I, Contemptible Archetype

What is the thing that I am?

I am Barista.

I have long hair. (The length varies.)

I do not always shave. Sometimes I neglect shaving accidentally; sometimes I am unshaven on purpose.

I look down on you as you order your drink. No matter what your order, I subtly and nonverbally communicate to you that you're an idiot for drinking slop like that.

I follow Stephen Fry on Twitter.

I know why Stephen Fry's nose is crooked.

No, I won't tell you. Google it.

I wear t-shirts and other clothing with slogans that are incomprehensible to you, but deeply meaningful to me.

I have volunteered in at least thirteen other countries, all of which are infinitely superior to this one.

I am fluent in Espresso Italian. That is to say, I do not know Italian, but I am convinced that I do.

I have a beautiful Espresso Italian accent. That is to say, I have the accent of an American speaking Italian, but I am convinced that my Italian accent would put an Italian to shame.

I despise the letter x, simply because so many people see fit to insert it into the word espresso.

I have a quirky blog.

I write self-referential blog posts. Also, I write self-self-referential blog posts.

I understand the importance of offering iced drinks to customers, but that doesn't mean I approve of it.

I speak demeaningly and snidely of Charbucks.

I long to travel one day to that holiest of Meccas, Seattle.

I do love sports, thank you very much! Every year I choose the most obscure team I can find and learn everything I can about it, then drop it abruptly when it becomes mainstream.

I can recite Jack White's ode to Detroit word-for-word.

I smoke a pipe.

I try other coffee shops and inevitably end up "setting them straight on a few things".

I Yelp! Oh, how I Yelp!

I have built a roaster from hand tools and kitchen implements, and I roast coffee in my parent's garage.

I used to have a tumblr, but it became way too commercialized, way too fast.

I am going to see the Black Keys in May, it's true, but I'm going ironically.

I pluck my eyebrows.

I have written a novel. It has not been published. It probably will not be published.

I was one of the first to disbelieve the Kony 2012 scam.

I am experimenting with my signature. Its latest iteration is pointillist.

I have never, ever used a trending hashtag, and I never, ever will.

I shudder when people refer to coffee as "java".

I shudder when people refer to coffee as "joe".

I shudder when people refer to caffeine as "that extra jolt, ya know?"

I shudder a lot, come to think of it.

I used to have a beard, but I couldn't find organic beard shampoo, so I shaved my beard off.

I named my beard. It's name was Wilgus.

I used the incorrect form of its just now. I know that. I did it to annoy you.

I created my own personal blend of coffee. I import the beans in small amounts at ridiculous prices. It tastes like heaven in a cup.

I will never share the recipe for Ian's Blend. It accompanies me to my grave.

I do not plan on being buried. I want to be cremated and have my ashes sprinkled on my garden, which I have set aside in my will as open to the public for foraging.

I have seen Patton Oswalt's stand-up live four times. His best was the third time I saw him. His material is a little tired now; it needs to breathe.

I am convinced that people care deeply about my opinion. In my mind, that's why they look so attentive when I'm talking to them.

I can't tell the difference between an attentive look and a glassy-eyed look of absolute boredom.

I am far too self-aware.

I am nowhere near self-aware enough.

I used to like Bukowski, but then Modest Mouse had to go and ruin him for me.

I am infinitely outraged that Kurt Cobain is a playable character in Guitar Hero 5, since his personal philosophy was diametrically opposite to the commercialism of the video game industry.

I have to go do some yoga. I suppose I must end this post.

I end my quirky blog posts on my quirky blog with a quirky yet reliable signoff. It's often a non sequitur. Something like this:

Long live deprecation!