick to get into. But he and his co-workers do random gambling pools and fantasy sports (My brother knows NOTHING about the NHL, but wins that league each year because no one he works with in Waco, Texas, has ever actually watched hockey).
So my brother developed a new Fantasy Sport: Fantasy Death Pool. Instead of participating in the pool, they draft the participants of MY DEATH POOL. And whomever has the person who wins my pool, wins their pot.

I met my Bro-ddy Tom, (that’s half Brother/Half Buddy. Next Door neighbor growing up, my mom babysat him. He’s my little brother) in Rochester and saw his son Jackson, who’s a legitimately cute baby. Seeing Tom with Jackson was amazing, because I went to college when he was 14, and then moved to Dayton. So I never saw the part where he learned to take care of himself, let alone another human being. I can’t wait til little Jackson grows into the David Wright jersey I gave him.

Had drinks with my friend while in Rochester, and we saw a high school classmate tending the bar. We didn’t say hello and had to ask our waitress her name. She mentioned to the waitress that she recognized my friend and I reveled in the fact that because I cut my grunge era hair in college, I get to dictate all interactions with old high school classmates. She’s not going to recognize me, so I get to decide which former classmates I want to talk to.

CLM quit. Her last day was Wednesday. She’s moving on to Life 2.1. Losing an office mate sucks, but my number of non-work friends in this city just doubled.

And speaking of the office, I did jot down all the moments from the office over the past few weeks, so MorganBowers25.com is updated.

With my computer being toast, there were plenty of awkward moments when I had to respond to the implication that I got a virus on my computer from downloading illicit pornography. Which simply isn’t true.  /  IT guys must hate dealing with customers. Every single person is not only lying about not viewing pornography, but also freaking out and saying crazy things like “My whole life is on there!” They probably just want people to shut up so they can fix the computer, which is what they are good at.

The next time I get good customer service in New Orleans will probably be the first.

I don’t care what he does politically, the fact that our president has guys over for a beer, calls Kanye West a jackass, and sounds like The Rock makes me proud to be an American.

Stream of Conciousness XI

Hours before my trip to New York, I got online to confirm my flight reservations and discovered my computer had a virus. So, instead of being online constantly, as per my usual, I went virtually six days with no internet access. I checked email occassionally, and did a fantasy draft from my grandma’s computer. But nothing significant.

When I got back, I fired up my old personal one (with re-attached N key) and set the other one to IT. But I lack my documents and settings. and have felt naked for 10 days. Since I created the site on the work computer, I also lost my password for this site, so that explains the lack of updates.

Lucky for me, I kept some notes while I was gone, so you have Toasted Computer Random Notes. Brought to you buy my missing N key.

When can we make High Definition TV the standard, and dump standard def?

My brother things the Death Pool is too sick to get into. But he and his co-workers do random gambling pools and fantasy sports (My brother knows NOTHING about the NHL, but wins that league each year because no one he works with in Waco, Texas, has ever actually watched hockey).
So my brother developed a new Fantasy Sport: Fantasy Death Pool. Instead of participating in the pool, they draft the participants of MY DEATH POOL. And whomever has the person who wins my pool, wins their pot.

I met my Bro-ddy Tom, (that’s half Brother/Half Buddy. Next Door neighbor growing up, my mom babysat him. He’s my little brother) in Rochester and saw his son Jackson, who’s a legitimately cute baby. Seeing Tom with Jackson was amazing, because I went to college when he was 14, and then moved to Dayton. So I never saw the part where he learned to take care of himself, let alone another human being. I can’t wait til little Jackson grows into the David Wright jersey I gave him.

Had drinks with my friend while in Rochester, and we saw a high school classmate tending the bar. We didn’t say hello and had to ask our waitress her name. She mentioned to the waitress that she recognized my friend and I reveled in the fact that because I cut my grunge era hair in college, I get to dictate all interactions with old high school classmates. She’s not going to recognize me, so I get to decide which former classmates I want to talk to.

Awkward moment with the friend from drinks: Discussing failed attempts at romance, she made a comment about how she’s looking for a relationship and just wishes someone she knew before, like from high school, would re-enter her life a relationship could start from there, so she wouldn’t have to try and find new people and discover they are crazy. Awkward because we had that brief pause in which I’m thinking “Does she mean me? What am I supposed to say to that?” and I bet she’s thinking “Oh crap, does he think I meant him?” or she’s waiting to see if I take the bait.

It’s entirely possible (or probable!) that she wasn’t talking about me at all and I just have an ego problem. I also thought the whole reason my co-worker CLM changed her hair color from Chocolate-CHERRY was because she discovered I have a thing for redheads; and it was her non-confrontational way of saying “Don’t even think about it. No chance in hell.” (Cue Carly Simon’s You’re So Vain).

