Sunday Morning Jitters

Woke up wide-eyed and bushy tailed after a tidy five hours of blissful dog-free sleep this morning. The time: 3:45 a.m. The occasion: the first Long Beach Motorcycle Swap Meet of 2010. Six days of torrential rain the previous week had irrigated a pandemic of cabin fever in SoCal, so my prediction for a massive turnout of vendors and shoppers was on the mark. The line for non-pre-registered vendors was the longest I'd seen in this event's history, and the queue for early bird shoppers was even more ludicrous. The only thing longer was my shopping list for chopper parts, and I was itching to hit the bricks. Before making my rounds on vendor row, however, I needed to pay homage to the bean genies. While Jason Craze drove DB, Lisa and me to Long Beach, I pounded 36 ounces of high-octane java and packed that down with two maple bars from Old Towne Donuts. This combination is lethal, yet I continue to play Russian Roulette with it every time I rise before the sun. Not sure why, but oh-dark-thirty assaults always bring out DeNiro's Deer Hunter in me.

I got my first taste of deep fried breakfast treats and hot coffee on duck hunting trips with my uncle in 1971. Nine-year-olds should never be fed Dunkin Munchkins and hot joe, but my uncle rightly reckoned it was the best way to shock my somnambulant ass into action. I've never relied on the Columbian drip to get my morning jitters. A hot shower and a big bowl of Lucky Charms is all it takes to start my day. Not surprisingly, caffeine makes me a nervous wreck. Symptoms range from whistling and toe tapping to socially inappropriate verbal outbursts. Picture a mentally retarded auctioneer with Tourette's Syndrome and you get the idea. Needless to say, these manifestations can be exhausting. I don't have to imagine what impact my caffeinated behavior has on friends, because they tell me.

I'm a fucking idiot.

Next weekend I'm getting up early to witness the Grand National Roadster Show in Los Angeles.

I think I'll try decaf.



Flatironmike said...

welcome to my wwwwwwwwworld.

java rules......

anti-social is my credo

Green Laker said...

Nice post, McGoo. I lived 39.25 years of my life essentially coffee-free, only consuming a grand total of maybe ten "girlie coffees" (skinny grande mocha, no whip).

Well, after a trip to Palm Springs in Dec and sampling some of the Stumptown bean juice sitting in a French press on the table of the Kings Hwy restaurant, I discovered that I finally had acquired a taste for the stuff.

So now a French press is in the kitchen and used about 2-3 times per week. Ugh. I just hope not to become a coffee zombie - someone (like my mom) who can't function until a few cups are in the blood stream.

rile said...

Nowadays I rarely drink anything stronger than tea (caffeine wise) and over the holidays my in laws to be stayed w my girl and I. Her dad is a recovering alcoholic and the Java flowed hard. Twice I thought I was reliving a 3 day coke bender from outta my early 20's. At least my soon to be father in law quit calling me gay.

jenks said...

I didn't start drinking the mud until I was almost 30. Since then I haven't been able to function without it... and if I'm not careful, I can't even function with it.

Hey, next time you get as close as the LBC, come by Pedro afterwards for a waffle. And some coffee. Bitch.

Craze! said...

Hey, that was your outside voice fucker! Now, roll the window up before they cap us in the face and take our skrilla!

Bitches just don't know...