MAKE CAPPUCCINO, NOT WAR (All We Are Saying Is Give Beans A Chance)

       He walked into the shoppe a few weeks ago, a child of a child of the 60's in a fake tie-dyed shirt and Nike sandals with the 'Whosssh' (whatever) carefully scraped off.
        His shirt proclaimed MAKE LOVE - NOT WAR although it seemed obvious he was not old enough to have likely done either. Daily shaving was not an issue in his life yet.
   "Hi. What's the 'Joe du Jour' for today?", he said in repetitive redundancy.
    "Zimbabwe AA", I calmly replied (well, as calmly as four mugs of it in the last hour would allow...)
    "Oh. Bummer. Can't drink that. Zimbabwe is involved in a cross-border altercation with The Congo. I sure as heck can't drink anything that would support Robert Mugabe's regime." His intensity was only as great as his innocence - which was pretty great.
    "Well, I can do a French Press of another kind of coffee if you prefer." The customer, being always right, always deserves options.
     "Really? Cool. What's good?"
    The Zimbabwe, I thought, but apparently it's tainted...
 "How about a Celebes Kalosi? We don't get it in all that often, but it is one of the best in the world - nice, rich, kinda syrupy." Should I tell him that legend has it Celebes Kalosi is hand-picked by virgins? Hmmm...
      "Wow. That sounds great. Where is it actually from?"
    "Indonesia... the home of Sumatran Mandheling and Java Estate. Absolutely finest-kind coffee," I replied, knowing that any true coffee connoisseur would never pass up a great Indonesian brew.
 "You gotta be kidding!" His eyes went buggy. "Indonesia has, like, the worst human rights record is the whole freakin' world, nearly. Uh-uh... I'm not paying my money to a pawn of Indonesian tyranny just for a cup of coffee."
       I began to sweat. I had never thought of myself as a pawn of anything more than our customers' demands for extended hours. A tyranny of sorts, but definitely not the kind this kid was worried about (about which this kid was worried...sheesh...).
   Quickly I raced through my mind trying to think of a coffee that WASN'T tied in to oppressive or tyrannical or warlord countries. A trickle of sweat ran down the middle of my back. I felt like an unprepared junior high student (oops... make that 'middle school' - showing my age...) standing in front of the teacher with not a clue in the world of the right answer.
   There was no chance I was gonna raise my hand. I was most assuredly NOT sure.
   A small gambit opened in my mind... not a certain one, but it had to be played. "Well, how does a cup of Colombian Supremo sound?"
      "Awful," he retorted. "Drug Lords and Crack House. Nope." He said 'crack house' like it was some sort of national fast food chain, but he had me stumped. "C'mon," he finally railed. "You are THE authority about coffee around here, aren't you? Ya gotta be able to come up with something that I can drink that is socially acceptable."
    Socially acceptable coffee. Sigh. I could think of perhaps two, and it was just my luck that we don't carry either one... Sigh...
       And then it hit me. Hard. Coffee grows in the most troubled spots on the globe. Nearly all the great African coffees are from countries whose names and borders have changed a dozen times in my own lifetime.
  And he's right about Indonesia. Famous for its Port of Java from whence cometh the divine java, but equally famous for its crimes against humanity.
     Mexico? Well, NAFTA notwithstanding, the ruling political party has been in power for nearly ever and there are some substantial problems in Chiopas.
       Brazil??? I put it to him. His answer was textbook and correct: they destroy thousands of acres of rainforest each day in their bid to move to the position of a first world country. Interestingly enough, coffee grows in the rainforst. Lose the rainforest, lose the coffee, lose the economy you are trying to build.
       It was then that we began to bond: I, the aging child of the 60's and this young kid who would bring the naive hopes of the sixties into a new millennium,  as we realized that, glory be to the goddess, NO place that grows coffee is currently socially acceptable.
       Coffee is the future hope of dozens of geographical areas, all of which lie in the tropics and all of which are struggling with politics and economics that have yet to materialize into a world we would be proud to live in (in which we would be proud to live... that's two...)
     It would be the usual routine of your humble baristas to blame any bad state of affairs on bad coffee, or not enough of it or something equally obvious. But that is decidedly not the case here. These are the places that  grow The Bean.
     So what is our response? Not drink coffee? Unthinkable.
 Drink only Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee? Jamaica seems to be socially acceptable to our limited world view but, frankly, we don't want to look too closely. And at $50 a pound for the stuff I have a hard time picturing the never-ending coffee cup at the local micro-mart lasting very long.
       Hawaii's Royal Kona? Well the price is better... only about $25 a pound. But as we (the kid and I) discussed the Hawaiian connection he reminded me of the destruction of the eco-systems on the island and the colonization of the native peoples there. OK. No Kona.
       The final chapter is yet to be writ. As a species, we have some sad shortcomings
and tainted economic and political and social policies seem unable to bring us up to snuff.
     Makes you wish they could grow The Bean in Vermont, doesn't it.
 
 

THE FINISHING TOUCHES ON UNFINISHED BUSINESS

 Given the inclusive (some would call them 'random') topics that  we, your humble baristas, tend to cover on these sacred pages, there comes a time periodically when we need to follow up on some of the important stories we share - just to keep the record up-to-date.
 This whole "Buzz Words" thingy started out as just a little chat about coffee almost a year ago. And, in reality, it still is... kinda. But there is, like a greater columnist states, the rest of the story.
 Par exemplum: one of the "Buzz Words" that got us into a whole heap of trouble was an honest (we thought...) assessment of the ubiquitous Church Coffee Hour with it's nearly universally bad coffee. At that time we said that no one at our church read our column anyway, so we wouldn't get into too much trouble.
 We were wrong. Oh, on the Q.T., all our church-going coffee drinking friends told us we were right... But it would seem the only thing more sacred than the service itself is the coffee hour afterwards.
 And then it began... One church choir (the whole choir!) decided to serve 'the good stuff' on just one Sunday as a test. More coffee was consumed than ever before - refills were needed... what usually wound up as left over cups half full of Maxwell House were empties... bone dry!. And it was a simple Brazilian bean that fostered that particular miracle.
 We recently got an email from a church goer who requested anonymity, which is fine with us - the seal of the coffeehouse is rather like the seal of the confessional.
 She served a fine Indonesian at her church's fellowship hour with the same miraculous results.  The comment she got was that people didn't think coffee could taste that good. (Isn't it SUPPOSED to be bitter?)
 It reminded us of the old ad campaign for Folgers where they substituted Folgers for the "fine coffee served in fine restaurants". Remember that? The only flaw was that everyone knows great restaurants traditionally have horrid coffee! So substituting Folgers , well, who is gonna even notice???
 Next item on the agenda is the overwhelming flood of emails about our decaffeinated gifts to David Letterman following his octuple coronary bypass (or something like that...) Feeling generous and sorry for our late night hero's post-surgical decaffeinated state, we shipped him a pound of Sumatran Mandheling Decaf (our best, arguably...) along with a single cup French Press.
 Something went horribly wrong. Dave never called... Not a comment on the show...No thank you note... nada... nothing. We suspect that some poor soul at CBS got one look at the beautiful gift basket we sent (it really was nice... if we do say so) and (gasp!) TOOK it before the lord of late night could revel in a decent cuppa neutered Java.
 That is all we can figure, at least. We have seen Dave's Mom and know (beyond any doubt) that she taught her son to write thank you notes promptly and sincerely. So, it seems that our generosity was a bust. But our thanks to the two readers for asking...
 Then there is the ongoing saga of "Sleeping in Seattle" who has enlisted our aid in getting her partner to enjoy coffee. She loves it... and she loves him. He loves her (we assume... he hasn't actually written us) but just cannot seem to acquire the taste for The Bean.
 Again, wretched and dismal failure on our part.  Even our suggestion that interesting things might emerge from the creative use of cocoa and whipped cream along with the coffee failed to sway his vote.
 We don't get it... Whipped cream and chocolate are invariably successful. You don't suppose that she tried to get away with Cool Whip, do you?
 Then there was the column about Starbucks' ad campaign to reinvent itself as, not a coffee seller, but the "Third Space" in people's lives. We kinda thought that this was a dorky marketing strategy ourselves, but lo and behold a marketing student in the great non-state of Washington, D.C., after reading our column decided this was worthy of a research project (no foolin!) and applied for grants to study the "Third Space" concept.
 He got the grants (proving that there is expendable money out there somewhere...) and is traveling to coffee houses (coffee homes?) along the Eastern Seaboard to see about this idea. Without knowing us, save from our column, and with no ties to Oswego whatsoever, he is coming sometime in July to spend a couple days at our shoppe (read: loiter) for 'research'.
 I.e., he is being PAID to hang out at a coffee shoppe.  Now we know we are absolutely in the wrong business.
 Finally the apex of our columnar writing surely was the unforgettable commentary back in May, on how to judge good Java (good taste, good smell, stuff like that... very scientific).
 No one commented on that.

