26 April 2007

27% battery left poem in a hipster coffee shop

If I call a Coffee shop
a hipster
Coffee shop for long enough
does it remain
a Coffee shop?

Fuck you,
yes
I suppose.

Suppose a coffee
bean shop
becomes a hipster
Coffee shop
immediately before A revolution,
or The,
who is welcome?

bullshit and bourgeoisie

Please, do not read this expecting something revelatory or intelligent

I’m still in the hipster Missoula coffee bar, and these are the questions I have yet to answer:

-What is the difference between blend coffee beans and single origin coffee beans? Wait, nevermind. I figured it out—one contains more coffee than the other.

-Seriously, how did they get the same loveseat as me?

-How do skinny, mop-headed “indie” guys end up with cute girlfriends that probably like halfway awesome music? And for all the single cute girls, how do you never like the same music as I do, and more importantly, why do I have to talk to you first? What if I’m scrd?

Again, I just answered my own question.

-Why does a coffee bar sell wine and beer if you absolutely cannot drink it on the property?

-Why has the wink, point and smooch-the-air gone out of style as a social dating tool? Or, why did that girl have such an asshole reaction to it?

-Why does tea smell so damn good when it tastes so damn empty?

-How long have I been sitting here, wearing headphones, without playing music? Does this make me the asshole?

-Is my t-shirt ironic enough?

The tea that's too hot to drink yet smells fantastic

I’m trying the Missoula thing right now. I have a vague sense of what is going on around me, but honestly, I’ve had to say “I’m new to this whole thing, what do I do?” far too much. But at least I’m not working today, and at least I’m trying to get out, and at most I am half-assing it.

There’s book stores that look like they’ll be a promising place to waste a few hours in, looking around and sampling and eventually buying very little. But each one of them is occupied by a few people doing just that, apparently leaving none for me, as I haven’t recognized much while inside. When I finally recognized something, I bought it. (note to bookstores—carry more “Get Fuzzy” collections and I’m there)

I found/was recommended to an upscale (I suppose) hipster coffee bar, so that’s where I’m sitting with my laptop open and headphones on, acting much the same as I would if I were at home. There are more than a few people acting at home with the upscale hipster coffee scene; my vital organ insides are eating all the non-vital pockets—I’m a bit uncomfortable.

I have been thinking somewhat creatively (as much as a furniture salesman can): twenty minutes ago, I used a bookstore restroom and had a horrible flashback to 1978 (or what I would assume 1978 bathrooms to look like after twenty-nine years of neglect and bad aim). My idea, other than leaving quickly, was to start taking photographs of the places I defecate. Also, after typing that, I had the idea to not use puns like, “shitty idea, no?” I’m full of them today.

Side note—I just realized there’s a leather loveseat that is almost EXACTLY like my left-behind lover. Except this one is red, has a superiority complex with all the bullshit that’s sat on top of it and I’ve never been inside it (maybe “on it” is a better way to put it).

Here’s another picture of when I drove into Missoula. I keep forgetting to take my camera with me when I drive on streets for hours, missing a lot of congested traffic, bicyclists, homeless and a few picturesque views of the surrounding scenery.

20 April 2007

Unnecessary things of the last few days

-I heard a guy on cable television state he drew his inspiration from "Dionysis, the goddess of wine." It's possible that it was on a show about haircuts, and even more likely I regret that 12 minutes trying to figure out why there was a show about haircuts.

-Some of my co-workers, though very nice, reminded me of the distance from any scholarly thought and intelligent conversation: one side was arguing how dogs had consciences...because they're nice (and sharks didn't for the opposite reason); the other side was throwing up resistance, while granting spiritual reasoning and vague definitions of good and evil--several animals were classified as either. After listening for 15 minutes without saying much--or getting cut off before I could ask anything--I asked if I could say something, got everyone's attention and pointed out how ludicrous their argument was (involving the impossibility of basing an argument on Creationism while also trying to use human adaptation as reason for superiority, proving anything with those types of examples, etc. Joe-Thiele-bullshit, etc.).

My point didn't land, mostly because I used "subjective" and "objective" and "empirical" in the same thought. So when one side said that my point didn't matter because we know what good and evil are, I asked what good and evil really meant. Tip: don't use "society tells us what they are" as a reason, or I'll think you're the type to have trouble with child-proof bottle caps. And then I said some smart-assed things like, "you know what proves there's true evil in the world? Dogs with consciences." Zing...

-Some dudes at a local convenience store thought they were having a deeeeeeep conversation as I overheard them discussing the reasoning behind naming a metal band after the Muppet characters. As I got ready to walk out, one said, "If I had to name a band I'd call it Muppet Douche." There's really nowhere to go from there.

18 April 2007

I am not crunchy granola, I am not corn on the cob.

Holy shit, that's an ambiguous, bullshit title. There's a point behind it, I suppose: I used to live in Iowa. Now I live in Montana. The crunchy granola part of Montana (Missoula).

It was a 1500 mile drive that almost didn't happen--car trouble due to Wal-Mart Oil-fucks (they forgot to put all the parts back into the oil filter). It took me three days, two nights. I drove alone, in my slouching Hyundai Sonata. Everything I found worth packing fit in a backseat and trunk. And I drove happily, into bear and bum-fuck country, to a place I had never been before. Willfully moved. 1500 miles. Without seeing my new hometown.

Today I finally grasped how ridiculously dumb that sounds.

Here's a picture:


I think that's in South Dakota. On a 5% downhill grade. On a related note, when you see a sign that says "5% grade" or "6% grade" with the picture of a truck carreening down it, you know you're about to hit a fun patch/horrifying downhill slalom.

More tomorrow, maybe. Or some night that I don't have to wake up in four hours.