The observation from my desk for the day.
A package of microwave popcorn that's 94% fat free still consists of 6% fat. Get over it already. I mean, peanuts are what, 60% fat? Butter is 100% fat? And yet somehow I'm supposed to believe that highly-processed microwave popcorn is healthy for me? Bugger that for a game of soldiers. Give me full-fat creme brulee with a chunk of dark cacao rammed right through the center and a glass of port, give me my hookah filled with apple tobacco and a pint of tea with six spoonfuls of sugar in it. Don't package this crap and tell me it's good for me, or somehow give me the idea that popping this microwave popcorn and eating it is going to bring my ass down to subplanetoid size. Give me some of that shortbread from Kuan Yin in Seattle's Wallingford district.
When I hit Kuan Yin on Sunday with (aunt) Linda and (uncle) Richard, it was a reminder of the little collegiate coffeehouses back home that I miss so very much. I always loved the dive bars and the espresso bars. It's been a dream for me to own or buy into a coffeehouse where I could set up a small shop in the back for writers, with a polished marble counter and a focus not on the hard core espresso drinks, but on the leisurely afternoon tea, with the varietals and a place where you could leave good books you'd finished with. I mean, hell, throw five or six big overstuffed leather armchairs, banish wi-fi to a small corner of the pad, and set it up for a running tab. Would it make money? Probably not, but it's a nice fantasy.
Kuan Yin reminded me more of the ex-hippie-made-good shop than anything else - the bins of tea were scattered, plastic packages of tea and a haphazard bus-it-yourself system made me laugh. It was just the one guy and the heat was out, so here he was, bundled up in a Nepalese-style woolen cap and jacket. I nearly wanted to ask if he had any yak butter for the tea. I wouldn't have been surprised if he did. Still, it reminded me of those shops back home where the "back in five minutes" meant the owner had a friend come over for a smoke break that extended twenty minutes. Somehow the attitude that says, "Chill your butt out, I'll be back when I'm back" makes me more likely to return somewhere. The fact that Linda and Richard seem to share this mentality made it more fun.
I did find that Beehive teapots make excellent workplace serving size consumable things. The only problem is finding the right kind of milk for it. I just cannot drink coffee in the morning any more - because the charge from it makes me hit the wall around three in the afternoon, with three hours left in the day for me to complete things. I could sure use an electric teakettle, though. It'd be a nice shift from my current methodology, which involves hot water nuked in the microwave, then poured into a Nalgene bottle carrying two teabags and left to steep until I remember it.
Tonight, I'm headed to PNW Ignition Thingy at ConWerks. Now to see whether or not I get to play or I get to work for Critical Massive. Gonna ROCK.
A package of microwave popcorn that's 94% fat free still consists of 6% fat. Get over it already. I mean, peanuts are what, 60% fat? Butter is 100% fat? And yet somehow I'm supposed to believe that highly-processed microwave popcorn is healthy for me? Bugger that for a game of soldiers. Give me full-fat creme brulee with a chunk of dark cacao rammed right through the center and a glass of port, give me my hookah filled with apple tobacco and a pint of tea with six spoonfuls of sugar in it. Don't package this crap and tell me it's good for me, or somehow give me the idea that popping this microwave popcorn and eating it is going to bring my ass down to subplanetoid size. Give me some of that shortbread from Kuan Yin in Seattle's Wallingford district.
When I hit Kuan Yin on Sunday with (aunt) Linda and (uncle) Richard, it was a reminder of the little collegiate coffeehouses back home that I miss so very much. I always loved the dive bars and the espresso bars. It's been a dream for me to own or buy into a coffeehouse where I could set up a small shop in the back for writers, with a polished marble counter and a focus not on the hard core espresso drinks, but on the leisurely afternoon tea, with the varietals and a place where you could leave good books you'd finished with. I mean, hell, throw five or six big overstuffed leather armchairs, banish wi-fi to a small corner of the pad, and set it up for a running tab. Would it make money? Probably not, but it's a nice fantasy.
Kuan Yin reminded me more of the ex-hippie-made-good shop than anything else - the bins of tea were scattered, plastic packages of tea and a haphazard bus-it-yourself system made me laugh. It was just the one guy and the heat was out, so here he was, bundled up in a Nepalese-style woolen cap and jacket. I nearly wanted to ask if he had any yak butter for the tea. I wouldn't have been surprised if he did. Still, it reminded me of those shops back home where the "back in five minutes" meant the owner had a friend come over for a smoke break that extended twenty minutes. Somehow the attitude that says, "Chill your butt out, I'll be back when I'm back" makes me more likely to return somewhere. The fact that Linda and Richard seem to share this mentality made it more fun.
I did find that Beehive teapots make excellent workplace serving size consumable things. The only problem is finding the right kind of milk for it. I just cannot drink coffee in the morning any more - because the charge from it makes me hit the wall around three in the afternoon, with three hours left in the day for me to complete things. I could sure use an electric teakettle, though. It'd be a nice shift from my current methodology, which involves hot water nuked in the microwave, then poured into a Nalgene bottle carrying two teabags and left to steep until I remember it.
Tonight, I'm headed to PNW Ignition Thingy at ConWerks. Now to see whether or not I get to play or I get to work for Critical Massive. Gonna ROCK.
Finally someone came up and said, "Nice Mexican wedding shirt."
You know, if you're going to make me shoot espresso in two perfectly formed jets from my nostrils, you could at LEAST not look offended when I spend five minutes simultaneously laughing and choking.
It's just...RUDE.