We’ve all been there. That god-awful, obligatory “catch up” with family/friends/distant acquaintances. It’s not like there’s a remote possibility of them saying anything vaguely interesting. You know it’s going to suck… hard. And there’s no escaping it. When obligation arrives at your door with its infuriatingly inevitable shrug, you’re fucked.
This might be OK – it may even be tolerable if you knew that time would do the decent thing and drag its lazy ass just a little bit faster. Or if the wait‑staff were quick on the uptake and saw the agony you were in. It would only take a minute for the busy maître d’ to gracefully sidle up next to you, tuck a carvery knife behind your windpipe and – with an artful backhand – put you out of your misery.
But alas, there’s no getting out of it. These times are unavoidable. They’re unbearable and there’s a pretty solid chance of them continuing right into your senescence.
The solution? you ask as you start testing out the stability of your roof’s crossbeams and Googling “noose rope for beginners, not cosplay, >60kg”.... Well, there isn’t one. Life’s suckworthiness is not something you can avoid.
But alas, there’s no getting out of it. These times are unavoidable. They’re unbearable and there’s a pretty solid chance of them continuing right into your senescence.
The solution? you ask as you start testing out the stability of your roof’s crossbeams and Googling “noose rope for beginners, not cosplay, >60kg”.... Well, there isn’t one. Life’s suckworthiness is not something you can avoid.
All we can do is the make the best of the time that’s given to us, said Gandalf through his barely disguised omnipotent smugness. And for all of his unnatural fondness for hobbits, G-dog had a serious point. Suck the fucking marrow out of life, redline that shit, lick the wrapper and make sure you don’t leave the tiniest sprinkle of coke on the mirror.
Make doubly sure that when you do get a chance for the good stuff that life has to offer, that you get the best. Take it in, roll around in it and wring it between your hands – thick, pungent and overripe.
And one of the best places to start? A world‑class espresso.
Make doubly sure that when you do get a chance for the good stuff that life has to offer, that you get the best. Take it in, roll around in it and wring it between your hands – thick, pungent and overripe.
And one of the best places to start? A world‑class espresso.
For every reason that drip coffee (or the poncily named "chemex" - a topic to be elaborated on in a future post) is the utter floppy octogenerian wiener of coffee, so espresso is the pulsing, throbbing stallion-esque erection of the magical arabica bean. Never mind squeezing blood from a stone - a truly impressive miracle is taking a handful of coffee beans, a splash of water, 10 bars of pressure, a bitchingly shiny espresso machine and a cool-as-ice barista and squeezing out a crema-topped demitasse of honey-tinged, floral-touched, chocolate-smeared, berry-blazed, lemon-dripped espresso. How do you like them apples, motherfucker?
So please, the next time you're trapped with Uncle Jeremy and you're about to bite down on your cyanide-filled molar, take a deep breath, mutter a deeply satisfying insult about Jemmy-Jem's inane fascination with steam-trains and then, with a smile pasted across your ugly mug, order a double espresso.
Carpe, noctem, fucktard.
So please, the next time you're trapped with Uncle Jeremy and you're about to bite down on your cyanide-filled molar, take a deep breath, mutter a deeply satisfying insult about Jemmy-Jem's inane fascination with steam-trains and then, with a smile pasted across your ugly mug, order a double espresso.
Carpe, noctem, fucktard.