Yes, the earphones worked just fine when I went back to the coffee house. I spent a good hour and ten minutes working and listening to Celer’s Tightrope.
And came to the conclusion that I prefer writing on my porch while watching the ivy grow and posting pictures here to remember when it’s winter time.
Yesterday afternoon, I came to the conclusion that I need a new coffee house to frequent. This thought came to me while I was actually sitting in the coffee house aforementioned.
No, the hot caffeinated (and cold caffeinated) beverages are of the same good quality as ever, as well as the service. It is a fellow coffee house goer that is driving me a tad nuts, or at the very least making it difficult to make my way peaceably through Colum McCann’s new TransAtlantic. He is a regular, like me, but unlike me, he is constantly surrounded by many textbooks (undergraduate level) and papers and usually a woman who seems to be slightly more of an assistant to him, but who only functions as a silent table mate, occasionally writing down things he tells her need to be done. He is also large and loud and proud of his knowledge.
He was also nearby my chair yesterday afternoon, and spent at least an hour talking to the man sitting in the chair between him and me. He was holding forth on many topics and getting them all slightly wrong. What finally broke me was him telling his quiet, attentive audience of one about the pineal gland and its link to the uppermost chakra that one learns about through too many yoga classes. And he kept mispronouncing the word pineal as pin-eel. I am enclosing my Apple Dictionary definition of pineal which says that it is pronounced the way I always thought it was.
I could take no more, and left, tossing away a nearly full cold caffeinated beverage.
Okay, I’ll go back, but I insist on bringing my big new earphones.
I am at Lookout Joe’s for the morning.
There was a very acceptable parking space nearby, one that can be had for two hours at a time with a dollar’s worth of quarters.
There are still the Christmas decorations up inside: tinsel around the menu board and tinsel and lights around the specialty tea display in the back of the room. The room is full of women gathered talking to one another. There’s only one other woman in the room besides me who is not involved in a conversation and who does not work here. Sporadic men, only two of whom are talking. I am sitting in the corner of the couch which I managed to get after two other regulars having some sort of meeting, casual-business style, left. If one waits, one gets the corner of the couch. Patience is required for this.
Boxcar Coffee Roasters, LLC.
Just found them while on my way to yet another coffee house in Boulder. Where else can you find so many coffee shops?
Probably lots of places, but not in Cincinnati.
Just got myself a small vanilla latté. It was full to the brim so I took a big sip of it before I picked it up from the counter and taking it over to the table where the sugar and spoons are. It tasted pretty good, so I am giving it a try unsweetened. Yes, I know this is heresy, but I say, give it a shot.
Image via Wikipedia
Yet another gray day. Satchel curled up beside me and the laptop and the Grande Peppermint Mocha from an unnamed prominent coffee chain named after a character in Moby Dick. Literature has the strangest effect on people and society.
I think that Herman Melville would be both pleased and appalled at the coffee chain’s success. I can’t quite see him drinking a latte, though. Now I’m going to have that image following me throughout the day.
I am sitting in Starbuck’s and actually getting a bit of stuff done with all of the sugar and caffeine running through my veins after two mocha frappuccinos. But I think of the items that I saw in the refrigerated case that one waits by until it is one’s turn to talk to the barista. No, I am not referring to the food items, but rather to one of the words printed on their little designation signs: Artisan.
Come on. Aren’t we making that word redundant through overuse? Are we trying to pretend that the little sandwiches are not made in some food preparation facility and brought here by a truck? And it’s just egg and cheese and bacon and a roll. This is not difficult enough to require a master-level of craft.
Springing to mind, though it was not printed on a card in the case, is my other new word to be annoyed by: Awesome. You tell the waitress that you would like a bowl of the chicken tortilla soup: awesome. I wonder if they will find a word that is even more emphatic than that in a year or two, or if they’ll change linguistic strategies completely. There is not, after all, much past awesome.
Everything looks better in the morning, even the previous night. However, the previous night looked pretty good anyways.
This is the sort of pretentious blather that my mind runs through when it is waking itself up, which it is attempting to do so right now. It is helped along by a mocha frappuccino; I suppose that the first bits of caffeine are hitting the brain-blood barrier right now as I type.
The crickets are still running on, though their enthusiasm is much less in the mornings than in the night. I find myself worrying about how exhausted they must get with singing 24 hours a day, but in a few months, they will all be dead anyway, from the cold.
On that cheery thought, I will go and try to make something out of the aforementioned morning.