Michael's Corner

I’m a basic man, a conservationalist in my accepted wisdoms, who practices the art of minimalism. I am also a salt-of-the-earth Italian who believes in attacking matters one at a time and correctly. Some call it OCD; I call it focus. If I’m doing something, rest assured, it is not a frivolous whim but a matter of relevance or importance, or so I purport. Rituals tend to be important, even if they appear maniacal to an onlooker or passerby. Some rituals are bound to my life’s ethos and must never be deviated from. Typically, ritual performance requires specific objects vital to the procedure. My most important ritual requires three objects: coffee grounds, something with which to prepare the coffee grounds, and something into which to pour the final result after boiling water has passed through the coffee grounds.

Vital object number one:

French Roast can be swapped out for Italian Roast or Dark Sumatra.

Object of importance number two:

The Chemix coffee maker is made for the pour-over method of brewing coffee. Insert a cone-shaped filter (paper or steel), load it with your favorite coffee, pour, and enjoy.

And last but not least:

Ssay hal-lo to my leedle friend!

It has been twenty-one-plus years since I’ve taken coffee in something other than my owl mug. There’s a term for when one forms an enduring attachment to an object but can offer no cogent explanation: it’s called human neuroticism. And I shall confess, I don’t dare run my owl mug through the dishwasher. Imagine the perils! There’s no telling what sort of riffraff my owl mug might encounter inside such a reckless contraption. Moreover, I never wash my owl mug. I’m terrified that detergent will leave a vulgar residue, a vile residual sure to contaminate the perfection I work so hard to create. As matters stand, the world is forever fixing to levy chaos upon us seekers of simple pleasures; so why invite it? Yours truly does not; I simply rinse my owl mug with hot water, pat it dry, and return it to its cabinet until it is once again time to bid it good morning.

My owl mug and I have shared nearly 7,500 mornings of perfection. He’s a two-cup mug, my faithful old owl, which means he has accommodated me for 120-thousand ounces, give or take. My owl mug and I have outlasted most marriages; we’re a Boomer couple but with Silent Generation stamina. Thus far, we kicked the shit out of The Lucille Ball and The Dick Van Dyke Show, surpassed Blue Bloods, Bonanza, Grey’s Anatomy, and Gunsmoke, and if the goddamn show ever stops running, maybe one day we’ll catch Law and Order SVU.