Morning Coffee and Dad Joke Blog

Ok. I’m hesitant to write what I’m about to write because the last thing I want to be is…that guy…the insufferable guy at the party who corners you then goes on an on about his latest state of the art coffee press/diffuser, the one that has the organic charcoal thing. You know who I mean, obsessed coffee guy. To be honest, I must confess that 35 years ago I was that guy. I had discovered the Gevalia coffee club, and would eagerly anticipate my monthly two pound shipment of coffee beans from around the world. The memory is as excruciating as it is humbling. Now, I buy Gevalia at Publix, already ground, and am happy as a clam. But, be that as it may, what follows will feel and sound like a trip down memory lane. I blame my son and his wife.

The last time I was in Nashville, Patrick and Sarah told us about this little coffee shop that was across from our hotel called, The Well, and insisted that we try some. It was wonderful. So, Sarah, my very thoughtful daughter-in-law, remembered and bought me a bag for Christmas. It has been in the cabinet ever since, waiting for its opportunity. This morning, I ran out of my regular stuff. I saw the bag up there so I opened it up, popped it in the grinder and made myself a cup.

Since I haven’t been a member in good standing of the CSC* in quite a while, I was unaware of this trend of blending beans from Africa with those from Central America. Back in the day you could get Ethiopian beans or beans from Central America. I guess this is like a coffee without borders sort of thing, perhaps an attempt by the coffee aficionado world to make some sort of political statement against immigration restrictions. Who knows? All I know is, this was one fantastic cup of joe.

Now, I know what some of you are thinking…$16.95 for a bag of coffee beans?? Two things…first, my Nashville children are generous, and second, the folks at The Well are busy doing good things.

On another note. I worked a volunteer shift at Hope Thrift Saturday. As soon as I walked in the door, one of the other volunteers or maybe one of the managers handed me something they had sat aside just for me…



See, once you develop the reputation as a devotee of infantile humor, people come out of the woodwork offering suggestions. This particular book is terrible, but it was nice of whoever went to the trouble of thinking of me. A few samples:

What brand of underwear does the World Farting Champion wear?

Fruit of the Boom…

What do you call a motorcycle with a sense of humor?

A Yamahahahaha…

Why are batteries always sad?

Because they are never included…

What do you call a stupid pirate?

The pillage idiot…

So, yeah…




* Coffee Snob Club