My friend Mikey gave me this shirt last night. It's a shirt from a band called Bouncing Souls, whom I've heard of but have never heard. It's a great shirt. Thanks, Mikey.
In this pic, you can see me pretending to roast on the Probat. Our Probat is a 1950s era German machine, simple and big and photogenic. I usually roast on the other machine, but this one is all steampunk and unstoppable circles, so it gets all the camera time.
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I was supposed to post some pics of the Colombian CoE cupping today. For those of you new to coffee, a cupping is just a tasting.
The coffees were excellent, and there was a kind of pleasant energy in the cupping room that comes from being surprised when things turn out better than expected. It doesn't always happen.
However, the pictures didn't measure up to the event. I somehow deluded myself into thinking I could make pictures of people hawking into spittoons look interesting. I cannot. Not yet.
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After bolting out of work and nearly poisoning myself with a masochistically delicious plate of phat mhu gratium at Southeast Asian in Lowell (if you ask for it spicy at SA, they give it to you spicy), I went to a poetry reading by John Sinclair. He managed the MC5. John Lennon was his friend. He went to jail for a few days. But the dude never showed up so I sat around drinking from a Coke bottle I'd emptied out and filled with the Mass BJJer's drink of choice, Dr. McGillicuddy's, and talked to Stephanie and some other people at the 119 Gallery in Lowell.
Meaning: it was a good day, spent among good people. I made some good roasts. All good good good. But it was a rare off day with the camera. All shit shit shit. Except for one pic I didn't even take -- thanks to Judo Tim for saving the day with the camera.
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