The first text on my smart phone was from my downstairs tenant who scarfs my wifi at work… “Heads up: Your wifi is down.” Wow, the first message of my day tells me that I have been disconnected from the world of Facebook and email and… oh no, my blog. I can’t be cut off from my psychic crutch!! What will my three secret followers held in a North Korean gulag do? I’ll have to call Dennis Rodman and Tom Cruise later to reset the linkage. International back channel diplomacy/espionage is not for the weak willed or timid tummied. It’s time to Growaset!
Well, it was coffee nation morning so I had to be off to the monkey cage. No time for silly things like cyber-connectivity. I was on my way to the beaten up couch and chairs where six of us would huddle and talk a bit too loud to be considered mannerly. Joel the rabble rouser was not in residence. He’s traveling in warm places this week and next. It’s a rendezvous with Sheila the mule in the Grand Canyon, which I will share in another post, after the preliminary hearing and terms of bail are set. Last week he tried hard to start an insurrection, suggesting that if he won the lottery he’d buy us all coffee for life, thus unseating and usurping my imperial rule. I had to beat back their fantasies of democracy. What if mules got the vote? Do you think they would keep hauling fat tourists in and out of the Grand Canyon? NO!! I will never be usurped while I am busy surping my Sumatran blend. No coffee nation, no banana republic, no fundamentalist theocracy is or ever will be a democracy. But tyrants are people too. We serve a useful purpose among herd animals. Joel came to his senses and repentantly bought my coffee last Friday. A small but sincere gesture of rapprochement, which is French for detente.
Rob the young blood was already in coffee mode when I arrived. He apologized for asking me a serious question on No Thinking Thursday, but I allowed it due to the fact that we were technically ten minutes early. After all, I am a benevolent dictator. Steve rolled in wearing jeans and sneakers. Another paid day off for him. Sort of. He volunteers his accounting skills to the high school band, which he plugs shamelessly. “Hey, we’re having another spaghetti dinner next Friday. We raised all kinds of money for the marching band competition, which we hosted and won last year. FAMBU accredited. So we are.”
“Oh, the Federation of American Marching Bands Unlimited. Don’t make the mistake that the last treasurer made and call them BAMBU, which is the Brotherhood of American Marching Bands Unlimited. They are posers to the throne of Martial Music. He was escorted off school grounds and roughly de-badged, that guy. Whew! We had to start with all new passwords. Lemme tell you, it was a hot mess.”
“Yeah. I guess I’ll be pulling for the NFC team in the Super Bowl. I can’t get behind New England or the Broncos.”
Steve, “New England cheats all the time, right?”
All, “Yep. Steve, you go to one Ravens game and now you are a sports guru.”
Steve, “I don’t think Brady should even be allowed to play after deflate gate.”
Rob, “Yeah, the MVP of last year’s Super Bowl and he was almost suspended four games. You know the Seahawks lost that game because they were trying to make Russell Wilson the hero and not Marshawn Lynch. Wilson is nice and Lynch is not, i.e., marketable. And it backfired. So the cheater got the MVP.”
Lance, arriving fashionably late. “Let me strut my swagger, gentlemen.” Handshakes around.
Rob, “The Seahawks have never won a Super Bowl.”
BS,” Correction: they won the year before, remember? They crushed Peyton and the Broncos.”
BS,”Doug, here is a trivia question for you. Name the only Doug who was the Super Bowl MVP.”
BS,” Thanks for your blurtation, Lance. You didn’t even raise your hand!”
Lance, with both hands in the air now, doing some full body butter churn torso wobble. “And, that was the strike shortened year… late 80’s, Super Bowl 22…”
BS, “Just shut up now! We were doing fine with our low football IQ until you came in showing off.”
Steve, “Deflate yourself, Lance.”
Lance, “I think not. My tee shirt says, Grown a set.”
Steve, “Don’t get me started…”
Chuck canters through the chairs with horse swagger, handshakes around.
“The girl asked me if I was in Coffee Nation. How’d she know?”
Chuck, “So have we solved the world’s problems yet? Cuz ya’ll was loitering like this the last time I was here…”
BS,” Which was two years ago.”
Chuck, “I can’t remember if it’s the second or third Thursday of the month…”
BS, “Shut up! Look, this is why you are a bench warmer and not a starter like Steve. He leaves one of the largest multinational corporations in the lurch almost every Thursday at 8:30 so he can run on our squirrel wheel. No excuses from Steve O. He leaves it all on the field, Chuckie. He’s a team player not some lone wolf who rolls along like a tumbleweed…”
BS,”It’s alright, man. We just need to hug our way through it. We’re all glad that you’re here.”
Chuck, “Yeah, I need me some connectivity.”
All, “That’s right, right on. Come on down.”
What’s goin on? Tell me what’s goin on. You know we’ve got to find a way, to bring some love in here today….what’s goin on?”