Finally I remember where I met them before, the dimwits who write the ignorant, sometimes vicious, almost always anonymous comments here and there on the Internet. You’ll find some of their babble and snark down at the bottom of nearly any news story.
They used to be drunk and scratching inane and/or obscene phrases and/or images on the walls of public bathrooms. Maybe they still do that when they’re not smearing feces around in cyberspace.
Sadly, few if any of these typers* have much imagination. There used to be way better stuff on the walls at Joe’s Place in Iowa City, where I sat in a booth and did my German homework over coffee in the morning more than once and where I met the love of my life.
That was long after that one day in Paris, when I ate the last mango.
* Like I’m going to call them writers or even typists? Please.
Coffee is best consumed in its purest form. Straight up, neat, like a good Irish whiskey. If you must add something, add a good memory that comes with a mug.A six-ounce diner mug given to you by a waiter at the original Hamburg Inn in Iowa City adds a special flavor all its own, as bold as the stuff the guy brewed back then at pretty much any hour.Whether or not he had the authority to give it away just because you admired its heft and its simple, utilitarian honesty, you didn’t have to be told more than once to go ahead and take it.
Maybe you’re lucky enough to have another, bigger diner mug that your brother gave you years ago. It reminds you of his thoughtfulness as you sip a dark, dark roast from Kenya.
Another gift brings to mind your daughter-in-law months before the family ties became official. It shows she recognizes that humans reached a new height of evolution when they began to pedal about on two wheels.
And then there’s the one from your daughter that proclaims her Dad as “Man, Myth, Legend.”
So what if there might be lots of other dads who have the same mug? You know you’re the real one if your daughter says it is so.