coffee

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I was going to use some cutesy heart image for this but ITS A GALAXY OF COFFEE made with swirled milk!!!

I seem to gather pseudo-ailments much as teachers acquire knicknacks; well-intended by the giver but useless to the receiver. Nearly every checkup I go in feeling pretty swell, only to be diagnosed with another minor symptom by some well-meaning doctor. At this point I have seasonal allergies, a deviated septum, mild sinusitis, retinal drifting, corneal sensitivity, slight knock-knee, rounded shoulders, Temporomandibular Joint (TMJ) Syndrome, and caffeine sensitivity.

That last one I find most annoying, if only because I’ve ‘had’ it longest. As a kid I used to flip out when, sitting quietly on the sofa my heart would start racing like I’d run a mile. Assuming I was about to die (my usual reaction to anything slightly abnormal-loud noises, sudden gusts of wind, stuffy nose, etc.), it would take me several minutes to realize I’d had a soda earlier, triggering a rapid heart rate as my body processed the caffeine. As the years passed I gave up soda in favor of the delicious elixir known as coffee, but due to the slightest bit of caffeine jolting my system for hours at a go, it was a slow transition.

I can still remember the first cup I had- during my teenaged years my family and I were over our friends’ house for the evening. Their son, a year older than me, had confidently chugged coffee for years and was fixing himself another mug. Originally more intrigued by the cup than the contents (it had awesome stylized whales all over), I inquired as to his fondness for the oily-looking stuff. He proffered the mug and I took a sip, promptly spitting it out into the sink. What was this bitter, acrid brew and how was it considered fit for human consumption? He kindly offered to fix up a cup more to my liking. Eight sugars and a gallon of milk later, I declared it decent. He shook his head at my folly, and was right to do so.

Things done by half-measure aren’t worth doing, in my opinion (though it should be noted I’m a rampant hypocrite), so when it came to coffee consumption since I could not enjoy it straight, I did not enjoy it at all. Of course, the fact that a quarter-cup turned me into a rambling, ADD version of myself helped quite a bit. I laughed at the coffee addicts who needed a cup of the stuff just to reach coherence, the headaches claimed should they be denied their precious liquid.

Then came the drudgery of office work. The sort of office work where it’s 90 degrees outside and 30 degrees inside. Where most of the women wear shoulder pads unironically. Where the highlight of your week is someone bringing in stale Entenmann’s danishes and leaving them in the communal kitchen. For years I’ve maintained that there are only two acceptable reasons to start a bad habit: boredom and looking cool. They’re not really justifiable reasons, but they get to the heart of the matter. Mostly.

Sitting at work, in the 8th hour stretch of staring at a screen filled with ‘RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: Stapler Usage Rules I AM NOT KIDDING THIS IS IMPORTANT TO THE WHOLE OFFICE’, I thought, what is free that I can take from this place that takes so much from me? Barring the random luck of Entenmann’s, the only constants in most office communal kitchens are a drawer full of plastic utensils, hundreds of Sweet n’ Low packets, and coffee.

Coffee! Yes! Not only did it wire me up to type thrice as fast, but it gave me an excuse to get up and away from my desk! With a prop in my hand I had reason to dawdle around the kitchen and hear the minutiae of utterly pointless office gossip. Early on I stuck to a cup a day, but as tedium wore on, the thought of an instant perk-me-up grew more appealing.

I countered by developing extreme coffee snobbery, only imbibing one perfect fancy-man espresso-based beverage a day. I still catch myself turning down regular drip coffee, citing my preference for ‘bullshit coffee’, ie fancy espresso drinks where they make a pretty pattern with the steamed milk and tell you where each bean came from.

Unfortunately, I landed an excellent position in an office where the boss was as much a coffee snob as I. In addition to the usual drip coffee machine, replete with shelves of limited edition artisinal roasts, sat an honest-to-goodness espresso machine. A sign next to it said ‘DO NOT USE WITHOUT ASKING BOSS FOR TUTORIAL’. The first thing I did after getting the office tour was walk into his office and ask how to use the machine, apparently the only person there to do so. For reference, I neglected to visit payroll until a month down the line when I wondered why I hadn’t been paid yet. I know my priorities.

I am currently at the peak of my coffee consumption, a laughably low 2 cups a day, max. For me however, that’s the equivalent of chugging a 64 oz. super gulp of Extreme Coffee (a truck stop brand that boasted of adding taurine and other energy boosters ). I could whittle it down to nothing, or perhaps switch to wussy decaf (again, do not like the half-assed measures), but where’s the fun in that?

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Behold. Perfection in warm beverage transportation. Ergonomically curved with no superfluous lines, handle pleasingly chunky yet not overly thick nor laden with doodads or unnecessary ornamentation. Graphic…leaving a little to be desired, still better than a green double-tailed mermaid and as a bonus inspiring pleasant memories of fragrant pecan waffles. Overall thickness ensuring beverage remains warm throughout the drinking experience. Lip slightly curved out for full contact/spillage minimization. This is the perfect coffee mug.

Waffle House Mug

Occasionally you’ll find a similar make and model in smaller diners across the United States, but Waffle House’s* ubiquity on a recent road trip to Georgia ensured the one I snagged would be from their counters. You can’t legitimately buy one; I asked at several franchises and got puzzled looks or outright ‘No’s. Being too much of a wuss to actually steal one (heaven forfend), I politely asked our enthusiastically chatty server outside Atlanta if I could ‘take one home’. She said “Well, you can’t buy ‘em but if it goes missing I won’t notice!” accompanied by a wink. Unfortunately a manager was pacing around behind our seats, making me and my 4th-form chums sweat like rank amateurs. The second he was distracted I popped it into a bag smooth as ice. I left a very generous tip and one totally awesome mug richer, and my coffee’s tasted all the better since.