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IN SEARCH OF: A NEAR-LIFE EXPERIENCE (pt B)

 He was born in 1910, the tenth child of eleven, to a poor farming family in the mid-west. To this day no one is absolutely certain of his middle name. He says it's 'Wilber' but his birth certificate says it is 'Wilmer'
 His home life was rough - Today we would label his father physically abusive, but then it was just called rough. Which is why he ran away from home as soon as seemed practical. He ran away to go to school, contrary to why many leave home now. And one of those very special and all too rare teachers made sure he had the opportunity to attend and finish high school and go on to a technical school to become an accountant.
 He swam against Johnny Weismuller (Tarzan) in water polo. He said that he looked at Weismuller and "He just didn't seem that big..." But the legendary Tarzan of the movies swam over him like he wasn't even there. He lost. (But he DID swim against Weismuller!)
 He went from General Manager of the Syracuse YMCA to a marriage with the former Jean Krebs (of the Skaneatles Krebs' family) and became Division Auditor and Personnel Director of Black Clawson. His mother-in-law, a formidable woman in her own right, nick-named him 'Steve' simply because there were way way too many "Frank's" in their lives already and, according to her he looked like a big Swede! A successful businessman, by anyone's standards.
 December 13, 1941, he became proud father to his first born... a son.
 December 13, 1942, he became proud father to his next born... a daughter.
 March 13, 1943, he took a room at the YMCA' just in case lightning might strike the same place three times... (do the math...)
 At the age of 47, when many are looking toward an early retirement, he decided to make yet another career change and, with a wife, two high school kids and a seven year old, he gave up a lucrative business position to go back to school to study for the ministry. And he took a nearly 80% pay cut to do it.
 Sitting in the car in front of his first church, his family remembers him saying, "If I can't preach, I can at least balance their books." He did... Both.
 Preachers have favorite texts and the one he will be best remembered for is one from the Old Testament about Moses' spies in Canaan. The majority of the spies thought the inhabitants of the promised land were giants and they felt like grasshoppers looking at these strong men. The minority report said that, yeah, they were big enough but that the children of Israel could easily overcome them.
 The majority report held sway and as a result the Israelites spent another 40 years in the desert.
 He believed in listening to the minority.
 Five successful pastorates later, he retired. As a businessman/pastor he lifted a 135 year old church off of its foundation (very carefully) and built a much needed Christian Education and general purpose hall underneath it. He balanced their books.
 At the next parish he finished a long overdue brick facing on a church that had run out of building funds, then built a new parsonage for them. He balanced their books.
 He took churches from debt to life, preached about giants and grasshoppers, built outstanding youth programs, and balanced their books.
 At the age of 57 he learned to downhill ski with his youngest son.
 In his 60's he motorcycled through England and Europe with his older son. He rode his beloved Triumph 650 until hanging up his helmet some 10 years later.
 Two years after retirement he contracted a disease that left him in a full coma for 6 months and on full life support. He lost 80 pounds and had to learn to feed himself and walk and do all those things we take for granted from scratch. Two years later, with no feeling in his legs as a result of the disease, he went on a solo pilgrimage to Israel.
 At age 79 he joined his youngest son and the son's partner and sailed a 30 foot Catalina from Oswego to Edenton, North Carolina. He met hurricanes Gabrielle, Hugo, Iris, and Jerry head on... and won. He wept openly on reaching Elizabeth City, NC, because he missed his wife of nearly 50 years so much. She was waiting for him back in Syracuse. He still had no feeling in his legs.
 He spent his 80th birthday and 50th anniversary sailing in the Bahamas and learning to SCUBA dive. He thought the water was beautiful. He was right.
 At 84 he decided to fly to Alaska with his older son... in a single engine Piper Cherokee, making about 400 miles a day and camping out under the wings at night. Above the clouds and above the Arctic Circle, he reveled in the beauty of creation and the simple pleasure of sharing it with someone he loved.
 At 87 he helped his younger son and the son's partner start a small, fun, unique coffee shoppe. His financial backing was important, but the reminder of his own career change at the age of 47 was the real support that the nervous newly hatched baristas needed.
 In a few days he will be 90. A well lived and loving life now resides in a nursing home, mostly blind, mostly deaf, unable to say more than a few fumbling words; he can no longer walk more than some hesitant steps.
 But at each visit, he asks about the coffee shoppe (which he misses...) and loves to have the puppies come see him. Kenya enjoys sitting next to him, letting the weakening hands pet and knead the heavy fur. Djimah does her best 10 month old puppy act and climbs on his chair to lick his face.
 He laughs and smiles and hugs the puppies tightly, no longer able to say their names, no longer able to watch them run or hear their deep barking, and with never a complaint. Never. Never.
 An extraordinary life that was chock full of 'near-life' experiences, he never slowed down except to enjoy the ride and never lived so fast as to miss the details. Now the enjoyment and the details are memories that, if there is a god, keep him company as he trades in all those near-life experiences for a nearing-death experience.
 We watch his life with this world fade, his remaining attachments to it consisting of visits from loving family, a real fondness for chocolate Labrador pups, and three core memories that he repeats over and over: Alaska, Bahamas, coffee shoppe.
 There is no longer anything that we can get him for Father's Day that would mean a thing. But we can tell our wonderful readers about this wonderful man... A man who's near-life experiences are not only worth remembering, but worth emulating.
 We all love you so much. Happy Father's Day, Dad.

