On intentionality: it doesn’t so much matter what a thing is, or the countless things that it isn’t, as long as it is on purpose. We rarely wish to get lucky with our success, and it rarely happens anyway, outside of the strange and socially awkward creation of Penicillin, or arguably the invention of flying. Waking up to hot coffee is as American as baseball or second-guessing, and iced coffee can be loosely described as hipster, or perhaps the drink of choice when housewives run out of Ritalin. But there is nothing worse, nothing so undrinkable, than hot coffee gone cold or iced coffee melted. Its purpose has been lost; it has done the terrifying act of going off-script; it is unintentional. Nothing could be more potentially catastrophic to the well-planned afternoon than the accident, than hot coffee gone cold. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t drink it anyway.


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