Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Do you know that moment when you first smell the brewed coffee and lift a cup of it up to your lips, and feel the heat radiating toward you? You take that first sip and let it loiter in your mouth and slip down your throat, and think, “Wow, that’s so good.” You take another sip, and the sip becomes a long, lingering swallow that hefts a sigh in you as your lips finally part with your cup, and it comes to you, that might be the best thing of your day?
But then you go on, and there are other good things during the day, and you think, “This can be a pretty good life.”
Naw, that’s probably just the coffee talking.
Once again, I’ve been reminded that travel brings out the best and worst in coffee. People have different ideas about what tastes good, but they’re also part of geographic trends. “Isn’t that good coffee?” they ask, handing you some swill.
Which challenges politeness. I always err toward gratefulness. Coffee’s aroma helps ground me and restores my balance, to give nothing away about what the caffeine does to stoke my will to live. “Yes, yes, it’s very good coffee,” I reply. If pressed, I’ll mention, “It’s not quite what I would usually drink, but this is delicious. Thank you.”
Unless, of course, my taste buds are so offended that they’re lobbying my brain to spit it out. Then I swallow the coffee and say, “Mm mmm,” and complain privately later.
Some of that hotel and aero-plane stuff really pissed off my taste buds, though. I was afraid they were going to stop speaking to me. But then, they were given pie, and they were happy.
You ever tell someone about a television show that you really enjoy, and they say, “Oh, I started watching the first, and couldn’t finish it, it was so ridiculous.”
Kind of a downer, isn’t it?
Happens with books, too.
Does it sadden you when you think you know someone, and you recommend a book, movie, restaurant, or something, and then ask them about it later, and they say, “Well, it was okay?”
Yes, bums me. The converse is true, too, when someone recommends something to me because they think I’ll really like it, and I don’t .
The shoes bothered him. Being a self-effacing sort, he disliked calling attention to himself. He liked sitting in the back, entering and departing without being noticed.
These shoes drew attention. More expensive than he would pay for shoes, they were made by an Italian designer, and were long and very pointed. He preferred more subtle, workman style of shoes that tended to look clunky. Sometimes, she claims, they look like bowling shoes, an indictment uttered with disdain and horror.
So these shoes were bought because of her. Yet, he was wearing them and enduring. Then people complimented him on them. They claimed to really like the shoes.
Was a lesson learned? Not really. She was right about the shoes, as he thought she would be, but he was still a person who preferred to avoid attention.
Michael Seidel, writer 