My department at work takes turns bringing in better coffee to avoid the freeze-dried company supplied stuff. While opening a new canister of coffee beans this morning at work , I joked to a coworker that "revolutions usually start with the coffee."

But then I thought on it a moment.

Really, do you think throughout history that when the oppressed masses gather in the subterannean rooms to plot the uprising, that there's been an especially astute matronly member of the Resistance actually thinking "these/my people have endured enough...at least I can get some good goddamn coffee for the meeting."?

Or, in a show of 'keeping it real', they resort to integrity-keeping measures (like Eddie Vedder sleeping in his van for awhile after Pearl Jam made millions) and drink the really bad stuff? To retain their grit to keep their cause pure, ya know.

Then again, if all this fuss is about not being oppressed, why is there someone delegated to making coffee in the first place? Who's speaking up for the kitchen ladies? Getting to the lair early to make the bread for the members, keeping the coffee tins filled during the speeches, emptying the ash trays after the meeting so it doesn't stink like cold dank shit when they come next time. (How many revolutionaries you ever see not smoking? Being pawns of the State tweeks a person.)

You make sure an' teach your kids to honor the hell out of the Lunch Lady at their school. Tell Junior to say "thanks...Comrade" with a knowing wink after Mrs. Krupski wipes up the milk that Kevin made Josh laugh out his nose.


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Ya know when you see young, liberated, anti-fashion women in their 20s doing the hippy-chick, rag-a-muffin look with the mishmash of hand-me-down Grandma clothes from Value Village?

What did the hippy-chick, rag-a-muffin girls of the early pioneer times wear? Ya know, when these kind of clothes were actually the 1.0 version of themselves? Did they wear tattered old Revoluton or Civil War uniforms to the saloon?


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The J. Geils Band should be a permanent Artist-In-Residence at Bonnaroo. Every year.
Think about it. It makes total sense.