Listened to a movie review of the “The Descendants”. The reviewer intoned in a pleasant, narrowly modulated voice. It sounded like a depressing if not interesting movie. Finished up the baked potato, lunch, and the swallow of vodka left from last night's two and nibbled at the edge of the apple crisp on the table that was last nights desert, eating more than I might have if I had just cut a piece. Vodka and apple crisp, worked well. Walked pass the bathroom and closed the medicine cabinet door, then seeing my image in the mirror, wondered why there was a reason to su...(rvive the next two hundred years): trashing the planet the way we are. Sat down at the desk upstairs sipped on this morning’s cold coffee and wrote this. (The coffee would have gone well with the apple crisp.)
Ice coffee some years ago was promoted by a coffee company, do not remember which. That might have been as long ago as the age of ‘better living through chemistry’ when instant coffee was also heavily advertised. The image was the young, happening crowd: sex and money I suppose. At the time ice coffee was a fizzle. A fad who’s success was but contrived and lost its way quickly, might have been a European thing. Mom tried it for a while. It took McDonalds to make ice coffee chic. Chic and McDonalds, I suppose chic is relative to whatever crowd you might find yourself in: McDonalds' Chic. The walk up window of the fifties McDonalds: no dinning room, Coke, nickel hamburgers and fries might have been happening but at the time it was not chic: so now to call ‘McDonalds’ (as it might very well be) chic, seems an uneasy phrase. Maybe chic has changed.
Has ice coffee found an enduring place in the culture? It certainly has survived longer than that first spasm I remember.
