Spring Fever
Have you stopped to smell the roses? I am Jack's olfactory senses. Oh well, I guess there are
no roses yet. Give it time and you'll be smellin em soon enough. It's spring time and Jack is coming out of hibernation.
Damn how I hate the cold.
Jack has more then a few favorite stimulants. What would life be without stimulation? Boooooring to say the least, and
of course, coffee rates pretty high, because of the easy with which it is appropriated. Hell, I can get it on any street
corner, for a $1 a mug. You just can't beat those kinda prices.
Then there is sharing that coffee with a stimulating conversation. Nothing more invigorating then getting the mind to
working. Now, this could be harder to come by, cause usually it ain't on the street corner. Mind you, this would depend
on what street corners you live near, and who exactly frequents those street corners. Then again, I have a few 1-800
numbers that offer a form of ‘stimulating' conversation.
Books baby! Books! Anything with alphanumeric intent, stimulates mightily. I am Jack's written word. Read a little,
write a little, and see if you ain't stimulated. Why do you think your local café has magazine racks? They know, once
you're brains got that acceleration juice in it's blood supply, you need to do something with it. Sometimes, staring
off at the ceiling doesn't cut it. So, it's off into beauty tip land, cause when you're at the café, you is beautiful people.
I'm Jacks side tracked mind. What the hells my point? Spring is here, and weather it is a psychological need for change,
or just a lack of vitamin D, Jack is more then happy that it's here. It's almost patio season, and nothing goes better
with a stimulating coffee, chat, or read, then a sun umbrella, and a street full of passerby's.
So, whatever your stimulant, don't let it go to waste. Life's to short to contemplate you navel. You've got coffee to
drink, books to read, people to chat with. Hell, you've got plenty of cool summer breezes to enjoy. Whatever you do,
don't forget to smell the roses. It's only a little thing really, but it means so much.
Oh man, I need a coffee.
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Random Musings Of Mild Misanthropy
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Never again. (Well, maybe..)
"GET OUT!" she screamed. Again. I barely had time to pull my
pants up before charging out through the doors at Yorkville's spiffy
Lattieri Café, emerging onto the sunny streetside, drooling
and hissing incoherently. This is how I ended up after consuming
six enormous mochacinnoes in less than an hour. I present this
sad tale of excess as a caring warning (or a tempting dare) to you,
revered reader. Never again, man.
It started after my visit to the dentist earlier this week, a trip
which always ensures a dayful of distress. After a half-hour of
mouth-fisting and other oral roughhousings endured by your humble
narrator, it was time for a relaxing, solitary chill-out watching all
the pretty people walking around trendy Yorkville from the window
of Latteiri downstairs. I won't say why I was at the dentist,
but I will say two things: bite guards are for phags and boy, I love
that Nitrous Oxide.
I'll let you in on a little secret: my suave and debonair demeanor
is merely a veneer, undercover of which lies a sensitive, fearful boy
who is a-scared of dentists. Hot, boner-inducing, European dentists
specifically. This appointment left me feeling a little tired and
quivery, especially from the waist down. I needed something to
lift me up. Something to hoist me back high above the poor souls
wandering the shoppe-lined avenues of Toronto's possibly poshiest piazzi.
Before I continue, let me say this: I likes mah coffee! I like it
hot, black and strong, sister. I generally stay away from the
frou-frou, whippy-dippy, creamy-puff-puff coffees; I have enough
things to struggle over every goddamn minute of the day without
complicating my coffee. But this time, I needed a little something
sweet and tasty in me
(ya, that's what she said...). Then
it hit me: Mochacinno! I can't spell it, but boy, can I drink 'em.
Espresso, hot-chocolate and warm, frothy milk - three of my
favorite things that cheer me up: coffee, chocolate and stuff what
comes out of a teat. Could I go wrong?!
My first one was enjoyable, if uneventful. I had some time, so
I ordered another one, smiled at the server as I tossed some change
into the tip jar and skipped back to my seat by the window.
Halfway through my second one, I started blowing kisses to people
walking by outside, and by the end of the cup I was rubbing and
pointing at my groin and winking at them. I went back to order
my third & fourth cups together.
"You like the Mocha, eh?" said the server, as she readied the potion.
"Ya,ya,itsrealgood, ilovethem, howsthatcomingalong, aretheyreadyorwhat?
hmm? C'mon-c'mon-c'mon!Icantwaitforeveryaknow!" She cautiously handed
me my 'cinnoes, and I threw a tenner in the tip jar as I hopped up on
the bar, ran along its length and took a jump at my table, landing
perfectly in my seat, but not before doing a complete and - if I may say
so - perfect pike maneuver.
A smattering of applause come from the other patrons, to
which I replied by screaming in my best Pee-Wee Herman voice,
"SHHHH! I'M TRYING TO DRINK MY COFFEEEE!" I quickly sat down and
couldn't stop giggling as I poked a hole in the bottom of the
cups with a pencil & "shot-gunned" the 'chinnoes.
