Crispers, 6:59 p.m. - Noise pollution is for the stupid

I’m sitting in the deserted outdoor smoking section of a Crispers restaurant. Just me and Quaterflash wailing out “Harden My Heart.”

“Gonna harden my heart, gonna follow my tears ….”

Sigh. Now I’m depressed listening to these lyrics.

I can’t even hear the sound of the music now – the noise of traffic in this “retail space” is getting to me. We’re about 50 feet back off the road, but there is a movie theater and a ginormous Chinese buffet in here – and the traffic seems to think the parking lot is a NASCAR raceway on Sundays.

The Crispers is deserted, other than some random old people who I think mistook the place for a Checkers or a Charley’s or something.

This patio is kind of nice. There are ten wrought-iron café tables with matching chairs and quaint red tablecloths. There are even ashtrays – because the smoking Nazis have had their say in Florida too.

Damn, people. YOU DO NOT NEED TO GUN YOUR TRUCK IN THE PARKING LOT!

What is nice about Crispers is that they offer free WiFi. I guess they hope you’ll stay and have another bowl of their crappy potato bacon soup. Don’t. Come for the baked potatoes and stay for the Hawaiian flatbread – but leave the soup alone. It is runny as a three-year old with the green apple splatters and probably as tasteless.

I can see a worker inside wiping down tables and mopping. I feel your pain honey, working retail on a Sunday night when you’d really rather just be in bed.

You know what I don’t like about this place though – the chairs on the patio. I don’t know if it is just my behind or if the chairs are just meant to be uncomfortable – but they are deucedly damned hard to sit in. I keep shifting and shifting and pretty soon I’m going to shift a hole in my pants.

They really could use a bug-zapper or some citronella candles out here. I don’t know about where ya’ll or from, but this is the Florida – and we got bugs the size of alligators down here.

I wonder if I should steal the salt and pepper? They come in those neat “grind-your-own” containers. They’d never know it was me either. Plop, chunk, into the laptop bag. Mine all mine.

The traffic noise is heating up. A movie must have let out or something. Oh. I wonder if there’s an ice cream parlor around here or something. I totally have a sweet tooth.

There’s a truck with a U-Haul attached to it parked out in the parking lot. It is too dark for me to make out the state on the U-Haul. I wonder where they’re from? I took three days to drive to Florida when I came here from my internship ten years ago. I must have eaten at fifteen Waffle House’s along the way – and to this day, I hate that food.

Some dude just came out to start tying up the patio furniture for the night. How sad is it that this business has to do an enormous amount of work every morning and every night because the vast part of humanity is lying, stealing, thieving garbage? I mean, really people – what the hell are you going to do with ten patio sets in cheap iron? Really?

All night I’ve been staring at this huge sign “THIS HOLIDAY DON’T FORGET TO TRY OUR PUMPKIN SHAKE” No thanks. I’ll be passing on that. The only pumpkin thing I like is the color. The sign would also be much more effective if the “illustration” of a pumpkin in any way resembled a pumpkin and not a Peppermint Patty haircut.

Car just peeled out. Hmm. Where are the sirens when you need them?

Back to pumpkins. Who really thought that the taste of pumpkins and ice cream would go together? It is sort of like pumpkin coffee. I mean, I know that art and design and food and fashion are all mixed up now, but just because orange became the go-to color for your walls don’t mean it is the go-to thing for the palate.

Make a pie with your defaced and debauched Halloween carving experiment and shut up about the rest.

Hi. White car. That was a stop sign. Much love.

Wow. They are serious about security. All the chairs get roped together around the table, and then I’m assuming that all the tables get roped together as well.

Prince’s “Dearly Beloved” is going to play us out. Mr. Patio Security Wrapup is giving me daggers even though it is only 7:20 p.m. and the restaurant doesn’t close until 8 p.m.

Mr. Motorcycle. You’re a noise-polluting fool. Much love.

