Five Hour Energy and the Jeeves of Java

A commercial this morning taught me some new, very eye-opening negatives about coffee.

Apparently, you have to:

• Make it
• Wait for it
• Fuss with it
• Carry it around along with a briefcase and overcoat nearly spilling it upon your person

Or-- if you are unable to manage the painful inconvenience of those-- you must:

• Stand in line for it.

While admittedly I have wished at times that caffeine could be injected directly into my veins-- particularly on those mornings where routine bloodwork becomes a temporary barrier to myself and glorious, life-giving java-- I had never considered the burden it is to actually make some of the stuff appear in a cup in my hand every day, and keep it there until safe consumption is complete.

But 5 Hour Energy tells me this is true. So I feel kinda like a powerhouse of get-it-doneness just for making this extraordinary personally-challenging event happen each morning!

The benefit of their product, 5 Hour Energy suggests, is in its instant gratification.

Just pop it open and chug. Unless you don't have any in the house because you couldn't remember to buy any. Like the coffee. In which case you have to:

• Drive to the store
• Figure out where the frig the store stocks it
• Wait in line for it
• Wait until the cashier scans it
• Yank it out of her hand before she puts it in the bag
• Rip open the lid, which hopefully is easier to do than those little creamer containers you get with your coffee which usually end up squirting you in the eye
• Drink it
• Pause for harsh words from other shoppers for holding up the line while chugging your on-the-go jolt of non-coffee instead of...
• Paying for it.

But, see, and I hesitate to even mention this... I think in 5 Hour Energy's desire to showcase their benefits, they might have accidentally totally not intentionally missed a handy, yet little-known facet about the process involved in crafting a pot of their brethren in wake-up beverages...

Technology has given some of us rare, lucky individuals this thing called the Coffeemaker with Timer. When properly programmed, it is the discreet butler of caffeine, the Jeeves of Java. And it allows for that beautiful brew to come to life without proximity to a lifeform with active brain cells.

It's neat that way.

Now, it may not eliminate the obvious fussing and gravity problems associated with coffee. But it does save on time. Plus, it tastes so good with breakfast foods...

Like pre-sliced cracker-sized cheese squares and pre-fried bacon.

Ah Shall Nevah Go Uncaffeinated Again!

Coffee. It shines golden light on the cobwebby corners of the ol' brain... Brings a ray of hope to otherwise gray skies... And reissues identity to that puffy, slack-jawed face staring back in the bathroom mirror.

And now the luscious lure of an outrageously good two-for-one sale-- and a shining vision of the ultimate Java Nirvana-- has led me to behavior that otherwise wouldn't have taken hold of my soul...

I have been hoarding bags of Eight O'Clock Coffee.

And by hoarding, I mean there are now enough two-pound bags of the stuff stockpiled in my basement that the U.S. could go under nuclear attack, and I could happily live down there-- high on coffee, tinned soup and laundry detergent fumes-- for the better part of a year.

Okay, so there are also spiders down there big enough to give Godzilla a decent toss-down for Tokyo. But unlike that uncompromising giant lizard, I think the spiders and I could work out some kind of accord.

My future in a post-apocalyptic society feels secure. And it is coffee that powers this positivity.

I get overwhelmed with joy just seeing those bags of coffee sitting down there. A strange contentment washes over me, knowing that my mornings will be continue to be filled with the rich, nutty pick-me-up that blows out the brain dust-- all at a fiscally-responsible price during these dark economic times.

And so at $6 (before coupon) for a huge two-pound bag of that blissful black bean... Well, my mind envisions whole towers of coffee bags, vacuum-sealed and safe, each waiting for their turn in the morning routine... waiting for their one true and glorious purpose...

I have images of Juan Valdez and a chorus of tiny little burros, nestled in lush green South American mountains, singing enthusiastic old Columbian serenades to the beauty of the first fresh-brewed cup...

Waterfalls pouring free with gorgeous deep-brown java as rainbows streak across them...

And beans whirling in a musical tribute that rivals Fred and Ginger's best work.

Oh yes, I have had a lot of coffee.

But alas, the two-for-one sale ends Wednesday. So for the next few days, my lunch break-- which usually includes a song-and-dance number in honor of the excellent salad bar-- will now include the Quest for the Eternal Bean, pre-ground, in a final attempt to secure just a few more examples of blissful enlightenment-in-a-bag.

