Said dude hit me up today via chat.
We had good conversation, although I was somewhat a mess and wasn't as coherent as I'd like, due to my intense level of excitement for him and interest in what he was up to.
Hopefully this story continues . . . but for now, I'm feeling good, feeling great!
Audiogasm of the moment: Dance - Danny Brown
Jul 14, 2010
Absolutely Lovely
I am addicted to caffeine. Not coffee, although it is tasty, but espresso.
Coffee lacks the caffeine content that espresso so easily contains. About a fourth of a cup punches my brain in the face and is able to energize me for the entire day.
So when I recently visited a friend at his father's house in Long Island, I was introduced to an important little guy. Meet the Moka pot:
A beautiful (and for me, important) application of physics. Water is poured into the bottom compartment and ground espresso beans are placed in the center compartment. When placed over heat, the pressure created in the bottom compartment by the steam forces water up a shaft and passes through the grounds to create rich, aromatic espresso. At home. Amazing!
Also, these little guys are cheap! You can dish out a bit more for a more "modern" looking pot, but the simplicity of the traditional pots is beautiful to me. They're used all over the world, but especially in Europe and in the Caribbean (Cuba, DR). I have plans to go to my neighborhood bodega and scoop myself my own pot as well as a can of Bustelo, which is so instrumental to my caffeine intake that it deserves its own post.
Felix's father made us espresso drinks early in the morning before our trek to La Guardia. First he prepared the espresso in the Moka pot and in another pan, combined some condensed milk with regular milk. Bringing the milks up to temperature over low heat, he then added the espresso to the milk mixture. The result: a deliciously sweet, rich and quick date with a Dominican style latte.
Many thanks to the Lopez family and my own little Feeferton for sharing their home with me. Nothing like a cure for homesickness!
Coffee lacks the caffeine content that espresso so easily contains. About a fourth of a cup punches my brain in the face and is able to energize me for the entire day.
So when I recently visited a friend at his father's house in Long Island, I was introduced to an important little guy. Meet the Moka pot:
A beautiful (and for me, important) application of physics. Water is poured into the bottom compartment and ground espresso beans are placed in the center compartment. When placed over heat, the pressure created in the bottom compartment by the steam forces water up a shaft and passes through the grounds to create rich, aromatic espresso. At home. Amazing!
Also, these little guys are cheap! You can dish out a bit more for a more "modern" looking pot, but the simplicity of the traditional pots is beautiful to me. They're used all over the world, but especially in Europe and in the Caribbean (Cuba, DR). I have plans to go to my neighborhood bodega and scoop myself my own pot as well as a can of Bustelo, which is so instrumental to my caffeine intake that it deserves its own post.
Felix's father made us espresso drinks early in the morning before our trek to La Guardia. First he prepared the espresso in the Moka pot and in another pan, combined some condensed milk with regular milk. Bringing the milks up to temperature over low heat, he then added the espresso to the milk mixture. The result: a deliciously sweet, rich and quick date with a Dominican style latte.
Many thanks to the Lopez family and my own little Feeferton for sharing their home with me. Nothing like a cure for homesickness!
Jul 8, 2010
What Is This Feeling?
Two posts back to back?? Shit's getting crazy, haha.
I've been in a funk lately, which may in fact be due to a little something something that I HOPE is just a figment of my imagination and a sick joke played on me by my body.
I digress.
However, a second feeling is one of longing. A way that I haven't felt in a very long time, probably since sophomore year.
Can you be so mentally and physically attracted to someone who you've only spoken to privately for about 15 minutes? Can you?!
I never thought so. Until it happened to me. And now, I think about him almost every day. At my internship, on the train, waiting in line at the grocery store, during my workouts. It's crazy. I'm crazy.
He's a bit older. And currently lives many miles away. And hopefully has no idea.
Favorable qualities: introverted, thoughtful, funny, soothing, playful, body's a little thick. (Mind you this is based off a 15 minute interaction. CRAZY)
I was just so satisfied after that 15-minute conversation. Intellectually, musically, emotionally calm. I didn't realize it until this summer, and now I have an insatiable thirst to get to know him better.
I usually have gut feelings when I meet people, and they're usually true. But never have I experienced anything like this. I know it's not love at first sight, but it's much more than lust. What is it?