Park, 6:10 p.m. – Four little howler monkeys, swinging in the park

There’s something about howler monkeys that both attracts and repels me. I’m sitting here watching a quartet of them playing on the swings in one of the county’s big regional parks. They’re lying belly down in the swings and twisting round and round. They’re all trying to see how high they can twist the chains – how many revolutions can they get before they can’t touch the ground any more.

Then, when their feet can’t touch the ground, they let go and start screaming at the top of their lungs as the chains unwind and they start unwrapping like some odd demented octopus being unwrapped on a merry-go-round.

NEWSFLASH! They have now taken to helping each other wrap the chains higher – to get maximum lift and the maximum propeller revolutions.

One little boy in an orange shirt and camouflage pants is just lying limp in his swing right now. He has a decidedly greenish cast to his features. He’s a little chunky and his sandals are dragging the ground. I think he needs some time to recover from his latest trip round-and-round. I hope that afternoon snack he probably ate doesn’t decide to take a trip of its own.

Now they’re off to the monkey bars and what I can only describe as a child-sized version of a hamster tube.

The park is nice today. The breeze is blowing and the effects of Tropical Storm Noel are still keeping it quite cool in these parts. The sun is shining, but at 6 p.m., the heat is gone from the day.

One of the drawbacks of this park is that it is more urban than most. I can still hear the drone of traffic going by; even though there’s been a lot of care taken with the landscaping and trees and shrubbery, it still feels like a big median with a playground and some barbecue pits.

There is a surburban soccer mom approaching with her tots now. Shes got two kids decked out in the latest styles from the mall – striped polo shirts, tiny little GAP khaki shorts and those obnoxious Crocs. Both kids have sodas from McDonalds. And she’s carting them around in a big black – very new - Chevy Suburban. She doesn’t have to worry about money or keeping her man – she rolled up in here with her hair looking like a hot mess and wearing a pair of sweatpants I would not wash the dog in. I wish I had that life.

The sun is down – or at least behind some clouds. In the last five minutes, the shadows went from long to longer to gone. The air temperature feels just a little cooler too; the breeze has just a little more bite.

The breeze brings with it the scent of new-mown grass, along with the hint of motor oil and the tiniest anticipation of rain.

The wind is ruffling the trees now. Nature’s xylophone – such a soft and soothing counterpoint to the screams, yells, giggles and shrieks of joy coming from the playground.

There are a dozen or so kids out there now – and a good handful of parents watching or actively participating. One young father has plopped his daughter into the infant swing and is giving her pushes for all he’s worth. She’s holding onto the ropes and yelling her little head off. Her coal-black pigtails are flying in the wind; she’s loving every minute of this. Her shoes just fell off. Her dad bent down to pick them up and now she’s trying to twist and turn to kick him. Bless!

There’s a tiny little boy in a horrible outfit – red and yellow striped shorts, yellow shirt with black and red striped sleeves – he is digging in the bark for all he is worth. I wonder what he’s hoping to find? Fashion sense for his mother if he is lucky!

One bored looking dad is following his toddler around as the boy bumbles from one piece of playground equipment to the next – never really big enough to entertain himself on his own – and lacking any friends to play with him. Now they’re at the swings and Daddy-Is-Bored is giving him a few desultory pushes in the whole “I-am-a-father-and-I-have-to-do-this” way.

The little boy in the orange shirt and camo pants from earlier has obviously recovered, because now he is riding a purple worm and screaming at the top of his lungs. His little friend is screaming too. Not just hollering – but bring-down-the-house, lock up your women and children, hide the liquor from the alcoholics screaming.

Whoever this child is and whatever is going on, he has one active imagination backed by some serious lung power. Then again, maybe he just has schizophrenia.

Suburban mommy is back with her two chic brats. They’re standing around too afraid to play with the Hispanic children and she won’t push them on the swings.

My time is up. Thank you, and happy swinging.

Starbucks, 8:32 p.m. – Halloween is when the old people come out to play

This old man with his cell phone holder swinging on a carabiner clip just walked into the Starbucks. Hmm. He’s got on blue jeans and a blue check shirt. Ordered a small coffee and now he’s gone. No. Wait. He’s making a stop at the condiment bar. NOW he’s gone.

