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July 14, 2000
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I am Jill's Insightful Advice
Go ahead, ask me. Because you know, honey, the answer lies as the bottom
of the cup, but you're too scared to find it.
Take the short cut. Ask Jittery Jill. What's tastier, Kenyan or Sumatran?
What's yummier, cheesecake or mousse cake?
Want to know how to handle your parents' divorce, or your sister
coming out of the closet at Thanksgiving dinner? To-the-point, no holds barred advice...
Jill's On The Move
Hey boys and girls. Jill is off to the east coast for a couple of weeks. She's
gonna be sunnin herself in the fishy province. You can still send her emails though, if you have some
burning questions that you just cant answer urself. Jill wil have plenty of coffee going, so that her
mind will be wicked sharp and her answers...no holds barred and straight to the point.
She will also be reporting on coffee shops in the town where she'll be staying,
so don't fear that you'll miss her writing here at Coffee Club. For more details on where she will be, and
what to expect from her...follow the link.
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Haiku are the espresso of the poetry world. Short, packing a wallop, and golden foamy.
German chocolate
filthy bittersweet little whore
flavor of the week
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You Call This Coffee?
I had a coffee maker once. It made coffee. If you can call brown puke flavoured water,
coffee!
I am Jack's long term search. So, I went out looking. I knew there had to be better
then what I had. I was tempted by those lovely Bunn coffee brew machines in the coffee shops. I could get
one slightly used for half what they are new. Oh yes, it would have made a lovely home brew.
I am Jack's common sense. The cost was prohibitive, at least for the time being.
I can't rationalize a Bunn in my kitchen, least not yet, but someday perhaps, so I looked elsewhere. The
key being, that for $20CDN I could not find anything that made coffee. Well, maybe a coffee filter and a
strainer.
I am Jack's tired feet. I found what I was looking for. A sleek black beauty of a
maker. It was made by Braun, and featured a cone basket, two temperature setting, a flavour selector knob,
and a water filter right in the reservoir. Oh, how it drew me into its shiny black skin!
I got it home and read the instructions. I am Jack's excitement. I soaked the
filter, I cleaned off the outside, I ran water through it twice. Then I made coffee. I am Jack's happy
taste buds. Yummy! I was surprised to find the coffee hot enough to burn myself. This was nothing like
the old coffee maker.
We've made more than a few pots in it, and it gets ever so close to that Bunn.
One day, I'll have me a Bunn. Then I'll know that I'm making coffee chop coffee. Till then, this Braun
will serve me well. And I'll be serving good coffee.
Sacrifice For The Greater Good
You are not your Manolo Blahniks. You are not the contents of your purse. You are
not the face your makeup creates.
You were brought up to believe that you'd be princesses, and super models, and porn
queens. But you're not. And you're starting to realize that. You are not your Calvin Kleins. You are not
your hair.
I am Jill's smooth shaved head. Like a monkey ready to be shot into space, willing
to sacrifice myself for the greater good, I discover without my girly tresses, I am Jill's sense of gender
treachery.
How much time do you waste on that dust catcher? How you gonna hit bottom if you're
curling your locks, waiting for Prince Charming to sweep you off your feet? I say fuck Prince Charming.
Fuck romance. Shotgun a few espressos and sweep off that hair. Only when you lose it all will you truly be
free.
I see you all eying my head, my round loud head. I am not my face, my tits, my
hair. I am not a beautiful and unique cover girl. I am Jill, I am jittery, I've had far too many espresso
shakes, and I don't like any of you very much.
MrC.P.J- "So who would YOU have coffee with? Anyone, from anytime."
J.J.-"Anyone, anytime ever, to have coffee with? Joan of Arc."
MrC.P.J."Who'd want to have coffee with her?"
J.J.-"Me! She'd kick your ass! She lead an army, she could beat the crap out of you."
MrC.P.J-"She couldn't lead nothing. What was she, like nineteen? She couldn't fight her brother."
J.J.-"I think she was like twelve. Or fourteen."
MrC.P.J-"Ah yes. The child bearing years. They only lived till thirty back then, you know. She couldn't have fought nothing. She was crazy."
J.J.-"She'd mop the floor with you, cakey pants."
MrC.P.J-"Sure, if she brought her army!"
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