“Oh no, faaaaaaiiiilllll.”
I’m in the kitchen staring at my espresso moka pot, willing it push up the dark liquid mind juice. I’m reminded of the truth in the expression that watching a pot makes it boil slower or something like that. I know there’s a more elegant formulation somewhere in the dormant cells of my brain, the part that I’m hoping to pour coffee all over.
Damn the sentences are coming out all mangled this morning.
“Oh no, faaaaaaiiiilllll.”
Noah whoops even more loudly from the living room. He’s waiting for me to say something. I should. Otherwise he’ll just say it a third time several octaves higher and louder.
Pfffffftttttt…….. a brief plume of steam surges from the side of the pot. Still no liquid drugs in the pot. I check my empty, waiting bowl, yes it’s clean. I pour in three spoons of sugar to pass the time.
Noah charges in. He’s given up waiting for me to react. This fish is too slow to take his bait.
He pushes up against me. I ruffle his hair. Hmmmm, sticky. Mental note…compel him to shower tonight.
COFFEE!! Surging up the spigot. Ouuuuhhh! that word spigot just popped into my head. Nice word, funny word.
“Daaadddd, what are you doing?”
“Boy, you’re really an addict huh, a coffee addict.”
“No denying it.”
I’m busy calculating if enough liquid has pushed up to make a reasonable cup or should I wait. It would be strong as hell. But the next one would be weak as hell.
Hell either way. Or both ways. Damn. Still firing on one cylinder.
“Dad, you know… in Beyblade?”
No! Not Beyblade! Spinning tops tournaments in wild Japanese cartoons. A lot of screaming self-pumping slogans as google-eyed preteens travel the world to become champions.
“Yeah well Julian Konzern, you know the Italian guy? Yeah, he’s like the champion, he’s never been defeated, right?”
Fake it! Soon there will be a critical mass of kahwa in the pot.
“Yeah, so he’s like battling Jinga, who’s like everybody’s favorite right?”
“Yeah so Konzern you know his Beyblade is Metal Fury, so yeah….”
There’s enough! I gently disengage an arm from Noah to handle the hot pot.
“…and he’s Italian like me, so….”
Pour! Oh yeah! the sugar sops up the dark liquid and is submerged. There’s a little dark coffee cream swirling on the surface.
“…it’s awesome because first its special move is Medusa and it’s like he freezes the uh, opponent? Yeah. And then wham it becomes a, like, you know, a massive warrior with a sword.”
A little milk, enough to color, but not too much, to make it cold.
The first sip. Yes, the first sip.
“So listen dad, his catchphrase is uh uh…”Special burn, metal Fury attack!”"
“Yeah, but no, fail, because he used it twice dad. Twice. I mean you never never ever use the same catchphrase twice in the same battle. That’s so lame!”
“Yeah, I mean what was he thinking?”
“Blame the writers, Noah, poor Konzern just says the lines.”
He scrunches up at me. Damn this coffee is effective.
“Whaaa….pleonasm, sounds like vomit.”
“It means a redundancy.”
“Read a what?”
Read a book!
“When two words that pretty much mean the same are used together. Useless repetition.”
My bowl is almost empty and I’m firing on all cylinders.
“So, I made a joke about dumb writers as if writer and dumb means the same, get it?”
“Yeah, but it’s not funny.”
“Because you’re a writer, so you’re dumb….hahaha….fail.”
I look at that second cup inviting me from the warmth of it’s pot. I turn away, with difficulty. I’m already giving Noah verbal whiplash with just one cup.
“…the opposite of self-praise which is what they do constantly in Beyblade. Come on, lets get dressed and I’ll explain.”
I put my arm around his bony shoulders and coax him forward.
“You know dad, I wish I had like a dictionary like at my fingers to instantly like look stuff up, you know.”
“It’s called a brain.”
“Haha… good one.”
Yup! Good one!
I smile. I’m a dumb writer all right.