Some things just defy normality. Some of them are named Kanye and have recording contracts. Others are here.
During the past week or so I’ve had a couple of those deja vu moments that manage to make me stop and ponder life, the universe and all that other crap.
Strangely, they both involved coffee … and not good coffee. Since falling off the wagon a few months back I’ve been incredibly restrained on the coffee-drinking front but do tend to get jittery on the odd occasion I do indulge only to find the coffee I’m paying for isn’t of a suitable standard.
Let’s face it folks, if I wanted to drink bad coffee I’d make my own because brewing bad coffee is one of my talents. In fact, it has been said that I can make coffee almost chewy. I’m managing to stick to around three coffees a fortnight and usually a couple of those are bought from the global coffee corporation along the road (aka Starbucks). For the most part, these have been pretty good: all steamy and coffee-like as they should be. For the other “I-paid-someone-to-make-it-so-it-better-be-good” coffees, I’ve been venturing further afield. This hasn’t been a success and so far I’ve found four cafes and restaurants near the office where the coffee is decidedly crappy.
But I digress, back to the deja vu issues.
The first coffee incident involved me wandering into a local cafe for a takeaway coffee: “Could I have a short black to go please” I asked politely, because my dear ol’ mum taught me to use my manners.
The wee chicky babe fiddled with the big coffee contraption that spits steam and gurgles hot, coffee goodness into your cup: “Do you want milk with that?” she asked.
Now, I don’t know about you but I’m not in the habit of ordering black coffee with milk.
I left the cafe with the uneasy feeling that I’d been there before, that I’d heard that question before. It wasn’t until the next day I remembered a dream I’d had about ordering coffee, asking for a “short black to go” and being asked two stupid questions:
A few days later, I went to another cafe and ordered another coffee, once again a short black to go.
Can you guess what question I was asked this time? Yep, “was that to have here or take away”.
To go, people, TO GO!
And yes, SHORT BLACK!
PS: How bad is it that I dream about coffee?
Sandwiches in a tin? Really? Is the world ready for the Candwich?
More to the point, does the world NEED Candwich?
Yes, it seems we are and we do.
This culinary delight comes in four flavours, including peanut butter and strawberry jelly (I don’t get that whole American thing for peanut butter with jam/jelly, or the fixation with grape or cherry-flavoured anything, Cherry Cola … ick) and BBQ Chicken (or, as I like to call it Salmonella in a Can).
These long-life, canned sandwiches will be sold in vending machines.
I’m undecided on just where this sits on the scale of weird shit sold in vending machines but reckon that even though it’s not quite as bad as the used undies in Japan, it’s definitely in the top 3.
Sometimes there’s just nothing to say but WTF????
The only place that seems to be having more wintry weather than us right now is the UK (it is winter there, after all. Unlike our current freakish summer).
Lots of snow it seems, which brings out the worst in those with a reduced number of braincells. Cops are trying to hunt down the four clowns spotted on a Facebook-posted video being towed around snow-laden roads in two plastic paddling pools attached by ropes to a speeding trucks and there’s also a news report (again with images) of some knob deciding to be a clever bugger and jump around on a frozen lake with a ”keep of the thin ice” warning sign and very nearly getting turned in to a popsicle.
Is it just me or are morons becoming more prevalent?
ON THE WEB
It’s that time of the year again, when little kids and retailers get excited. And it would appear it’s the time of the year Santa has his prostate check, if this photo is any indication.
But I digress. It’s December, which means I can look at tinsel and all other festive-themed paraphernalia without getting the urge to Taser someone. I really do like Christmas … but I like it in December, where it belongs.
Way back in the mists of time, when I was a snotty-nosed brat, the whole Christmas excitement didn’t start to build up until December. Which made sense: the school holidays would kick off and you’d have just enough time to get yourself worked up into a lather about whatever it was you were hoping the whiskery old bugger in the red suit was going to shove down the chimney for you before Christmas Eve arrived. Then you’d lie in bed wondering if you were EVER going to get to sleep, or even HOW you were ever going to get to sleep with all this excitement. You’d hear a noise, panic that it was Santa and his reindeer and you’d miss out if he realised you were still awake, stress some more about the whole getting to sleep bizzo, then … well, miraculously, it would be morning and there’d be a whole bunch of goodies for you to rip into. And if you were really lucky, they were the goodies you asked for. Damn, they were stressful times.
(As an aside; I never did get the Tonka truck I wanted. Instead, I was the lucky recipient of several dolls over the years. Bloody gender stereotypes, sometimes life isn’t fair.)
These days, it’s even worse for kids because the whole buildup starts so much earlier. When my son was little, it moved to November, with shops breaking out the festive decorations a good six weeks before the big day. Now, it seems October is the new November. It scares me when I see Christmas tinselly things and hear Christmas carols in October. It also makes me more than a little pissed off: I mean really, why can’t Christmas happen in December? It’s a wonder all the kids out there aren’t all Christmas-ed out by the time December 25 arrives. Who knows, maybe the next big things for child psychologists might be post-traumatic Christmas stress syndrome (because attention deficit disorder is so passe). The poor little buggers must be as twitchy as hell by the time Christmas Eve arrives.
So please retailers and weird Christmas addicted freaks who decorate anything in their vicinity that stays still long enough, can Christmas stop moving backwards (oooh, I feel a Goons song coming on). Then I’ll be happy.
Well, apart from when I see those bizarre fake snowman decorations. We’re in the southern hemisphere so it’s the middle of summer for us at Christmas time. That’s a whole other Taser opportunity.