Starbucks #798, 7:35 p.m. – My new computer, let me show you it

I GOT MY NEW MACBOOK TODAY.

Praise Allah. Praise Kali. Praise Buddha. Praise Shiva. Praise Cthulu. Braise a howler monkey and pass the barbecue sauce. I GOT MY NEW MACBOOK TODAY!

Now that I've got that out of my system … I'm about 35 miles north of my normal haunts hanging out at a brand new Starbucks. This is the first Starbucks I've ever seen that is laid out in a near-perfect square. The dining room is a rectangle. The barista bar is another skinny rectangle – and the drive-thru is a third skinny rectangle on the back of that.

It's very, very strange – because the design is open – and it means that every single bit of noise that comes from the espresso bar is amplified and echoes out into the customer area.

This is another one of those - "no-merchandise" Starbucks - so there's lots of seating and hangout space. It is just noisy as hell. No one in their right mind would want to make this their "third space." Counting me, there are only three customers here. I can't hear myself think over the noise of dishes, the sink and the blender. If this place were full of customers, I'd run screaming for the hills trailing coffee beans behind me like a shitty baby with a diaper full of poo toddling down the aisle of a Wal-Mart!

One of the baristas was just making a frappuccino – and I swear to Kali it sounded like she was blending a concrete block inside a cement mixer. It doesn't help that they've turned up the Juanes in this joint to a level 11 and beyond. I'm down with Juanes. Just not a level that will vibrate the hairs right off Frida Kahlo's upper lip.

The baristas are a triple set of teenage tramplets that belong in a Pussycat Dolls video. Or in the Pussycat Dolls. Whichever comes first.

This is the dialogue from the last thirty seconds. "OH MY GOD. I'M TOTALLY IGNORING YOU. LIKE, IT WAS BLENDING SO LOUD. LIKE, WHAT'S THE EASIEST WAY TO MAKE A CHAI LATTE? JUST, LIKE, PUT SOME MILK IN THERE. OH MY GOD. DOLCE. I'M SO STOKED."

Blarf. There were a couple of foreign tourists in front of me at the register.

POR LO MANO DE CHRISTO. THE NOISE FROM THE DISHES IS KILLING ME.

Anyway. These tourists. They couldn't figure out what they wanted. They finally managed to get two coffees.

CANNOT HEAR SELF THINK FOR NOISE OF BLENDER. WHOEVER ORDERED THAT FRAPPUCCINO I HOPE YOU GET THE RUNS RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE TOLL BRIDGE AND DIE!

Foreign tourists. Two coffees and two coffee cakes. Then they ask the girl at the register for sugar and cream – because they're obviously from some Third World slumhole country that has not yet been cursed blessed with the beneficent majesty of the Green Apron goodness. Anyway.

MY GOD I CAN LITERALLY HEAR THE SCRUB BRUSH GOING IN AND OUT OF THE DISHES OVER THERE.

Anyway. Register monkey is helping me and asks another girl to direct the tourists to the cream and sugar on the condiment bar. The other girl – who has ratty hair that looks like a beaver made a nest, died, willed the nest to another beaver, then that beaver made and nest and raised a family of six and then died – she leans over the espresso machine and yells at the top of her lungs ITS OVER THERE! And she points at the condiment bar.

Because she obviously knows how to give the legendary green apron customer service.

Ok. The noise here is just too much. I feel a migraine. Either that or I am way, way, constipated and need to take a serious dump.

I love you all.

But I love my new computer more.

Starbucks #1, 7:10 p.m. - My breast tattoo, let me show you it

Damn. I need that triple venti raspberry white chocolate mocha. I have been caffeine deprived all day because I refuse to buy soda for my apartment. I think soda is bad for the body - but I can't break my caffeine addiction. I try to fight this by not buying soda - or buying it only in the 16 oz. bottles. Therefore, I always have a limited supply on hand and getting more requires me to actually lever myself up off the couch, go downstairs and make my way to the 7-Eleven.

OK. Mega strangeness. An old dude decked out in runner duds just came in, did an about-face, then went right back out, crossed four lanes of traffic and disappeared into the distance. He crossed the opposite corner too. I can see him walking through the parking lot of the Mobil station across the corner.

Ha. I bet he thought the coffee prices were too expensive. DUDE. It is a fricking Starbucks. You are paying for a decade of marketing and the mythical "third place" experience. Also, he's in for a helluva shock when he goes into that Mobil station. It's one of the Mobil "On the Run" cafe stations. They serve gourmet coffee and at one point actually had a small cafe in the back - like a Subway with a person making fresh sandwiches for you.

There is an extremely tall woman wearing a Marimekko-esque print shirt and Ugly Betty style glasses that is accompanying an old dude with a goatee and one of those tragea piercings in his right ear. Well, he's not THAT old, but he's got a good fifteen years on her. She looks like she ought to be vamping it up on Nikki Beach or something - not hanging around coffee shops with grizzled old wannabe-hot-stuff Cuban dudes who are trying to work the Picard look. OH MY GOD. He just told her to go fetch their drinks. Servile much? Girlfriend, you need to dump this dude. No amount of clothes and jewelry is worth your self respect.

Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Midwestern tourists in tha hiz-ouse. She's wearing white pants with cute little tassels on the bottom cuffs and a gigantic black fisherman's sweater. He's got on the latest from the Tommy Bahama line - ugly yellow and tropical flower print shirt, khakis, hat and boat shoes. Her cankles threaten to overwhelm the one and a half-inch black jeweled heels she's trying to work like a rock star. Sister-girl, please, listen to mama. That day has passed.

OH MY GOD. I just got a frontal of the Cuban girl in the Marimekko outfit. She has a huge tattoo of hearts and flowers and scrollwork splashed across her collarbones and extending down to a point right above her breasts. Very eye-catching. And they just got into their huge black Ford Excursion, drove over the curb and through a red light. Nice. Really nice.

Wow. This is just the best cup of coffee that I have had in like two weeks. This is the one barista that I discreetly "complained" about too. I guess they went back and re-trained her, because her work has been spot-on here lately. I mean, this is an EXCELLENT cup of coffee.

I love the city at night. From where I'm sitting, I can see one of the really big intersections in town and the ebb and flow of traffic and traffic lights. It has a very peaceful and at the same time frenetic beauty. The movement of the light is so hypnotic.

It brings to mind one of my favorite old "Northern Exposure" episodes. Anyone else love that show? Anyway. The episode was called "Aurora Borealis, or Fairy Tales for Big People." I think that was what it was called anyway. The episode ended with the John Corbett character unveiling this huge light sculpture in the town square and the Enya song "Ebudae" playing over the end credits. It was fantastically wonderful and beautiful and soulful and spiritually powerful. Dunno. Maybe I just loved "Northern Exposure."

Anyway. There's a yuppie here who either has an internal modem or who doesn't mind paying the exorbitant price for Starbucks Internet access. He's been surfing on this laptop the whole time I've come in, snagged THA BEST COFFEE EVAR, decided that I wanted a meal, eaten some tuna salad, chatted with one of the baristas about the unfortunate demise of my MacBook and why she should avoid the Mac Mini and just get a laptop, and then write this post. Whoops. He's leaving now.

Wait. My time is up. So am I. They're grinding coffee beans now. The noise is terrific. The smell is intoxicating, but the constant whirr-whirr-whirr is going to give me a headache in short order.

Peace. Love. Understanding.

Apple Store, 4:23 p.m. - There is a shaved poodle in the Apple store!

Well, I have been driven to become peripatetic. I have been driven to worship at the altar of our lord Jobs. Yes. I'm typing at the Apple Store. Just call me David Duchovny and call this an episode of "Californication."

Mon dieu, it is hella crowded up in here. I do say that I love these new flat Apple keyboards though. I had to squeeze in on one of the big-screen iMacs because all the laptops were taken up by students doing Kali knows what with PhotoBooth and MySpace.

There are more retail slaves here than in a regular Wal-Mart. Most regular retail places could learn a thing or two from Apple. There is an annoying twenty-something in a pale blue T-shirt running around with a clipboard and a Palm-Pilot sized device that is just bugging the mess out of everyone.

You know, I realize that these are displays, not general use computers, but Apple could at least provide some stools. That, or raise the height of the counters to make it easier for people to type. I've tried about eight positions so far and not found one that is comfortable for me to type at for a long period of time.

Rich people have WAAAAAY too much money to waste on the last of the world's technological resources. Two girls over here are trying to convince these two old white people in expensive leather coats and $400 shoes to buy a laptop. She's working the whole iLife suite thing. "Look at iPhoto here. You can share your photos instantly." They're not buying it. I bet they'll go buy some piece-of-crap gPC at the Wal-Mart or something.

I LOVE THIS KEYBOARD. If I didn't have a laptop, I would totally buy myself one. Yeah, that and the fact that this keyboard costs $80.

There is an old woman wearing a turquoise green pants suit and dark, dark, dark sunglasses right up in the store here. Wait. She's got on a lime green Gore-tex vest OVER the pants suit and she has on a black crocodile bag. That's really an interesting combination of flavors there lady. AND SHE IS WALKING A SHAVED POODLE RIGHT INTO THE STORE. SO HELP ME GOD A SHAVED POODLE. I don't know who she is, or what she is, but this poor pooch deserves to be put out of its misery.

OK. Me craning my neck to get a better look at the dog just earned me a visit from one of the Apple geeks. "Do you need help sir?" No. I'm just trying to get a better look at the dog. "What dog?" That dog. And the dog picks that moment to howl.

Apple does not age discriminate. Some ancient fossil who looks like a skinny John McCain is trying to convince these two even older fossils to shell out on an iMac is touting the benefits of the widescreen display. And he is trying to play down the fact that it costs $1800. Now he's trying to figure out what kind of computer they have.

