11 August 2008
 
Dazbog 



This is a complex bit of business. The Olympics are dominating the headlines, followed in short order by the very important matter of Senator Edward’s privates, and where they had been for a short period in 2006.
 
Coffee first. When your body craves unconsciousness as much as mine does, and the tempo of life in the imperial city does not cooperate, as it does not now, coffee is a crucial adjunct to waking.
 
Essential, in fact.
 
There has been a flowering of caffeine products to help Americans through our busy self-focused days. I have tried most of the brands, seeking something rich and full-bodied, with strong full flavored fruit-notes and a real jolt to the central nervous system.
 
The Starbucks blends they sell at the store are acceptable, though the zenith of their imperial power is irritating. CostCo, the giant box store, has a fine Costa Rican blend and is easily the best buy. It is one of three two products I can purchase safely in the jumbo family-size that I can run through without having half of it go bad.
 
Vodka is the other, and hence the shirt, and the market survey.
 
I am jumping a bit ahead. A friend of mine who does not sleep much either stumbled across an obscure boutique brand out west. I was able to share some, and realized I had found Nirvana.
 
Dazbog Coffee is a brand founded by two roasters who fled the former Soviet Union, Anatoly and Leonid Yuffa.  Their legend on the coporate web-site claims the dream began on a bitter, cold night on the cobbled streets of Leningrad, as the brothers realized their destiny was to harness the rich traditions of Mother Russia to the finest quality Arabica beans from coffee estates around the world.
 
It is good enough that I have bags of the stuff shipped in every month, and can never quite stay ahead of my body’s demand. Their Hermitage House Blend® is a fine medium-roasted coffee that appeals to my blood stream and sodden brain when the sun has not yet risen.
 
It is good enough that I toy sometimes with the idea of opening a Dazbog franchise and take on the Starbucks empire, head to head. It is a commitment that made me purchase the t-shirt at the top of this story, the one with the bold, swaggering Russian assertion on the front and back.
 
The market research part came as part of a search for a stash of Dazbog to tide me over until the next regularly scheduled shipment arrives by the miracle of the US Mail.
 
I had a hot tip that the sole outpost of the Wegman’s Grocery Empire might have Dazbog on the shelf, and thus made a journey that was so astonishing that it merits its own tale. But that is not the point.
 
This is complicated because of the Olympiad in progress, and vacations, and the usual dearth of hard news in this month traditionally devoted to relaxation. You could tell that there was an information operations component to what the R ussians have been up to in the Caucuses, based on a survey of the Times front page.
 
The Kremlin appears determined to break Georgia's will, and keep the plucky republic out of NATO.
 
The invasion was prominently covered, but had about as much ink as a hard-hitting investigative report on the spiritualist creep who set up the millionaire trail lawyer, legislator and now one-time Presidential hopeful for the National Inquirer. He was supposed to meet his one-time lover at the Beverly Hills Hotel, a splendid venue for a private meeting.
 
The whole thing is a little startling. Senator Edwards said his conduct was a product of a feeling common in celebrity, which conveys a sense of invincibility.
 
I wonder what might be happening if the North Carolina Senator had done better on the campaign trail and this was blowing the bottom out of the Democratic front-runner, or prospective Vice President?
 
So, disoriented and in need of caffeine, I headed out to the Wegman’s to see if I could find Russian coffee while Russian tanks continued to chew up Georgian turf. The little Republic is alone, and the three thousand troops that they had provided to the multi-national force in Iraq are being airlifted home to fight the Russian invaders.
 
It was purely the luck of the rotation that I was wearing the Dazbog shirt when I walked into the Wegmans. It is a glittering store with a heritage look of rich wood that masks a very sophisticated technical backbone.
 
The people looked at the shirt and they got out of my way. I felt like a T-72 tank in the aisles. Everyone is aghast at the incursion, which is what it still appears to be. Could be something more. It could be an invasion, with the goal of suppressing the democratically-elected government in Tblisi.
 
I stalked down the produced aisles and the crowd parted. I could see something in their eyes, and it made me feel good, like I suddenly was flush with crude oil revenues and was as invincible as Senator Edwards.
 
A couple days ago I noted the American President squirming in his seat at the opening ceremonies of the Beijing Olympics, looking at his watch. I might have been too harsh on the man.
 
Between him and the Prime Minister of Russia were two L’s- Laura and Lyudmila, their loving spouses.
 
I am happy enough to admit that the President could have been looking at his watch, wondering when he could talk to Vlad about the Russian tanks that had crossed the Georgian Border, and the grind into a brave and isolated democratic state.
 
The air assault on a variety of targets continues this morning. From the brief clip I saw on the news, it appears that the Sukhoi 25 FROGFOOT cl ose air support aircraft was one of the weapons of choice. I could be wrong, of course, and my aircraft identification skills have not been tested in a while.
 
It would be logical, though. The SU-25 had been developed with the lessons of the Soviet adventure in Afghanistan in mind, and was teamed with the heavy-duty MI-24 HIND helicopter gunship.
 
That would be the next step. We’ll see what happens over the Republic, whose leaders are waiting20for the Americans, or someone, to show up.
 
Diplomacy has to have a chance to work, and peace by nature is much more difficult than scheduling sorties, if you have already committed to that course of action.
 
I was committed to coffee, and the right Russian brand.
 
Past the organic produce, down the long stretch of prepared foods with price-tags that read like those in a sit-down restaurant. Into the long aisles of that more closely resembled a real supermarket, finally arriving at the shelves of Starbucks and Wegman’s house brand coffees.
 
They lied. There was no Dazbog.
 
I had been misled just as thoroughly as the Georgians. Their erstwhile NATO allies, the counterbalance they sought against the might of the resurgent Russia to the north was not coming.
 
I cursed softly under my breath, and picked up a bag of Starbucks morning blend. It was going to have to do until reinforcements arrive by the US mail.
 
Walking back toward the check-out counters, I could see the other shoppers glance at the words on my chest and scurry away.
 
It was good to feel the power of the words. Despite being down a quart on caffeine, I got a boost out of the feeling, just like Mr. Putin must be feeling.
 
I think there may be a case for putting the shirt a way, at least until the crisis is past. I am not going to stop drinking the Russian coffee. But I may hold the echo of the Russian bombast.
 
Jakob, the Czech life guard, was just setting up at the pool when I got back. He looked at the shirt and shook his head.
 
“Russia not make the best vodka,” he said. “Is Finlandia.”
 
I thanked him for the input. The Finns know something about the Russians, and fought them to a standstill in 1941. They saved their little country with spunk and sharp claws.
 
I went upstairs and took the shirt off as I prepared to brew some Starbucks. If we are a little overstretched in combat forces, and unwilling to send our kids into harms way in the Caucuses, I think at least we ought to make sure the Georgians have what they need to fight the Red Army.
 
Considering the assurances we have given them, it is the least we can do. And I think we ought to do it quickly, before someone else dets up for breakfast in Tblisi.

Copyright 2008 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com

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