I love my programmable Mr. Coffee pot. My nature, in general, is to get all snobby and persnickety and hipster-like about these things, so of course I could go for a French press or a Chemex pot, but no. In the case of coffee, it’s Mister for me. I like to program the pot the night before, so when I wake up in the morning I can hear its comforting brewing noises all a-gurgle and even start to smell the coffee as the pot fills up and then finally head into the kitchen where waiting for me I have a freshly made, piping hot pot of water. Yup. Forgot to put the grounds in last night. All the technological advances in the world can’t turn water into coffee without any ground up beans.
While we’re on the topic of technological advances applied to everyday praxis, have I told you about my new electric toothbrush? CW’s family gave everyone (including me) a Spinbrush for Christmas, and let me tell you, I was excited about it. I’ve never used an electric toothbrush before, so this was a pretty fun novelty for me — a buzzing, battery-powered, gum-vibrating novelty. Until I realized that I must somehow be using it wrong. Every time I use it, no matter how conservative I am with the application of toothpaste, no matter how carefully I wet the bristles, I still manage to create a RIVER of water/toothpaste/spit mixture that starts flowing down the brush handle from the bristles and winds up either on my lower lip, chin, hand, or all three. No matter what I do, I can’t stop the stupid spit-river.
I have always been a proud user of technology and, I thought, good with mechanics. I am the last person to complain about not being able to use any computer- or internet-related tools; I can put together any pice of furniture, even the IKEA kind with only pictorial instructions. I fix small things on my car all by myself. I am good at stuff! I swear! Except this morning, there I was, in all my glamorous glory, with a pot of hot water in my Mr. Coffee and a Spinbrush spit-river running down my chin.