"Are you using Microsoft Outlook?" Really? I don't understand that question. It's so noisy in here that I really cant eavesdrop very well. He's selling the hell out the photo-sharing.

Now the old people want him to come to the house and install it. He's like "We don't do that. Macs are easy." These old people seriously want someone to come set the computer up for them. Damn. They need to go up to a Best Buy and get pocketbook-raped then!

This dude is having to sell the return policy because these old people are stupid. "We're going to take it out to the car for you. If you don't like it, you put it back in the box. We'll go out to the car and get it for you. Y0u don't have to do any thing else. You just tell us you don't want it."

Uh. OK. Just make sure you keep your receipt. Seriously. Old people are the worst shoppers in existence.

OMG. I'm laughing on the inside. I see one of the Apple geeks trying to get comfortable down the bar at one of the MacBooks. I KNEW THE PRODUCT BAR WAS TOO LOW!

You know, if this were a better working environment, I'd come here more often - like that woman who wrote an entire book at that Apple store. I think it was in the New York Times this past weekend.

Oddly enough, there are a lot - and I mean A HELLA LOT - of middle-aged and old people up in here. There really aren't that many young people. And the woman with the poodle walked by again. SHE IS NOT BLIND. I DO NOT WANT POODLE HAIR IN MY PRODUCT.

I really should fall down on the floor and act like I'm going into anaphylactic shock because I'm allergic to dogs. That shit would be so funny. I wonder if they'd give me a free MacBook because of it? Hell, I'd settle for one of the baby MacBooks - as long as it was a black one!

OK. My time is up. And my shoulders hurt from typing in this awkward position. Thanks to today's sponor - the Apple store!

PS: There are some cute Apple geeks up in here!

Starbucks #1, 4:21 p.m. - Crazy art woman and even crazier return lady

Obviously, this is from yesterday. My backup computer has now died. The power cord is faulty and I had to wait and seize the opportunity to steal another one from a spare computer at work today. SOMEONE HATES ME.

It is crazy insane busy in here. You would think it is New York up in here, at the height of tourist season, at midnight on New Year's Eve the way people are stacked up like cordwood and the line is humongous.

To top everything else off, there is a crazy artist woman replacing the art on the walls here right above my head. Why she picked right now - at the height of the afternoon rush - to be doing this - is beyond all reason and beyond me. Right now, she's trying to unscrew the box that held her business cards under her $800 photographs. She kept sighing and pouting and then I noticed that she was actually screwing the box INTO the wall.

I looked up and said "You're doing it wrong. Lefty loosey, righty tighty." She was like "Oh. I'm doing it wrong." One would think she might have noticed that after 20 minutes of screwing and not being able to get the box off the wall. Le sigh. Artistic types. Her photographs were really nice, but not for the outrageous price she was charging.

I told her to just leave it for the next artist. She told me "I paid good money for that. I'm not going to leave it. It's mine." Okay then. Go right on with your bad penny-pinching self. She took the photos, the hooks that they were hung on the shelves with and the box her business cards were in. It looks like a denuded apartment up in here.

Ladies. Let me offer some random fashion advice. If you have a size 24 behind, that's all cool. The Goddess loves everyone - all shapes, sizes, colors, etc. HOWEVER. You really, really, need to think about the possible ramifications of going out in public with roses hand-stitched over your back pockets. I realize that you might be wanting to serve as a walking billboard for Sophie's Sewing Shoppe, but all you're really doing is making a rose look like a red cabbage. And it looks like you enjoy getting your buttocks spanked in some odd sort of flower fetish foreplay. Please do not be wearing gigantic embroidery if you have loins the size of water buffaloes. Kthnxbai.

Snakeskin appears to be back in this year. There's a woman with a fire-engine-red snakeskin coat prancing impatiently waiting for her drink. And yes, I did hear her order a peppermint hot chocolate with soy. Ewwwwwwwwwwww.

There's a scary WOACA in line now. She's got on light gray slacks and a regular white tunic. The kicker? She's got on silver snakeskin shoes. All this is accessorized with a Tiffany-ish powder blue handbag. I'm not sure of what kind of looks she's going for. OH MY GOD. I think ... I think. Actually, I'm sure (ewww, she's getting a soy caramel macchiatto) that she's got a pack of cigarettes jammed up under her shirt. No. It can't be. It has to be a nicotine patch. Although I don't know why she would have that floating around down near her muffin top.

Hello. Old dude. Christmas sweaters are officially out of style on Dec. 27. You MIGHT be able to get away with it on Boxing Day, but not on January 2. Please exit the building and get thee to a Macy's, pronto.

The baristas are arguing about the schedule.

And there is some RETURN DRAMA. There's a woman with OH MY GOD - a STACK of Starbucks receipts. She's got a Christmas gift bag and she's pulling out pounds of coffee, coffee grinders, some mugs -- all sorts of shit and she's holding up the line tremendously. Worse, she's dressed in an odd black and green jogging suit combination. She's old and white - but she has one leg of the jogging suit pulled up over her knee in ghetto style while the other one is down near her ankle. She's hollering at the assistant manager on duty about return a pound of ground coffee that she apparently bought back in early December but she claims tasted bad. Uh. Uh. Uh. I see a potential scam here.