I've been in a funk lately, which may in fact be due to a little something something that I HOPE is just a figment of my imagination and a sick joke played on me by my body.
I digress.
However, a second feeling is one of longing. A way that I haven't felt in a very long time, probably since sophomore year.
Can you be so mentally and physically attracted to someone who you've only spoken to privately for about 15 minutes? Can you?!
I never thought so. Until it happened to me. And now, I think about him almost every day. At my internship, on the train, waiting in line at the grocery store, during my workouts. It's crazy. I'm crazy.
He's a bit older. And currently lives many miles away. And hopefully has no idea.
Favorable qualities: introverted, thoughtful, funny, soothing, playful, body's a little thick. (Mind you this is based off a 15 minute interaction. CRAZY)
I was just so satisfied after that 15-minute conversation. Intellectually, musically, emotionally calm. I didn't realize it until this summer, and now I have an insatiable thirst to get to know him better.
I usually have gut feelings when I meet people, and they're usually true. But never have I experienced anything like this. I know it's not love at first sight, but it's much more than lust. What is it?
Coffeeshop Thought
My twenty-first July 4th has come and gone. This summer, more than any other, I've realized the incredible growth that I've experienced since moving from Los Angeles.
My sense of self-worth has never been higher. It seems like a lifetime ago when I lived a life and believed in ideas that were dominated by others. While I am positive that this growth was able to occur only after my father's departure from my family, I sometimes wonder who that 11 year old girl would have became if otherwise. "I'd have 2 babies by now if I stayed in LA" is a joke I've used with various friends, but there lies real truth behind it.
I have this theory that because my father so blatantly belittled my being I ran and looked to the opposite sex for comfort and affirmation in my beauty and ability. It is the cliche "daddy issue", but I'm not embarrassed to say that it was my own.
I don't hate him, nor do I ever wish that he wasn't biologically responsible for me. Because for all that it's worth, I am a product of him. Through his neglect, I was able to find independence; through his abuse, I was able to find my own strength. I, however, do not love him. When speaking of him, it is hard to refer to him as my "father". He has sinced moved back to Nigeria, and started a third life for himself there.
Today, I see myself in this light: I am able-bodied, I am educated, I am passionate, and I am capable. I see my flaws, which are my impatience and my self-isolationist habits. I still mistrust and distance myself from everyone other than my mother, brother, sister and best friend, but I am trying hard to unshackle myself from this. It is one of the last things holding me back from creating relationships with others.
I still will never live in Los Angeles, as beautiful as the weather is. I don't think I will ever be able to dissociate that city with the person I used to be in the environment I used to be a part of.
While I'm done complaining about a time long ago, I will never stop being proud of myself. It is not the arrogance of someone who has found success that I demonstrate, but the gratitude of someone who has survived.
My sense of self-worth has never been higher. It seems like a lifetime ago when I lived a life and believed in ideas that were dominated by others. While I am positive that this growth was able to occur only after my father's departure from my family, I sometimes wonder who that 11 year old girl would have became if otherwise. "I'd have 2 babies by now if I stayed in LA" is a joke I've used with various friends, but there lies real truth behind it.
I have this theory that because my father so blatantly belittled my being I ran and looked to the opposite sex for comfort and affirmation in my beauty and ability. It is the cliche "daddy issue", but I'm not embarrassed to say that it was my own.
I don't hate him, nor do I ever wish that he wasn't biologically responsible for me. Because for all that it's worth, I am a product of him. Through his neglect, I was able to find independence; through his abuse, I was able to find my own strength. I, however, do not love him. When speaking of him, it is hard to refer to him as my "father". He has sinced moved back to Nigeria, and started a third life for himself there.
Today, I see myself in this light: I am able-bodied, I am educated, I am passionate, and I am capable. I see my flaws, which are my impatience and my self-isolationist habits. I still mistrust and distance myself from everyone other than my mother, brother, sister and best friend, but I am trying hard to unshackle myself from this. It is one of the last things holding me back from creating relationships with others.
I still will never live in Los Angeles, as beautiful as the weather is. I don't think I will ever be able to dissociate that city with the person I used to be in the environment I used to be a part of.
While I'm done complaining about a time long ago, I will never stop being proud of myself. It is not the arrogance of someone who has found success that I demonstrate, but the gratitude of someone who has survived.
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