Perhaps you might even see me, doing an impromptu Spring dance in Aisle 12, my basket runneth over with the inspiration that puts the zippity-do-dah in my days.

And yes, yes, I know-- addiction may be an ugly thing. But half-price addiction has a face that can really grow on you.

Pass me the cream and Sweet-n-Low, would you? I think I'll have another cup.

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Care to discuss the beauty that is total utter caffeination? I love hearing about other folks' caffeine addictions.

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Cabbagey Roadtrip Revelations

I'd mentioned last week I'd be spending the weekend in Philly to meet blogging friends Claire and J.D. So while the adventure was fresh in my memory, I thought it only appropriate to share with everyone a few of the things I learned from this roadtrip. For instance, I learned:

• That Claire will laugh hysterically when "knobs" are mentioned, even if the knobs are not referring to the British slang for male anatomy but are, in fact, furniture hardware. I discovered this when purchasing what I will now refer to as "drawer pulls," at a Bucks County flea market-- though, of course, I made sure to call them "knobs" about a bazillion times in her presence. If she is reading this now, in fact, she is still laughing at the word "knobs" and calling me a "cheeky bugger," a "meanie butt" or "naughty britches." This means the universe is working as it should.
  

• That J.D. knows in-depth history and trivia about pretty much everything in the entire world, and long ago I should have been consulting him prior to checking Wikipedia. Perhaps he is uninformed about, oh, I don't know... the mating habits of capybara. But, see, I wouldn't bet on that. We will stymie him someday, though.... Oh yes. Someday.

• "Dim sum" is probably Chinese for: "Dough, filled with mystery, on apparating cart." We went to an excellent dim sum restaurant which, as far as I can tell, is about as close to being in a scene from Harry Potter as I've gotten. Intriguing foods would suddenly appear on carts pushed by people who showed up from nowhere to offer them. Fascinating bowls of rolled things, puffy things, and, erm, chicken feet would roll by and then disapparate again. It was glorious! (Well... possibly not so much the chicken feet.) But still.

• You cannot hide in a crowd of 20 people. What worked for me well in "Family Life" class in high school-- that is, sitting behind someone tall and peering around, then disappearing as necessary-- does not work effectively when sitting in the audience of a small one-man show. I was initially concerned the performer would be pulling people from the audience-- thus, my desire for shelter. Then the performer questioned in the middle of his act whether I could see properly and wished to move.... BUST-eddd! Really thoughtful and funny performance, though.
  

• Dogs have the kind of wonderful, happy self-esteem that means even a lanky, 150-pound dog genuinely believes it is a teeny-tiny lapdog, and attempts to act accordingly-- no matter how physics and the size of the lap prove it otherwise. I find myself envious of this, because if I had the same sort of blissful take-it-or-leave-it lack of self-awareness as J.D.'s lovable Aiko, I would perpetually view myself as a delicate size 2 and have absolutely no reservations about posing for photos. We should be more like dogs, I think.
  

• Art is definitely in the eye of the beholder. This was an elaborate display found along the main drag in New Hope, Pennsylvania, a quirky area filled with shops... open-air cafes... and, apparently, strategically-arranged mannequins. The sign there on the gate reads something to the effect of, "Private Residence. Keep Out." You know, should you have a burning desire to scale the gate and pose with our plaster friends there. Or add an extra bit of art to it yourself. I think this arrangement depicts the artists' view of humans as zoo animals on display, a constantly-changing tableau of life parading before the subjects, making us question who, in fact, is the attraction-- those behind bars, or those passing by them?... Or, you know, the owner of the house just works for a mannequin manufacturer and this is a shipment that'll be going out to some department store. Could go either way, really. Click the photo to embiggify and get the full naked "bits-o'-mannequin" experience.
  

• You know when you're having a haircut, and realize in the middle of it what you really need is a tank of exotic fish, but you also need to remember to pick up a special something for your Aunt Millie's 80th birthday party and everyone knows how Millie has always been one who likes the "bling"? This is the shop for you. You really have to admire their empowerment of multi-tasking! "Sparkle Gift." It doesn't sound like they have a wide selection given there's just the one gift, but hey-- as long as it "sparkle," it'll make Millie happy. Hm, I wonder if she'd like a couple of guppies and a gift certificate for a new "do" as well...

