Fathers Day and the Fancy Shmancy Coffee Maker

My kids got me one of those Keurig auto-make coffee machines for Fathers Day. The coffee tastes good and there are many choices, ie. Starbucks dark roast, expresso, Caribou breakfast blend, high grade heroin, morning methadone, etc. Apparently anything can be compressed into those little plastic “portion pack” k-cups and then marketed to and from the now exceedingly rich Jewish entrepreneur who probably invented and patented the machine. This time I dont think it was Ron Popiel or by Ronco. The Owners manual and “Welcome to Keurig” literature is longer and more detailed then what I got with my Lexus. They also throw in some French on the box like, “Goutez a la variete” to make it sound European and therefore more gourmet.  Apparently I am no longer just making coffee. According to the manual, I am now a sophisticated “brewer” engaged in the fresh brewing of coffee. It’s still hard for me to adjust to NOT thinking of an automatic coffee maker as something I would use at the gas station (by pushing multiple buttons to make a bizarre concoction) along with a Snickers bar and a pint of motor oil. I went to a store in Miami a few years ago that exclusively sold these high-end coffee machines like they were selling time-share condos and Maseratis. The glistening products lined the walls. Specially trained baristas (all very good looking and perky) ushered us into small groups of wealthy and wealthier people willing to listen to a shtick trying to sell you on buying into a $900 machine and lifetime contract that makes one cup of coffee at a time, but oh what a cup it is……..Anyway, my kids just went to WalMart and bought me the smaller one that was on sale.

As usual I felt a little sad and guilty “putting away” my well worn Mr. Coffee machine. I stuck it under one of my kitchen drawers, “just in case”. Now I have to figure out different places to steal the various compressed k-cups of liquid gold, er I mean coffee……and probably a small (ok huge) handful of Splendas. I’ll be damned if I’m going to sign up for some special “club” that ships me my private blend of futuristic java.

About captaincliff

Psychologist by day, insomniac Pirate blogger by night, this Child of God likes to share sarcastic social commentary as well as topsy-turvy observations about life, love and the pursuit of zaniness, a functional form of insanity in an increasingly insane world
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