Buy the $16 a pound coffee, fill the bag with Folgers and return. Wash rinse repeat.

They're still arguing. The girl at the register is holding up one finger to the customers getting increasingly impatient behind her - "One moment. One moment." And she points at the black sweatsuit woman. If this woman keeps this up - denying these poor people their triple mocha latte fix, there might me a venti-sized riot up in here.

Finally, she'd done. THEY ARE GIVING HER MONEY BACK FOR ALL THOSE POUNDS OF COFFEE. Damn. I need to get up on this.

Ok. We're going to depart with one bit of fashion advice that we should all take to heart. Ladies - and gentlemen - when you bleach your hair in order to go fashionably blonde - YOU NEED TO PUT SOME CONDITIONER UP IN THAT MESS. Otherwise, it do be looking like straw up on your head. And I will clown you ferociously.

Starbucks #1, 7:25 p.m. - Screw this laptop and this one heffa is hella noisy

Let's try this again. I just kicked the cord and lost the first nine minutes. I burst out with a "What the fuck" and caused everyone at Starbucks to stare at me. Must needs remember that I'm not always in private. Lovely. Just effing lovely.

I have GOT to get a better computer. The MacBook that I killed was posted off to Apple by the tech support folks at my real job - Apple sent back a repair estimate that would cover the price of one of the baby iBooks. So for the time being, I'm not portable except for this janky Dell with the non-existent battery and now complete with a shitty power cord. Merry effing Christmas.

Anyway. Where was I? Oh. It's another Starbucks on another night and I'm working on another iced mocha. The workers here have those dead looks that say "I've worked too much over the past few days and not spent enough time with my family. I will serve you your coffee, but I will not smile at you and I will hate you for even expecting me to be friendly when I really want to be at home on the couch chomping on Cheetos and sucking down a fifth of Jim Beam."

OH MY GOD. The barista working the espresso bar just announced "VENTI CARAMEL CRAPPUCCINO." The recipient of said "crappuccino" eyeballed her and said "What was that?" The barista apologized and assured him that it was a frappuccino. And then announced to no one in particular that it has been a long four days.

It has been a long four days. When the power on my computer died, this dude behind me asked "Did you lose your data?" No. I was just screaming at random.

I do realize that this is a Starbucks - people might holler and scream on a regular basis, but I do try to keep my stuff under control. This is a man that comes in around 7 p.m. every night with takeout from a different restaurant, sits in one of the comfortable recliners and proceeds to feast for the next 45 minutes. I've never seen him actually order anything FROM Starbucks - just take up their space and use their napkins, forks and toilet paper.

There's a girl making really loud social plans off to my one o'clock. GIRL, WHERE YOU AT? I'M ABOUT TO HEAD OUT TO THE HIP-HOP FEST AND I THINKS ALL OF YA'LL SHOULD BE JOINING ME. I NEEDS MY PEEPS. YOU FEELS ME? YOU KNOW WHAT MY FRIEND DID? SHE WENT TO THE DOCTOR AND SAID HER SHOULDER HURT AND SHE GOT ALL KIND OF PILLS AND THEY WERE SO STRONG AND SHE SOLD THAT SHIT. SHE TOOK HALF AND SOLD HALF AND PAID FOR HER KIDS CHRISTMAS.

Damn. I never knew. That's how you make money up in here. Lie, cheat and sell.

The cacophony of noise up in here is terrible.

The girl on the phone is getting louder, if that were possible. IS JESSICA GOING? I CAN'T BE BY MYSELF. SHE NEED TO PICK UP THE PHONE WHEN I CALL. I KNOW SHE BE UP IN THE HOUSE. WHERE SHE BE AT? I NEED MY GIRL. GIRL, LET ME TELL YOU, SHE DON'T PICK UP THE PHONE FOR NOBODY.

Now this girl is wandering around the Starbucks, screaming into the phone and picking her thong out of the backside of her skirt. It REALLY is an attractive picture. She has on a black skirt and white flip flops.

Which is a step up from what just walked in - two kids where one of them doesn't even have shoes on at all - and they are certainly old enough to know better. Either twins or brothers. I'm trying to figure these pants out. I think one of them has on khakis with the back split halfway and denim sewed into the gap to create two-toned flares. It is the strangest thing. The one without shoes has on shorts. Homeless or European? Obviously not homeless because the both just whipped out cell phones.

Two well-dressed middle-agers just walked in. The woman has on what I refer to as a peppermint shirt - it looks just like one of those candy mints in a million different shades of red and pink and is all stripey. It is very cute.