• Hotels under renovation may pose a startling barrier between their guests and critical caffeination. The place I stayed had offered a continental breakfast each morning on a built-in counter in the lobby... until Day Three... That day, I blearily zombie-walked myself to the place of the great-and-mighty coffee bar to discover that, not only was it entirely Folgers-free, but the built-in bar and much of the tile floor around it was also completely gone. It took several moments for me to process what was not there-- and, then, to stop weeping. Many thanks to the construction worker in the lobby who took pity on my sleepy self and guided me toward the shining light of Awakeness that was the new java location. He is my new best friend. I probably wouldn't recognize him if I saw him again, because my eyes were mostly fused shut at the time. But I still love him a little. I like to think our love goes beyond meaningless facial recognition.
  

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Pineapples and Pen Pushers

"You can slice a pineapple in mid-air!" enthused the voice on the TV, advertising Miracle Blade Knives.

I stopped what I was doing and tried to think of a scenario where anyone would NEED to slice a pineapple in mid-air...

Possibly if a poorly-armed Polynesian gang moved into the neighborhood.

Or if I were part of a troop of fruit-juggling circus performers, and the act needed some serious spicing up.

Otherwise, it makes you wonder just a bit what the brainstorming sessions for these made-for-TV products look like.

Ah, picture it... The lead product marketing manager stands at the front of the oval table. "So, people, what sets this product apart from the competition? What do these knives DO? "

A small voice pipes up from the peanut gallery around the table, "Well... they cut food, Sir...?"

"Of course they cut food!" the boss snaps. "All knives cut food. I don't want to market knives that make eating easier. I want to market knives that can... oh, I don't know... cut through concrete blocks, or something."

"SuperMegaChop already does that, Sir," one marketing flunkie points out.

"Okay, then--" continues the lead marketer musing a moment. (I like to think of him as played by Brian Doyle Murray in a bad toupee.) "I want a knife that can... saw through a car hood!"

"MarvelBlades beat us to it, Sir," another lackey says. "They also market the MarvelGlue to put it together again, and the Marvel UltraSuedoShammyPlus to buff it out."

"Fine, fine, fine. Then I want a knife that can--"

"Cut a pineapple in mid-air, sir?"

"Smithers, you're a genius!"

I also always get a kick out of the ad for Gevalia Coffee (or rather, Kafe, for those of us whose finely-tuned tastebuds prevent us from spelling anything in English). Have you seen this one?

The employee is sitting in his office trying to look like he doesn't need to be downsized, when his friend comes in and brings him a cup of coffee. Aw, what a nice gesture, we think. What a wonderful colleague. But this guy, our executive, HE TURNS IT DOWN.

Does he say he's cutting back on coffee? That he's just had a cup?

Why, no. Instead, he says, he's "going to get his own." And he does it in this smooth, cocky tone of voice that makes you think he either skunked his coworker who's been trying to poison him to get that office with the window... or coffee's the keyword for him to go have a morning tryst with Lydia, the office supply girl.

Anyway, he grabs his coat and goes outside, where he completely passes by lovely cafes and well-stocked coffee carts. Instantly, he steps onto the bus (like anyone ever gets a bus that quickly in the city) and...

HE GOES HOME.

Yes, in the end scene, we see him sitting there on his comfy sofa, sipping his beloved Gevalia Kafe in a moment of quiet reflection, the cares of the day washing away. Of course, it also looks like it's about 9am , so his cares were probably related to the bus ride IN.

The irony here is, the next thing Gevalia tells us is how if you sign up to receive Gevalia, you'll get a handy travel mug.

No one has apparently told our executive about the travel mug.

Nope. He's just blissfully unaware that when he gets back to the office after his refreshing coffee moment, clients will be burning mad looking for him...

He'll have missed the entire brainstorming session on kitchen knives....

And Brian Doyle Murray's going to finally remember he'd meant to fire the guy three weeks ago.

It's just as well, because he'll never get another coffee or donut in that office again. And who knows WHAT he'd get for the Secret Santa at the holiday party. I'd imagine it'd be travel mug. Every year for the rest of his tenure.

So, tell me folks-- what commercial have YOU seen which makes you wonder how it ever got on the air? Inquiring minds want to know. :)


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