Walt's Corner

Memorial Day weekend. Carol needs to get her car inspected for the new tags. She goes to her usual spot on our corner of Montana – Lube Express. She gets her oil changed there as well. Why? I have no clue. It’s not like I won’t change it. Maybe she trusts Lube Express more than me? Perhaps I should revisit our relationship.

I have always been leery of Jiffy Lubes and the like. They give you a cheap oil change and hope to get a bigger sell out of you when they try to tell you your engine is blown and they can fix it for $1000. Flash back to my first job at a full service gas station where I was told that when I add air to the customers’ tires and see a puff of dust come from the wheels, to inform the customers that they should get their brakes serviced. And guess who just happened to services brakes? Yeah. That guy was a crook.

Carol told them she needed an inspection, oil changed, and top off all the fluids. One time, I did have them change my oil. And cabin filter, because, that’s a real bitch to get to. And there they were, showing me my filthy-ass cabin filter I was thinking about replacing. I also witnessed them tightened up my exhaust manifold bolts which I also was thinking about hitting but didn’t say anything to them. So I thought to myself, wow, these guys really are cool. Maybe they aren’t all bad.

Inspection performed and oil changed, the lady told Carol she had checked her coolant and it was bad. Caked up. Smelled bad. Could be from a blown head gasket. Carol told her that they had just replaced it last year. She asked her to just top it off. The lady refused to top it off since it needed replacing. Carol asked if they had aired up the tires too. The lady told her that they had aired them up. They did not air them up. The tire pressure was all over the place. They didn’t touch them. She was mad.

Just after her experience, she received one of those emails asking for a review of her experience. And she let them have it. So much so, that on the June 4th, the regional manager called her up to get more information about her experience. He couldn’t believe what he was reading. Or Hearing. He asked her to go to any other Lube Express of her choice, free of charge, so they could inspect and top off all the fluids. They wanted to make it right.

Carol went to the Zaragoza Lube Express and they checked everything out. Including the coolant. Nothing was wrong. It was low, but in good condition. With the regional manager on speakerphone after that, he asked Carol about what the original lady had told her because he couldn’t really hear it well from their video recording of the event, which they were tracking. No they didn’t check her fluids. No they didn’t check her tires. Did that lady really tell her that it could be from a blown head gasket? Carol confirmed. She also told him the she is old enough and has been poor enough to know what a blown head gasket feels and smells like. And that wasn’t it.

Kudos to Lube Express for making it right. Guess there are still some good people left in the business.

The next 10 pounds of coffee arrived from my supplier. The last batch was a peaberry. It was good, but sold out. Decided to go with Tom’s new blend called 10 Speed Blend.

Peaberries are unlike regular coffee beans, which are two halves of a whole. Peaberries are a whole and shaped a bit differently. This new batch of coffee is a blend Tom designed to be versatile. In his words, “It works great in all gears.” Also picked up that old diner-style coffee mug with the 10 Speed logo on it. He draws all his own artwork.

Peaberry is the bottom bean. Rounder than most beans that are two halves, and flatter.

Roasted the first batch of 10 Speed over the weekend. Currently drinking my last pound of the peaberry but will probably dig into the new one over the weekend. Smells great.

TMI? If talk about hemorrhoids and colonoscopies is something that bothers you, you may want to skip this one folks. But if it peaks (?!) your curiosity, read on, Wayne!

Like Joe Walsh, Life’s been good to me so far! I’ve managed to reach age 55 without having to endure a colonoscopy. For the last 10 years my primary care doctor has been on my ass about getting the procedure. Um. NO. At the time I believe the recommended age was 50.

Or. 

I could use something like Cologuard. 

Easy choice. No choice really. Let me shit in an envelope and mail it to you!

Every year – pass!

Until this year. Ooopsie!

My doctor almost couldn’t contain her pleasure while telling me my yearly shit-test came back positive for blood and that I would, in fact, have to (should) get the colonoscopy she had been trying to get me into for the last 10 years.  You know what? I do have hemorrhoids. That could explain the blood in my stool sample. Her and my gastroenterologist agreed that could be the most likely cause. But did I want to bet the farm on that? No. So I reluctantly agreed to go through this horrendous procedure that I’d been able to avoid thus far.

We hear all types of horror stories about how bad the VA is, but honestly, for me, I have had nothing but the best of experiences. VA has always been there for me. Whenever I needed something, VA has provided. Have there been scandals? Sure. Did it turn out that my first doctor VA doctor probably took too much pleasure from juggling my balls like she was looking for ripe tomatoes all in the name of healthcare? Probably. At the time I remember thinking man, this lady is thorough! But she was fired. 

I knew going in that the preparation was the worst part. I knew I wouldn’t mind the actual procedure – that I would be out and none the wiser. It was the going the week prior without any red meat that was the worst. Especially when a new kamado grill arrived and I had to grill chicken on it as its inaugural cook for fuck’s sake. That, coupled with no whole grains meant chicken tacos without rice on Taco Tuesday.

The next big part was coming off my naproxen prescription Wednesday night. It’s a blood thinner and wouldn’t mix well with any removal of polyps if necessary. Luckily I could continue taking my gabapentin for nerve pain.

