coffee.

archives:

Friday, November 19

considering the cart

why is cart coffee so good? i know this has happened before, where i am attracted to strange brew, then lose interest with no warning. i crave the cart. cart, o cart, where are you, cart? yesterday it was .65. the other day it was only .50. i wish i could remember. i actually got a large coffee the other day for 1.00. i hardly ever get a large because they get cold before i can finish it. i sip slowly, and that is just how it is.

i have often expressed my wish to the mail guys, who drag the mail cart along the floor a million times each day, that they append an urn to their sturdy cart and provide refreshment to us each time they make their rounds. it seems only right. mail. coffee. mail. coffee. right?

wishing

i am not a help-rejecting complainer. i have offered to help my employer seek out alternative purveyors of bean by including it in my self-evaluation. yet, there remains the issue of: the bad, bad office coffee.

i wonder, lord? why is this coffee so bad? how can coffee be so bad? it seems like it would take a lot of effort to make something so naturally good, so appallingly bad. i just don't know.

this fact costs me money, friends. yet, i observe many co-employees enjoying this coffee. well, i don't know if they are actually enjoying, but they are drinking. sometimes the coffee even smells good when it's brewing, or after it has just completed the brewing cycle. then, i am tempted and my denial is engaged. it says

this time it will be different.

11:01 AM

Thursday, November 11

dying

i feel like i am literally dying for another cup of coffee.

2:29 PM

Wednesday, November 10

remembering

i was remembering my first cup of coffee just now, with my friend julie, in the (new) starbucks near my office. it was suddenly teeming with adolescent children and their chaperones, from the suburbs most likely, and they were all there looking somewhat well-to-do and ordering coffee-related beverages. julie and i wondered what on earth children were doing drinking such beverages, and realized they were most likely ordering hot chocolate. we agreed that hot chocoloate should really be gotten somewhere else where it costs less and where the children would be present in such a way as to not be present in the starbucks we were in, then.

my first cup of coffee took place in a coffee shop on mill road in the hellish village of valley stream. it was during lunch, and i somehow wound up there with maxine trager who played the saxophone in jazz ensemble and whose mother was, at that time, mentally ill and almost blind but persisted in her post as mother and citizen, and also automobile pilot and navigator.

the coffee was so good.

yet, the coffee my mother made never tasted as good. i quickly realized it was because the coffee shop used whole milk whereas my mother used skim milk. it took a while to figure this out.

julie's mother gave her some of her taster's choice with milk and called it "coffee milk". this happened at about the age of four or five.

not cool

ok. it's not cool that the holiday cups and christmas music is already playing. it is unnecessary. i am going to write a letter because discussing christmas and not chanukah and kwaanza on their cups is discriminatory. aside from this oversight (i'm sure it's anything but an oversight. they have meetings about these things and hire cultural consultants), they should have to wait until thanksgiving passes to start piping in the creepy christmas tunes and pouring bean into the tacky holiday cups. i may begin to insist on a non-christmas cup.

2:05 PM