Author: Nick Anastasia

Yawning and groggy-eyed, I stumble over to the coffee pot. I’m in a hotel lobby, and need something strong to wake me up and take the edge off the free continental breakfast sloshing around in my stomach. We’ve got another day of driving left, and since it’s my turn first, it’s going to take at least two cups. Given the quality of the breakfast, I’m not looking for much from the coffee and load it up with enough french vanilla cream to turn it into milk. I’m walking away, when I realize that there won’t be any left for the elderly gentleman patiently waiting for me to finish ruining the integrity of my drink. I turn to him just as he’s discovering the coffee’s gone, and I offer him one of my cups as penance. Of course, I’m forced to ask him if he takes it with cream, and that’s when he fixes me with a look.

“You want to know something my wife always used to tell me,” he asks. I’ve been in enough situations with wisdom-bomb dropping elderly men at this point to know that I should nod. “She always used to say, that if you don’t drink it black, you will never know how good coffee can be,” a wry twinkle catches the light in his eye and he continues, “or how bad.” We laugh and he walks away to go check out, as I make my way towards the door. He turns to me one last time as I’m exiting and calls out, “remember! You’ll never know!”

I had a long drive ahead of me to think about this, and the more I did, the more I realized that I hadn’t even been considering how the coffee would taste. I wasn’t drinking it for that, I was drinking it because I was in a situation of caffeine-or-die, and I still can’t bring myself to trust energy drinks. One of my favorite movies, My Dinner with Andre, begs the question, are we simply eating out of a sense of routine without really considering or even tasting our food? “If you’re just eating out of habit, then you don’t taste the food and you’re not conscious of the reality of what’s happening to you,” Andre says.

Mindfulness is all the rage these days as people climb aboard the Zen train (or at least the Americanized/commercialized version of Zen), but what does it mean to really apply the principles of this art of conscientious living? For me, it started with the taste of coffee. Something I’d only regarded in its most basic, utilitarian dimension opened up the way fine red wine does if you let if you’re willing to give it the time to let it breathe. Eating food doesn’t have to just be a necessity, a source of energy, or something we do when we’re bored and on tumblr; eating food can be a celebration of our bodies and what we put into them! Having a relationship with food can be a marvelous thing, and I can certainly attest to a transformation of my meal times by applying this principle to both eating and drinking.

As a result, I’m proud to say that those two cups of coffee were the last non-black cups of coffee I’ve ever had (though I did try a dirty chai last week and it was DELICIOUS).

Dear friend,

Allow me to introduce myself, I am a man of taste, if not wealth. My name is Nick, and it’s a pleasure to meet you, though perhaps you won’t feel as if you’ve met me quite yet, know that I’ve met you. That’s right, because as you read these words that are so silently, insidiously slipping into your brain, I’m there too. Introductions are much easier when you’re already in somebody’s head, wouldn’t you agree?

Still, in case you weren’t born with Professor X’s rather marvelous mutation or studied fervently over bent spoons, we can discuss the more commonplace modes of introduction. I feel that’s an appropriate topic for this first of blog posts, don’t you? Seeing that you do, or you wouldn’t have continued to give voice to these words (I wonder whose voice you’re hearing now in that beautiful brain of yours, is it mine or does the voice inside your head have its own sound?), we shall strive onwards!

I must admit that this is the most thought I’ve given to an introduction in quite some time. It’s a rather intriguing art to consider though, wouldn’t you agree? We introduce ourselves in so many different ways to so many different people, and even this diversity expands exponentially if you want to factor in all the methods of introduction that have been employed throughout the ages of the human condition (not to leave out other animals, as butt-sniffing is a perfectly respectable canine introduction). The formality one might find in Pride & Prejudice presents a stark contrast to the “hey” and “sup” you’d punch into your phone or find waiting for you after a shower.

This is not to disparage new forms of communication, I rely on texting and Facebook chatting to get things done as much as I imagine most do. However, what are the ramifications of replacing courtly gestures and mannerisms with blind Facebook friend requests sent desperately out into the darkness of the internet? Introductions these days seem all too fleeting, as greetings become shorter and more dismissive. “How are you,” is no longer a question, but an excuse to walk by someone or continue ordering your meal through the speakers at a drive-thru. Is the art of introduction lost, or merely changing? Perhaps there is something to be said for conciseness (brevity being the soul of wit, after all), but is it possible that a “hey” can be jam-packed with as much meaning as a bow or curtsey? I’d argue very much yes, because not all “sup’s” were texted equal. A “hi : )” from that cutie you met at the bar or a “yo” from a best bro can mean entirely different things. Who you’re texting and why, whether you throw in an “lol” or “: )” can change the entire tone of a internet conversation’s dreaded tonelessness.

Perhaps you feel that you still don’t know me, but I believe in showing rather than telling and by now you’ve had my voice in your head for quite some time. I really can’t think of a better introduction than that, so having met you, now I shall leave you. Until next time, fare thee well.