With all the rabble between scientists and media outlets over the benefits and dangers of coffee, it's hard to know what to believe. People on the left say it prevents cancer, and other people on the left say it could give you a heart attack. People on the right talk too, but I don't listen to them. Like any red-blooded, coffee loving fool, I decided to see for myself.
2:45 pm: According to naturalnews.com, too much caffeine can lead to "chronic adrenal failure." I decide it's better to stop reading.
3:05 pm: The pure and unadulterated joy that is Dunkin' Donuts coffee - four creams and two sugars.
3:06 pm: A man in cowboy boots and mullet asks who sings "Hot Child in the City." Steely Dan?
3:23 pm: "Celebration" comes on the gas station speakers. I dance, then a short walk to Borders around the corner. Hands a little shaky.
3:30 pm: Borders was made for coffee lovers. Cute barista with short hair offers "Vienna Roast." Atmosphere: inviting. I feel like talking, a lot. Apparently two cups of coffee and I love the sound of my own voice.
3:45 pm: Very aware of my surroundings, to a meticulous degree. I feel warm.
3:57 pm: Bourbon Street Cafe on Archer Road. Two stories on the outside, but only one on the inside. Very misleading.
4:03 pm: Best cup yet. Immediate kick, robust. Keep checking my head for my sunglasses. They're on the table in front of me.
4:04 pm: Note to self: Look up robust in dictionary.
4:15 pm: On the road again. Note to self, part two: coffee and country music go together like peanut butter and jelly.
4:25 pm: Krispy Kreme, the most cultured of all Gainesville coffee destinations. Overweight couple orders three dozen doughnuts, then joke about needing psychiatric help.
4:31 pm: Corner booth. Steaming coffee, light and smooth. Holy crap it's hot.
4:37 pm: Do they heat this stuff with lava? How on earth is it still piping hot? Seem to have developed a twitch.
4:40 pm: "Shut Your Eyes" by Snow Patrol comes on the overheads. It's now my favorite song of all time.
4:44 pm: Slowly losing the ability to form cohesive thoughts. I'm still thinking, but it goes from should I order a dougnut to a topless woman's soccer league. That one may be gold, actually.
4:50 pm: Book Lover's Cafe. I love smoking cigarettes. They should have a smoke lover's cafe.
5:00 pm: Coffee ice cubes, genius! Hazelnut blend in my hand, Strokes on the speakers.
5:09 pm: Things are dicey. Lost, walk by bathroom twice. In-house gardening book distracts me for a while (15 seconds).
5:20 pm: I feel like I'm Alanis Morisette in that video where she's naked and everything's in fast motion but her.
5:47 pm: Coffee Culture on 13th Street. Quiet in here. I'm afraid to speak and violate the sacred silence.
5:55 pm: The cappuccino maker pierces the lull with its hulky dissonance, where are the coffee police?
6:00 pm: I have officially been rocketed into the fourth dimension of coffee heaven…hell?
6:02 pm: I'm sweating, a lot. I can't stop using the facilities (euphemism).
6:15 pm: I understand what Kirk meant in Star Trek when he said his body was leaking.
6:30 pm: The sun is heading west. Time to switch to the bike.
7:05 pm: I go by Norman through the underpass onto campus. Past the French fries to the Orange and Brew. Fail. Closed for the summer. I sweat out some of this caffeine fever.
7:10 pm: Marching band in the distance. The flag by the pond flails in the wind while the birds echo their calls. It's so easy to miss the quiet elegance of sundown when you haven't had ridiculous amounts of caffeine.
7:24 pm: Deja Brew, back in the game. I'm paranoid. Everyone's watching me. Do they think I'm a spy or something? Do I think I'm a spy or something?
7:30 pm: I can't make eye contact with anyone without laughing. I think it's time to go.
7:42 pm: I'm losing it. My mind that is, not my sense of balance, that is in perfect working order.On the way downtown, an older, short Hispanic man holds a sign on the corner of 13th Street and University Avenue. It says, "Jesus is coming, where will you spend eternity?" I feel like if I could think clearly, I would know the answer. I could tell him, and he wouldn't have to stand out in the sun holding that heavy sign. He could go home.
7:52 pm: Volta. El Machete, washed. That's the name of the coffee, seriously. I can't even pronounce half of these coffee names. Are they trying to make me feel stupid? It's working. Congratulations, Volta, I feel stupid. You have won.
8:02 pm: Emotional and mental fatigue. A calm and alternately frantic disconnect from reality. Strangely, I don't feel like anyone is staring at me here, maybe they're too involved in their own caffeine-induced psychosis.
8:07 pm: I've developed coffee-goggles. The portly girl outside the window is looking deceptively attractive.
8:15 pm: Starbucks, downtown Gainesville. Everyone knows this coffee; I'm not going to say anything that will obliterate preconceived notions. Outside table, I'm a quiet observer. This town is alive with movement and anticipation. A young couple walks by, and I sense carnal purpose. I officially concede to brain failure.
8:17 pm: The world has turned and left me here. A ghost staring through a foggy glass window, outside looking in and realizing your girlfriend is sleeping with your dad.
8:20 pm: I'm careful not to fall off the earth as I cross the street to Maude's.
8: 22 pm: My last stop. I sit and burn a cigarette. What kind of sycophant would think this was a good idea? I feel absolutely bat-shit insane. I'm going home.
8:23 pm: Note to self: Look up sycophant in the dictionary.
