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Once you have me, you'll always come back
Apr. 17th, 2010 08:31 amThis morning, as I watched my barista making my Caffe Latte - can I call him that if it's not Starbucks? I wouldn't want to defame him), whose monosyllabic nature (he actually communicated who was next in line with grunts) was slightly softened by the fact that he rather seemed like he lifts weights when he is not pulling expresso, and that he handed my cup to me with a 'my Dear.'-
I realized that I have utterly eroticized the process of the expresso: the packing down of the grounds, the way each gorgeous unctuous drop oozes, the frothing of the milk... But really, it's not such a stretch - if Dunkin Donuts is fuel, Blue Bottle is decadence. I remember one morning at the stand - my first, I think, a woman - very grandmotherly in a hippie Berkeley sort of brusk earthmother way - took a sip of her expresso and sighed, "The elixir of life". (What does it say about our hedonistic needs that even the 'water of life' (eau de vie) is an kind of alcohol?) I watched her, feeling a bit scandalized in a sort of incredulous and vaguely puritanical way. And I won't go that far, but still, I think I understand a little. (Then again, I did spend the morning with Russell Brand and his heroin, which can make one fall back on that, as he does relate almost everything to the language of addiction.)
Speaking of heroin, Maxxie, oh iPod o' mine (Yes, I named my ipod after a character on Skins.) if you wish to aid in the process of de-eroticizing my morning coffee, deciding to put on 'Situations', is not helpful. Ronnie Radke may be a selfish asshole, but goddamn if he isn't fucking hot. (I am so glad life has never presented me with the opportunity to fall for a bad boy, I foresee very Bad Things should that ever happen.)
Also, you guys (just to commit to the anachronism) I am certain that one day I shall be run down by one of those dreadful newfangled horseless carriages. I believe I have developed a phobia.
I realized that I have utterly eroticized the process of the expresso: the packing down of the grounds, the way each gorgeous unctuous drop oozes, the frothing of the milk... But really, it's not such a stretch - if Dunkin Donuts is fuel, Blue Bottle is decadence. I remember one morning at the stand - my first, I think, a woman - very grandmotherly in a hippie Berkeley sort of brusk earthmother way - took a sip of her expresso and sighed, "The elixir of life". (What does it say about our hedonistic needs that even the 'water of life' (eau de vie) is an kind of alcohol?) I watched her, feeling a bit scandalized in a sort of incredulous and vaguely puritanical way. And I won't go that far, but still, I think I understand a little. (Then again, I did spend the morning with Russell Brand and his heroin, which can make one fall back on that, as he does relate almost everything to the language of addiction.)
Speaking of heroin, Maxxie, oh iPod o' mine (Yes, I named my ipod after a character on Skins.) if you wish to aid in the process of de-eroticizing my morning coffee, deciding to put on 'Situations', is not helpful. Ronnie Radke may be a selfish asshole, but goddamn if he isn't fucking hot. (I am so glad life has never presented me with the opportunity to fall for a bad boy, I foresee very Bad Things should that ever happen.)
Also, you guys (just to commit to the anachronism) I am certain that one day I shall be run down by one of those dreadful newfangled horseless carriages. I believe I have developed a phobia.
