This is really pretty cool. Wasn’t sure that my laptop could pull it off. But it did. Hawsum.
Took my IBM X22 on the road this morning. Thought that I would take a detour on the way home and instead of going right home, I would go for a coffee. I knew that the place had a wireless connection and I thought – What the hell? – and see if Ubuntu’s wireless would let me use their network. Got here. Got my coffee. Turned on the machine. Forgot to put the wireless card in. Rebooted the machine. Got a connection. Logged in. Asked for the guest login and password. And here I am. Remotely blogging. Nice.
And I will give a shameless plug for this place because this is the coffee shop I really should have hung out at when I was sixteen or seventeen. This is where I should have been skipping school.
One Red Chair. Clickety click on the Linkety link. Nice place. It really is. I highly recommend it to anyone. Coffee is absolutely excellent. And the espresso is remarkably strong. Fat Monkey they call it.
And here I am, all cool and shit with my old school laptop, and I have absolutely nothing to write about. Nothing. Drawing a goddamned blank. What can I do about that?
Well, if you were me and you were sitting at my laptop, this is what you would see. The keyboard to an IBM X22 laptop and a very dirty screen. The laptop is on top of a worn and scratched, black, wooden table. There is another one pushed up against it, while it is supposed to be it’s twin, only that it’s legs are not level and the one in front of me has one leg a little higher than the other. To my left is a rectangular table with a glass top that serves as computer desk. There is a black Hewlet Packard desktop, with a white 15″ Cybervision CRT monitor, and a keyboard that looks like it has been customized a little, with black keys, and a grey facing overtop of it. To my left and behind me is the door to the place and behind that door is a grey cabinet, overtop of which is a small corkboard with a bunch of local, artsy advertisements. When the door opens it chimes. Next to the cabinet is a magazine rack.
Ahead and to my left is a short, kids table with a wicker backet on top of it, full of kids toys and kids books. One of the small tupperware style containers contains those little magnet toys.
Directly ahead of me is a entranceway to a larger room with mismatched tables and chairs, an uneven tiles floor, a ceiling with a small section of it done with decorative tiles, and the whole thing is lit with spot lighting that is arranged in such a way to highlight the local art hanging on the walls.
To the right of the entranceway is the coffee shop’s mission statement. I haven’t surfed the website to see for sure, but I bet that it is pasted somewhere there. Underneath the mission statement is the One Red Chair of the store’s namesake. That chair is in front of a lower metal table with a glasss top, but not of the same style that serves as a table for the computer to my left. To the left of the table is a long Ikea styled leather couch that looks good for sitting but would make for a poor nap. To my left, and also to the left of whoever was sitting on the couch, are two wooden chairs with blue leatherette seats. Behind those chairs is a high bar with three grey metal bar chairs. This bar is the window seat, where you can look across the street to watch the cars go by, or check out the book store across the street. I have only ever been in that book store once and I don’t see myself going there again.
Further to my left, on the other side of the store, is the place where the magic happens, where they take your money and brew the fine, fine coffee. The prices are reasonable and considering what you get at other places for the same price, the product is excellent. And no, I am not getting my coffee for free. Dude doesn’t even know that I am writing about his place. At least, I don’t think so.
What I like is the little touches. For example, his cooler. He went to the trouble of not just having the manufacturers topper over the glass doors, but designing a logo for his place and having it made and having it mounted up there behind lights, so that if maybe you wanted one for yout house, he could provide it for you. It looks like a well thought out business.
This is what you get for me not having anything to write about.
Wait. Two more story ideas. One was a bad dream. The other is one is an old one that I just rehashed as I was sitting here, thinking of something to write about. Work with me here, okay?
Weak willed man who was left an enormous house in an older but refined part of town – the kind of refined that comes from a neighbourhood of well kept century homes. His parents left it to him in their will. He was their only child and they spent their lives sheltering him and he spent his life not caring. Before he knew it, he was a drunk, he had no money left, and his girlfriend was pregnant. And before someone starts in on me, no this is not a country song and no, he does not have a dog. Anyway, the girlfriend takes off and leaves him with the baby and no clue how to take care of himself, much less a small baby. He rents out all of the rooms of his house to make some money and makes ends meet and does his best. He continues to skim by and uses what he learned from his parents to raise his daughter, who also risks becoming the same kind of person he is. One of the borders he ends up renting to is a girl by the name of Sarah, only her nickname, she tells him up front, is Electric Sarah. All of her friends call her Ellie. And she proceeds to use him the way he seems to be begged to be used, and his little daughter starts to learn from it and do something about it. This is the setting and the characters of the story and a little bit of what I would want to do with them. I would have to write about them for a little bit and create a little situation for them to be in (the man’s daughter’s first soccer game, maybe – something simple) and see what kind of story I can create from there.
This other one is one that woke me up out of a dead sleep last night. I told my wife about it when I woke up and she had a little chuckle at my expense. I had to go downstairs for a glass of milk to settle my stomach. I might have had a couple of bite sized Oreos, now that I think about it. I’ll know for sure when I get home. If I did, I bet that the bag of bite sized Oreos is still on the counter.
“What’s wrong?” My wife wanted to know. “Is everything okay? Are you alright.”
“Bad dream,” I mumbled.
“About what?” She asked.
“Someone is trying to kill the heir to the fertilizer fortune,” I said. At the time, it made complete sense. I had been dreaming it and to me it was real.
“What? What are you talking about?”
“Don’t ask me,” I think I said. “It’s only my dream. I don’t have any control over it.”
“Are you okay?”
I mumbled something and went back to sleep. Out Big Fat Cat Mulligan came into bed with us and parked himself on my chest, all twenty six pounds of him (I’ll put up a pic of him if I can find it but I am not exagerrating – the guy is frigging huge) and purred in my ear and oddly enough made me feel better.
I dreamed about a story I tried to write a very, very long time ago and left alone for whatever reason. It had to do with a demon in the basement of a large ranch house that had been owned by a man who made his fortune in fertilizer. And the man died of natural causes (all of my ideas seem to start with death) and left the house to his daughter (Jennifer Emqua, of all names – I think I chose it because someone told me that in one native american dialect or another that Emqua was the word for bear and I thought it was cool). But when she went to the house and started to clean it up and get it ready to be sold, she was overcome with the sense that someone was in the house. And the more she checked things out the more she was convinced that there was a demon in the basement and it was the demon that made her father sick and the demon did it for the express reason of getting Jenny to come so that he could take her as his bride.
I woke up just as she was holding the seance in the dining room underneath the chandellier that her grandfather had made. That was when the dream got to be too much.
Again, anyone reading this is welcome to steal the ideas and see what they can do with them, just please throw me a bone on the dedication page, please?
Thanks for reading.