A Low Point

If aliens ever land on this planet of ours, I hope they check out our online newspapers when deciding whether or not they could make use of our brains on Mars. One glance at the comment sections would make them hop right back on their shuttle and head home.

When I catch myself reading through the comments, especially if it’s just to get annoyed, I get ashamed.

When I sink to the depths of joining them and posting a comment of my own it’s even worse.

The article headline was “Muslims are the New Gays in America.” It was an obvious take on the oft-used headline of last year comparing the struggles of homosexuals to those of African Americans. Of course the commenting majority took it to mean the author thought Muslims are gay.

The only thing that gets me going more than intolerance is poor reading comprehension. The majority of those who did get it, meanwhile, are split on whether the author has made a good point or is just another liberal hack.

I had no real reaction to the article itself. It was more book report than stating anything new. I’d file it under D for duh!

I imagine this is how a relapse feels. I watched from the outside as I carefully worded my retort. “Do any of you actually know a Muslim?” was my subject.

How ridiculous they will all feel when they realize (because of me!) that they don’t, in fact, know any Muslims at all, and that all their comments are based merely on what they see on TV!

I ended my point with “Get off the couch.” This speaks to them, I figured, since most blowhard comments include some variation of End of story, Period, or THE END. It’s their way of saying there is nothing more to say than what they just said and anyone else who says anything more is totally gay. “Get off the couch” has the same tone. If they can’t comprehend an article, at least they might be able to be affected by the sounds of the words I choose.

My post never made it. I don’t know if it was screened or my session timed out. My dignity was spared. The world's just not ready for me to comment.

Iced Nightmare

A big decision to be made in planning for any camping trip is the coffee. Will it be the messy grounds of the percolator or the tidy instant? For me the choice is easy - grounds. Instant coffee seems so distant and hollow. I can taste it a mile away. If this drink were a tranny it’d have an adams apple the size of a grapefruit.

So imagine my delight upon hearing about Starbucks’ new “VIA.” The first time I heard about it was from a barista in Portland, OR. We talked coffee as I ordered and the subject turned to Starbucks. “I can’t stand their coffee,” he said, “but I do kind of like their new instant.”

Flash forward 2 months and I’m camping with Mandy. My conversation with the Portland barista a distant memory, she mentions she’s packed the new Starbucks VIA.

-VIA?

-It’s their new instant coffee.

-Ohhh, I’ve heard about that.

I looked forward to the morning as if it were Christmas Day. Instead of Castle Grayskull, Santa was bringing me the Starbucks VIA.

Water was boiled. Coffee was prepared, then consumed.

The VIA is no doubt a revelation in instant coffee, but it’s not my cup of tea. It didn’t taste like instant coffee, but it didn’t taste like real coffee either. I found myself wishing I had grounds to clean out of the percolator.

My focus turned to the drive home and the Java Express I took note of in Two Harbors. 

The approach to the Java Express is a little daunting. There are two drive-up windows – one a direct turnoff from Highway 61 and one a turnoff from the alley going the other direction. The lines aren’t uniform. The one from the highway is easier to get to (and therefore longer), but I thought the lone barista working – a kind looking woman – would keep tabs on who was first (instead of simply going back-and-forth between the windows). I quickly realized this was not the case, and before I could pull around to the much shorter alley entrance line I was boxed in from behind by a Ford Expedition.

There were two in front of me and two behind me now. The other window had a wait of one car max. I suspect this is the line the locals have learned to go to. Each vehicle demanded a good amount of time. This wasn’t just coffee she was preparing, it was art.

I eyed what I wanted right away – a large Iced Latte. The day was warm and the sun wasn’t completely fooled by the air conditioner. The wallop those chilled shots of espresso would pack will surely make this 3 ½ hour drive a snap.

Mandy decided on the regular hot Chai Latte, which I thought was crazy considering the weather. She’s never let warm drinks on warm days bother her.

We ended up waiting 20 minutes.

-What can I get you?

-I’ll have a medium Chai Latte and a large Iced Latte.