The cell phone girl is still screaming. GIRL, I DON'T REMEMBER ANYTHING FROM THAT PARTY. ALL I REMEMBER IS THE SHIMMY SHIMMY AND FALLING INTO THE CHRISTMAS TREE AND THEN SOMEONE HAD TO REMIND ME OF IT. SOMEONE WILL SAY SOMETHING LIKE THAT HAPPENED AND I WILL BE LIKE "I WASN'T EVEN THERE" AND SOMEONE HAS TO BE LIKE 'YES YOU WERE." She sure sounds like she has a fascinating party-filled life - falling over into Christmas trees and all.

One final note. Pink polo shirts are a no-no unless you have enough money to buy and sell small islands. They just look funny on anyone else. Thank you old man - your touristy ways made me laugh - especially because that shade of pink made you look like someone dunked you in a bottle of milk of magnesia!

Starbucks #1, 5:42 p.m. - Ironic camouflage is still ugly

There is a woman wearing ironic camouflage that has a worn patch around her buttocks standing at the register right now. She has a zebra pocketbook and combat boots. The only saving grace of this entire outfit is the white tunic. Bizarre, or European tourist? You never, ever know. She also has a gigantic - and by gigantic I mean that this thing could double as a dog toy or a necklate choker - pink plastic keyring in the shape of a diamond ring dangling from her belt loops. It is easily one of the most outre things I've seen in days - and I've been reading Go Fug Yourself and run across Bai Ling more than once.

You know, the more I look, the more I wonder if those pants really ARE camouflage. If might be some poorly thought out homage to Monet, using green and gray pigments with occasional splashes of blue and orange. She's sitting not five feet from me right now and I'm positive that those pants are actually meant to look like a artist's palette after painting a tropical forest at 11 p.m. No matter if it is ironic camouflage or Monet-inspired fashion - it is still as ugly as homemade sin.

The more I look, the more I think this is a European tourist - one here for the holidays. As if the strangely interesting fashion weren't enough, the stitching on her shirt is odd. It doesn't look like anything made in the sweatshops of China for knockoff American designers. I can't read the label, but it just has that "foreign" look to it. The pattern for the shoulder comes all the way back to the middle of her shoulder bone, where a small square comes down from the neck to join the two together. It looks sort of like this: ______|__|_____ The seam for most American garments runs right across the top of the arm. She's gone now.

My favorite Starbucks re-arranged the furniture. They moved the condiment bar and broke up the comfy grouping of lounge chairs. I like it, except that by doing so they managed to reduce the number of tables for laptop users by two. Two of the remaining spaces are right by the doors - where you'll be bothered by constant traffic. I wonder if it was a deliberate move.

Oh. Cute boy alert. Tall, MORE camouflage pants, pasty white so he's obviously a tourist, and carrying a super-thin laptop. It's a tiny, tiny, ultrathin Dell laptop. On second thought, I think I'll pass. He's got a hat with a glittered tiger on it. He is also wearing a giant square gold ring with an onyx square on it on the index finger of his left hand. It's just too much.

Damn. Hot Latin Boy alert. One just rolled in as part of a family on holiday. He's got a muscles and he knows it. He's cut the sleeves off a brown shirt and is just smoking hot. Hello Mr. Bicep. What are the odds I can unwrap you later tonight? There's skin tone the color of a really light cafe mocha, with a head full of tousled curls. His skanky girlfriend is wearing what looks like a pleat of denim over her much-abused lady parts and a top that barely covers her surgically enhanced mammaries. She can't be a day over 20 and she's had more work done than most Palm Beach doyennes.

Apparently Starbucks is going to close at 7 p.m. tonight. The baristas are desperate to have this crew clear out - but apparently everyone is just like me and has nowhere else to go on Christmas Eve. It could be worse - they could be going to the Wal-Mart - where there won't be a holiday at all.

OK. Now Mr. Biceps is sipping a coffee and rubbing his abs. I have to leave. The choices are leave or rip the weave off his girlfriends head and use it to tie his wrists and ankles together and drag him home with me.

MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!

Downtown, 1:19 p.m. – Ugly art surrounds me

Business is booming at this downtown art fair. Also booming is this woman’s rear end at the tent nearest me. She ought have the grace (or good sense) not to wear stretchy fabrics if she’s going to be bending over a lot. I see London, I see France, I see this fat WOACA’s underpants!

Anyway. There are more stuck-up old people walking around looking at ugly art than I care to talk about. There’s a couple camped out on the next picnic table over that has huge sun hats on.

They already have a bag full of stuff and they’re perusing this brochure like they’re planning the invasion of Normandy. “What about this aisle here and then meet up at this stall?”

There’s a grouping of four old people on the table over from that that BROUGHT A COOLER. I kid you not. They brought supplies to an art show. Not art supplies. Food supplies. They’re not vendors, just shoppers. Old people are serious about their shopping in this town.

One old lady is dressed in a Marcel Marceau costume and I keep waiting for her to jump up and burst into a “Mime trapped in a Glass Box” routine. Instead, I think she’s trapped in bad fashion.