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IN SEARCH OF: A NEAR-LIFE EXPERIENCE (pt 1)

 There are two phrases that we hear in the coffee shoppe with (probably) more regularity than any others:
 1- I need a life...
 B- Not enough hours in the day...
 Now, you have to assume that the folks uttering these impossible-to-reconcile words are all existing on the same planet (thoâ in all honesty some seem not to be...).
 As with nearly everything else, you can ultimately boil down (or brew down, as it were) people into two categories: The haves and the wanna-beâs.
 There are those folk who populate the inner recesses of our little emporium who watch ÎFriendsâ on TV...
 And then there are those who actually have friends in real life...
 Our esteemed editor of WEEKEND (yay Tim!) once gently chastised some of the good folk who are our readership, reminding them that those who think there isnât anything to do in Oswego just arenât looking very hard!
 Case in point: your humble baristas are currently in the editorâs dog house (actually not a bad place to be... we love pups!) because the column you are reading AS WE SPEAK is late... a day late. Eek!
 Two major concerts in two days to conduct... An organ recital to play... The usual musical stuff on the weekend at the church... two Îimportantâ meetings (meetings are not a life)... running around for the shoppe... hauling risers and sound equipment all over creation... Entertaining friends from Vermont (jeez, I hope they didnât feel slighted!)... Help a friend move... Write ãBuzz Wordsä.
 Well, most of it got done (sorry Tim...) And most of it was done fairly well, but:
 ãThere arenât enough hours in the day!ä
 Some wag just walked thru the door of the shoppe and playfully commented to one of our regular patrons: You need a life.
 She replied without missing a beat: This IS my life.
 She is a writer. Often published and much of her work has been produced consuming our caffeine. Cool...
 Two other patrons were here earlier. They are dating... serious dating! You can tell (they smile a lot) and you can hear it (they giggle a lot) and you can sense it (they smooch a lot). They met on the internet.
 For all of its maligned babble by congressional types who would save us from the common cold (if only they could legislate it) the internet has provided yet another means of having a life... Like anything, it can be overdone. It is possible (tho hardly likely) to spend TOO much time in a coffeehouse. It is equally possible to spend too much time on the Înet.
 But real people find life in real ways and then it is up to them to live it. Really!
 So what IS a life? People have Îem, mostly - Groups have lives (ask any musician!) - Corporations do, sometimes. And sometimes people, groups, and corporations just suck life OUT of you trying to get a life for themselves.
 For our needs, the definition of having a life is simple: if you are having a good time, you have a life.
 People: I met a gal the other day (at the shoppe) who is paralyzed from the waist down... complaining about Înot enough hoursâ (yada yada..) Seems she works with kids groups teaching about poetry. Too many bookings for her seminars currently, but that is what she considers fun! Being overbooked!
 And she gardens and writes and travels and lives off of her publishing income. Definitely a life.
 Years ago we met a sailor with no legs. Vietnam vet. Sailing solo. He was en route from Toronto to Oswego to take his boat and himself down the Canal System to the Atlantic and from there, no plans, except to see the parts of the world to which he could sail. maybe some writing about it, he said, but mostly just to see what was out there.
 One of the happiest people we know has no Îhomeâ - not that he is homeless, and rumor has it he has an apartment somewhere, tho we doubt the rumor is true. He lives (mostly) in his (very cool) van and travels the country being Shakespeare. Not Îdoingâ Shakespere, mind you, but BEING the Bard.
 He sets up shop in places where loitering is a way of life (coffeehouses, for example) and weaves a life around recreating the life of one of the worldâs greatest writers. What Hal Holbrook does with Mark Twain, he does with Shakespeare. Surely a life.
 Hillary has a life. Have you watched her? You donât have to agree with her or support her in any way to see that she sure seems to be having a good time campaigning in her own right.
 But, so far, Mr. Lazio seems to be whooping it up, too. Good for them! Someone has to do it.
 Groups: Bill Shigley had a life, and we mourn its passing. Taking a little tiny NPR radio station from a couple of weak watts 30 some years ago and transforming it into one of the best known and most highly regarded of the NPR stations across the country took someone who not only had a life but was willing to give oceans of it out to others in order to see his dream come true for WRVO. (and now for WRVJ and WRVN and WSUC and WRVD and... and... is there no end to the life of WRVO now???)
 Corporations: The U.S. Bureau of Engraving has no life. After years of boring money they decide to issue NEW money. And what do their corporate brains come up with? Dead men with big heads on more boring money.
 The U. S. Mint has a life. Witness the new issues of quarters that everyone seems to be collecting and the very cool gold dollars that are now circulating.
 O.K. we know money ALWAYS looks good (when you actually have it!) But your humble baristas and lots of other folks who have traveled the world know that other countries have paper money that is not only worth spending but worth LOOKING at... (Columbusâ ships are hidden in the water mark of Bahamian money.)
 People who open bookstores or frame shops or little boutique yarn & weaving shoppes, folks who try their skills at their dreams definitely have a life. Experimenting with the time you have on this earth is a great example of living.
 If it works, you win. If it doesnât, you win for having tried.
 Not trying is not a life.
 So the next time you think you donât have a life, donât go to Wal-Mart to drown your blues in shopping. (Sam Wahl has too much of a life...)
 Go downtown and visit the people who are living their lives in a way of their own design. Hit the little deli places, a used bookshop (itâs coming, by the way), or a new bookstore (isnât it cool that SOMEone finally decided to get a life this way!) or the wonderful myriad of tiny specialty restaurants springing up.
 Go to the Music Hall on a Saturday evening this fall. Attend a theater production in town. Pick up any of the concerts, recitals or shows at the college or high school or by community groups at various venues. Watch people enjoying their lives!
 Then get out there and GET one!
 Because there are NOT enough hours...

JUST GIMME A LARGE HIGH TEST... TO GO...

 The phrase that strikes terror into the heart of any barista. It is
the caffeine equivalent of walking into a fine wine shoppe and ordering
"the cheapest Pink Catawba you got..."
            If you have had any contact with the specialty coffee market,
chances are you've come across something like: "...yielding a sharply
acidic coffee with an intense flavor, very fragrant and floral."
 Whether you're buying from the local supermarket, or you're
purchasing green beans from a broker - this is how people "talk" about
coffee. Sure, the words are familiar but, unless you've also had some
experience in wine tasting, their use might be a little weird.
 Fortunately, this foreign language is based on something we all
have in common: senses. Not all coffees are created equal. We run about 18
different unflavored regular coffees in our shoppe. People sometimes boggle
at the choices, but they are all uniquely different and, thus, more fun to
choose from.
 Spicy, chocolaty, grassy, we all have had some experience with
these tastes. Ok, so maybe you haven't eaten freshly mown grass recently,
but you have probably smelled it. And, because so much of what we taste is
based on how it smells, what you smell is often what you taste.