Really. I’m addicted to the Starbucks because there is no other place to get a triple venti raspberry white chocolate mocha unless I make it. You can get a cup of coffee at any gas station. Point of fact, there’s one right across the corner.

Sadly, that old man may well be the highlight of tonight’s 21 minutes. There’s me, myself and three very bored baristas up in here.

Some slow jazz is wailing on the speakers, but I can’t hear it for the sounds of the two baristas flirting behind the coffee bar. Malebux is flirting with Femalebux. The clanging of the blender in the sink is apparently a metaphor for their love. I can hear the thumping noise of various things being cleaned and the noise of mats being drug around. Interesting.

Seventeen minutes later.

One of the off-duty baristas is in to argue about her hours. “But I need more money,” I can hear her say.

Now she wants to chat with me because she has nothing else to do and I guess I don’t look busy enough. Computer? Check. Looking DOWN at computer? Check. Typing about your stained orange shirt that makes you look like a decaying pumpkin? Check. Not busy? Not checked.

Twenty-two minutes later. Now the manager of the Starbucks joins in this friendly pow-wow, because he is interested in my MacBook. Buy a Mac people. Buy a Mac.

There have been two customers. I have been trying to write, but it seems rude to ignore the friendly baristas, especially when it might lead to free coffee later.

There was a grand and glorious WOACA incident during the conversational fun. This fleshy woman came inside wearing black pants and a ratty navy tee. She lumbers up to the register, is greeted and orders a drip coffee. The barista asks if she would like a pastry to go with that. Upsell is the name of the game in retail.

Her response? “Only if you’re going to throw it away.” O-kaaaaay. Because this is a marketplace and we all bargain for Starbucks pastries.

It’s 8 p.m. – and the Starbucks stays open until 10 p.m. But the barista gives her a free doughnut anyway. She gets the coffee and leaves.

When the WOACA xleaves, he comes over to me and says “I hate people like that.” You know I asked for the dirt.

So what did she do? “She paid for the coffee with two singles. I gave her a free doughnut and she didn’t even bother to throw the change into the tip jar.”

How much you want to bet she’ll never get anything for free at this Starbucks again? Hey lady - karma is a cruel mistress. Check your tires in the morning.

OK. There is history being made in the Starbucks tonight. Both baristas just went outside to smoke. I’m still sitting in the corner writing. They both know me, so they looked over, said “Don’t steal anything, we’re watching,” then lit up.

I don’t know whether to applaud that I’m trusted or cry in shame that they just sit outside the front door and smoke. Coffee and cigarettes. They go so well together.

There is some really funky jazz going right now. It’s peppy, with a trumpet, some good piano action and maybe a trombone. I wish I knew how to play the piano – especially jazz piano.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen this particular Starbucks this still. This is usually one of the busiest spots in the city. If I close my eyes and extend my senses, I get the soft hum of the ice freezer and the lower hurrrrrr of the drip coffee urn.

HELLO ACTION. Old people sighting at 11 o’clock.

Ancient frail and withered old people. An old man so reedy he can barely open the door peeks in; the baristas are so happy to see him they yell “Happy Halloweens” from behind the bar. I think it scares the old man.

The head of his cane is carved like a seahorse. That’s unique. His wife has some old-lady pants in a seafoam check. She lives high off the hog. I can see some granny fat hanging off her arms and through the seams of her thin white short sleeve shirt.

Wow. She’s giving me a dirty, dirty, dirty look because I’m sitting in one of the plush chairs. Well, there are three more available. It’s not like I put down roots and a flag over here. Deal.

Now Malebux is flirting hot and heavy with these two skanky hooker types that aren’t even in costume. Ohh. Someone is showing someone else camera-phone pictures. Do I smell free pastry? You bet I do.

They both have on blue jeans – which is fine in and of itself. It’s the hair that bothers me. One is a bottle-blonde of a particularly “I did this at home” bent. I can tell because her hair looks completely fried. The texture looks like straw. She has split ends too.

