Rejoice, For I Now Own a Coffee Maker

I visited my parents for Thanksgiving. It was impossible not to notice an new addition to their kitchen counter-top: a big-ass coffee maker. Brand new. This thing is the RoboCop of coffee making.

They typically drink decaf, because that's what happens when you retire: you try to relax. I, however, have no interest in decaf. I worship at the altar of caffeine.

These days, I'm getting to the gym, eating right and pulling down some real sleep, so I don't have to prop myself up with a gallon of burning go-juice like I used to... but hell, I'd be a damn liar if I said I didn't love a good shot of joe, black and in a cup.

Anyway, the parents are well aware of my disdain for decaf so, when I swing out to visit, they stock up on real beans, as God intended. This time around, they got a bag of the Dunkin Donuts blend. There's a rare commodity. In Chicago, there are so many Dunkin Donuts around, you could skip a rock off their roof tops. In LA, not so much. It's not chain donut town. I've seen a couple of Winchell's around, but even they're not as ubiquitous as DD in Chicago. When it comes to donuts, LA is more of a mom'n'pop scene. Doesn't matter to me either way... I can't remember the last time I ate a donut.

But I digress: we now live in a world in which good coffee is as close as the nearest fast food joint. But even in that stratus, the DD stuff stands out. My parents made some coffee. I'd say they made a pot of coffee, but it isn't that kind of maker. You press a button, and a specially made shot of coffee shoots into your cup, crafted just for you.

I was expecting coffee. What I got instead was hot happiness in liquid form.

Pure bliss.

I expressed my deep appreciation of this wondrous machine, and its product.

Now... I used to have a coffee maker, but the pot broke, and it was a piece of shit anyway so I threw it out. Juan Valdez could have shown up at my front door with a freshly harvested sack of beans, roasted them right there, hand-cranked the grinder and lovingly brewed a cup, and my old maker would have still turned it into black urine. Good riddance.

But I've been waking up to some caffeine for years. It's not just a habit, it's a ritual that signals the beginning of a day.

I've been getting by with green tea. It's supposed to be good for you, or at least better than coffee. Water - that I can boil. And I've been regularly hitting the Hollywood farmer's market, where I scored a bunch of fresh mint for a buck. Toss some of those leaves into the green tea, and... not bad.

It doesn't have the bitter kick of a good cup of coffee, and the caffeine is a more mellow experience. Green tea is like having mom gently shake you awake. "Honey? Time to go to school..." Coffee is a drill sergeant. Good coffee is like R. Lee Ermey with a bullhorn.

Point is, apparently my parents took note of my love for their coffee machine. A few days ago, Santa Claus showed up at my door. He used his elfin Christmas magic to make himself look like a UPS delivery guy. Santa gave me a box.

Inside the box: an early Christmas present from the 'rents. An identical coffee maker.

I have yet to deflower it. You don't just dump Folgers in this thing. It demands a higher grade of bean. I've been mulling my options, deciding what brew I'll use to lasciviously sully my new coffee maker. Starbucks? An organic blend from Whole Foods? Something else I haven't thought of yet...? I've been circling the machine, mulling my options.

There are some coffee guys at the farmer's market. They've got a damn good cup. If I don't think of anything brilliant before Sunday, I'll probably score a bag from their stall.

I have nothing but happiness on my horizon.