Where have you gone, Joe Dimaggio?

Coffee is my morning ritual. Its necessity is wrapped up in so much more than its tasty taste, embellished with one Splenda and a splash of 1/2 and 1/2. It's in the grinding of the beans before bed, the setting of the timer so brewing starts 15 minutes before my alarm goes off, it's the smell that hits my nose before my feet hit the floor in the morning.

It starts with the beans that, ideally, are oily and dark. No pre-ground coffee in a can for me.

I like my coffee strong. Conversely, my mom used to make coffee so light that its color was just a touch deeper than taupe.

As for me, I guess it's safe to say that the best part of waking up is full-bodied, piping hot French roast in my cup.

So imagine my frustration when my coffee pot crapped out this morning.

I tried everything. And nothing worked, until I boiled some water on the stove, and manipulated the basket of crushed beans without any help from Mr. Coffee. Not unlike Gilligan and his castaways fashioning functional mugs out of coconuts, I did the best I could to make a decent cup of coffee this morning. Here's how it looked:

I didn't have the patience to wait for a decent yield, but I did manage to eek out a cup of tasty Joe.

And speaking of Joe, Mr. Dimaggio once was the spokesperson for Mr. Coffee. I was cursing both Joe and Mr. Coffee this morning while I was crafting my home brew.

My Mr. Coffee pot wasn't new when I bought it, of course, but it worked great for a few years. But like an aging dog that's increasingly reluctant to take a walk, there were signs Mr. Coffee was preparing to leave me.

So instead of trying to repair our relationship, which most likely would have ended in ennui and frustration, I gave Mr. Coffee the boot. Or more specifically, I trashed him.

My dog looks like he's doing a bit of judging. But sometimes you have to know when to say goodbye.

My expectations weren't unreasonable, but Mr. Coffee refused to comply.

And now I have to start all over. I'll have to go shopping, most likely this afternoon, for a new morning friend who can facilitate my coffee jones.

I'm not bitter. Just needy.