The other one has some atrocious blonde highlights and enough product in her hair to style a fashion show. I am also not loving her super-clunky coral and seashell bangle earrings. They’re just too heavy on her petite frame. I just don’t get why she thinks this is a good look.

Anyway.

There’s a cute boy coming in now. Basic black tee and a pair of khaki pants. Too bad my time is up. Maybe I’ll go flirt. O hai, Mr. tall, dark and handsome.

Peace out.

My patio, 12:36 a.m. – This frog is driving me insane

I usually wait to write post titles until the end of the post, but this frog is just going on incessantly.

I tried to write before midnight, but one of my neighbors came out and wouldn’t leave. I guess I’ll just have to back-date this post.

The night air is wonderfully cool and refreshing. Tropical Storm Noel is stirring up the tropics and there is a cool front somewhere off to the west, so Florida is getting a wonderful blast of wind and cool air. It has been windy all day.

It has been so windy in fact that the patio furniture on the upstairs landing at my building is scattered all over the place. The sunbrella is upside down, bereft of its moorings and most of the chairs are blown back against the back railings. Some of the cheap plastic lawn chairs were actually blown over. It looks like a child simply swept a path through a play area.

I love the wind. It feels so good outside. This frog is driving me absolutely insane though. CROAK CROAK CROAK CROAK CROAK CROAK. SHIVA PLEASE SHUT UP AND GO AWAY.

Someone’s air conditioner just kicked on. I wonder if it was mine? I’m famous for running my air year-round. My electricity bill is fantastically high.

I can’t see the moon from where I’m sitting, but I remember from the newspaper this morning that it is supposed to be “gibbous waning,” or whatever that is. I can see it now if I crane my neck over the building. Looks like a little more than the bottom half of a moon. Very shiny and bright.

I’m lucky in that I live in a neighborhood without a lot of light pollution. There is a nightlight across the street, the nightlight for my apartment building and the nightlight for the row of houses behind me. That’s all I can see at the moment. Those and the light of my MacBook are enough for me to write by.

Every now and again I can see the flashes of a radio tower off in the distance. There’s something broadcasting out of a warehouse in the industrial area near hear. It flashes red at regular intervals, just like Rudolph’s nose.

I have a cold, so I really can’t get a sense of what’s happening in the olfactory department right now. There’s a lot of greenery around my place, but not much in the way of night-blooming flowers or plants.

I am really enjoying the still of the night. That’s so cliché. I should try this on a Saturday night. The apartments across the street are sort of low-rent. The ones next door are FOR SURE low-rent. I came home around 2:30 a.m. last Saturday and there were five sheriff’s deputies parked outside frog-marching people out of the house, searching through cars, looking for something.

The light throws interesting shadows on the floor and on the walls of the building too. The upstairs patio can be reached by stairways on either side and is really just a flat concrete landing on top of the old garage and laundry room. There’s a mishmash of plastic patio furniture and some burned-out grills up here, so we call it the patio. It’s really just an empty spot too small to have built another apartment. Still, it’s nice to have.

The wind is blowing again, stronger now. Every time the breeze picks up it gives me an atavistic shiver, a little chill if you will. I work indoors all day and go from building to building to climate-controlled apartment to mall to Starbucks to bookstore to apartment. Maybe it is good that I’m taking the time to sit outside and be at one with nature.

THAT FROG IS GOING TO KILL ME. I SWEAR TO GOD I WILL HUNT IT DOWN AND MAKE FROG LEGS PROVENCAL.

There’s a car turning into the parking lot now. Someone other than me is having a late night. I wonder who it is?

Meh. I’m so nosy. They turned into my half of the parking lot. There are only a few possibilities in that direction, as two of the six units are empty and I’m up here. That leaves what? Three. One of the others is an elderly teacher. She might have a second life I don’t know about. Heh. That would be good.

No sign of the person yet. Maybe they snuck by me.

Strange noises coming from below now. Hmmm. Sounds like the door to the laundry room. If I don’t’ update tomorrow …..

OK. My time is up. Thank you, and good night!

