One of the Exotic Java baristas just accused me of having “spidy senses.” Cool! Very, very cool! … But now I will have the Spiderman theme song in my head for the rest of the day. … “Spider-Man, Spider-Man, does whatever a spider can ….”
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The ringtone on the cellphone of the guy sitting at the next table: “I’ve Got You, Babe.” Very, very manly!
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I’m a little concerned I’m becoming too predictable. The baristas at the coffeehouses I frequent start my drinks even before I step up to the counter. I’m in that much of a rut or they are just that good.
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I was just sitting outside Exotic Java sipping a Red Eye and going through email when a lovely young woman walked by. She was trailed by a very lovely, pleasant scent. I’m not sure what it was, but it will linger in my mind for the rest of the day. And I won’t mind that at all.
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A little guy – maybe 3 or 4 – just crawled into my booth at Exotic Java for the second time in 30 minutes and started jabbering away like we have known each other for years. Cute kid. Momma had to start counting – “five, four …” – to get him out of the booth.
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I just overheard a guy talk to himself and another guy trying to join in the conversation. It’s a little weird. It’s sort of like a three-way conference call.
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It’s in the mid-90s outside and the woman sitting next to me is wearing a sweater, jeans, and riding boats. I feel so under dressed.
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I just spotted a woman outside the coffeehouse put a plastic food cup thingy on the table on the patio — across the sidewalk from a trashcan — and walk away. Why did she not put it in the trashcan? What’s wrong with people?
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They are tearing up the parking lot outside Exotic Java today and paving tomorrow. Exotic Java will be closed on Wednesday, according to the folks here, but stop buy later in the week for a Red Eye or other fine caffeinated beverage.
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A woman just walked into the coffeehouse with hair the color of red neon. Um, I don’t think it is a natural color. … And, no, I will not walk up to her and ask to take her photo.
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Pretty busy day so far at the coffeehouse. A few people must have a “case of the Mondays” and need an extra jolt. An “Office Space” reference can never go wrong.
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I’m a bit distracted by a beautiful woman at the coffeehouse. I was distracted yesterday by another woman, also beautiful. I suppose I’m easily distracted.
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In the coffeehouse I was just struck by something, something I’m sure others have thought about. I’m suddenly concerned that a whole generation of American music lovers will think that The Who is covering the “CSI” theme song.
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I find it, um, strange that the coffeehouse music includes a Peter Framptonesque talking guitar version of “Rocket Man.” There’s something very wrong about that.
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A copy of Stephen King’s “The Dead Zone” is on the coffee table at – where else – the coffeehouse. I haven’t read “The Dead Zone” in a long time, but I just finished King’s “Cell” and am in the middle of “Dreamcatcher.” My favorite single Stephen King novel – in a coffeehouse or elsewhere – has to be “The Stand,” a King novel that seems to divide even the biggest King fans. I really enjoyed the Gunslinger series, too.
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The guy outside empresso is relentless. He is sitting at one of the tables out there strumming an electric guitar – no amp. And asking each attractive woman the time as they walk by and then he introduces himself. It’s as if he’s trolling and “Excuse me, do you know what time it is?” is the bait. A friend just suggested that it was nothing more than short-term memory loss. Um, I don’t think so.
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Two guys at the next table at the coffeehouse are talking about how to establish an urban garden in Stockton. I finally had to put Foo Fighters on the headphones to keep from eavesdropping, because I also want to do something as productive and meaningful as creating an urban garden. But instead I have to continue the job search.
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It’s coffee. Of course, it’s going to be hot.
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I just spotted two middle-aged white guys fist bump on the patio of the coffeehouse and thought it, um, odd. Is there an age limit on fist bumping? One Facebook friend says that it’s all a matter of “coolness quotient” and she says I am cool enough to pull it off, even if I am 48. Another Facebook friend says 17 is the limit and another says I should find another place to hang out. But too many pretty college girls come in and it would cut into things I can post here. Oh, the sacrifices I make.
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I was going to tell the guys at the next table that they were being far too loud in the coffeehouse — they needed to use their “inside voices.” But then he noticed the motorcycle “club” jackets and decided to let it slide.
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Letters From Away 