nate. the finger.
you know you’re reading barista magazine, as opposed to, say, wine spectator, when your lede starts like this: “Just when you were wondering where you could find a truly multi-functional professional whipper, iSi North America has your answer …”
on the other hand, the new, long-awaited stumptown piece was enough to send nate the finger into spasms of dreamy entremanurialism, and his phone calls for help/advice/sedatives/financing quickly fanned across the southeast. might we try our hand at something crazy, for-profit and coffee-evangelical? sure we might, but then every third aunt of this blog might do the same thing. such fantasies are sort of like the american dream — for hipsters, spinsters and the unhappily employed.
the magazine simply rips those dreams from the lower medulla and forces them out nate’s mouth.
‘course, we dug our copy out of the mail pile and proceeded to tell the blogwife we were heading out to mow the lawn. some minutes later, she discovered, ensconced in the lower shed, what can only be described as shameless, covert junkie-ism on display:
and therein lies the conflict. the info itself has its stellar effect (that sorenson, he’s crazy). the verbage, not so much (know how you can tell that he’s crazy? because the piece says”indie” and “tattoo” and “moshing” and “beer” [five times!])
but don’t mind this blog. turns out barista mag was nominated for a coupla maggies (beaten, so it seems, by outreach magazine and photography of hope). still, we’re re-upping — if only for the spectacle of la marzoccos in bubble baths. which is, we must admit, this blog’s kind of trade pub.