Next was the liquid diet that began Sunday morning. I poured water into the jug (about 4.5 liters) of what would start off as a mildly acceptable tasting liquid and end as Satan himself at 0400 Monday morning. I don’t even mind having to shit my brains out. I’ve done that plenty of times. Having to drink all that nasty fluid without projectile vomiting it into the next county is the worst part. So 4AM, Monday morning, the worst part is over. I’m pissing from 2 holes. The best part is to come – meeting the Dream Master, I mean, anesthesiologist.

This is where we meat back up with nothing but great experiences with my VA. This procedure was no different. All top scores from me. Reporting time was 0830. We stepped into the office at 0824. Within 4 minutes, I was already in the ass-opened robe, plugged into an IV, and waiting. Shortly thereafter I was visited by my doctor who informed that two veterans were in front of me and that if all went as planned with them, I should be in the room in a little over an hour.

Everything must have gone as planned because at 1040 they put the mask on me, had me roll onto my left shoulder, and gave me a pillow to hug like TimTim my first teddy bear. A thunderous clack and vibration reminiscent of a roller coaster catching on track and being hauled up the initial ascent, I was being whisked out of the staging/recovery room and down the hall. The temperature dropped noticeably as we entered the room. My bed came to an abrupt stop. Reciting my full name, birthday, and last four, the wonder drugs were administered. I looked at the wall to the clock as I slowly faded out of consciousness. 1045…

Not even a half hour later I was awake. Procedure done. Two small (2mm) polyps removed. Doctor told me I wouldn’t need another colonoscopy for 7 years! Woo-hoo! I’ll be retired then! I was released around 1230. Told not drive or sign any important papers for 24 hours.

Many thanks to Carol for providing me my transportation to and from. We stopped at Whataburger on the way home. This won’t be published until Wednesday, but as I write this on a Taco Tuesday, I can tell you that we’ll be having fajitas tonight instead. I’ve got a skirt steak and chicken breast marinading since this morning. Not in the same bag, you sicko. I made some salsa verde. It will be epic!

It is hard to pinpoint when I started loving coffee. As a toddler I remember asking for coffee as my grandparents and mom seemed to always be drinking the stuff. Their answer? Always a resounding NO! IT WILL STUNT YOUR GROWTH! Did that keep me from sneaking in a sip or two here and there? Absolutely not. Was I afraid that I might be trapped in that small body for the rest of my life? I sure was!

By the time I was 10 years old I knew how to brew it for my parents in our trusty stove-top percolator. Brewing the evening coffee soon became one of my evening after-dinner chores that I gladly performed knowing it would earn me my own legally obtained cup of java. I don’t think we had a Mr. Coffee until I was 12 or so. And boy, let me tell you what, I would put a spoon between the brew funnel and the coffee pot so that it would collect them first few drops that come out and I’d savor that extra strong flavor.

Fast-forward to when I had my own house, I preferred the under-the-cabinet mounted brewer with the automatic timer. Black & Decker was my preferred brand at the time. I would set it to start brewing at 4, so when I got up at 4:30 it would be waiting for. I’d wake up to the smells of fresh brewed coffee wafting through the house. The problem with those is that they would eventually begin leaking at the connection of the water tank and brewer.

Eventually I learned about Bunn-O-Matic, or just Bunn for short, and its superior tasting  pot. Even before I knew why it was better, I knew it just tasted better. This would have been around 1997 or so. I’ve had nothing but Bunns ever since as my main brewer.

The real question this article addresses is when did I become obsessed with Coffee? For that, we have to go back to hurricane Katrina. By then I loved my restaurant version of the Folgers single packs of grounds designed for commercial Bunn brewers. Kept it “fresher” I thought. And in the world of store-bought coffee, it did keep my entire stash fresher longer. When Katrina landed, it took out the Folgers warehouse that my beloved coffee packs came from and once the  supply chain ran out, that was it. It would be a while before those packs became available again.

In the meantime, I set out to find my replacement. Like a modern-day Karen doing her own research on the coronavirus and Ivermectin I madly scoured the interwebs in search of some fresh coffee. And that is when I came across this group of people who called themselves Home Roasters. Prior to this, I hadn’t given one thought about where this coffee came from and how it was roasted, other than I knew I really liked Columbian Supreme and it was generally a medium to dark roast. 

I learned a lot from Tom from Sweet Maria’s and so it was only natural that I bought most of my items from his store in California. To this day (with the exception of COVID time), I supply all my raw green coffee beans from Tom and roast my own. Once you’ve had fresh coffee, there is no going back, unless you just ain’t got the time to roast your own or find someone/someplace that does it for you.

It’s no secret – I love coffee. Back in 2008 or so, I had an entire page dedicated to my coffee on BasilWeb. Somewhere in the transition of BasilWeb from Apple’s iTools/iWeb to the more standards-based WordPress that page disappeared. I figured it was high time to correct that oversight. I post a lot of coffee pictures and my Coffee page will go over where my coffee comes from, the roasting process, and the various ways I brew.

So without further a-brew, I mean ado, enjoy my dedicated coffee page. Easy access on the menu link up at the top as well. It also contains direct links to my featured coffee articles, The Four Bs of Great Coffee.