"Espresso" which you should pronounce as, "EX-PRESS-OOOO."

Becoming a barista is something I've been wanting to do for a long time. As with anything, I feel like getting in on the ground floor is the most valuable thing you can do when you're trying to learn about something new. In learning about coffee farming and production and Fair Trade, it makes sense to learn more about all of those things by being hands-on when it comes to turning those coffee beans into a viable product.

Also, it's kind of nice to shatter that glass wall between customer and barista. Because let's face it: Some of them are total dicks, and act like what they do is the most complicated and precious thing in the world.

 So a few weeks ago, I noticed that one of my favorite spaces, Mooselips Java Joint, was hiring. I kind of winged about when it came to getting a job this summer - I didn't really need to, and I was afraid that it was going to take time away from writing. But I was also starting to feel like a fundamentalist Mormon who never left the compound...there have seriously been two weeks spans this summer when I did not leave the home grounds (granted, there's a lake and a forest on those said grounds, but still) or interact with anyone face-to-face except for my family. So I told myself to give it a shot - if I hated it and was losing all of my writing time, I could always quit, right? And at the very least, it would teach me something new and give me a wider knowledge base.

Here's the State of The Union on it so far: 

1) I couldn't get the foam on cappucinos right on my first day.  So that night I had my mom dig out her old espresso machine and I practiced night and day. Now my foam is amazing. It's light and fluffy and frothy and not too hot. Do people actually go to school for this stuff? Those people are stupid.



 2) At the coffeeshop we have an XM/Sirius station that we tune to the "Coffee Shop" station. The station is, on the whole, pretty decent - mostly acoustic, some really great songs, a lot of fantastic rare covers. The only problem with the station is the same problem that shows up on every XM station - they seem to have 2 to 3 artists that they rotate constantly...like the artists are your dosage of prozac or something, and if you don't hear them once ever three hours, you're gonna turn the station and join up with a traveling jam band.

These artists are: The Indigo Girls, Tracey Chapman, and Natalie Merchant. Tracey Chapman I can totally handle...I truly believe she has one of the greatest voices of our generation. The Indigo Girls...

I was part of St. Paul T.E.C. in high school. One year I was on Kitchen Team, where we listened to The Indigo Girls constantly while setting up and taking down the kitchen area. At one point I asked, "Can we maybe listen to something else?"
"What?" the female T.E.C Pastor asked. "Don't you like The Indigo Girls?"
"I do, but...I'm getting a little tired of them."
"How could you possibly EVER get tired of The Indigo Girls?"
"Oh, it's possible. Trust me."

And it still is.

But Natalie Merchant....first of all, I can't really stand her. Natalie Merchant was to the generation of girls before me what Regina Spektor is to the girls coming up behind me. You want to like them as artists, but you're also put off by the type of fans they attract. I've done some research on this, and it seems like the majority of Natalie Merchant and Regina Spektor are typically big-busted, art-majoring, naturally curly-haired, annoyingly-judgy-about-environmental-stuff college chicks. Like, girls who still color in coloring books in college because it gives them back their childlike wonder and joy.

And she gets in your head and she STICKS. That's the worst part.

The only really good thing about this phenomenon is that it gave me this FB status update and subsequent comments. Randy quoting Indigo Girls in context is still one of the highlights of the summer.

3) Pooks, having just gotten over being moved to a cabin up north where she's even MORE bored and put upon, is none too delighted by my change in time and attention investment. Every night when I get home, she's all, "I don't GIVE a shit if you're tired. I've been waiting all day for you to play with me. So now it's MY time. MY TIME."

Or, "Oh, you think you're gonna get on this laptop and start writing, huh? Yeah, try that."

In other related news, I have decided to rename her Deloris Pookerton Carter The Cat. And she actually answers to Deloris. Which a perfect name for her, because she's an old crabby lady who loves the sound of her own voice and can't seem to mind her business.

The End.