 Some coffees have really similar tastes and it becomes a real art
form to be able to tell the subtle differences. Add to the problem that
many folks don't make their coffee the same way each time and you can get a
real variety in the flavor of the same cup o Joe!
 But part of the fun is learning to taste the differences and to do
that, you can approach The Bean from two ways:
 1- Where is it from? African beans tend to have a deeper, richer,
mellow, winey or earthy taste. Central and South Americans tend to be
lighter, more acidic and spicier. Indonesians are syrupy and have a very
special flavor of their own.
 B- What does it taste like? Bright? sparkly? thick? The first
impression you get of coffee is usually the most accurate - like wine you
sniff it and look at it - If you do your Joe in a clear mug you will know
that coffee is never actually black. It is various shades of brown.
 Someone once told us that if you could see thru the coffee, it
wasn't strong enough. We simply send him to McDonalds drive thru. You can
see thru coffee... It isn't supposed to look like (or, goddess forbid,
taste like) tar.  Dark roasts are darker (amazing!) and if your coffee has
a head, it means the beans are fresh roasted!
 The most misunderstood word in the coffee world is acidity. Both
high acidity and low acidity are fine. It doesn't have anything to do with
your ulcers. It is the brisk bright taste that you tend to experience at
the first sip. High acid coffees are simply not mellow. One of our best
sellers is a blend of Peruvian beans considered highly acidic; we haven't
had to serve Mylanta with it yet!
 Next in importance is the aftertaste which is just an indication of
what you taste after you have swallowed your brew. The coffee might be
carbony to chocolaty, spicy to turpeny. We don't know who came up with the
terms, but hanging is likely too good for him.
 Aroma. Well, hey! (insert dope slap here). What is the sense of
drinking a coffee that doesn't smell good? The sensation of gases released
from brewed coffee might be anything from fruity to herbal (and, yes, there
is an herbal coffee... just like herbal tea it hasn't a thing to do with
its namesake)
  Caramelly? Chocolaty? Delicate? See?! It *IS* like wine tasting,
only cheaper and with better terminology (wines aren't chocolaty)
 Bad smells indicate bad coffee... who would have thought? Coffee
can get musty or moldy, but the worst happens when you put it in the
fridge... If you have leftover Canale garlic pizza then you have just
produced garlic coffee. The Bean works like baking soda and sucks up all
the aromas around it!
           Mouthfeel. Mouthfeel? Yeah, Mouthfeel. OK this isn't one of the
better terms. Wine tasters have a better one. Palate. It's how the brew
feels in your mouth... aside from taste, The Bean might be earthy, syrupy,
muddy, clear, light, watery... you get the idea.
 Finish. Like wine (good and bad) coffee has a finish... a sensation
of taste, palate, aroma and acidity at the very point when you swallow it.
Here is where you really depart from supermarket coffee when you start
drinking the good stuff.
 Supermarket coffee, even the supposedly good ones, are old. and
they are mishandled by clerks and stockpersons who have a lot of work to do
and aren't gonna be too careful about that ubiquitous one-way valve on the
coffee bag.
 But old is old. It may still smell good (old coffee is a great room
or car deodorizer!) but it will taste (palate) stale and boring; it will
have a lack of body and the finish is finished... gone... kaput. Nada.
 In this here world, you get what you pay for. Now we're not opposed
to a really cheap pink catawba on occasion. Slumming it with wines is not
so bad. But given the chance to have a Merlot, what choice is there? You
CAN drink Folgers, it's a free country. But with a fresh roasted Venezuelan
Blue available why would you?
 Pass the spittoon, please!

IT'S A SINE (sic) OF THE TIMES

 Ah! Vacation! A time to get away from the espresso maker and ignore
the potential local candidates for the "Darwin Award".
 We were off (there is little doubt of that...) for a well deserved
(to our way of thinking) break and found ourselves ensconced in the best
kept secret of all of New York (no no no , not Lazio's candidacy). That
would be, of course, the Adirondack Mountains. Our esteemed editor (yay
Tim!) and our publisher (bless him!) loosed the ties that bind us and ran a
rerun Buzz Words last week.
 But our vacation doesn't mean that the rest of the caffeinated
world was on vacation, too. We arrived back to a hand painted sign along Rt
104 in our fair city that read:
 "Vote No on the School Bugget" (sic)
 Hello?
 Now, for those of you that aren't of a literary turn of mind, 'sic'
means that neither your humble baristas nor their esteemed editor goofed.
 'Sic' means that the poor soul that wrote the sign didn't know how
to spell what s/he was voting against. A true sign of the times.
 We arrived back from the pristine beauty of the High Peaks around
Keene, NY, to discover that NIKE, in a deft maneuver into third millennia
jargon,  no longer advertises themselves as manufacturers of sports wear
but now tout their company as "A Conceptual Means of Athletic Achievement".
Huh?
 To add to our post-vacation puzzlement, it seems that our beloved
post-modern STARBUCKS whom we fondly refer to as *$'s, is no longer a
company that sells coffee. Oh, to be sure, they still DO that, but they now
think of themselves corporately as "The Third Space". It would seem that
their corporate wisdom thinks of 'first space' as home, 'second space' as
the office, so the brethren at *$'s wish us to think of them as our third
most important place. Excuse me?
 Now, to be sure, we have a regular clientele who most assuredly DO
think of our little shoppe as their home away from home. You know that you
too frequently frequent your local coffee emporium when people looking for
you call your barista before calling your home.
 And we have said before (and are likely to say again...) that
coffee shoppes are the best places to discuss the 'Forbidden Three' topics
of sex, religion and politics.
 But lately no one seems to be talking about sex which, on the
surface seems strange since it is usually the primary topic of choice. But
we figure that either everyone is satisfied or they have simply given up.
 And, while religion surfaces with unseemly regularity, politics
appears to be the current focus of caffeinated crowd's conversation. Maybe
it's in the water. Maybe we need to boil the coffee 20 minutes before
drinking it... eeewww!
 The bulk of the political spectrum of late would make you think
that the entire world has become an 'X-File".
 The politics of the Senate Race come to mind... and then just as
abruptly fade. The mayor who blithely bulldozed a neighborhood garden in
his fair city into oblivion without so much as a 'fare-thee-well' to the
community is no longer in the political climactic changes. Thus the
destruction of Esperanto Community Park will not be avenged in the current
race. Kinda too bad, but...
 Then there is the reelection of the epically omniscient Charleton
Heston to an unprecedented third term as president of the NRA. We don't
know if his campaign slogan was 'speak biblically and carry a big rifle' or
'Tippecanoe and Howitzers too' but it was reassuring to note that the
inaugural ceremony attacked those opposed to the NRA's various stands as
'minions of Hollywood's publicity-seeking star system", something with
which Mr. Heston might surely be familiar.
 We watch with awe a Republican presidential candidate bending ever
so carefully as far left as he can without endangering his right leaning
following. And simultaneously watch the Democratic counterpart trying to
figure out how to bend at all.
 Or who can forget... um... nevermind. We forgot.
 Now, it's true that one can usually look at the 'outside' world
(south of Minetto) and see bizarre events all the time. Yet it is unnerving
when it comes so amazingly close to home. It might appear that an entire
community lost its rational self by voting down free money for the school
system... The only saving grace is that it wasn't defeated unanimously. One
wonders what those who voted NO on a no-cost $300,000.00+ school issue
would do if they found that same 1/3 of a million bucks lying by the side
of the road...
 Probably grab their rifle and shoot it.
 So, when it comes 'round again, be sure and "Vote No on the School
Bugget" (sic).
 As the unremembered Petulia Clark would say, "It's a sin of the
times". Oops, sorry... make that 'sign'.

