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Tuesday, February 26, 2002

The Reason I go to Starbucks

It doesn't have to be Starbucks. Hell, I hate corporate America as much as the next pseudo-intellectual dipshit, but I just have to have a cup of coffee first thing in the morning and I don't care who gives it to me. Most of my serious self-inflicted bodily injuries occur before I have had my first cup. If I don't seriously injure myself then I do something that I regret with extreme prejudice, like the time I dropped an entire glass of milk behind my refrigerator. Even the people who cleaned up after the Exxon Valdes would have taken pity on me for the mess I made. I dabble in quite a few languages but you would have been thoroughly impressed with my fluency in profanity on that particular undercaffeinated morning. I seriously thought about moving rather than do the clean up. If I had somehow accidentally killed somebody and had to get rid of the body, I don't see how it could have been a bigger pain in my ass.

Starbucks, Tully's, Uptown Espresso, it doesn't mattter to me. They keep building new ones in the neighborhood but they all seem to be equidistant to my place--they never get closer. I wish they would put a coffee joint in my building; I'd let them build one in my apartment. I'm not picky, I'm not a connoisseur (I can't believe I spelled that correctly although it is French and I should know. god damn you spell check for making me such a crappy speller, god damn this lack of spell check)--I'm a drug addict and I need a fix.

I would like to apologize to the beautiful blond girl who knows me by name--although I've never bothered to ask her hers. It's nothing personal, but you are seeing me at my absolute worst, so just hand over the coffee and I probably won't kill you. Hand it over quickly and don't expect me to act like a real human being until I have injested at least ten ounces of the drug you are doling out. I always tip like a mob boss, so I hope that makes up for my complete lack of charm. All of the employees of the local coffee shops probably refer to me as the big tipping mime.

The Olympics are over and I actually watched quite a bit this time around. Amount of TV coverage I viewed of the previous two winter games: 0. My change of heart came about because I was able to watch the Canadian broadcast and not super-dweeb Bob Kosta and the rest of the happy-chatty crew of NBC. The Canadian coverage was mercifully free of up-close-and-proctologically-poignant glimpses of the athletes. I even watched about 70 minutes straight of curling while riding an exercise bike at my gym. I still have almost no freaking idea what that game is all about--but the Canucks seem to dig it. I suppose there should be at least a couple Olympic sports one can do while drinking beer.

Right in the middle of the games AT&T yanked the plug on my bootleg cable TV, so I had to get my fix of the games either at the gym or a local bar with two results: I may give Lance Armstrong a run for his money this year right after I check out of Betty Ford's bed and breakfast. Highlights: the finish of the men's x-country relay between Italy and the Norwegians. X-country skiers are right up there with cyclists when it comes to performance enhancing drug abuse, and if you've ever skied x-country you would be standing in line begging for drugs to take away the pain. Try riding a bike up Queen Anne hill and that's about as good as it gets on skis.

I read about the little American prima donna figure skater chic who screwed up and got beat by the teenybopper. All I have to say to her is I'm glad that Mary Lou Retton isn't alive to see you disgrace this country. Not so much figure skating on the Canadian TV, which is fine by me. I don't understand the interest. Here's an activity that is the butt of our jokes most of the time, then the Olympics come around and everyone is suddenly a fan. I wouldn't go to the ice capades if you had a gun to my mother's head. Sorry, mom, but I'm guessing they won't pull the trigger and that's a chance I'm willing to take if it keeps me from seeing boys in sequins.

The Canadian broadcasters were rabidly partial to their hockey team, positively shameless. It was rather refreshing to hear everyone talk so much shit as opposed to the phony 'we are the world' brand of jingoism preached on NBC. I was actually happy to see Canada beat the USA for the gold medal only because I was afraid the great one, Wayne Gretsky, might do something drastic had they lost. I lthought it was cute how they took all of the kids out of class to watch the game on friday instead of teaching them about snow removal--or whatever they learn up there to survive.

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