Still beating.
There I was at Peet’s Coffee, pondering ways that I might complain on Twitter about my overall Peet’s Coffee experience, were I to complain on Twitter, which I wasn’t. My Peet’s experience had once again had been sub-par, even for this part of the peninsula.
Coffee is one of the most perfect foods I’ve ever known. It’s an incredible motivator. The prospect of coffee to come is almost as much of a morning stimulant as the drink itself. But I’ve been trying to stretch out my savings. It’s been a revealing exercise; I had a lot of routine expenses that were easy to shave off. I looked at my account the other day and realized that if I’d been making the same money I was making but living like this, I could have a pretty penny stowed away in a year’s time.
I’ve entered week three of my unemployment experiment, and it has been an ongoing test to my convictions. Not having an income is not a comfortable place for me. I’m treading water. I have been here before and knew that it would be uncomfortable and deliberately made my return to this uncomfortable place anyway. But lately the cosmos have been adding more sharks to the pool, just to make sure I really give a damn.
The to-go cup. The inner wall is round so that to anyone inside the cup, it would appear to never end. Sealed in by infinity. Black industrial lid with no fewer than two logos on a single surface lets the consumer know we’re talking business. This is business, guys.
When it comes to coffee, I’m not a big fan of the to-go cup. Even if in this case it is made entirely out of recyclable or compostable elements, the fact remains, like a mastodon in the corner of a roomful of elephants, that this manner of cup will in all cases destroy the soul of the drink.
The more I think about it, the more I feel that I am, on an abstract, figurative level, kind of an animist, per that one other post I did on the matter.
I’ve got a weekend coffee routine, see, wherein I order a big ol’ mug of cappuccino, and, when the timing is right, drink it. I don’t suppose it’s the most remarkable routine, but it’s one of the few routines in my life about which I get excited rather than fetal and quivering.
One essential element of this cappuccino is of course the glazed ceramic mug in which it comes. The mug, like the routine, is not remarkable, save for the fact that it is a mug. Solid, weighted, glazed. It makes a “clunk” with each return to the table. The color compliments that of the coffee. It tells the drinker, “Stay awhile. You won’t be going anywhere with that thing.” That’s what I want. By contrast, the to-go cup with its “recyclable” symbol and “CAUTION HOT!” admonishment says to the drinker, “I literally can’t wait until I am trash again” and “You don’t even know what coffee is.” Neither of these messages should be revered as mottos for aspiring receptacles.
The Hammering Heart 