  The First Annual State-Of-The-Bean Address
(Telephone rings...)
 Bean Secretary: Good morning. Oswego Coffee Bean Division. This is
Judy, the Secretary Of Beanage. How may I help you?
 Caller: Yes. Hi. My name is Juan and I'm doing a little research on
coffee in your area. Is there any?
 BS: Oh my goodness! It's EVERYwhere! What kind are you looking for?
 Juan: Oh. We were, that is, I was just wondering if there were any,
um, successful cafes or coffee houses in your town. Anything you can tell
us, um, me, would be helpful.
 BS: Where to start... Coffee is like the lifeblood of people here.
It sometimes gets a tad chilly, you know. We probably have more per cupita
coffee drinkers than anywhere in the state.
 Juan: Isn't that "per capita"?
 BS: Oh, sorry - heh heh. Just a little caffeine humor. Well, let's
see, Port City Cafe is a very very big deal downtown. Splendid coffees and
an ambiance that is directly out of the finest coffee houses in Seattle! I
bet half of downtown goes there for lunch.
 Juan: Really! Very interesting. Port City Cafe? Is it a chain? A
franchise, perhaps?
 BS: No, no - an independent cafe. Open early on Sundays, too - And
they do an open mic night with Jeff House on Wednesdays. Very popular...
 Juan: Really? What do they charge for that? We, that is, I was
wondering if there is a cover charge...
 BS: What a strange concept!  None of the 'open mic' nights have a
cover charge at any of the coffee places in the city. Dan Pacheco at Casa
De Luna even hosts his own on Thursdays. He owns the place - Mexican
food... best outside of Mexico...  maybe inside, too... charming cafe.
 Juan: Hmmm... and is he also an independent cafe?
 BS: Yes, yes; all the cafes in Oswego are independents. There are
even two bagelrys where you can get great coffee, and E&D Bagels and Off
Bridge Street Bagelry are both independents. Real hand rolled bagels in
both places... everyone loves 'em.
 Juan: hmmm... no franchises at all? What a marvelous opportunity!
 BS: Well, there is Dunkin' Donuts, of course. They are a franchise,
but the Thomas's are a local family, so maybe that doesn't count. Why are
you so interested in franchises?
 Juan: Ah, ummm, well lets just say that we, er, I have connections
with one of the largest coffee shop chains in the world. We are just
curious about your coffee scene, that's all. Just curious.
 BS: Starbucks? Never heard of it. Do you do computers at your
cafe's? Two of our coffee shoppes do: Cafe.Com and Coffee Connection both
have high speed access for their customers. Or Tarot readings? Coffee
Connection has their own resident Tarot reader, Mme Lynn, and 'Live Poet's
Society' twice a month. In fact, all the places are great for night life.
Cafe.Com on East Bridge is open well into the evening, and Casa De Luna is
always having local musicians in to entertain. Daniel is very supportive of
local musicians... Excellent venue for that sort of thing.
 Juan: So, do you think there might be interest in your community
for a 'real' coffee store like ours? Just curious, you understand...
 BS: I understand perfectly. Hmmm, a real coffee 'store'? We tend to
think of the shoppes we have as 'real'... They each have their own style...
very unique... fun, family places.
 Juan: Isn't that confusing for your business community, tho?
Wouldn't your community just love to have a couple dozen corner coffee
stores that are all exactly alike? That way, people don't have to go far
for their fix, and they feel at home in all of the stores.
 BS: Oh, I think people feel at home in all of our shops already. In
fact, almost everyone will tell you that they ARE at home when they go to
an Oswego cafe... One of them even has a positive puppy policy!
 Juan: Well then maybe one of our stores would work well in
conjunction with a bookstore in your town. a big amazon of a bookstore with
a chrome coffee counter on the side. What do you think?
 BS: I'm sorry, Juan, but we already have a superb bookstore and
they serve gourmet coffee there. Why, River's End Bookstore even has it's
own custom roasted coffee blend! And River's End is an independent
bookstore, too.
 Juan: Well, I have to tell you that it does sound like just the
kind of community that we are looking for...
 BS: Really? Why?
 Juan: Just a hunch... Um, would you mind telling me exactly where
Oswego is, by the way?
 BS: Gladly. Oswego is in Oregon. Have a nice day.
(click)

 AIN'T LIFE "GRAND"? FAMILY VALUES FOR A NEW MILLENNIUM

 First off, let us offer this disclaimer: We didn't start this idea.
We don't make the news, we just report it. But as coffee bartenders (which
is what a barista really is) we get to listen a lot to people and their
ideas.
 Some of these ideas just jump out at you as good ones (and others
seem equally bad, but we are gonna ignore those for the present...)
 A former employee (now retired) who shall remain nameless (although
she isn't) is a puppy lover. Now that in itself is hardly strange since our
whole shoppe is full of puppy lovers (others are referred to Starbucks for
their Java). But she is a real, card carrying, dyed in the wool, uncommon
garden variety puppy lover.
 Her dogs are a major part of her family. And she has, along with
her own dogs, a complete set of grand-dogs. Her term. Now to the best of
our knowledge, her pups haven't had pups of their own, but somehow she has
grand-dogs. Ask her and she will gladly pull out the requisite pictures of
dogs and grand-dogs and proceed to entertain you for hours on their growth,
new teeth, antics, how bright and how smart they are.
 We don't know how the relationships are actually defined, but no
one seems to care. We suspect that all of us have an "Uncle" Barney or an
"Aunt" Suzi who aren't actual blood relations. It's the American way. It's
real family values. Blood seems the least important item when taking stock
of our real family members.
 And, for sure, the concept of the extended family isn't new,
original, or uniquely American. For millennia cultures have reveled in the
inclusion of close friends in a greater family circle. Hillary may have
written the book, but she didn't coin the phrase "It Takes A Village to
Raise a Child."
 We are merely suggesting that humanity not be so ego-centric as to
leave puppies out of the family mix! Kenya and Djimah are most assuredly
NOT a tangential part of our family - raising them is an uncanny parallel
to raising a kid. Trust us. We have done both.
 Kenya and Djimah are still young (and spayed) so our only hope for
grand-puppies comes from the concept of extended family. Whereas many
couples long for the day that grandkids enter their lives, we look forward
to our first grand-dogs with equal relish!
 Some of you may recall the loss of one of our puppy-family a few
months ago. Schooner was a special part of our family and her human, Sunny,
remains equally special to this day.
 The other day, Sunny popped into the coffee shoppe as she does with
great frequency. Not to get a cup of Joe (she doesn't drink coffee). Not to
pass the time of day or to read the paper.
 She 'borrows' our dogs. She takes them for long walks, takes them
for a swim, feeds them special treats, spoils them rotten. She lets them
have their own way and then brings them back to us soaking wet, full of
puppy candy, well and truly spoiled, and happy. Very happy!
 Sound familiar? It is precisely the way loving grandparents
describe their outings with their grandkids!
 One of our regulars is expecting a grandchild - a real one. The
happy moment is fast approaching and she was asked a couple days ago by
another member of our coffee shoppe family if we (the coffee crowd) were
"grand-friends" yet!
 Grand-friends? Absolutely! Grand-pups? Why not! The age of the
nuclear (pronounced new-cue-lar by Eisenhower) is dead, and we for one
(well, for two) will not grieve its passing.
 Family is a lot more fun when it is non-nuclear. And less
explosive, too.
 I remember someone (in my family, actually) teaching me at a young
and tender age that you can choose your friends but not your family. This
sophistry is now rendered bogus.
 I recall someone else teaching me that you can pick your friends
and you can pick your nose but you can't pick your friends' nose. While the
concept seemed overwhelmingly gross at the time (and, frankly, still does)
it was a whole lot more fun than the 'choose your friends not your family'
wisdom.
 The parallel is obvious (if forced) - you can pick your friends and
MAKE them your family and have the best of both worlds! But you still
probably have to leave their noses alone...
 Our pups are growing rapidly and they are developing their own
family (paw picked) from pups who visit at the shoppe. Nika and Molly and
Maverick and Campy and Bob are more than just puppy friends. They are
family - Grand pups.
 And when our friend's human child begets a child of her own, we
aren't just "friends of the family" anymore - We are grand-friends!
 We are family (cue the disco ball)