(I sense a trend starting here, kids. Do it at your local StarSucks,
and tell 'em "Mr.Pants says hi.")
Number five. I started to believe that I could see through
clothing, a hypothesis I tested thusly: while staring intensely
at a woman standing at the bar, I crouched slowy toward her,
all the while making low humming noises up until I
reached her. Then I yelled, "Maroon with pink stripes!" as I
hiked up her skirt to see if I was correct. (I do not recall
any of this, incidentally, as she kicked me quite hard in the
temple. Thank god I kept excellent notes.)
Time for number six. At first they refused to serve me and
suggested that I leave. I started to cry before they even
finished the sentence, so as an act of mercy, up came my sixth
large mochacinno. "You really like the mochacinno!" she said
nervously. I replied, "Moo meewy mike ma mokameemmooow!"
This is when I realized I could no longer speak.
"What?" she asked. "Mahhh?" I said.
And this is how it went... "I think you should leave,
sir." "Ma mik moo moood meee, muuuhhh!" "Please, you're
disturbing the other patrons!" "Mee, moor meemurmee ma mawa
maymons!" "Ok, take your fuckin mochacinno!" "MOKAFUKINCHEENO!
MOKAFUKINCHEENO! MOKAFUKINCHEENO! MOKAFUKINCHEENO!
MOKAFUKINCHEENO! MOKAFUKINCHEENO!" I snatched it, threw my
wallet in the tips jar and crab-walked back to the table with
the cup balanced on my belly. (Didn't even spill a drop!)
As I drank that sixth one, I remember thinking that maybe the
mochachinnoes were affecting me. I decided this should be the
last one, so I drank it slowly and tried to relax. My voice
returned, but the more I tried to relax, the more restless
I became. I shifted hither and thither in my chair and
could not rest easy. I decided: in my pants, something was amiss.
GADS! The Nitrous Oxide! I was convinced that while I was
all gassed up, my dentist, that nasty Eastern European hottie,
had mischieved your humble narrator's nether regions whilst
knocked out. I downed the 'cinno, stood up on my table, dropped
my pants & shouted, "Behold! The inside-out underwear!" as I
waved for attention with one hand and pointed down at myself
with the other.
The next thing I remember, the server was screaming at me, over and
over, to "GET OUT!" An angry mob formed. Spitting and hissing,
I reached for my belt-hoops.
Never again.
Farewell until next time, gentle reader. Do come back again and feel
free to send me your comments, suggestions, stories, whatever.
Gotta go, the coffee's on.
" He's into lizards, he's into snakes.
He's into trauma, still got the shakes. "
Edward Pants, Esq.
In life's coffee bag, be the bitter bean.
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Ode-A-Latte
April is Poetry Month (who knew? It certainly isn't on any calendar I've ever seen.) In honor
of this, Jill would like to present to you, most humble monkeys, some poetry which she wrote especially in
homage to coffee and most particularly in the Beat tradition, which always features some sort of coffee
drinking and jazz listening and general imbibing and such like.
Ahem.
THE STU REST
Student's Restaurant
(Coffee 95 cents)
tables pushed too tight
alone at lunch
my head pushed
too far down
been here so long
it looks like up to me
And the clouds that bind the sky
push fast by the window
the guy behind the counter
wipes his hands, sighs
and lights a cigarette.
Cheeseburger
Cheeseburger
Cheeseburger
And one more coffee
black.
VALENTINE'S DAY
St. Valentine's Day
and too much coffee
not enough nicotine
to hold my stomach to me
in a pinch and a release
adrenalin kissing me on the forehead
giving me a free pass
ride all day
Here's a paper bag.
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GOOD FRIDAY
Cold coffee in cracked mugs
Cigarette butts in the bathtub
I don't think I'll
get clean in that.
But then again,
anything's purer than the way
I feel
ANXIETY
Thy name is no coffee
and too many cigarettes
waiting for buses and apocalypses
I saw my face scraped into a mirror
in your morning light
You caught me with my pants down
giving a monologue to no one
but Stuart, my very pregnant cat.
Whaddya get knocked up for?
Cat food 79 cents a tin.
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Can You Write?
We'd like to extend an invitation to anyone for coffee inspired writings. It don't have to be lots of
words, just take a look at how much we write.
If you are interested, and would like to contribute
some of your rantings and ravings, please send it in.
Send to:
jack@coffeeclubonline.com
Jill's Magazine Reviews
We've all been intellectually horrified and secretly thrilled at the
proliferation of magazine stands in our coffee houses.
This is why Jill has bravely volunteered to wade through the sea of rags to
select for you, her sweetest monkeys, those magazines worth wasting an eye flicker upon.
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