*In case you’re unfamiliar, Waffle Houses are sort of like IHOPs of the south. The differences are many; Waffle Houses are smaller and have an open kitchen, and Waffle House, as the name implies, does not serve pancakes. NO PANCAKES AT WAFFLE HOUSE. Though IHOP does have waffles. Huh. Both are noted in their respective domains for offering relatively cheap, fast breakfast foods at all hours of the night, and are common hangouts for late hour/early morning regroupings. This link takes you to the Waffle House Museum, possibly the only spot you might be able to legitimately purchase Waffle House gear.

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Today was the Day of Exactly 2 Stars below Houston street. I walked down to Sur Le Table to score another FREE cappuccino, a delightful deal that lasts until this upcoming Saturday as part of their Nespresso promotion. The espresso’s good, but it’s one of those ‘pod’ machines where you spend a lot of money on the individual ‘flavors’ to pop in, wasteful in both materials and money. Fortunately I’m not buying the machine, just getting FREE cappuccinos from someone else using it. The name also bothers me. It makes me think NesCafe branched out to espresso. Maybe they did; I’m not about to ‘experience’ the web site. And anyway, any and all questionable factors were blocked out by that one magical word FREE (picture William Wallace shouting it, minus the ‘dom’).

I’d learned about the promotion yesterday when a phalanx of hypercheery bicyclists in shirts that due to unfortunate typography looked like they said ‘Clitz’ (it wasn’t just me, the people with me on both occasions did a double-take and went ‘WHAT DOES THAT SAY?!’) wheeled past and tossed a shirt in my direction. I reflexively grabbed it and one fellow, the cheeriest of them all, said ‘You should TOTALLY go to Sur La Table! The coffee’s deeeeeliiicious! Yaaay!’ He then honked his horn and wheeled off. Again, I am totally serious, there were about 10 people at a go riding bikes down Broadway, honking horns and being aggressively cheerful wearing shirts that appeared to bear slang for lady bits.

We went in and sure enough, free free free caffeine. I almost dropped mine when Mr. Walking On Sunshine right outside the door leaned in and shouted “ISN’T IT GOOOOOD??!?!!” I went back for another taste today, this time walking down one of the cobbled alley-streets. As I explained to the person with me why MST3K movies weren’t released by season due to movie-rights issues, some dude sitting on the steps eating a sandwich makes eye contact with me and waves his hand like ‘no no, I’d prefer not to be bothered. Not now’. I keep walking, finish my sentence, and my brain processes 10 seconds later it was Shia LeBouef. I’d seen Paramount trucks shooting something at Bowery Ballroom yesterday and thought it might be related, but more importantly, I was pissed about the hand-wave.

A), I was walking down the street talking to someone else about something totally non-Shia LeBouef-related. B) I was not staring at him, I was actually checking out the sandwich out of the corner of my eye (as those who visit I Can’t Believe I Ate The Whole Thing know, we like sandwiches). C), had I realized it was Mr. LeBouef (oh man, I am already so sick of typing that last name out), IT WOULD NOT MATTER because I am CLASSY enough to NOT INTERRUPT A MAN EATING HIS SANDWICH. Clearly, if a person is having some outdoor time with a sandwich it is just common courtesy to let them enjoy it, like letting people off the train before getting on or holding the door. How dare he assume I was gauche enough to interrupt sandwich time?!

I fumed about this as we walked into the store trying to look like we were interested in expensive European cooking accessories. We queued up behind a gaggle of young ladies gabbing; one of the sweet ladies working the machines said to the other they were all from Marc Jacobs, and added you had to attach a headshot or photo to your job application there. Ew. The gaggle weren’t supermodels but more pleasant-looking girly types. A woman with her daughter said ‘excuse me’, and I got out of their way. The gaggle started freaking out and sure enough, the lady who’d politely walked by was Kelly Ripa. Not too surprising; she lives in the area and as the person with me pointed out, she’s definitely the target audience for a store of fancy kitchen doodads. As we left we were thanked by the nattiest security fellow I’ve ever seen. An older fellow, he was in a three-piece lavender/gray suit which sounds ridiculous but looked amazing on him.

We walked back up the street and I swore if Mr. LeBouef was still sitting there eating on his sandwich I was going to tell him ‘I am NOT the type of person to interrupt a dude enjoying a sandwich but since you ASSUMED I AM that’s what’s going to happen now’ followed by a litany of annoying questions. Fortunately for him he’d disappeared and been replaced by a French family also enjoying sandwiches. It was a good day for sandwich-enjoying out-of-doors. I walked by and did not pester them, as is good breeding.

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Perhaps there’s some commonality I’m unaware of, but suddenly everyone around me started watching ‘Twin Peaks’. Friends, roommates and 3 coworkers are plowing through Season 1 talking about the Double R and donuts. Not to mention the Onion TV Club started writing an episode-by-episode synopsis for a show now 15 years off the air, though this was news to all those I told.

Having not seen the second season (I purchased the first season with its nifty class photo/autopsy picture cover art and didn’t want to go for the Gold Edition that just came out), I’m thrilled my roommates are hooked and doing the renting. Compared to the dark period they were addicted to The West Wing, constantly walking in to hear ‘Falling In Love’ is pure delight.

I’ve heard mixed reviews of Season 2, but I will defend Season 1 as some of the best television broadcast. A lot of people express surprise it made it on the air at all, saying ‘it’s so weird!’ Sure, there’s the Log Lady and the Red Room, but for the most part the show takes what’s present in regular televised drama, amplifies it and boils it down. Plus there’s all the tawdry doings and twists lifted from afternoon soap plots, which the show even references with its own ‘Invitation To Love’. Q: when is ‘Invitation to Love’ on? A: Always.

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