Sunday, January 13, 2013
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Monday, March 14, 2011
Pleasantville
Friday, December 17, 2010
Black Cow
The Black Cow
By Danny Livingston 7-9-02
So,
In this town
Where the cotton flies free
There’s an aromatic, wide awake
Place to drink tea
And java, and cocoa
Coffee’s of all sorts
A sanctuary, if you will,
For the Sunday NY Times Sports
Where you’re greeted by name
As you walk thru the door
No matter the mood that your head
Felt before
You feel better!
Things will be all right
All strengthened, of course
By your handshake with Mike
The Black Cow
Where artists and bankers
Can stray from the day
Sit on warm wooden chairs
And conversate away
Or just soak in the music
Let your stressed mind take five
Let the coolness of whipped cream
Slowly open your eyes
And not to brag
But the easiness of Croton on Hudson
Exaggerates here
For all are included
No ego’s rest here
Kim(’02) helps you choose
Something different to drink
You sit down,
Rest your tush
And should you opt to think
Go ahead!
Or if not
Sip alone
You know how
Where the doors and minds are all open
Enjoy your morning
Black Cow
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Nothing to do with coffee but relevent.......
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Coffee!!
It was on this day in 1850 that the French writer Honoré de Balzac (books by this author) died, a death that was probably fueled by his coffee addiction. Balzac drank between 20 and 40 cups of intense Turkish coffee every day.
Balzac produced a huge body of work, nearly 100 novels, stories, and plays that are known as La Comédie humaine. He worked for about 15 hours each day, and he sustained himself with massive amounts of coffee, pipe tobacco, and food.
Balzac suggested drinking strong coffee on an empty stomach as a writing method. He said: "Everything becomes agitated. Ideas quick-march into motion like battalions of a grand army to its legendary fighting ground, and the battle rages. Memories charge in, bright flags on high; the cavalry of metaphor deploys with a magnificent gallop; the artillery of logic rushes up with clattering wagons and cartridges; on imagination's orders, sharpshooters sight and fire; forms and shapes and characters rear up; the paper is spread with ink — for the nightly labor begins and ends with torrents of this black water, as a battle opens and concludes with black powder."
Balzac had been married for five months at the time of his death, but his wife had gone to bed and his mother was the only one with him when he died. He was 51 years old.
Good drinking to all........