Oh my Aztec gods. The fat woman from earlier has been joined by another woman in a black and white tropical print. Every time she bends over I get palm fronds the size of Loch Ness staring me in the face.

There is a very tan, very fit man doing some things with telescopes. He has on a hat that would look at home on Crocodile Dundee and shades.

Random fashion advice. Fat ladies should not wear tiny backpacks. It does not work.

More random advice. Ugly art does not look better in large groupings. If anything, the ugliness is compounded. Think of a thrift shop. That sad and misused couch you donated just looks all the worse for being lumped together with its cast-off brethren.

I truly pity the people who feel that they have to fill their walls with all this bad art. I can see seascapes with umbrellas, seascapes with clouds, seascapes done in watercolor, seascapes with lighthouses, seascapes with forests in the background … you get the picture. Lots of sand and water.

The couple with the floppy sun hats is moving off. He’s breaking right and she’s breaking left. I wonder who will benefit from their large-wallet largesse?

The telescope man has hooked some victims. And he’s trying to sell a book to some poor unsuspecting woman. “You could see it if that cloud would cooperate.”

There is a woman wearing a black shirt standing at the telescope looking puzzled. Seriously. Who wears a damn black shirt to an OUTDOOR ART FAIR on a hot day? Are you insane? Well, if you plan to buy this art, maybe.

Telescope man is pimping this astronomy book like it is an Oprah best-seller. He’s moving this couple back and forth between the telescopes.

Let’s talk about Oprah. I don’t like Oprah. She’s a heifer. She let George Bush on her show in 2000 and let him kiss her on the cheek. Now look where we are. Shame on YOU Oprah. Shame on YOU!

Fashion disaster. Purple skirt. Pink top. Muffin top that prevents the twain from meeting.

Karma is a cruel mistress. I was just thinking “Who comes to an outdoor art fair in six-inch-high wedge heels” as this overdressed yuppie walked by. Ten feet later, she stumbled and went down. Slaves to fashion will always pay a heavy price.

There’s a random woman on a Segway wearing a Santa cap rolling around. I’d like a Segway.

OK. I’m done and I’m hungry. Must eat brains.

Peace out.

Downtown, 6:45 p.m. – The floor is dirty and the action is slow

I’m stealing a table at a tres chic coffee shop downtown, slurping up their free WiFi and drinking a smoothie I imported in from another place. I’m the worst kind of customer – the kind that doesn’t buy anything. Maybe I’ll reward them with a visit tomorrow.

Tourists drive me crazy. This woman in an insane hairdo just went by – cackling like a maniac. Think Angelina Jolie in “Girl Interrupted” crazy. Uh-huh.

Despite it being the holiday season, things are fairly quiet. A contingent of middle-aged white men – obviously in town for a convention – just rolled by. They looked to be from the Midwest, by the cut of their shirts, the cut of their hair, the ruddiness of their cheeks and the roundness of their bellies.

Uh-oh. I just saw a coffee slave looking out the window at me. If I’m evicted, I will post the address and you can all send hate mail.

OH GOOD LORD. Bad fashion alert. WOACA alert. Call out the National Guard and tell them that Fort Knox called. We’ve found all the gold!

OK. This WOACA just clattered by. She’s got on a pair of black clamdiggers (yes, another pair) and a black shirt and a black jacket. She’s accessorized all this black with enough gold to fund the economy of a Third World state for a few decades.

There’s a thick heavy gold clasp on the right hand, plus a few more bangles. There’s a whole STACK of bangles on the left arm, which I imagine she believes tinkle like wind chimes as she walks. No. Think wind chimes caught in a hurricane. The gold horn-rimmed glasses are hanging from a gold chain. The steel-wool-gray hair is pulled back with a bright yellow band.

Single female tourist. Poor thing. She’s in traction, well at least one of those walking casts. She looks miserable even though she’s got a yummy-looking chocolate concoction and a bowl of soft-serve ice cream. That must just suck beyond suck – to be about to go on vacation and then break a foot or something.

Ladies. Let me dispense some fashion advice. Even if you are in a tropical climate, jeweled sandals do not pass for “dressy.” If if looks like something you bought at Target and decorated with your Bedazzler, you should not be wearing it with dinner rings and accompanying your husband in a tuxedo. Thank you. We shall now return to our regularly scheduled programming.

You know, for a “gourmet café,” this place has the most deuced uncomfortable furniture. All they’ve got for seating outside are these plastic patio chairs you can pick up at Wal-Mart or Target or K-Mart for like $5. My rear end is used to more padding than mal-formed plastic. Some nice wooden benches would do wonders for the ambience of this place. I’m just saying.

I wonder what the hours are? If they’re open late I could totally come here and use up the free WiFi. Starbucks is such a grinch with the WiFi. But I love the coffee so. Choices.

This place is messy too. Like trashy messy. Some really need to sweep around here. This place and the Sonic both. My grandma – even though she’s 75 – manages to keep her house clean. She’d be ashamed for anyone to see this floor – and these people are asking paying customers to stop and sit a spell.