-So an medium Iced Chai Latte and…

-No an Iced Chai, I mean a regular large Iced Latte and a medium Chai Latte.

It took a good 3-4 minutes for her to finish, but there they were and we were on our way.

Imagine my relief. Two nights of camping with subpar coffee. A dull pain behind my eyes subdued only by the knowledge that relief was on the way. And finally the moment had arrived. That first sip, bound to be a taste explosion of…ice cold Chai Latte?

She got it wrong. And damnit if I was gonna go wait in that godforsaken line again. To hell with Two Harbors and anything North of the Twin Cities that doesn’t know how to prepare a decent coffee. 

Back to the city to walk among the civilized.  

The Third Wheel

This story about the hikers stumbling upon Iran – I don’t know how to feel about it. On one hand talk about adventurers! I go up to Gooseberry Falls and imagine myself some explorer as I weave my way through mobs of families with fanny packs and these guys are off to war-torn Iraq to scratch their hiking itch. The other hand, of course, screams “What the hell are you doing hiking around Iraq?” But all this is beside the point.

The real tragedy here is what has to be the most extreme case of the third wheel of all time. I feel terrible for the guy.

Shane Bauer, Sarah Shourd and third wheel Joshua Fattal

Imagine the setup. It’s the end of the night. Old high school friends catching up with each other, probably in one of their garages (let’s say it’s Shane Bauer’s, aka “The Boyfriend”), sitting in camping chairs, making jokes about how Shane is becoming a real handy man. Maybe a little tour of the garage and what he’s working on. The crowd starts to thin. Shane and Joshua Fattal (aka “The Third Wheel”) remain.

SHANE: I just wanna get away, you know, go somewhere different.

JOSH: I hear ya.

SHANE: And I’m not talkin’ about backpacking through Europe or any of that bullshit. I’m talkin’ about somewhere far away from that. Somewhere, I don’t know, dangerous.

JOSH: Yeah. Like where?

SHANE: What’s the last place in the world we should go to right now?

And so the plan was made over a healthy beer buzz. Usually ideas around this time of night never materialize (and for good reason), but Shane and/or Josh somehow stuck with it. Who knows, maybe they were growing apart and needed this adventure to rekindle their friendship. Meanwhile, Sarah (aka “The Girlfriend”) catches whiff of Shane’s plans.

SARAH: Oh…

SHANE: It won’t be too long. We were thinking two weeks, tops.

SARAH: Okay.

SHANE: Are you thinking it’s too dangerous?

SARAH: No, it’s not that…

SHANE: Did you want to come with?

SARAH: Well I’d hate to intrude…

But she did and Shane is left to make the phone call every guy hates to make.

JOSH: Heyyy…Shaner!

SHANE: Hey Josh.

JOSH: What’s up?

SHANE: Something’s come up.

JOSH: You can’t make it now?

SHANE: No, worse than that. I mentioned this to Sarah and...

JOSH: Oh…

SHANE: Is that okay? I could tell her it’s sort of a guy thing or…

JOSH: No, no, it’s okay.

“It’s only for a couple of weeks,” Josh rationalized to himself as he packed. There were now two tents instead of one. They boarded the plane. Sarah slept on Shane’s shoulder as Josh read Spin magazine. Conversations were edited. It was still fun, just not fun-fun.

Of course it’s been far longer than two weeks, or however long they had planned. Shane and Josh share a cell and Sarah is separate. The guys are free to talk about whatever, but it’s probably hard to shoot the shit and reminisce when you’re being used as a political pawn. Shane and Sarah even got engaged. Shane made the ring using pieces of his shirt, no doubt asking Josh along the way “What do you think of this?” Josh, being the good friend he is, likely fashioned a polite reply.

I was a third wheel plenty of times in high school, but tagging along with Adam and Jess to see Time Cop at East Bethel Theaters is no Iranian prison. You’re a good friend, Josh, and an inspiration to third wheels everywhere. Your time will come. And when it does, Shane better be there. He owes you one.