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.

No Vampirization without Caffeination

So this morning I had to go for some routine bloodwork. And yes, I saw a couple of you cringe just now at the thought of needles... And bodily fluids... And giant rubberbands whipped around to try to find veins which are shy, sleepy, and not so interested at popping out to say "hi" at 7 o'clock in the morning.

And while I sympathize with you-- and the veins, too, frankly-- and suggest you elevate your feet for a moment and put a cold compress on your head.... there, that's more like it... I have to say, the blood-letting itself does not bother me.

Sure, my friend Scoobie has been known to keel over in a drop-dead faint and look like something out of an Edgar Allen Poe story at the very thought of it.

But I am not bothered by the modern version of leeching. If a leech were involved, perhaps, yes, we'd have to come to some sort of new accord, the leech and I. I'd have some questions about its lifestyle.

But the needle... the needle and I have already come to terms. What really bothers me about going to have bloodwork done is...

I cannot have coffee.

See, regular readers, like you there with the cold compress on the head, you've heard me say how I write my posts half-caffeinated in the morning as part of an important morning Columbian-bean-stimulant consumption ritual.

But when you're supposed to fast for 12 hours before the vein-poking begins, the critical bean-runoff ingestion portion of my morning ends up with a 2-hour-long "Postponed on Account of Vein" delay.

This does not work for me.

And why this does not work for me was proven this morning in a very public place.

Defying all odds, I managed to get myself showered and dressed and possibly-- although the verdict is still out on this-- even with eyeliner on my eyes that doesn't resemble a Tammy Faye Baker crayon portrait.

This, however, is all routine. What was not routine was me plucking myself from the safety and comfort of my home, where the coffee lives, to getting behind the wheel of a several ton automobile, with no greater sense of who I was, or what I was doing there, than an amnesiac soap star.

Fortunately, the Place of Vampirization is only 15 minutes from my house, and traffic in that direction is light. So while I made it to the very building I needed to, a small problem emerged once I was in the lobby.

Not only did I not remember where the room was for these Modern Leechers I'd seen at least three times before...

I completely blanked on the name of the company that did the leeching. The company I'd phoned only a few days earlier.

I stood there at the directory scanning my mind for the name. And in asking the brain to cough up the info, I learned the brain was more than happy to provide all sorts of information I didn't actually need to know.

Brain: Your first grade teacher was Mrs. Schoal!

Me: Lab company... lab company...

Brain: Did you know that the reason colored bubble bath looks white when it foams has to do with light refraction?

Me: What is the name of that lab company?

Brain: Judge Reinhold. That was the name of the actor you were trying to think of last week. You can thank me later.

Me: No, no, no optics, no childhood memories, and no co-stars from Beverly Hills Cop! Curse all Judge Reinholds and the squad cars they rode in on. I need to know the name of that lab company!

And that's when a voice outside of my brain decided to be helpful. "Are you looking for something in particular?"

Oh. I blinked. A person. And I found myself saying to her the only sentence my poor, leaden brain could manage. "Yes, but I haven't had coffee."

As if "I haven't had coffee" explained every important question she could possibly hit me with following that. As if I was worried next she'd ask me some real toughies. Like: how do you operate a nuclear accelerator?

She didn't. She seemed to think it was better for me to deal with my amnesia alone, and zipped off.

Well, I finally found the place, and eventually did get my cup of coffee. But to my embarrassment the lab company is called the rather obvious, descriptive name of "Labcorps."

Which just goes to show, addiction is an ugly, ugly thing. (Sluuurp!) Ahhhhh....

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PS- could some of you tell me stories of strange things you've done when you're tired? I really don't even care if they're real. Lie to me. I'll feel better.

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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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