Smeagol is Free!
A hermitudinal view of...stuff...


Story Time

At the moment, I'm listening to Debbie Gibson. By the time I'm done with this post, I'm sure that will change several times over.

An odd start to a post, I know, but since when has convention been my forté? Ask my mom; she'll tell you I've been fairly odd since before I first tucked my jeans into my tube socks, ninja-style. All weirdness aside, I figured I'd go ahead and write about the start of my love affair with one my favorite things to love: coffee.

We're on Ray LaMontagne now, by the way.

When I was a wee lad who sported a side-comb, I can remember my dad would sometimes take me to McDonald's for breakfast. The one on Liliha Street was not yet renovated, sporting an open-air building of red brick that the birds frequented as much as the senior citizens with their polyester pants pulled up three inches past their belly buttons. No matter what else he got, I remember Dad getting coffee. I'm not sure of the exact combination and ratio, but cream and sugar were always added and stirred with one of those stirring straws. That concoction is something he still drinks to this day, I think.

As I got older, I thought of coffee with a pinched-up look on my face. It was, to be blunt, gross. And you know what? I'm still right: that coffee is still gross.

When I graduated from high school, I got hired at my first job, and I started to drink "coffee". Truth be told, it was International Delights with caffeine added to it, but oh, how deliciously helpful it was! Shift starting at 6 AM? No problem, so long as I could hit up the coffee machine in the deli section before I started.

Color Me Badd...oh yeah...iTunes is kickin' it back to the 90's!

So yes, I started to get hooked. From there, it slowly escalated to Starbucks Fraps, then straight black, then presses at home or in the office. My kitchen is now littered with ceramic and plastic pour-overs, presses, air pots, syphon sets, and more. 'Spro machine? No...not yet. I find I'm too busy trying to discern the massive subtleties found in different filtered brewing methods to tinker with espresso in my own kitchen.

I suppose you could say I wrote this rather pointless -- in my own eyes -- post because I felt like I needed to. Michael wrote a little something on another blog about how he reads this blog, and how this blog has content on coffee. He also said something I'll not repeat here, but I will say that his assertion is absolutely, unequivocally ridiculous. I'll leave it at that.

Aaaahhhh, Def it.

posted by Bolo | 2:41 PM
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