January 9, 2010

Approach Your Lover With Respect

Amateur love video. Approach your lover with respectful trepidation.

Coffee love, a panning look at a cup of beauty at a coffee shop bookstore... a local folk singer covers "Sitting On The Dock Of The Bay" by Otis Redding and "Blowin' In the Wind" by Bob Dylan.

January 5, 2010

Smooth Coffee, Slick Like Ice, Hot as a Radiator

In the bright early morning, not all is bright. Not those attending a meeting I had at sunrise in a northern part of Brockeimia. The meeting organizers offered pastries and coffee (Papa Nicholas Coffee, a small roaster which sells throughout the midwest USA). They hoped to clear the industrious sleep, still working among those who pretended to have their eyes open.

Still drinking no caffeine, I made my choice. The sugar in a coffee cake crumble would need to do what caffeine was not there to manage.

Unadulterated by the defiling of half-and-half, I found it interesting to see the coffee so smooth, almost like the plastic display drinks in novelty shops. You know those cups filled with fake liquid which are set on their side as an office gag?

Land 'O Lakes Mini Moo's Creamers, 180 Unit Non-Dispenser Box.

Spilled Coffee Cup

January 3, 2010

Dreams of My Cappuccino

In October of last year, I gave up caffeine. First, I dropped my overall coffee consumption to first thing in the morning. Then I edged down what percentage caffeinated beans I used. Finally, no coffee.

There were a variety of reasons, but good health was the most important one. Addiction is never a good thing, so I like to clear myself of it periodically.

But one Friday night, I slept. And slept. Woke up on Saturday, having given Rip Van Winkle a run for his money.

Ten hours. Three hours longer than my usual seven. The last two hours were in and out, mixed with dreams and sighs, comforted in the cool October by a thick blanket. My dreams hit all categories, including this bliss of sipping again that delicious drink, a cappuccino.

I looked around, and saw that the sky was damp with a gray reminder that summer ended. Before last night's rain, the trees in front of my place were a brilliant yellow, singing their last song of summer's glory. Now, this morning, they lay in a crumpled carpet upon the grass, solemnly giving way to a God they never knew.

My dream, though, need not end with waking to such an overcast day. I cranked up my machine, and ground my beans, frothed my milk, and pulled two shots of espresso into what you see here.