 For months we have wanted to write this column. We haven't done so
simply because it has not a blessed thing to do with coffee. Which may or
may not be an issue.
 But it does have to do with one of the annual events loved my many
of our regulars at the shoppe, so maybe that counts. And a case could
(possibly) be made that the stories you are about to read (true, by the
way) could not have happened if the individuals involved drank good coffee
(or possibly ANY coffee...)
 But here we go because we, your humble baristas, consider it our
civic duty to keep you abreast (excuse me?) of important, if tangential,
happenings in the world.
 The Darwin Awards. (my eyes tear just thinking about them). Given
to the individual who has made the greatest contribution to the human gene
pool by removing him/herself from it. Simple. You do something truly
stupid, you die, you win. Sorta.
 And this year's nominees are:
 A young Canadian man, searching for a cheap way to get drunk since
he had no money to buy alcohol, mixed gasoline with milk. Not surprisingly,
his concoction made him ill. He vomited into the fireplace of his
livingroom. The resulting explosion and fire burned his house down,
removing him from the gene pool and resulting in his nomination.
 Three Brazilian men were flying a light aircraft at low altitude
when another plane approached. It appears that they decided to "moon" the
occupants of the other plane, lost control of their own plane and crashed.
The nominees were found in the wreckage with their pants around their
ankles.
 The switch away from daylight savings time apparently caused
consternation among some terrorist groups this year. At precisely 5:30pm
Israel time on a Sunday, two coordinated car bombs exploded in different
cities, killing the three terrorists who were transporting the bombs. It
was initially believed that the devices had been detonated prematurely by
klutzy amateurs. A closer look revealed that three days before, Israel had
made a premature switch from daylight savings time to standard time in
order to accommodate a week of Slihot, involving presunrise prayers. The
terrorists, refusing to live on 'Zionist time'  prepared the bombs in a
Palestine-controlled area set on Daylight Savings time. The drivers had
already switched to standard time. As a result, the cars were still en
route when the explosives detonated, delivering to the terrorists their
well-deserved demise and possible award.
 James Numeni, a witch doctor in Liberia, was asked by two men to
cast a spell to make them bulletproof. He gave them a magic potion and
muttered some special words. Then James put his sorcery to the test by
shooting them several times in the chest. Both men died instantly.
 A despondent French man planned the perfect fail-safe suicide by
(a) ingesting poison, b) soaking his body in gas, (c) tying an attached
rope around his neck, and (d) carrying a pistol. Immolating himself, he
jumped from a cliff, pointed the pistol at his head, pulled the trigger and
missed.
 The bullet severed the rope dropping him into the sea, putting out
the flames. The frigid shock caused him to regurgitate the poison. Picked
up by rescuers, he was transported to a hospital where he later died of
hypothermia.
 A man was working on his motorcycle on his patio with his wife in
the kitchen. While racing the engine the motorcycle somehow slipped into
gear. The man, still holding the handlebars, was dragged through a glass
patio door and the motorcycle was dumped onto the floor inside the house.
 The wife, hearing the crash, ran into the dining room and found her
husband laying on the floor, cut and bleeding, the motorcycle next to him
and the patio door shattered. She summoned an ambulance.
 Because they lived on a fairly steep hill, the wife went down the
several long flights of stairs to the street to direct the paramedics. The
wife, returning to the mess,  set the motorcycle upright and pushed it
outside. Seeing that gas had spilled on the floor, she got some paper
towels, blotted up the gasoline, and threw the towels in the toilet.
 The husband was treated at the hospital and released to come home.
After arriving home, he looked at the shattered patio door and the damage
done to his motorcycle. He became despondent, went into the bathroom, sat
on the toilet, and smoked a cigarette. After finishing the cigarette, he
flipped it between his legs into the toilet bowl while still seated. The
wife, who was in the kitchen, heard a loud explosion. She ran into the
bathroom and found her husband on the floor. His trousers had been blown
away and he was burned on his buttocks.
 The wife ran to the phone yet again and called an ambulance. The
same ambulance crew was dispatched and the wife met them at the street. The
paramedics loaded the husband on the stretcher and began carrying him down
the long stairs to the street. While going down the stairs to the street
one of the paramedics asked the wife how her husband had burned himself.
She told him and the paramedics laughed so hard, one of them tipped the
stretcher and dumped the burned motorcyclist out. He fell down the
remaining steps and fatally broke his neck.
 So there you are, the annual talk of the shoppe. And our eternal
thanks to the Skyhawks Association who collect the data. We don't yet know
who won but, in an odd Darwinian fashion, we are all winners as a result of
this nonsense!

