Every workday morning I wander groggily into the same cafe for my morning coffee and croissant. And yes, I am aware there is free coffee at the office, but are you aware that it tastes like stagnant pond water? I thought not. So, yes, every morning, the same thing. It's compulsive and sort of obsessive but, seriously, eating that croissant is like sucking on a flaky butter lollipop---it's amazing. The only people who don't agree are my arteries and, well, they're not people, so I disregarded their input long ago.
Where was I? Right: Croissants and coffee. See, the two employees there, they know my name and I don't know theirs. It's getting embarrassing. It's probably heinously obvious. "Hello Justin," they say. "How are you this morning?" "Heeeyyyy you," I say. "Just fine. And yourself?" And they say "great" (they're far too chipper at 8:30, I'll tell you that much), take my money, give me my butter in a bag and a cup for my coffee. And then: "Thanks Justin." And then: I walk out feeling like a gigantic ass.
So what do you do at this point? It's far too late in our friendly, employee-customer relationship to ask "what was your name again?" They don't wear nametags, so that's out. What I need is a spy. Some overly friendly old man, perhaps, who could waltz in, buy a cruller and ask them their names, then report back to Birdmonster HQ.* Plus, if I forget their names again---always a possibility---I could send him back under the guise of senility.
The moral of the story: I'm an idiot, albeit, an idiot who just enjoyed a really, really delicious croissant.
Birdmonster news, wholly unrelated to breakfast pastries: Zach's out of town for a week, so our triumphant progress on Tiger Woods and other, less hilariously named ditties is on hold. Although, inevitably, two or three of us will meet up in his absence and reform System of a Ho-Down. Pete's already called the washboard. I'm taking the banjo and those inner-knee-one-man-band-cymbals and Dave, well, I vote for the nose flute. Or the Jew's harp. Or some other ludicrous thing. Then, there's this thing, which you can check out with your ears and eyeballs. It's a video that Rachael at Underrated (see link to the right, although she has not yet provided a substantially delectable muffin recipe, so the wording is in fact misleading) made whilst we were in New York. Sad to say, I have yet to see it, as I was at a bed and breakfast all weekend (which was wondrous) and can't watch things like this at work because a) I sit right in front of the bathroom and fancy, boss-like humans walk by my desk all the time...right before they defecate, and b) I fear looking like a self-absorbed boob staring at myself at work. I save that for home.
Expect further tour dates this week and a detailed examination of our preposterous schedule from mid-August on. And more rambling. But you knew that part already.
*It's almost like an episode of Seinfeld, isn't it? Or Curb Your Enthusiasm (which is, essentially, vulgar Seinfeld).