To Bike or Not to Bike - Saturday 6/14/2008

You might also be amused at the amount of attention this motorcycle garnered outside of Starbucks on Saturday morning.

Like me, everyone's thinking that these babies get some impressive gas mileage. And maybe we could just talk ourselves (and let's be honest, our spouses) into getting one.

I tell myself I'd never split lanes.

For those of you living in sane states, "splitting lanes" is the completely legal practice of driving a motorcycle between lanes of moving traffic. You aren't supposed to go more than 10 mph faster than the surrounding traffic. Really, they should warn you about this when you rent a car in California...it's not a nice surprise when you're figuring out he freeway system.

Be that as it may, I'd just use the carpool lane like a regular citizen. Even if the 5 was backed up for the entire seven miles between the 170 and the 14.

I'd get over to Sierra Highway as soon as I could. I'd never accidentally hit a patch of fallen rock and gravel and spin uncontrollably across the pavement and into the ditch, minus some major skin acreage...

See? That's the way it always ends up going, for me.



Meanwhile, back inside Starbucks, I was impressed with how well this woman pulled off these shoes.

More Style, Less Comfort - Monday 3/31/2008

Since I read Starbucked a couple of months ago, I've been even more interested in the Starbucks mystique and how it's evolving. Or devolving.

A large part of its success has been based on providing a "third place" for people to gather--the first and second being home and work. They even had a philosophy about using round tables because apparently you look and feel less alone at a round table than at a square one.

I look at the decor in the newer stores, like this one near the Riverside Boulevard exit off the 170 and I can't see that they're being very inviting anymore.



Yeah, this is a cool looking piece of furniture, but do you see yourself curling up with a book or a journal on this? Or even having a conversation that lasts longer than the time it takes for your back to start aching?



These tables could do some serious damage to the early-morning under-caffeinated visitor.

Where are the lovely deep purple overstuffed chairs? Where are the rounded tables? Where's my Red Eye and where am I going to sit and drink it?

I sat at a square table and wrote for about 45 minutes, but it didn't make me feel warm and fuzzy inside. Sigh.

Rainy Wednesday - 1/23/2008

Today was my workday, so I drove down early of course. Went to Starbucks and wrote a little and took the time to read the L.A. Times.


Crows in a tree on Evergreen Street.



Do you see why I'm laughing?

I park in front of or behind this car most workdays. The license plate frame proudly states that this Nissan Altima is "Superior -- Believe It."

Ah, if faith only made it so.

My Echo doesn't have any blue tape around the windows to keep out the rain...is all I'm sayin'.

No Animals Were Hurt During the Destruction of this Bowl - Monday 1/14/2008

No humans, either.

Dang it! I use this bowl almost every day to heat up our pampered birds' dinner.



I blame Barnes & Noble Cafe and their fine, fine handling of Starbuck's coffees, which led me to imagine that the bittersweet cup from which I drank was merely a taste treat and not an invitation to Lost Weekendesque jitters.

This is what the B&N Cafe looks like, by the way, at 2 o'clock in the afternoon on a Monday in January. Quiet. Except for the distant sound of scratching brought on by the dry winter air.


Is this Espresso Number 1, Espresso Number 2, or Espresso Number 3?

I defy even the lovely Carol Merrill to tell the difference after three of these babies.

The Photo Idea Index resting on the table here turned out to be a really cool browse. When the strike's over maybe I'll come back and purchase it.

Cool Thing
Thanks to Braveheart for forwarding this link to a funny, funny blog entry over at List of the Day.

Artbucks - Friday 1/11/2008

Today I decided to read the so-called first draft of the novel I am working on. After a few hours I became very antsy and fled to a Starbucks in Palmdale, where I made this attempt at an artsy sunset shot. (What's going on up there lately?)

I spent another hour and a half letting my coffee go cold (dang, should have brought that tea light with me) and my blood cooled right along with it.

If you write, you have had this day. The one when you can't see for the life of you how you could have spent all this time working on this project that suddenly looks absolutely hollow.

