Ecstasy and despair

Unlike the beer, I am bitter. Maybe because I drink a lot of coffee.

It is my consolation. I live for coffee, books, music, sex, computing, freedom and engineering - not necessarily in that order, and sometimes in combination. (The coffee-and-sex combination can get messy. It is preferable to experience these not quite simultaneously, but with only a short delay in between. In any case E. prefers tea. She is a heathen and philistine, but I love her anyway.) I count a day a good day if I have experienced any of these things, which luckily for me, is nearly every day.

I guess I'm a coffee enthusiast/ snob. There are a lot of good cafes in Christchurch, if you know where to look. Some of these are: Reload, which is upstairs in the Bus Exchange, C-1 at the bottom of High St, Le Cafe at the Arts Centre, and East's Books on High St (who also sell - wait for it - books!). Starbucks has no chance of ever winning me as a customer. I just don't understand why anyone would subject themselves to their thin brown water, at greater expense than anywhere else. They just don't get it. Black! It must be strong, and black, like drinking hot volatile bitumen. And as for those who prefer a large trim-milk half-strength latte in a bowl... Why don't you just fart into some hot milk?

I love the almost opiate buzz I get on the first sip, and despair the thought of instant sludge. Life's too short to drink bad coffee!