Today, I got up on the wrong side of the bed.

I mean this quite literally; I made a point of waking up and getting out on the opposite side of the bed than I normally do. The side I normally get up on faces my bathroom, where I go and pee and start my day. The side I do not get up on faces my windows and is covered with half-read books. I got up and stubbed my toe on Zadie Smiths’ On Beauty.

To be honest, I thought it would be a simple New Thing to do. And it was. But there was something quite… off all day. I don’t know it was psychosomatic, or some sort of bad hoodoo caused by a disruption in the bed/time continuum, but I wandered through my day at work like the victim of some very localized gas leak. Even now, as I type, I feel like my fingers are on the wrong keys, even though it’s very clear they’re not.

Only one thing to do in a situation like this. Get back in bed and try again tomorrow, on the right side. Let’s hope it works.

–opus

As suggested by my friend Mike Lynch, today I decided to email a complete stranger. I chose “Joesmith@(evilcorporationhere).com” Here is the note I sent him.

Hey Joe!

How are you? It’s been ages. I really miss you. Sometimes I wonder whatever happened to that old man we left on the train… what was his name? Nickels?

Listen, I hate to be a jerk, but I need that shirt back. I know it doesn’t seem like a lot but it means something to me. I looked on ebay; they don’t sell those anymore, they were for fan club members of the Stretch Armstrong Club only so they’re really rare so if you could send it to me that would be awesome. I’ll send you the postage.

Every time I pass a fire hydrant I think of you… and your $175 ticket! LOL! Hope to hear from you soon!

–opus

I’ll let you know if Joe Smith replies, and if I get that Stretch Armstrong Fan Club T-shirt back.

–opus

Today I busted out a Cystal Growing Kit that i picked up at a science museum in Phoenix to grow my own crystals. I don’t want to make any too-bold predictions, but I imagine when I am done i will be waving to you from atop a castle made of crystal, as you peons on the ground shade your eyes from the blinding brightness of my geo-castle.

The kit insisted of a packet of powder, a page of crudely photocopied instructions, and a “stirring rod” which turns out to be a Popsicle stick. Science!

In far too many words, the instructions told me to boil water, mix it with the powder in a cut-out coke bottle, stick a rock in there for the crystals to grow off of, and then let it sit for a few days.

This time next week, I will be combing my unicorns hair high above the teeming crowds in my castle made of crystal. Be kind to me, perhaps I will allow you to rub it for good luck.

Today I had a cup of the most expensive coffee in the world.

I had, long ago, heard of Kopi Luak coffee. It’s a kind of coffee bean which is picked by a civet cat, eaten, and then pooped out whole, then later harvested and roasted and made into coffee. Early in the all new year, I went to great lengths to track some down, but couldn’t get any. The coffee I had today wasn’t that coffee, though - it was much more expensive.

It was called La Esmeralda, and it recently fetched the highest price ever for coffee at an auction. How high? A pound of this coffee if purchased wholesale would cost you two hundred dollars. Yeah, two hundred bucks. For a bag of coffee.

Luckily, for a single cup it was a “mere” eight bucks. I took a photo of the menu with the price, but I think I was already too caffeinated:

When I ordered “the eight dollar coffee” the woman behind the counter raised an eyebrow and said, “Really?” These are people who are so obsessed with coffee that they make tiny designs in the foam of lattes, but even they sorta thought an eight dollar cup of coffee was a little over-the-top. But they dutifully brewed it up and handed me the cup.

How did it taste? Well, Intelligentsia buyer Geoff Watts described the act of drinking it as akin to “watching Ali box in his prime.”

I can’t say I was knocked to the ground like Foreman in Manila. It wasn’t particularly strong, very smooth, almost sweet, a little floral even. All in all, a good cup of joe. But goddamn, I wouldn’t pay two hundred bucks for a pound of it.

So I was very sick on Wednesday, yet I decided to shoot a Taco Tuesday anyway. Here is the strange result.