I love coffee, I love tea,
I love the Java Jive and it loves me
Coffee and tea and the java and me,
A cup, a cup, a cup, a cup, a cup!
— Ben Oakland and Milton Drake, Java Jive
Hi I’m Karl Elvis, and I’m a Java Junkie.
I love coffee. The smell. The taste. That buzz from the first sip of the morning. It’ll never feel that good again the rest of the day.
I wake up craving it. The thought makes me salivate.
I’m talking coffee; black and hot, with sugar and no other flavor. No nuts no vanilla. No milk. No syrups, no cinnamon, no chocolate. Just coffee. Strong and black, black black.
I make espresso. I make french press so heavy it’s hard to lift. My friend Amie Sue describes it as chewy.
I don’t fuck around with coffee. If it’s not strong, if it doesn’t roar coffee at you, I don’t want it.
When I go to a coffee bar, I usually drink espresso if they’re really good at it, or a multi-shot short (or tall at that place but we’ll make that a tirade for later). No lattes, no fuss. Once in a while a macchiato if they do it right, espresso with a little dab of foam.
The modern trend of kiddee-coffee that tastes like soda pop disgusts me.
But I am a junkie.
Sometimes I forget to buy coffee beans and I run out. And oh, I hate that.
I wake up and stumble from my bed to my office, log in, and then go to make coffee; and the bean jar is empty. Oh, shit fire hell.
I can barely get dressed without coffee. I’m helpless and stupid and go for nothing. I can barely find my boots. Driving is a scary adventure, I can’t really see or think. It’s lucky my nearest coffee bar is close, though alas it’s that place.
I sometimes think I’m too dependent. That I’m too much an addict. After surgery on my knee, when I was supposed to be headed home to sleep off the anesthesia, I made my ride stop at Peets to get me a coffee. I had to have the java, before pain meds, before food, before anything. I drank so much coffee yesterday that my head was vibrating and people thought I was mad because I was so wound up.
The rare times I actually don’t have any coffee, or if I don’t get much in the morning and forget, I have headaches that would knck an elephant down. I suffer, very rarely, from migraines and lack of caffeine will trigger one. An absolutely horrible feeling, particularly at night when it’s a choice of sleep or headache.
Because I’m not one of those lucky people who can pound a steaming mug and then sleep. I wish. Coffee late in teh day always keeps me from sleeping, so I try to avoid it after about 5pm. But I hear it call.
Don’t tell me about decaf. First, it just doesn’t taste as good. Second, it’s like… Like…
Decaf is like beer without alcohol. It’s like fake light butter. It’s like low-fat eggnog. It’s like vegan meat substitute meatloaf. It’s like a faked orgasm; none is ok, but a fake one is a fucking lie and an insult. There’s a coffee bar in Kehei on Maui that has a drink on their menu; decaf, low fat, sugar free something. It’s called the why bother. I love whomever put that on the menu. They understand.
Why bother? If it’s not the real deal, just fuck it, have something else. Butter shoudl be bad for you; don’t have any if you want to not have any. Eggnog should be bad for you. It should taste like melted ice cream. Have one great one instead of ten shitty ones. If you want to eat texturized vergatable protein, go for it, but don’t sculpt it into a chicken shape or pretend it tastes like meatloaf; it doesn’t. Turkey fucking pastrami? Fuck it.
Ok, decaf isn’t that bad. Honestly most of the time I would not taste the difference, at least not in a cappuccino. But I know. Andie, who understands this, told me it’s ok to make her decaf as long as I lie to her and tell her it’s regular. But the very idea of decaf bothers me.
So yeah. Maybe I should quit. But the fact is, I love my addiction. I love me some Java. I even have a pet rat named Java.
She’s goin away to spain
When she gets my money saved
I’m gonna start tomorrow
I’m gonna kick tomorrow
Gonna kick tomorrow…