Speaking of CLM, she quit. Her last day was Wednesday. She’s moving on to Life 2.1. Losing an office mate sucks, but my number of non-work friends in this city just doubled.

And speaking of the office, I did jot down all the moments from the office over the past few weeks, so MorganBowers25.com is updated.

With my computer being toast, there were plenty of awkward moments when I had to respond to the implication that I got a virus on my computer from downloading illicit pornography. Which simply isn’t true.  /  IT guys must hate dealing with customers. Every single person is not only lying about not viewing pornography, but also freaking out and saying crazy things like “My whole life is on there!” They probably just want people to shut up so they can fix the computer, which is what they are good at.

The next time I get good customer service in New Orleans will probably be the first.

I don’t care what he does politically, the fact that our president has guys over for a beer, calls Kanye West a jackass, and sounds like The Rock makes me proud to be an American.


Awwww….

September 5, 2009

Back in Rochester for my grandfather’s funeral. My grandfather played the role of crusty old sailor with a grouchy attitude. I heard one of my other relatives say “you know, we saw his grouchy side, but…” and I thought that’s not right. He wasn’t a grouch, he was playing the grouch. Big difference. My cousins all moved away, so my brother and I were the closest to him. He made jokes, but there was never a moment where I thought the things he said was what he thought or felt.

He loved the water and had a house (he built) on a massive pond near Lake Ontario, and he loved the house. He’d sit in the kitchen and look past the big willow tree to the pond (where the boat used to be).

After he was long retired, not getting around, and they had to pay enormous taxes on waterfront property, they sold the boat. The taxes were so high that three years ago, they had to move. He buried his head in the sand and my grandmother picked their new house. It’s sad they had to leave the house, but I heard quite possibly the sweetest thing ever about their move today.

At the funeral, some people on my grandfather side of the family (my grandmother married him in 1983, I was five, so he was MY grandfather even though it was by marraige) made comments implying my grandmother was behind the move and he didn’t want to leave the house but she forced him.

My aunt pulled the lead female of their side of the family to a corner and said “Let me tell you how they ended up in the house. Neither of them wanted to move, but they couldn’t afford to stay. He refused to look at any other house because he was heartbroken to leave. They picked the house because…” and the woman said “because (my grandmother) liked that the shed looked like a dollhouse, we know.”

And my aunt said: “No. She hates that house. She picked that house because it had a bay window in the kitchen, where he always sat. And the dollhouse shed and white picket fence, the flowers and trees was something nice to look at. Every other house they could afford had bad kitchen windows, in the wrong place, and nothing unappealing outside.

All she cared about while picking the house was the kitchen view, because she knew that in his condition, he going to spend the rest of his life at that kitchen table, looking out the window and she wanted him to have something nice to look at.”


Tips For You Married Women

September 2, 2009

There is nothing worse than when someone wants to set you up with someone.

I thought this was somehow related to the relationship between parents and children… but I recoiled with the same horror when someone said “I want to set you up with my friend” that I feel when my mom keeps pushing someone else’s daughter on me. (My mom could be saying “Mrs. Fox’s daughter Megan is single…” and I’d reject the idea outright. The whole point of marriage is in-law awkwardness anyway. You can’t let your mom set up the relationship, period).

For the love of God, if you want to set someone up with someone, there’s a process. The vast majority of women* do not understand this. The good match-makers do.

(* – No guys are match-makers. Sorry. I am responsible for two people being married today. My exact words: “Yes, you should call her, she’s freaking hot!” and something like “If you call her, it might work out. If it doesn’t, maybe you’ll get laid. Either way, call her.”)

The proper way is to fool both of them into thinking it was their own idea; put zero pressure on either of them, and ideally, not even let either know you’re doing it.

You put the two of them in a room together with a lot of other people, like a bar. Discretely observe their interactions (if any) when placed into the same room together. If one of them comes up to you and says “Hey, what’s the deal with _____” you can actually proceed to some form of match-making.

If not, you later ask one “did you meet _____?” and judge their reactions. Based on that, you can say “I was thinking you two might like each other, what did you think of him/her?” If one of them kills it, the other person never knows.

This tactic is especially helpful, because if you’re one of those people ALWAYS trying to set people up, then your targets (who know you), still won’t know if they are the first or second person. And when they ask, you just say “No, I haven’t talked to them yet.”

What you don’t do, is make someone feel awkward before they even see the person you want to set them up with. Because then they are just flat out against it and it has no shot.