Einstein Bros. Bagels, 3:39 p.m. - The green tunic of death will now control your life

"Under the Boardwalk" is playing on the overhead speakers. Too bad literally nothing is happening in the store.

There's me and one bored-looking Hispanic guy flipping a rag around in his hands. I'm pretty sure he's supposed to be wiping down things, but he's mostly just wandering back and forth behind the counter trying not to look too bored.

Whoops, here's another one. It's "too-pretty-for-food-service" moo who's just come out of the bathroom. Where's she been for the past 10 minutes? At least there weren't any customers. She's got a drinks mug that she's refilling full of SpontaneiTea Iced Tea. No soda for this size zero princess. She's waving papers around. Maybe it was the bathroom cleanliness check sheet. Hope she washed her hands.

Ohh. "Age of Aquarius/Let the Sunshine In" is playing now. I LURVE THAT SONG! I saw a horrific drag version of it once though. Nearly scarred me for life.

There is a scarily obnoxious man that just walked in. I can't figure out what is worse. His attitude or his shirt. Let's take them in turn, because I have all the time in the world to describe, describe, describe.

He cracked through the door yelling into a Sprint-Nextel walkie-talkie phone like he was barking orders to a commanding army, then disappeared into the bathroom. Presumably he finished barking orders into the phone before doing his business.

The shirt is some horrible palmetto print that places like Tommy Bahama and Ralph Lauren think the over-50 set want to wear on the golf course. It is green with a yellow palmetto pattern. What it really looks like that someone stepped into a puddle of cat puke with a flip-flop.

This old dude is taking FOREVER to make up his mind. The way he burst through the door you might have thought he owned the place. I guess he's never been here before. Is that how he enters every fast food joint? If it is ....

Now we're joined by a WOACA and her henpecked yuppie husband carrying a heavy-looking laptop. They're looking for a laptop plug. "Didn't you say there was one over there? No. What about over here? Well what about here?"

She's the nervous "I HAVE TO BE IN CHARGE OR IT WILL NOT GO RIGHT" type that is the bane of every PTA in existence. Too bad she never learned to dress. Green sleeveless tunic and blousy blue jean skorts. Her shoes are some awful brown not-quite-a-sandal thing with a series of straps that is .... just not quite right. The husband is OK in a blue and white pinstripe not-quite-matching olive pants. Curiously colorblind maybe. OK. Closer look. They're gray. He's safe.

WOW WOW WOW. This man just walked in in black running shorts and a black top. The running shorts a maybe, just maybe, a biiiiiit too short for polite company. When he walked past, I thought it was his shirt. No one needs to see that much leg on a 45-year-old man unless they're a bear chaser. And take it from me - this bear needs trapping.

Another strange couple in here now. Primary colors. She's in a bright sun-yellow knit shirt and white pants and he's in a gray shirt and, so-help-me-god, turquoise shorts. Gray and turquoise. On a man. Hmmm.

Well. Green tunic I MUST CONTROL is like a hummingbird in flight. She has her food but hasn't sat down once. Gotta get a fork. Gotta get a knife. Gotta get cream and sugar. Gotta get napkins. Gotta go wash her hands again. Doesn't like this chair. Needs a lid for her coffee. Needs cream and sugar. Whoops, forgot the milk. Fork and knife for the her. Fork and knife for the husband.

She is for sure running the conversation. "We need to do this. Is the laptop charging? Is it plugged in? What is it doing?" I bet there's a hole worn in her side of the floorboard of the car - if she lets him drive.

He's a passive aggressive. They're arguing over the coffee. She got up to get lids for the coffee and set them down side by side. "That's yours, he said." "I KNOW THAT," she snaps. "That's why I punched out the holes."

I wonder if he ever fantasizes about taking that laptop cord, wrapping it around that neck and ....

OH MY GOD. She just pulled a sewing box out of her mega-purse and whipped out a pen and notebook. She's one of those "super-organized" types. She's even got Wet Wipes.

My time is up. Thank you. Although I think I'm going to stay just to see what happens.

Right after I started to close my laptop she knocked over a cup of coffee right under his laptop. Comic goodness right there.