Bean  Befriended By Brave Bourbon Boy - Justifies Joey

 Every occupation, passion, obsession, love, vocation, avocation or
religion has heroes. Sung, unsung, sung flat, chanted, glorified in folk
songs, hymns or operas, these folk are at the heart of every major or minor
change in human culture.
 Without heros we would have no celebrations, no role models and,
most important, no Monday holidays.
 Coffee heroes? Gimme a break... I mean, its just COFFEE, isn't it?
Why would such a seemingly innocuous beverage have any need for heroes! You
go to your local grocery store (if you must) or coffee emporium (if you're
smart) and you buy a bag o' beans and, well, there you are. That's it,
isn't it?
 It is easy to forget in this age of amazing tolerance that our not
too terribly  distant past was amazingly IN-tolerant about lots of stuff,
and that includes the poor Bean. The ubiquitousness of caffe (yeah, we had
to look it up, too) ('ubiquitous' that is not 'caffe') in these days makes
it easy to forget that cafe, caffe, coffee, Java, Joe, kaffe, kafe, Mocha,
Moka or whatever you call it (please, don't call it 'high-test' - eeewww!)
has had a tough, political, groin-grabbingly transcendent history (no, we
don't know what it means either).
 Wine has been around for millennia, ever since someone forgot to
eat the fresh grapes in their fridge (or whatever they had back then) and
they went 'bad' which, for grapes, is good.
 Beer has been brewing for  nearly as long as wine - maybe longer
(how should we know? we know coffee... and seemingly not too much else...)
 But coffee is a newcomer in the history of the world's beverages
(well, not compared to Gatorade, maybe, but...) and only made its
appearance in the 15th century! So coffee heroes have had a lot of catching
up to do but, with enough coffee in you, that's pretty easy.
 So, this week's "Arabica Award" (known in the trade as the "Joey")
goes to Gabriel Mathieu de Clieu who not only introduced coffee to the New
World in 1714 (sorta... it got here before then but no one noticed...) but
nearly sacrificed his own life to save the single bean plant in its
perilous crossing of the Atlantic. That he actually didn't die saving the
coffee isn't important. Willingness counts.
 de Clieu got his bean plant from the French government who had
wheeled and dealed (?) (wheelt and dealt?) it from the Dutch who were
having a dandy time trading the plants for huge fortunes all over Europe.
 There was a lot of court intrigue involved in his obtaining the
plant, but ultimately the wonderful 'Bourbon" branch of The Bean's family
shrub was his. de Clieu took the prized plant from the Jardin des Plantes
in Paris and headed for the New World.
 It was a dark and stormy night. Actually, there were a lot of them
in a row and the tiny ship was tossed; if not for the courage of the
fearless crew the Minnow would be lost. (oops... wrong story... sorry)
 Gabriel said in an interview upon arriving in Martinique, "It was
truly worth the infinite care that I was obliged to bestowe upon this
delicate plant." Yay, Gabe!
 In fact, after avoiding capture by pirates (real ones) and
surviving a genuine Atlantic hurricane, the poor ship and crew sat in the
windless doldrums for over a month and had to ration water to assure
survival.
 It was here that our hero qualified for inclusion in the annals of
heroic beanage, for it was here that Gabriel Mathieu de Clieu shared his
daily ration of water with the 'delicate plant', much to the disgust of a
fellow passenger who, on learning of Gabe's sacrifice threatened to toss
the shrub overboard!
 Anyway, the little loved plant took root in the Caribbean,
specifically Martinique, and (here is the cool part) it is from THIS plant
(this very one) that most of the world's coffee is descended! The Beans of
Brazil, the Coffee of Colombia, the Plant of Peru, the Moka of Mexico all
owe their caffeinated existence to Gabriel and his heroics.
 The Bean surreptitiously emigrated from Martinique to Brazil with
its cherries disguised as decorations in a bouquet of flowers, but, of
course, that is another story...
 And another Coffee Hero!

  POLITICALLY CORRECT COFFEE? MAYBE...
 One of the most recent crazy crazes involving The Bean is the
insistence by a vocal minority that good Java is politically correct Java.
Good grief! One of the most controversial areas of caffeinated political
correctness is the 'Certified Organic Bean'.,
 Farmers of The Bean have discovered that they can sell their
coffees at premium prices by going 'organic'. This trend, begun in the mid
1980's is now reaching its way into the Oswego area where more and more
your humble baristas are being asked for greater varieties of 'Certified
Organic Coffee'.
 O.K. We can understand the concept. But the problems of 'certified
organic' are varied and awkward.
 First of all, organic coffee was originally pretty bad. Actually
awful tasting, frankly. It came from poverty-stricken small farmers whose
coffee had always been organic by default since they couldn't afford
fertilizer or pesticides.
 Far more often than not, these farmers were also bad caretakers of
the Arabica shrubs, ignoring proper pruning or tending of the delicate
plants, and they were not especially careful to process the pits of the
coffee cherry correctly.
 The result was what we are always complaining about here in our
little column: lousy coffee. And because bad tending just made the poor
beans worse, organic coffee got worse before it got better; and it only got
better recently.
 Over the years organic coffee has improved quite a lot due in large
part to a San Diego business woman who was waiting for a heart transplant:
Karen Cebreros.
 Cebreros' doctor had her on the heart transplant list and insisted
she stay close to home and carry a beeper at all times. But like most of
us, she ignored her doctor and, unlike most of us, flew to South America to
visit family in Peru.
 In the tiny village of Tamborapa, Peru, she met rural farming
people with no electricity and no running water who grew coffee and sold it
for 8¢ a pound! The farmers were so warm and friendly that this cafe hero
wanted to help improve their lot and their lots. She had the villagers
scrape together a 100 lb. bag of coffee which she took down the
mountainside on a donkey; she then cleaned the beans by hand on her picnic
table.
 It tasted like... well... fertilizer -
 Or, rather, like dirt which is pretty much what poor quality,
improperly tended coffee beans taste like...
 Not to be dissuaded in her task, she worked with Coffee Bean
International and got the farmers to improve their coffee and get it
certified as organic. With the premium prices that are currently paid for
organic coffee, the village finally has electricity, running water, a
school, telephones, bridges, roads and a coffee laboratory for research on
The Bean. Cool, eh?
 And, miraculously, her heart healed itself! Very cool...
 The growth in demand for 'organic' coffee has resulted in many
Mexican, Bolivian and Guatemalan farmers being able to sell the same
coffees they have grown for years at amazingly increased prices by having
them certified as organic.
 Ms Cebreros has helped local growers through the mountains of
paperwork involved in producing 'certified' mountain grown organics. Her
campaign has resulted in better prices for The Bean and for The Farmer as
well as a higher quality of coffee for us!
 Your Humble Baristas (us...) have experimented with organics from
both Guatemala and Bolivia to date and they are really quite good. There is
a little 'edgy' taste to them and the usual smoothness that gourmet or
select coffees are famous for is a bit compromised, but we would hesitate
to call the compromise bad because, well, it tastes good!
 The great irony of the whole organic trend lies in the fact that
the most truly organic coffees in the world (those grown in Indonesia and
Ethiopia and many of the other African countries) can't be sold as organic,
even though they are, because they aren't 'Certified Organic'.
 It happens that we (Y.H.B.'s) prefer African and Indonesian coffees
to almost anything available from Central and South America. Can it be that
we prefer the taste of 'Really Organic' beans? Probably.
 The Central and South American beans that have been certified just
don't LOOK as good - they are not as well shaped and are smaller than their
non-organic neighbors.
 But the Ethiopian, Kenyan and Indonesian coffees that are grown
organically (by default) and have been for generations still bear the look
of the very highest quality
New World beans.
 Coffee is the third most sprayed crop on earth, next to cotton and
tobacco. We are told (and it makes sense) that pesticides pose no threat to
coffee drinkers since they are applied to the cherry and coffee is the pit.
Then the heat of roasting drives off any chemical residue.
 But for the Java enhanced people who want to be considered good
neighbors on the planet, who are concerned about the environment, the
health of the laborers who pick the crops, and who want to see farmers
making a decent price for their beans, drinking organic coffee makes sense.
And one thing that we have discovered about coffee drinkers:
 They do make good neighbors!