I have a plot, I swear I do. It's in there somewhere, and there's more in my outline--what did I do with that? But it's also a lot of scenery and conversations.

Oh my god, it's like I've turned Death Valley (the setting of the novel) into one gigantic coffee house!

Foundling - Sunday 12/9/2007

Lookit! We found a birdie!

Or maybe he found us.

As I was locking the back door behind me as we left to do some shopping and get a Christmas tree, I heard a very distinctive whistle. Huh?

Hydra and I looked at each other. "That was a budgie." (AKA parakeet.)

He tooted again and I spotted him under the table on the deck. I unlocked the door while Hydra knelt to get a better look. There was this little yellow bird! He moved a little away from Hydra at first and I gave it a chance and just crouched down and put out my finger and said, "Step up."

Little guy hopped right on! I took him in and he stayed on my finger eating millet while Hydra washed out the cage we'd used when we rescued a cat-damaged finch a year or so ago. His feet, which were soooo cold when I first picked him up, were nice and toasty by the time I put him in his temporary cage.

Temporary because either his family will claim him or because we'll get him a bigger cage. Three budgies at once; we've never done that before!

He's in quarantine in Hydra's room for the time being, but he can see into the living room.



To give you an idea how cold it was Sunday, this is what the mountains across the valley looked like. The high was around 45 degrees. Budgerigars hail from the deserts of Australia and aren't built for much cold at all.

Since we name all our budgies after fliers of one sort or another, we are calling him Nick. Because, you know, it's Christmastime, and St. Nick flies around in a sleigh, and...

Yeah, well. We like it. Braveheart and her partner, Doc(umentarian) spontaneously and simultaneously covered their faces with their hands in chagrin when I later told them about the name.

Then I clarified that we don't think the bird is a saint or an angel, just a bird. So they didn't kick me out of their house.



Feeling full of good cheer about having rescued Nick, we began our shopping day with a stop at Starbucks. Do yourself a favor and don't try the Peppermint White Chocolate Mocha. It's not even coffee, it's a little bit of heaven in a cup.

Talking Around It - Tuesday 11/13/2007

Let me see if I can reconstruct the conversation I had this morning at Starbucks. (Bob's was closed for cleaning. Sigh. And me dressed like a grown-up for once.)

Man walks into a coffee house, orders, pauses at a table to wait while his haiku of a beverage is constructed. There's a newspaper on the table.

"None of us are going to get rich at this rate," he says in my direction. "Well, I never expected to get rich. I just didn't expect to be poor."

I pause for a second. Are we talking about what I think we're talking about?

"It doesn't look like it's going to end anytime soon," I say, my fountain pen hovering over my notebook.

"Nope. This is terrible. Terrible. They're going to ruin television," he says. "These guys aren't going to budge."

"I don't think they are." Not sure which side he's talking about. "There aren't even any talks scheduled at this point."

The barrista recites his haiku and he gets up to fetch his beverage. He turns around and looks from my face to my notebook to my face again.

"I do script research for a living," I tell him, "We're hoping to hang on till the new year, but... No scripts, no research."

"Oh, yeah," he says. "You're done."

He has good timing.

"Are you in production?" I ask. He has an ID on a lanyard around his neck. In this neighborhood, that usually means a studio or maybe St. Joseph's hospital, but he's wearing a cream cable sweater, not scrubs.

"I work for the actor Rob Lowe who's on Sisters and Brothers." Yeah, I know of Rob Lowe. "He's not working."

We wish each other good luck, and he heads for the back door.

I was going to print a disclaimer here, saying that this blog entry does not represent the opinions of Rob Lowe or his employees or associates. But then I realized that neither of us expressed an opinion beyond an agreement that our livelihoods are in jeopardy.

I guess that's how amicable strangers agree to disagree.

Or not.

Anyway, here's another fine video from those writers whose creative talents are being used to keep the discussion interesting.

Bobless - Tuesday 10/9/2007

Big Boy was closed for their monthly deep clean. Sigh.

It was kind of nice to hang out and have a good cup of coffee with a shot of espresso. Mmmm.