Friday, September 07, 2007

And I'm Back...

Hey B, Can you tell your mom to keep it down? I'm trying to work.

Not that I've been anywhere—just working and writing and fending off those readers who are not loyal enough to check this page every day. Even more, hoping that some of them (colleagues) would go away.

Since I've all but moved into the coffee shop where I get my work done, I think I'll go ahead and talk about it a lot. I tried auditioning a couple new places, but I'm a creature of habit and it didn't work out so well. As Dave would say, "I require a certain environment to cultivate my genius..." He says this, of course, right after he fails a practice GMAT or something like that, so the irony is not at all subtle. Anyway, two weekends ago I convinced myself that I was not above bringing my laptop to the Starbucks by my apartment. If all went well, it would save me the 25-minute commute down to my regular spot. Now, I've got nothing against Starbucks—the company in general that is. They hire thousands of people, provide a service, and do it with consistency. But, their chairs suck. I've got tons of padding on my ass and still I left numb. (I guess they don't want people to sit there all day with their laptops.) Beyond that, though, the people who come in there tend to have too many babies. And on the Upper West Side, where I live, the high-pitched mothers have taken a liking to outscreaming said babies, telling them things like "Mommy has to go get her nails done," or "Mommy doesn't like the green tea latte." Sorry lady, but little Beethoven doesn't understand you (kids on the UWS have the worst names). Also, Starbucks doesn't toast stuff—at least not this one—and I'm definitely too uptight to eat my bagels un-toasted. All of this is to say, Starbucks is not my new favorite spot.

After dealing with some adulterous-like guilt, I decided to return to my original coffee shop. I'd mention the name of the place as a public service announcement to those looking for a great place to get work done (and I have before), but quite frankly, it's been too crowded as of late and I don't want anyone else to discover it.

In an unintentional act of narcissism, I asked the Skeeze, "Do you think they at least noticed that I wasn't there last weekend?" ("They" being the people who inhabit/work at the coffee shop.) Skeeze said probably not, and added that the girls who work there kind of hate me. Shucks.

I've got my Table Nazi skills down to an art. In my lazier days I wouldn't get to the coffee shop until about 10 am on the weekends. At this time, every table was inevitably taken so I would just stare at people until they got so uncomfortable that they would have to leave. Now, I just get there at 8.

My coffee shop isn't quiet. Usually I hear a ton of conversations that break my concentration. Considering I'm on speed half the time, this is saying a lot. Two of my all time favorites:

-Guy and girl. He's obviously some type of life-consultant and she's a hometown girl who moved to the city to act:

Hometown Girl: I'm not getting any call backs and when people ask me to go out, I'm afraid that if I say yes I'll be out drinking when I get a call back. My mom says that I should say 'No' when people ask me to hang out. If someone asks me to go out on a Wednesday, I should just say 'No, I might have an audition on Wednesday.' It's, like, positive thinking.
Life Consultant: "Don't say 'I might' have an audition. Say, 'Sorry, I can't make it, I have an audition on Wednesday.'
Hometown Girl: That's sooo true.

-Two writers (By the way, there's nothing I loathe more than writers who sit around talking about writing):

Girl Who Stutters Like a Very LOUD Porky Pig and Can't Spit it the Fuck Out: I always sit down and try to write here but I end up listening to other peoples' conversations. I mean, two girls are sitting around talking about their night and who they slept with—it's like I can't not listen. It's really hard to concentrate when other people are talking and you're trying to work.

[Here I almost turned around to say, "Yeah, no shit," but for some reason I needed to know what dumb shit they were going to talk about next. Sorry I asked.]

Guy Who Looks Like a Blond, Converse-Wearin' Tim Allen: Yeah, so in the next scene the guy's going to look in the mirror and see his reflection and has a revelation.
G.W.S.L.A.V.L.P.P.A.C.S.I.T.F.O.: I can so totally see your book as a movie.
Guy Who Looks Like a Blond, Converse-Wearin' Tim Allen: No, I'm writing it more like a sitcom. Writers always make the mistake of writing novels like they're movies. It doesn't work [note: um, really?]. They should be writing books like they're TV shows not movies.
G.W.S.L.A.V.L.P.P.A.C.S.I.T.F.O.: I want to give my main character a Ph.D. but I want her to be young, like right out of college. You know, I want her to be smart, though.

When he can't take this chick's voice any more, the Skeeze texts me: "Ba-dee-ba-dee-ba-dee, that's all folks"

I have so many other little anecdotes-if-you-will that I want to puke all over this page right now, but I can see that this here post is getting long. I'll update again soon with some other stuff, like maybe about how my old roommate—The Diablo—has proposed ten totally unrelated new career plans in the last month. Or maybe we could talk about his new website (you're going to die) or how he has acquired a new group of cronies whose sole purpose is to pump him up and agree with his schizo ideas (do I smell a pending suicide?) On that note, I'm so glad that my cousin and I had the gumption (yes, gumption) to hook him up with her friend before I moved out of his place last year. Now we still get all the dirt with none of the pain.
As a sneak peek, because really, I can't help myself: The Diablo decided he was going to be a surfer after watching John in Cincinnati (yet, went to California a few weeks ago and didn't get on a board once). As you can surely see, he's from Ohio himself and what could be more of a 'sign' that he should also surf than seeing a show—no less loving it—about a guy from Ohio who loves surfing?? He's such a nutbag I could write an entire blog based entirely on him. It’d be interesting, too. Okay, I'm done blabbing. Swear. More soon.


Paolo said...

Finally, it's about fucking time G.

Gigi said...

Paolo!!! Email me. Are you in NY?