 Hmmm... well, ok. If you have stopped laughing at our feeble
attempt at poetry, you might want to realize that better (far better...)
celebrations of National Poetry Month are happening in town this week.
 The annual Poetry For Peace And Justice gathering, one of the most
popular in the area, is TODAY (Thursday) at 7:30 upstairs at the Coffee
Connection. Locally famous poets and theater people will be the presenters,
with a mix of spoken and sung verse. Time is available during the second
part of the evening for the public to share their work.
 Last year this venue was packed to the walls and, while the walls
are kinda close together, it was a smashingly enjoyable and successful time
of poetic celebration. Come early - stay late.
 On Friday, the poetry celebration continues with the twice monthly
meeting of Live Poets Society. Hosted by Eriq Cherchio and Jennifer
Caruana, the oldest regularl meeting of poets in the upstate NY area is an
opportunity for the public reading of original and favorite poetic works.
Again, the Coffee Connection is the venue and it begins at 8pm.
 If the gods are done throwing cruddy weather at us, Water Street
Sidewalk Poetry will again grace the cement and roadways on Water Street
and Market Street. With thick colorful pieces of chalk provided, everyone
is welcomed to festoon the surfaces of the sidewalks and streets with
poetic thoughts or other artistically chalky endeavors. Inevitably someone
gets a group together to connect all the various manholes on Water Street
with colorful vines and flowers!
 Saturday, April 15,  finds Perfect Blend,  our area's jazz & swing
vocal trio taking poetry set to music and entertaining the troops (always
for free!) again at the Coffee Connection and again at 8pm. This is also a
great way of coping with the blues since it is national Income Tax day, if
you need something to cheer you up [and something for free, under the
circumstances...]
 Sunday the 16th finds the College Orchestra and Chamber Singers
performing a splendid concert of "Flora and Fauna" works at 3pm in the
afternoon under the baton of "Dr. J" Pretzat. The concert will also feature
a production of  John Rutter's "The Reluctant Dragon" in which a literary
poetic dragon is saved from St. George's deadly sword by a clever
youngster. The "Dragon" and the concert are exceptionally fine family fare
and both beautiful and entertaining at First Methodist Church (Rt 104 W
just past the college and on your left). First Methodist is one of the
area's best kept secrets, a wonderful contemporary space for concerts
tucked up in the woods with handicapped access and plenty of parking.
 With the ever vigilant rivers end bookstore always bringing out the
best available published poetry of local and national authors, Oswego is
just brimming with special community celebrations for National Poetry
Month. Why not take in one of them?
 Or, better yet, ALL of them!

WAAAAAAAY TOO MUCH COFFEE, MAN

Can it be possible? Too much of a good thing? I recall my sainted
mother making some vague comment about too much of a good thing when
speaking about chocolate, but surely the same cannot be said of The Bean.
 Can it? Perhaps you, our devoted readers, should decide...
 When we opened our little shoppe on a quiet corner of a side street
in a small city we spent all of our available time (and a wee bit more...)
just figuring out all we could learn about The Bean. We discovered that our
best work was done with a great cuppa Java in hand.
 The more we drank, the more we did. First we increased our shoppe's
hours. That, in turn, increased OUR hours, requiring more coffee,
naturally. Then we started training baby baristas to  work with us,  making
great 'Joe' and pulling flawless espressos (always a dream, occasionally a
reality!) - This elicited a need for additional caffeine.
 Which gave us enough energy (coffee IS an energy food, right?) to
start writing a weekly column for the local newspaper. Which is lots of
fun, but cannot be done without a mug of The Bean in hand. Which pepped us
adequately to begin branching out.
 Bill began matting and framing for a friend's business (requiring
an extra cup or two or so...) and then took classes on throwing pottery -
to make additional coffee mugs, of course - which he filled in order to
tackle our shoppe's web page design (www.dreamscape.com/wabates/cc.htm).
 Meanwhile, Steav conducted VOCE - the Oswego Choral Ensemble
(coffee lovers all - it's part of the audition...) The desire (caffeine
induced, most certainly) to do some jazz and swing vocal stuff (is any
music ever properly called 'stuff'?) lead to the creation of "Perfect
Blend" our trio of singers who enjoy swilling Java while doing some
entertaining at, well, lots of places around town.
 And then,  armed with a large mug and an airpot of Sumatran brew,
he became Director of Music at First United Methodist in Oswego.
 Working in churches requires a lot of coffee (trust us!)
 Nonetheless, with our lives nearly completely enhanced by Coffee we
branched out into puppies - two wonderful chocolate Labs (each named for
our favorite coffee growing turf) and we discovered that if you have
perfect puppies (and we do) you have to make them perfect homemade puppy
treats (and we do) which are baked lovingly within arms' reach of our
coffee pots (and they are).
 This Saturday, Lynn Hudson,  one of Oswego's finest musicians, will
present a concert (8pm, Church of the Resurrection). And who is Mme. Lynn's
faithful accompanist? Well, modesty prevents us, but suffice it to say that
he has drink coasters on the piano so he doesn't get coffee rings on the
Steinway.
 All this high test, kick started, hot wired energy keeps seeping
out between the cracks of time until you find yourself doing, like the Red
Queen, as many as eight impossible things before breakfast.
 Sailing, canoeing, backpacking, skiing. In our copious free time we
pursue these pastimes with wild abandoned and strap on travel mugs.
 Now we are nearing the precipice... or, at least Steav is. Having
just added guest conducting a Syracuse ensemble to his weekly date book,
currently typing the weekly column (as we speak, actually), and suffering
from apparently increasing "senior moments" as his friends so lovingly put
it, the caffeine may have just sent him up to the edge, if not completely
over.
 Too much coffee, man! Steav has lost his music for the newest
ensemble. The house has been ripped asunder looking for it... The coffee
shoppe has been trashed in search of the missing music... the church has
been turned upside down and the office ransacked like an episode of
X-Files. No notes.
 Three full days have been spent in trying to locate the scores.
Nothing. Help in the form of an old (well, seasoned) high school buddy
visiting for the weekend has been enlisted in the search and rescue of the
phantom pholder. Nada.
 Now the house is in shambles, the shoppe is a mess, the car has
been violently violated, the studio is shredded,  steps have been traced
and retraced and Re retraced, the church office looks like a post-modern
exorcism has taken place there, and still the results are the same...
 Missing music.
 Can we reasonably lay this problem at the feet of The Bean? Can
hyper-caffeination be a goal that can actually be reached instead of merely
dreamed of? Is the concept of mega-doses of caffeine one that could cause a
serious minded, more-or-less organized musician and conductor to have
sabotaged a perfectly good career by traveling to so many rehearsals at
once that his music simply slipped into a micro black hole? Does caffeine
have a direct bearing on the fundamental concept of space-time?
 Is there, can there be such a thing as Too Much Coffee, Man? Or is
it just a quirk of fate that baristas all over the world find themselves
running into themselves (nearly literally) when turning the corner? Are we,
as a class, so completely wired that we will, if pushed just a tiny bit
further, simply vaporize before our loyal fans' eyes?
 We don't know, actually. These are deep philosophical questions
beyond the purview of a humble barista. But there are questions still out
there that might, just might, have an answer. Like:
 Have you seen Steav's music?