Montezuma’s Revenge!
I started drinking coffee on a family vacation in Seattle. Back then, Seattle had a reputation for two things: grunge and coffee. I was sixteen at the time, and Kurt Kobain’s mature angst didn’t resonate with my blossoming angst, so when my parents were distracted, I walked up to a mobile coffee stand in Olympic National Park where a young, attractive barista was slinging coffee for the state.

“I don’t drink coffee,” I said proudly, “what would you suggest?”

“Ummm,” she replied and thought for a second, “I think I know something you’d like.” She was a lot older than me, but there was something seductive in the way she concocted my beverage. I looked her up and down. She was wearing a brown national parks uniform. We made eye contact when the gurgle of the frothing milk hit its climax, and she smiled at me. She penetrated the frothy mixture with a long spoon, and stirred in quick circles.

“This is a tall mocha grande,” she said, handing me a paper coffee cup steaming from the top, “drink of this cup, and if you like it, you’ll know what to ask for next time. It tastes sweet, will give you the knowledge of good and evil*, and has more frothy milk than a normal mocha.”



Over the past ten years, there has been one consistency in my life – a cup of coffee (or five or six) every morning except in rare circumstances in which I was, like, on a mountain or in a third world county. I drank the stuff by the gallon.

During a majority of my white-collar days, I drank coffee all through the morning, ate lunch, then drank Coke™ or Dr. Pepper™ until the workday ended. I’d drink coffee whenever it was available, any time of day or night, from fresh percolators at evening meetings to burnt, stale sludge from a Jiffy Lube waiting room.

I drank it black unless it was absolutely terrible, and then I would disguise the taste with cream. When necessary, I would microwave two-day-old coffee, and I’ve used “ghetto grounds” enough times to walk around in the inner city after dark like I own the place. I drank it at gas stations (the quality of which has improved dramatically in the past ten years), chains (consistently strong), and trendy coffee shops (local art for sale on the walls). I would, without exception, always get the largest available size.

On exit 128 on I-90 between Chicago and Minneapolis, there is a gas station with amazing coffee in a machine unlike any I’ve ever seen. After noting the exit, and returning there a half dozen times, I asked the clerk if people ever commented about their coffee. She said in a disinterested voice, “I don’t know…We do get a lot of people in here for coffee, but I can’t stand coffee. It makes my stomach hurt.”

I wanted to strangle her right there, but figured that her comments were born from ignorance rather than stupidity. She was, after all, from a small town in Wisconsin so I forced her mouth under the uniquely fabricated spout and yelled, “Taste this, you bitch! A sublime creation is taking place ten feet from where you stand and you have no idea! Is there a cold fusion generator in the back room? Do you sell perpetual motion devices next to 10w40 oil? Is your gasoline converted from municipal gray water? Are you even aware of your own existence? Taste of this spout and know what it is like to LIVE!”

I’ve purchased high-end coffee equipment: bean roasters, grinders, and French presses. I’m in love with my Krups coffee maker. It is a work of a staggering genius. It may be the pinnacle of modern civilization. My Krups, in the words of a man I overheard once in an LA coffee shop who was describing his own Krups, “never misses.” This is not the brute force of a Mr. Coffee donkey punching the grounds with boiling water in a dime-sized hole on its way down to a badly engineered heating device. It is art and science standing on the shoulders of giants and making this Godforsaken world just a tiny bit better, one pot of coffee at a time. The Krups Aroma Control 229 spritzes a gentle rain of near boiling water onto freshly ground beans, water and beans making love, becoming one flesh, cuddling in afterglow, brewing in a patent-pending device before being ejaculated into the welcoming arms of a stainless steel carafe. The smooth, dry nose delivers a bouquet of delight that continues to the finish until your mouth goes “ahhhh” whether you want it to or not. Fresh ground coffee brewed in a Krups Aroma Control 229 is an angel’s warm embrace. It is liquid motivation. It gave me reason to continue the rest of the day vertically.

Black as hell
Strong as death
Sweet as love
- Turkish Coffee Poem



I stopped drinking coffee and soda a couple of months ago because I felt my mind slipping into DSM-V territory. I was increasingly seized with panic episodes that would come, scramble my brains, and leave me a jittery mess. I don’t know if this is a genetic defect, if this is all in my head, or if it is way too much coffee finally catching up with me. My baseline level of anxiety was always on high, and any jolt of adrenaline would push me over the top**.

This was a terrifying way to live life. Any minor fear, anything that produced the least bit of anxiety was amplified into a completely irrational fight or flight situation. I have been on long, white knuckle, turbulent flights in this condition, and by the time I deplaned, I was changed, and not for the better.

I don’t know when it happened, but I gradually came to realize that I needed to give up drinking coffee, and have now for several months. It took me a few days to get used to my heart slowing down. My resting heart rate, which has been elevated for as long as I can remember, has decreased by 20%. Obviously, I fall asleep faster, and sleep better than before. I rarely get headaches anymore, but I’d trade it all back if I could drink coffee in the morning. Physical health is one thing to cash in early, but I’m not willing to trade this tenuous grasp on sanity, and my incidences of panic episodes are way down.

So I’ve quite. I’ve cast myself out of the garden. On Saturdays, I’ll still have a quarter of a cup , but for the most part these days, I wake up, brew a small cup of tea, add some honey, and try to drive to work without falling asleep at the wheel.

*This dialogue is 100% legit, metaphorically speaking

** Studies have shown that injections of lactate, a chemical normally produced by the body, will induce panic attacks in people with panic disorder; but in normal individuals given the same dose, panic attacks will occur less frequently or not at all. Caffeine increases lactate and, in sufficient quantity (four to five cups), can induce panic attacks in panic-prone individuals, but not in normal control subjects.