Coffee, Recipes

Atticus Finch Americano

“It was times like these when I thought my father, who hated guns and had never been to any wars, was the bravest man who ever lived.”  —Harper Lee, To Kill A Mockingbird

Equal parts sweet and strong, with a kick. Hot or cold, just like Atticus, this coffee gets shit done.

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Coffee, Recipes


INTJs are strange, mystical creatures with uncharted depths and a penchant for looking angry. You’ll often find them lost somewhere between the facets of a problem and the pages of a book, if you find them at all. They’re something like a ninja, a robot, and a night unicorn combined, quietly, magically watching from the shadows, waiting for the perfect time to wow you with their brilliance.

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Coffee, Recipes

Captain Americano

Nothing says the 4th of July like everyone’s favorite star-spangled super hero whose birthday just happens to be today. This Captain America inspired coffee is the perfect complement to your summer celebrations. Drink it over ice for a refreshing jolt of caffeine to get you through those last few hours of having company over.

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Red-Eyed Alex

I am not throwing away my shot!

Sometimes your morning coffee just won’t wake you up, no matter how much you plead with it. One sip of this Alexander Hamilton inspired drink, however, and you’ll be passionately smashing every single expectation. Drink it iced to get it into your bloodstream faster. (Though it’s good hot, too.)

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Wake Up Call Coffee Syrup

Caffeine is a fickle mistress. Sometimes you become immune to her charms, and the love you once felt for each other has turned into nothing more than frustration and a rapid heartbeat that has nothing to do with affection. So, while staring at my computer one day in a fit of desperation, this coffee syrup was born.
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Eff It All

Well, the first week of my last semester of college has come and gone, and I’m resigning myself to the fact that my constant state of being for the next four months will be tired, stressed, and surviving. So, with that in mind,

F is for eff it.

As in, “Let’s think the unthinkable, let’s do the undoable. Let us prepare to grapple with the ineffable itself, and see if we may not eff it after all.” (If I were a book, it would be Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency. Or possibly Good Omens. Both wonderful reads. I’m not biased at all.)

As in, keeping up most relationships is more trouble than it’s worth.

As in, conversely, my plan to avoid all but like five people this semester is going terribly. I’ve had plans with different people every single night so far. And dare I say I’ve enjoyed it? I’m exhausted, sure, but I don’t like being alone. Might as well make the most of college. So my plan has changed. Rather than avoid everyone, I’ve resolved not to unduly dislike anyone. It’ll take some work, but I hope it’ll turn out worth it. If people want to be my friend, I might as well be theirs. I’m too tired to hold pointless grudges this semester. For the most part.

As in, I spent all day yesterday at a bridal show with my best friend and seeing that many happy couples made me want to vomit. If you had enough patience, a bridal show would be a great place to pick up chicks. Because all the single bridesmaids are there with their soon-to-be-married friends, surrounded by things meant for couples, and already used to writing their name and phone number on things. It’s pretty much foolproof. If only I could have run into the cute male model from the weirdly upbeat fashion show.


As in, I’m supposed to have a writing portfolio completed in about three months and I have next to nothing that’s not the novel I’ve been writing since June. And I can’t decide if I care.

As in, a coffee addiction is only detrimental if your heart stops, right?

As in, my priorities this semester are having fun and getting thin, but everything is enough of a priority that they all have to get done. If everything is a priority, is anything? Is it possible for me to stay sane right now? I have my doubts.

As in, it’s much more fun to get organized than it is to do the things you just organized.

As in, caring about things takes too much effort. I’m not a robot, but I want to be. Life would be infinitely easier if I were as task oriented, practical, and emotionless as I pretend to be.

As in, I have no idea what I’m doing after graduation and it’s terrifying and I’m occasionally crippled by panic but I’m not actually worried about it.

As in, eff you.

As in, I don’t actually know how to say eff it and then follow through. Like the character in Dirk Gently’s Holisitic Detective Agency, my life is a constant cycle of this: “That was it. That was really it. She knew that she had told herself that that was it only seconds earlier, but this was now the final real ultimate it.” Until the next time.

As in, I can think the unthinkable. I can do the undoable. I can grapple with the ineffable itself. And we’ll see what comes of that.

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Dear Coffee Guy at the Mall in the Middle of Nowhere,

I can’t imagine what you must have seen–two girls, looking around with wide eyes and tired shoulders, standing unconsciously almost back-to-back so that nothing could surprise them, and staring at the menu with blank looks on their faces–okay, maybe I can imagine it a little.  But I don’t know what prompted you to help them.  It was the end of your shift, probably, the mall was closing soon, so maybe you helped them to get them out so you could close up shop.  But I’m choosing to believe you helped them because there’s some good left in the world.

See, we were lost.  We told you that, I think, told you that we were tired and nearly broke.  We didn’t tell you we were far from home or that our phones were dead, we’re not dumb enough for that, but I imagine you got that idea when you heard us asking each other what city we were in.  I don’t believe we ever found an answer to that question, but that’s not your fault; this is the sort of thing that happens to us frequently.

When you asked these girls if you could help them, if they knew what they wanted, and their only answer was “I don’t know,” you could have waited for them to make up their minds.  Instead, you chose to walk them through their order, asking them what they liked and didn’t like, and telling them you had it handled.  That was nice of you, but I suppose almost any guy working at an empty coffee shop would do the same.  We pooled our money and ordered a large iced coffee to split–I’ve found that iced coffee sends the caffeine in a more direct route to the bloodstream–and you set about making our order.  We talked amongst ourselves, not paying attention to what you were doing.  I don’t remember what we talked about, but it probably revolved around more wondering where we were and how we were going to get home and if the taller of the two would ever find a prom dress.  She did, by the way.  Because of this, when you set two full cups of coffee on the counter, all we could do was look at you confused.  We may have stammered something about only ordering one, but I honestly don’t remember.  Whether we said anything or not, you told us that you had “accidentally” made too much coffee and had “accidentally” added an extra espresso shot, and you only charged us for the one regular cup.

I don’t remember what you looked like–in my mind now you look like a kindly old hippie, but that could just be wishful thinking–or sounded like or really anything about you.  I don’t know how tired and lost we must have looked, or whether you were just bored and looking for something out of the ordinary to do.  Maybe this sort of thing isn’t out of the ordinary for you.  You probably don’t even remember it.  But I do.  And I wanted to say thanks.  Nothing was really going right that day, and you made it all a little bit better.  So thank you.


One of the Two Tired-Looking Girls in the Coffee Shop in the Mall in the Middle of Nowhere