In Which We Say Goodbye to an Old Friend

 

Goddamit

Yes it's true, my beloved Peet's, the world's finest cafe, is closing the location I go to every day.  So, once again, fuck 2025.  And before any of you get alarmed about mrpeenee's chronology problems, let me assure you I know it's technically now 2026, BUT 2025 is when the corporate buyout that led to this occurred.  First Trump gets reelected and then that. Goddamit. 

Peet's announced that its corporation had been consumed by a larger conglomerate headed up by Dr Pepper/ Keurig, which sounds like an evil business name from Saturday Night Live, but it's really real.  Keurig I can sort of understand since it's simply a coffee company buying out a competitor.  I suppose they don't need any cafes in their drive to choke the environment one tiny plastic container at a time. But Dr Pepper? What did I ever do to them?  Whenever I bump into DP in the wild I'm always vaguely surprised they're still around.  They seem like a remnant of my Southern childhood, an also ran in the the cola wars. Now I simply have a concrete grudge against them.

Since there are many, many days when stumbling down to get my daily cup o' Joe is the only reason I have to leave the house, I now need to find a replacement for Peet's. I'm researching possibilities, but all the candidates have some fatal flaw; they are too far away, or too fussy, or not fussy enough, or I have sworn eternal enmity against them and their bloodlines for some wrong they committed against me that no one but I remember.  Mostly, of course, the truth is simply that I am a cranky old man and I am opposed to change on principle.  I have outlived R Man, family, friends, people I love, cats, and now my cafe.  Give me a break, entropy. 

At least I still have naked guys:

Plein air pussy.

I refuse to worry about PhotoShop or AI encroaching on the world of smut.  I surrender.

Also, I sympathize with my readers trapped in the frozen waste of everywhere that isn't California.  Sorry guys.

I send Gianluigi Volti to help you through these frigid times.

Don't despair, spring is on the way.

When he hauls that hog out, I'm sure you can hear an audible "plop".

Ready for action.

In Which We Have Excitement

 

Oh, my little grease spots, such thrilling times here at the old Chez peenee.  Early one morning last week I was blasted out of bed by the fire alarm in my building.  The alarm is deliberately so painfully shrill and loud that there is no ignoring it. I know because I have tried to do just that.  It turns out an apartment at the other end of the hall on the floor above me had indulged in a small kitchen fire which, fortunately, was put out with no real damage from the fire.  Unfortunately, the sprinklers went off and flooded most of the building.  My unit was one of the very few that were not damaged; out of 75 apartments, only 12 wound up unscathed. 

No place like home

It's really been very impressive how fast the emergency remediation of all the water damage has been.  They have ripped out all the sheetrock walls and ceilings in the hallway and most of the fucked up apartments and they've had dehumidifiers and heaters blasting for almost a week now.  My end of the hall is unaffected except for the noise and the heat.  In case you were wondering what it's like living in a sauna, I am here to tell you it is not all it's cracked up to be. Although Toby thinks it's absolutely great. 

They've finished the demolition and will be moving on to construction next week.  Having lived through a couple of renovations when I owned a house, I know that these things will take longer than I might hope for.  Worse still is that none of the construction guys are in the least bit attractive.  Dammit.

Guys who would make for excellent tradies:

I don't know who Harvey is, but I am all for him.

Even the most hard-working deserves a siesta

Many of my neighbors have moved out for the duration.

Meaty

First place in this season's Twirk Fest.

Whee.