In The Fast Lane
Thursday. The morning clear, up later than usual around nine, on to breakfast at the usual emporium. There are perhaps four other cranky old people (three women, one man) who show up like clockwork every morning. We ignore one another as people should who choose a café like ours. No fussing over us by the waitresses, although they always greet me by name and bring a large cup of coffee without asking, no need to say hello to other diners, not too many diners jabbering away on cell phones, some, but not many, pouring over laptops, funky looking art up on the walls.
That's just a first cut at a description, but choosing your morning café is a big deal whether you're working (and maybe come by on the weekends) or not (and come by every day). I've noted a couple of people who come during the afternoons and write with a cup of coffee or a bun beside them to keep them company. We glance at one another, we don't nod our heads. All is right in the world.
That's not considered a healthy attitude. You need to converse. You need to make friends.
That's for the people who eat next door. Nice people, nice waitresses, it's just not the kind of place someone like me will hang out. I like the outdoor tables, although I eat breakfast, usually at the same table, inside. I don't feel harried, I don't feel rushed and I have plenty of space to spread the papers. I vote for more cafés and restaurants with sidewalk tables, of course. I believe the French are into them as well, but high ceilings can sometimes compensate and, as I mentioned, for some reason I always eat inside in the mornings, most often outside when I'll occasionally come by in the afternoons.
This might not be an altogether healthy attitude.
A question I've occasionally asked myself. I don't think you change when you're sixty-five. Maybe you don't change after you turn eighteen, what do I know? Pass the ketchup please.
We're due to get together in Rockridge for a beverage or two later this afternoon. I'm curious to see if I can keep it to two or three over the course of the evening. I've pretty much stopped any drinking when I'm here alone which means I've pretty much stopped drinking. My comment that I'd had one glass of beer at the Lambfest last weekend? It wasn't a problem, but we'll see how it goes later as the afternoon evolves.
Aside. I did spend the day, yesterday, working on the journal cleaning up old menus (with many left to go). A good day. I also sent an email to Rien asking him what he'd used to embed an MP3 in one of his recent pages and he was kind enough to send me a link to a shareware program that packages audio for web pages, a simple enough task that I'll be using pretty soon.
I suppose this is a good sign. Futzing with the web pages has caused me to go searching for software I've evidently misplaced that I need to install on my current production computer now that I've upgraded its operating system from Windows 2000 to Windows XP Pro. Pain in the butt, let me tell you and I would tell you except I know you already know. Still, searching for software means turning over stacks of this and stacks of that and, in the process, filing them or tossing them or otherwise cleaning them and putting them someplace sensible. This, given my history, is good. Life in the fast lane, here in Oakland.
Later. Home by eight, three glasses of Guinness to the wind, feeling fine I must admit.
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