My god. There is an old woman wishing someone farewell at the top of her lungs. I can hear her over traffic noise. Does everyone on the street really need to know “THAT WAS A GOOD DINNER. I’LL SEE YOU TOMORROW?”

There’s a boy making rude noises with a straw. How cute. He’s obviously old enough to know better – but looks like he’s having a world of fun. He’s flipping through a real estate magazine – the kind they leave out for tourists that have all the $8 million dollar mansions.

If anyone bought me an $8 million dollar house – they could make all the rude noises they wanted.

OK. Another café slave is giving me dirty looks as he brings out the trash. Not cute, but scowly.

OK. OK. I’m leaving.

Bad Ass Coffee, 7:02 p.m. – It’s deader than the Giuliani campaign

Unless these people dramatically improve their barista skills, I predict that the end is nigh for Bad Ass Coffee.

After three post-midnight exits from my office this week, I left early and came downtown to cadge a coffee and write. The downtown area is flooded with holiday shoppers, tourists and diners. If you look out the plate glass window in the front of the store here – you’d think it was New York on Labor Day weekend. Ghost town.

There is a tiny trickle of customers – but certainly not what you’d expect of a coffee shop in the downtown district – and CERTAINLY not what you’d think they’d expect from the hue and cry raised over their name.

Business must be hurting already. There is only one young barista here – nose piercing and all – and the owner. He’s out and about – pressing the flesh and greeting for all he’s worth. The personal touch is nice, but it does reek of desperation. Also, it took eight minutes for me to get my fruit smoothie. I can get a triple venti raspberry white chocolate mocha in under 90 seconds at the Starbucks. Speed of service is another strike.

There’s an argument at the register over decaf tea vs. regular tea. People. Please. It is a leaf. Camellia sinensis. Deal.

These two middle-aged tourists – WOACA & MOACA – dressed in slacks and black-white-stripes (an homage to Marcel Marceau?) are still arguing about tea. They are debating the benefits of caffeine with the owner.

WOACA is expounding on how she quit caffeine “cold turkey.” It would be more interesting if it were you know, actually interesting.

There is some sort of odd tropical jazz playing here. I can’t tell if it is tribal fusion, tropical fusion, Hawaiian fusion or what. There’s a samey-ness quality to it that sounds sort of like Hawaiian tropical elevator music.

MSNBC is playing video of the GOP debate. Does anyone really care? All I see is a bunch of white guys standing at podiums, expounding on social policies that more than half of America doesn’t agree with. They’re also doing this little “Does America HEART Huckabee” with a little heart symbol – a take-off of the “I Heart Huckabee’s” movie. Cute. Reducing the race for leader of the free world to Hollywood drivel.

Now MOACA & WOACA are regaling the owner with tales of hot chocolate in New Jersey or some other Yankee state. They’re telling him how to run his business. It was 89 degrees here today. Somehow, I really don’t see people running to line up for hot chocolate.

There’s a group of old people wandering by outside. They stop and peer in. They see people. They read the name “BAD ASS COFFEE.” The old people move on.

The pseudo-barista finally remembered that I ordered a snack to go with my fruit smoothie. Eighteen minutes after I placed the order, I get my cardboard chocolate cake.

This place has a gimmicky name, free WiFi, some interesting ambiance and very little else.

The staff just ordered Chinese takeout. I wonder if they’re paying for it out of the register?

There is a no-lyrics jazz version of “Jingle Bells” playing now. I almost didn’t recognize it. Very nice. Very peppy. I love Christmas music.

Play me out! Wait. Not before we get a jazz riff on “Here Comes Santa Claus!”

Starbucks, 8:52 a.m. – Morning fashion is no better than evening fashion

Yes. I struggled up from my crypt in time to give you kids a morning edition today. Just don’t get used to it. If I had my way, I’d work from 3 p.m. to midnight every day.

Oh, yeah. I’m at the Starbucks. It is old man central up in here. Six, no, wait NINE – counting the ones outside – old men sipping lattes and reading the newspaper. I guess this is what retirement is like. Someone shoot me now. I hope my retirement involves a yacht and Brazilian boy named Paulo or Santiago or something.

Anyway. Aside from the Metamucil Literary Brigade, the action here is slim. I cannot bring myself to describe nine individual old men slugging down coffee and reading the paper.

We’re right at the 9 a.m. hour though, so things may start to heat up.

And they just did. Some self-entitled a-hole of a customer just walked in and GRUNTED at the barista. I know you’re a regular and all – but at least make the effort.

There’s a woman here with an iPhone. She’s the chunky “I work in an office” type that doesn’t really need an iPhone, but really wants to show up her friend Janice. Anyway.

She is in line, but still wearing her knockoff Ray-Ban fashion shades that she got at the Old Navy, some Rack Room shoes, faded blue jeans and the ugliest leopard print top this side of the Atlantic. Real leopards would die in shame if this print ever showed up on one of their kin.

