magstock

The Hole that Coffee Ate, Part 2

My game of dodge ball with caffeine continues. Several weeks after the initial incident, I went back to Starbucks, still nervous even though I had had a couple cups of decaf there since the main incident. But when I took my first couple sips on the street outside, I tasted the drugs. Shocked that this had happened again, I walked back in and explained the situation. My favorite barista responded with an appropriate level of shock and horror and made me a fresh cup.

A couple of days ago, my friend at work made a run to Dunkin' Donuts and picked me up an iced decaf. I was impressed by the size, the reasonable price, and the overall quality. So the next morning, when I wanted to get a cup of hot coffee on my way into work, I decided to give D&D a try. Once again, I was impressed and felt pretty happy about my new discovery. But at about 12 noon I realized that I was incredibly perky given my overall lack of sleep in the previous days. And when I went out for lunch, I bounced along the street despite the extreme heat. I felt VERY excited about my errands to the bank, the photo shop, and the sausage joint where I was going to get lunch. In the corner of my mind I knew what was going on, but I didn't want to accept the truth.

And then, about 3:30pm, I started to come down. The way that I detox from an accidental caffeine high makes me think I would not make a very good heroin addict. The low comes hard and fast and is merciless in its treatment. The bank and the photo shop were a distant memory. A hole started to grow in my stomach (although D&D is milder than Starbucks, so it wasn't as dramatic). And then the paranoia started to set in: I can't trust ANYBODY to pour me a cup of coffee! I'm going to have to start growing the beans myself!

My thoughts then turned back to an article my sister had sent me after incident #1 about the scientists at Washington University in St. Louis who are developing a dip-stick that will test hot beverages for the presence of caffeine. Apparently, llamas have an antibody against caffeine that is at the heart of the dip-stick strategy. So, between the coffee bean garden I'm planning for my windowill and the llama dipstick, I have dreams of a day I can drink my favorite drink without fear.

Not a Criminal

Ladies Bathroom, White Horse Tavern, West Village, Friday, June 23, 2006.

Engraved on wooden saloon-style doors to toilet:

To Stephanie Nava on her 22nd

I wish for you:
A part your own age,
on a big sound stage,
full of dignity, beauty and wit;
A man who loves you,
who is solid and true
and who'll call you on all of your shit,
to see yourself through my eyes
How you're gifted and wise
Not a criminal—fuck what they say,
and that you rise above
and remember our love
on the challenging, difficult days.

Love, Ashlie

Complex Tacos

So, this morning I started to write a big long post on immigration patterns in New York, all very nicely contextualized by a super-pleasant bicycle trip to Red Hook for tacos on the beisból field last weekend. But the more I wrote the later it got, my plans to go to the gym got pushed aside, my plans to be early to work so I could go to the gym at lunch were foiled, and my juicy little idea became an unfocused rambling with no really good points or thoughts, which made way too much out of one juicy little steak and cactus taco. Sometimes things happen this way.

My thoughts on immigration in the Big Apple are no more coherent now than they were this morning. Please accept this list instead:

• There are not that many Mexicans in New York.
• PR and the DR take center stage.
• There are some Mexicans in Red Hook who make great tacos next to the beisból field on Sundays
• If you don't know where that is, go to the concrete baseball diamond off Van Brunt and ask the guys leaning up against the fence. They'll tell you where the tacos are.
• I hear there is also good Mexican food in Sunset Park.
• Red Hook and Sunset Park are both in Brooklyn.
• I keep thinking about the tamales I had in Austin, Texas.
• And about the El Ranchero tortilla chips and the El Milagro corn tortillas you can get at the Jewel in Chicago.
• There are more Mexicans in Chicago and Austin than in New York.
• Relatively and proportionately speaking.
• I have never seen tacos with hard-boiled eggs and yellow rice before.
• They have them in Red Hook.
• Interesting thing: the Mexican guys by the fruit stand in Red Hook did not look at me, a girl, at all.
• They were too busy giggling with my male friend, gringo like me, whom they found curious.
• That was fun.
• My gringo friend is from Mexi-California and found it curious that they found him curious.
• In Mexi-California there is not so much "Ah! You are different from me. How interesting!"
• I'm not sure there is in New York usually either.
• But maybe.
• There definitely was on Sunday by the beisból fields in Red Hook.

This is where my grand plans for a big idea started to fade this morning. I will let this taco vignette just be a vignette for the moment. But Brian Lehrer has announced a summer series on The Big 'I.' So in the spirit of a summer discussion series on an important issue that is very pressing for our country, I hope to be back with more anecdotes on tacos and curiosity...and if I'm lucky, a big idea.