Bland

I'm at Morebucks Coffee this morning roasting the last of my tastebuds off the ol' tongue.

I ordered my usual small half-decaf. The barista explained that the pot of decaf was old so they were going to give me a decaf Americano instead.

A quick google search later and I understood why I didn't like this drink.

It's pretty much just hot water.

I drank it. But don't think for one minute I didn't walk back up to the counter and ask for a 50 cent refill of the real stuff.

In other news, I learned today that Aristotle died on my birthday. Could I be his reincarnation? I'm not very good at math. Perhaps it's some sort of cosmic irony. The great mathematician stuck in the body of some poor slob who needs a calculator to do long subtraction.

In other other news, 1995 called. It wants its lotus position back.

Seriously, y'all. Everybody in the cast does it as part of their warm up. They even "ohm". Not kidding. Shirley MacLaine style and everything.

What I want to know is how they think doing a hodgepodge of improv games and faux new-age meditation positions is gonna help their performances.

The girl who started the meditation thing with our cast also has this "positive energy" warm up.

It's easy. Here's what you do. You scream at the top of your lungs: "I am great!" followed by, "Everything I do is right!" and ending with, "I am perfect just the way I am!"

It doesn't take a great mathematician to tell you those statements are black lies. Especially when the director suddenly reappears--after abandoning us to face the New York Times alone on opening weekend--with grocery bags full of Fabreeze.

"What are these for?"

"Last weekend one of the audience members complained that some of the actors stink. So--now I know this might seem a little silly--but if you could all spray your costumes down with this..."

I think our director might be a little too literal-minded.