I’ve Had Too Much Coffee

Last weekend Mack and I watched Word Play, a cute little documentary about crossword puzzles and the genuine nerds (watch another cute little film called American Splendor to know the right way to say genuine nerds properly) who love them. Because I worship the box others call television, I heard the mandate to start doing crossword puzzles. Because I acknowledge that my worship of the box has seriously compromised my mental capacity, I knew that a grande au lait was a prerequisite to any attempt at word games.

We sat down with the New York Times with good intentions and lubricated brains and thumbed through every page of every section in search of this mental challenge that has developed a cult following. We couldn’t find the crossword puzzle. Mack bought an LA Times, and two hours later, we had done about 75 percent of the puzzle. It was such a good way to spend a Sunday, we’ve sort of adopted it as a weekly ritual -- for two weeks running now.

This week, we sat down to do the puzzle, and because we spent all our money on plane tickets home, we had to come up with our own coffee. One cup of Folger’s cappucino mix just doesn’t do what a grande au lait does, so when Mack asked if I wanted another cup, I accepted the offer.

We drank our second cups and busted the puzzle open. Our brains were focused yet flexible, and we kicked the puzzle’s ass.
Now we’re sitting at the table staring into the other boxes we worship, with fingers that can’t be still and brains that are starting to buzz. My armpits are sweaty, and my legs are shifty, and I swear the table is vibrating. We don’t have another crossword puzzle to do so all this mental racing is manifesting itself physically. How can something so good turn so bad so fast?