(Insert politically-correct, non-language specific and overly cliche first post salutation of choice here)

I'll be straight up: I like coffee.  I mean seriously, what's not to love?  The taste, the tweak—it's the other crack, really.

Of course, this isn't news to those who know me (and reasonably inferred by the blog's entire premise for those who don't), but being one who hates mixed signals I hope you respect the reaffirmation.  Being that super straightedge kid in high school who dug things like dead poets and indie rock bands nobody heard of (except, of course, all the other cool kids), it seemed like an intellectual, legal and innocent vice to succumb to that embodied everything about who I was and was also comparatively cheap juxtaposed with the cost of respectable libations out on the town for anyone with standards—or as I call it, PPS: Pretentious Palate Syndrome.

I'm originally from a little town called Los Gatos, a San Francisco suburb known for Netflix, the bands Trapt and Dredg (dope), feline references ad nauseam, Apple founder-turned-Dancing with the Stars sensation Steve Wozniak, and a place where perk receives more attention than most.  (We also produced the Pet Rock and its short-lived successor, the Sand Farm).  In the 408 area code, it's that trendy town you go to for mom and pop shopping, chic dining, and of course, charming non-corporate coffeehouses.  Where you catch an art house flick followed by macchiatos and bear claws at The Great Bear, or spot the Sunday morning Spandex crowd getting gawked by Golden Retrievers outside Los Gatos Coffee Roasting, the prevailing pit stop for cyclists pedaling the creek trail and the consummate meetinghouse for resident early risers.  Granted your Silicon Valley nouveau riche types have tried to turn it all into a mall-on-Main Street deal, but thankfully beyond bringing Banana Republic and a few FourBucks to strip malls well outside the downtown proper, they've been reasonably checked in their efforts.  In any case, contemporary Los Gatos represents a uniquely anomalous amalgam of crunchy, laid back casual and what flamboyant bon vivant Lucius Beebe coined "cafe society."  And you better believe Los Gatans loved their lattes long before the Seattle siren lured mainstream America aboard the Venti frappa-whappa-whatever train.

My entire life, you see, was shaped by this town. The town where I watched my first beans bake in a roasting drum like the Wonka factory for insomniacs.  The town where in first grade, I traded my caffeine v-card for a sip of an older woman's cappuccino.  The town where I learned to live, and learned to love.  Coffee, of course.

Now I'm (supposedly) all grown up and live in a slightly bigger town: New York, where I'm a fresh out of college freelance journalist and graphic artist breaking the bank to support my espresso habit.  It's certainly no NorCal, but cool enough in its —and with Left Coast expats like Stumptown and Blue Bottle now reppin' I'm adjusting surprisingly easier than expected.

And so this forthcoming blog flume will be my caffeinated chronicles from here, there and everywhere.  Mostly about coffee, but also other fun things—adventure, good food, righteous music, awesome art—which, given my overcaffeinated lifestyle, will more often than not also involve coffee.  Oh plus, after rereading my URL and casting it in an entirely new light, I realized it's also appropriate to work in content about my other home: the beach.  I drink copious quantities of coffee there, too, so it's all good.

If you're still reading after all that, I can tell we're going to have a fun time together.  So perk up, and let the insanity begin :)