Black tea

Two infusions of a supposedly high grade Keemun from Southern Season. Strange, that a high grade according to them is only a wiry, orange pekoe and not a Finest Tippy Golden Flowery Orange Pekoe. Whatever. I knew they needed to hire me to set things straight. Unfortunately, the bale top jar that I put it in had some leftover lapsang souchong in it, so the tea has a smoky taste to it, but that doesn't really distract from the overall flavor. It does have a little bit of sweetness and a common Keemun flavor (of being a little bit flowery), but I can't really compare it to what I've had in the past because of the souchong's tea dust.

Mother

So when I was putting my laundry in the utility room this morning I heard my mom coming down the stairs and fussing about the garage and its "clutter" to my dad. I ran out of the utility room and hid underneath the counter in the kitchen. She walked in, and walked over to the counter and saw me crouched down underneath the stools. All I could muster was "Oh. Hi mom," to which she responded (in typical mother fashion), "You're a jerk. A 22 year old jerk." Doesn't she know that I'll be choosing her nursing home when she gets elderly?

Lung Ching and the Olympics

So I'm getting ready to watch the Olympics on TV and I decided to make some Lung Ching. Steeping time of 1:45 and a temperature of 160 yielded a very nutty, lightly sweet cup. Delicious!

The Bike

I did a 15 mile jaunt this morning on stiff and sore legs. Overall, I really liked it, but my main gripes are with the shifting system and the cages (but I knew I wasn't going to like them anyway). I was able to cruise comfortably at about 20MPH and the shifting with the rear derailleur was smooth. Not quite so much with the front derailleur. And the brakes had some cable stretch so they needed adjusting. The thing that really jumped out at me wasn't that it was light and fast, but the tires were completely different from the mountain bike I've been riding around. The only thing I wasn't crazy about was the pedals. You have to reach down to fasten the straps on the pedals in order to get more power throughout the stroke. But if you ride through the city and you have to stop quickly, you'll lose balance and fall over. I demonstrated this by falling on top of my car on the way back. Maybe when I get a job, I can save up enough money to buy a road bike. Someday...

Road Bike!

When I was dropping Lara off at her new home, I stared at the bike that was out on her back porch. 27 speed, and I wasn't about to touch it without anyone's permission. It looked like this
and it even with the lever type shifters on the down tube and straps on the pedals, instead of the more common shifting systems that are placed near the brakes on the handlebars and clip on pedals. I casually asked Katie, "How often does your roommate ride her bike?" "That's my bike! You can borrow it if you want to since Greenville isn't cyclist friendly. I bought it at some church sale for really cheap." Hallelujah! I proclaimed, here's a chance for me to try out a road bike. So I've planned a little outing for tomorrow morning to see what it's like. I'll update if I like the bike or not.

Family Emergency

So what my grandfather went for was a routine procedure to remove what was assumed to be a clot or small blockage in his arteries. What the doctor discovered was severely calcified arteries with severe blockage. He was soon scheduled for bypass surgery and the entire family (Durk included) waited in Wakemed's waiting room for 7 hours, waiting for the cardiothoracic surgeon to relay updates to us during surgery. He did fine and is currently convalescing as I write. But when he was first put into the CTSU, the surgeon dropped by to check on him. He came by and talked to us on one of our visits: "He was disoriented, which is to be expected, but I mean he was reciting poetry!"
Us: "Oh, good! That's good! That's exactly the thing he'd do after coming out of serious surgery!"
Surgeon: "Oh...huh...well, I'm going to go grab some coffee"

I'm sure the last thing that he expected to see was relief flit across our faces when he told us that our father and grandfather was reciting abstract poetry in the surgery ward, but then again we don't possess average genes. God I love my family.

Yard Sale

The yard sale at the Newell clan's residence commenced at 7AM this fine morn. But several ladies of the geriatric persuasion did not wish the yard sale to begin quite this late. So they showed up at 6:30 in the hopes of picking up some crocheted pillow cases and ugly porcelain dishes.
"*hoo* *hoo* Jewelry? Where's the jewelry?" one of these ladies requested, her breath ragged and short from the excitement of a sale. The sun had not yet fully risen and items hadn't been placed in the driveway, yet this woman knew what she wanted. As the morning went on, other people moseyed on down and bought a good portion of the purses, shoes, and jewelry that we had out. The marine equipment sold fairly well. Oil was in high demand, especially since one quart was going for $.50, along with the rope. "How much for the rope?...oh, it has an anchor attached," was muttered by 4 different people until one gentleman actually wanted the rope with an attached anchor. About half of the toys displayed sold, albeit later in the day. The one thing that nobody wanted was bags. Gym bags, leather bags, camera bags, a few would peer into them, look around, and shake their heads. "I don't freaking need a bag," they might say to themselves, or "This looks like my gym bag that was stolen."
But at the end of the day, the leftovers were taken to Goodwill and donated. And, as I rode my bike, I reflected on the happenings of the day. Specifically, the t-shirts of the day. 3 t-shirts stood out in my mind. The first I saw was worn by a stout woman. It was yellow cotton with black lettering and a black picture of everyman Chuck Norris with the meme, "Chuck Norris doesn't leave messages...he leaves warnings."
The second was donned by an elderly gentleman who had worn the shirt solely for the yardsale. It said, "You might say packrat, but I say collector!"
The third was very unusual and unique. But when I say unique, I really mean it was ugly as hell. Very unique. A white cotton t-shirt that was plain on the front, but on the back it had a picture of Bart Simpson stuck in between a large white woman's buttocks with a purple, flowing script above it that punned "Crack kills."