Had he made it another 37 years, Sunday the 12th would have been writer, drunk, and occasional Denver resident Jack Kerouac 84th birthday. Now, I don't pretend to be a scholar of his works, or even the most avid fan. Hell, I only ever finished "On the Road", a few assorted "pomes", and parts of "The Subterraneans" (an attempt at "Desolation Angels" nearly put me into a coma). But a blog devoted to all things coffee, especially to those things intangible and, dare I say -transcendent- would be remiss to not mention the "King of the Beatniks", even though the man himself shunned the title. (I use "beatnik" over the preferred and pretentious "beat" precisely because it makes his silly Naropa progeny get all huffy and spout off all manner of angry and monumentally dull poetry... and that makes me laugh)
Beyond his association with a counter culture that he rejected later in life, I think it's only fitting that I pay tribute to him here. His "Stream of Consciousness" writing style -of which Truman Capote said "That's not writing, it's typing"- qualifies him, I believe, as the Original Blogger.
Happy Birthday, JK/Sal Paradise/et al, if there's an afterlife, I hope you're getting some "kicks" there.
Unlike the many other Ted Campbells on the interwebs, I'm neither a minister, nor a professional motorcyclist, nor a gay realtor from Florida.
What I AM is an ass-kickin' father, a corporate schlep, and an occasional freelance writer.
If you've found your way here, why not give my awesome "Blog of Note" blog-novel a look-see?