But this woman has one of those fancy leather iPhone cases that she’s hung off her right pants pocket – not the hip – the pocket – just so that everyone can gasp in awe that OMG THAT WOMAN HAS AN IPHONE!

Her drink is insanely complicated too. Three people went through the other register while she was ordering.

Ladies, if your “girls” are one of your assets, more power to you. However, you probably need to restrain them somewhat, either with a brassiere, a sports bra or clothing that fits properly. Really, the last thing I need at 9 a.m. is a gigantic pair of bouncy balls doing the rumba in my face.

Mr. Chocolate Chip Frappuccino is here. Every morning that I’m here, he’s here, ordering a grande chocolate chip frappuccino. And wearing the same clothes – complete with black baseball cap. I’m dying to know his story.

Mon dieu. A horde of tourists and the place is crowded all of a sudden. One of these women is wearing black velvet tights, a black velvet tunic and a burgundy velvet cape. She’s got a full head of blonde hair, which she’s chosen to pin back with a black sun visor. Yow.

And the exercise crowd. Ma’am. We all know you work out. We can smell you. However, we do NOT need to see your buns hanging out the back of your gray bicycle pants and your boobs hanging out the front of your blue sports bra. And really, is coffee all that good for any exercise regimen?

Men should not wear Crocs. Ever.

There is a grandma here with her granddaughter – they’re trying to find a place to sit down – and granny is giving the old man brigade the look of death because all the tables are taken with the old men reading the paper. The kid is clutching a book like her life depends on it.

Gun alert. Sheriff’s deputies make me nervous. Not that I’ve done anything wrong, but that we’re only one crazy person away from something really going wrong. And they get free coffee too. This one got a free pastry as well.

Exercise chick is looking severely unhappy. She must not be a yoga practitioner.

I just saw an old man with a Dali T-shirt. I love Dali. The world needs more surrealism.

And now a woman is complaining that the girl on the register slammed the cash drawer “too hard.” They have to explain to her that the drawer sticks and sometimes they have to slam it to close it. It was not a statement on her being difficult.

Greek restaurant, 7:14 p.m. – Tourists, hummus and Serbian pop do not a pleasant evening make

Who knew that Greek, I asked SERBIAN, pop music could have such a thumping beat?

I’ve already accomplished one of the things I wanted to when I started “21 Minutes” – and that was to get out more and be exposed to different things. I think Serbian pop certainly counts in that regard.

If you’re looking for some thumping beats – check out Lepa Brena – maybe not for everyone, but definitely for me!

There are only two waiters and one cook in the restaurant tonight – and the waiters have the sounds system BANGING. It is like a disco up in here. Apparently the audible wants and needs of the customers are secondary. I love a good café.

There is a family over to my immediate right. They are the ultimate modern American nuclear family on vacation – and they have no business being in a Greek restaurant. None. None at all.


I saw the waiter roll his eyes at least three times while trying to take their drink order. Please do not be trying to sample of the ethnic food if you do not be liking of the different spices.

They ordered four waters, mulled the menu for ten minutes, then ordered the house red (for him) and house white (for her). The daughter is apparently picky and has to have a cheese pizza – but only with white cheese. The boy wants chicken – but not a chicken pita – because hummus is not acceptable. Hmm. Did they not notice that this was a GREEK restaurant? The final order has lots of “on the sides” and “withouts.” It is a comedy of errors.

The décor in here is “interesting” – to say the least. It leans very heavily on the romanticized view of Greek mythology made popular by storytellers and fables and with a full measure of sensuality.

Right now, I’m staring at a full-breasted Medusa clad only in her crown of snakes. She could definitely use a visit to a Victoria’s Secret. There are even the suggestions of nipples painted on there.

On the back wall, there’s a six-foot-wide version of a winged Icarus in flight – clad only in a codpiece (I’ve waited YEARS to use that in an entry). I wonder if the ancient Greeks had such “defined” six-packs?

Personally, I love the décor and the slightly snotty waiters (the service is always uniformly haughty here, no matter which vampiric Greek you get) – rather annoying at first, especially as someone who wants good service, but it does eventually add to the charm once they get to know you.

Heh. The wife of the vacationing family was so busy yelling at her daughter about not playing her Nintendo DS at the table that she nearly leaned right into a full plate of food. Logic, my dear fishwife. You see the waiter coming. Shut up and be still so that he may put the hot plates down!


No one at that table likes their food. They are taking tiny bites and nibbling the pita bread and picking around the peppers. I would feel sorry for them, but it is VERY obvious this is a Greek restaurant. Moreover, they are the very stereotype of the Ugly American Tourist. And they're not even in another country.

The table in front of me has read the Sunday New York Times – cover to cover – over three courses – salad, appetizer and entrée. I’m only shocked they didn’t order dessert. This place makes baklava like nobody’s business. Sinfully delicious.

The Serbian pop is still thrumming out over the airwaves. I can only imagine the party once the customers leave.

On that note, I’m out.