Coffee Log, Year 2, Day 113

Hi.

Coffee: Light Roast, Trader Joe’s Brand

I’ll keep it short tonight. I’ve been under the weather. Thinking about it a little, we’re all – always – under the weather, since weather’s in the sky, and… well, you get it. Idioms are interesting. Whether they make much sense, that’s another story.

Here’s what I’ve got: I was in a restaurant called Bosphorus that had Turkish owners. The walls were white and curtains blue. They had an open kitchen and it seemed like a family establishment. We got olive oil with herbs and spices, they brought complimentary tea. The tea came in glass cups with blue and white eyes. They looked like the eyes of Naxos, trinkets I was told a long time ago are good luck charms. Maybe there’s a connection. Maybe there isn’t.

We could all use some good luck. Here’s me wishing it for all of you.

Currently Reading: Queen, Suzanne Crain Miller

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You never know what worse luck your bad luck has saved you from.

Cormac McCarthy, No Country for Old Men

Coffee Log, Day 330

Hi.

Coffee: Cafe Pajaro Extra Dark, Trader Joe’s Brand

The guy to the right of me had a pepperoni pizza. The lady to the left was eating a grilled turkey salad. And across was a woman who had a hamburger, she was apologizing about the onions. When I opened my order to eat, it was a simple green salad.

There aren’t many vegetarian options at my work’s corporate office.

Later in the day, I got to go home a couple hours early. I stopped at the grocery store for more deodorant and then at my favorite chinese joint on the way home. The woman knew my order: “Tofu garlic sauce!” so I tipped an extra dollar. I sat in the lobby smelling hot oil cook a young latina’s chicken wings.

On the drive home, I thought about Greece – about Mousakka in particular, and that one time I offended a fancy restaurateur for not eating theirs. It was made with veal. I was still a carnivore, but couldn’t bring myself to eat calf meat. I had two servings of strawberry icecream instead.

A personal ethic involves excluding yourself from culture. Sometimes even cultures you would very much like to be a part of. It points you out as someone with a ‘choice,’ and not everyone has a choice, and that’s a fair critique. And it points you out as a spoil sport, a sore thumb, both of which are a little less fair.

I remember having turkey sandwiches a long time ago and loving them, and then a little later thinking turkey was a bland meat. And at some other times, I’ve seen wild turkeys on the roadside looking punch-drunk or confused. Bland animals, too.

Sometimes, I only know how to love myself in opposition to my nature, and in opposition to my culture, and I think that’s equally beautiful and bothersome.

Novel Count: 15,761

Currently Reading: Killing Commendatore, Haruki Murakami

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“I went to the kitchen and felt-up the turkey.”

Charles Bukowski, Women