When I reach the third floor of the Johnson Center on George Mason campus and sit down to a table among my closest friends with a hot cup of coffee in hand, I'm usually asked at least once in an incredulous tone: What cup is that? Sometimes people will shake their heads and smile as they say the words "Coffee addict" under their breath. I have no qualms with this nickname, though inaccurate. While I do enjoy the soothing effects of the aromatic black bean juice immensely I'm not addicted to it, and were I addicted it would not be to the coffee itself but to the wondrous, life-enriching, energy-infusing drug contained and naturally produced within the coffee, that is, caffeine. For the reason that caffeine can be mildly addictive and be the cause for some increased heart rate, increased blood pressure and irregular heartbeat, I mostly understand the concern that my friends have for me when they sarcastically attack my coffee dependence. So my response to the playful concerns of my friends and family is usually something like: "I know, I know, I'm trying to quit."
But whenever I sit down with a flowery mug full of my favorite form of percolated water, as I am now, I can't help but wonder if it's really the villain that my well-intentioned girlfriends chalk it up to be?
I understand the association it has with other, clearly unhealthy habits like smoking and drinking (heck, there's even a movie called Coffee and Cigarettes...or is it Cigarettes and Coffee? It was a good movie anyway, I recommend it), but does it really have an equal share in the malignant effects that its companions inflict? Or could it just be severely misunderstood?
I embark to find out.
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