My Morning at Starbucks

First of all, Salsa music isn’t the greatest of choices at 8:30 a.m. in a coffeehouse. Especially in November. With chalkboards and posters selling the spirit of the impending holiday season through snowflake imagery and offerings of Peppermint Mochas and Eggnog Lattes, a hot little Latin number stands out like the proverbial turd in the punchbowl.

Besides, people in Starbucks aren’t looking for a south-of-the-border wake-up call. They want cool jazz, hot jams and every other stereotypical musical genre that clueless, upscale housewives expect from a Supermegaplex Coffee Chain. They’re just not feeling the mariachi stylings of Pecos Brahmas and the Bandoliers.

Not that they really even notice the tambourines and brass section with a celly glued to one ear, the newspaper splayed across their lap, and a Venti Half-Caff, No Foam, 2% Extra Hot Caramel Macchiato in their one free hand. When engaged in such critical negotiations as to where to have lunch and where to pick up dinner, the overhead tunes are likely pretty far down the Scale of Importance. Somewhere around Which Tennis Visor to Wear.

And then there’s this guy.


Jesus, Mary and Joseph, why is there never a cop around when you need one? This is a public place, for crying out loud! And in strolls Slacky McDouchebag in his freakin’ dirty pajamas. Complete with slippers!

The thing is, even if he did need caffeine so badly as to forego the shower and avoid the complexities of putting on pants, this particular Starbucks has a drive-thru window. I assume built specifically for middle-management types who can’t afford to be late to the Monday morning staff meeting, but don’t dare attend without a trendy cup of joe in hand, and for wanks like this guy and their utter contempt for some of the most basic things that our society holds dear. Namely, the not treating of my morning coffee stopover like it’s his own personal fraternity house.

As long as Starbucks continues to blare pre-dawn Tejano Top 40 and allow pajama-clad wookies to rub against otherwise well-meaning patrons, I’ll be passing on a slab of Apple Crumble cake. And utilizing the drive-thru from here on out.

Sunnyday Funtime Park

Oh, and remember to have fun!

Dateline: Seaside. The Grapes of Wrath.

The 2006 Seaside Wine Festival.
A Review.


What: The somethingth annual gathering of people who appreciate good wine, bad music and women in their 50s dressing like women in their 20s.

Where: Seaside, Florida. A quaint resort designed to look and feel like a sleepy beachside community in Smalltown, USA, complete with pastel-colored clapboard houses, a town square, a logjam of 2-ton SUVs and thimblefuls of Tiramisu Gelato going for $4.50.

When: Saturday, November 4, 2006. A bright fall day filled with the idealistic promise of tomorrow’s hope and the painful realities of last night’s 24-pack.

Why: A chance to spend $80 to sample a wide variety of international wines, listen to salesmen agree with all of your insights about said sampled wines and pay hundreds of dollars to take home a few cases of your newfound discoveries.

How: Set the alarm for 5:00 a.m. or convince someone else who may or may not remain your friend to do so in order to claim one of the few available umbrellas in the town’s amphitheater.

Who: Beach vacationers, snowbirds, old college friends, girlfriends’ weekend get-togethers, the aimlessly wandering elderly and revelers from all walks of life. Basically, a bunch of winos, any way you shake it.

Overview
Part social gathering, part wine tasting, the wine festival gives you a great appreciation for some of the nice vintages available today, as well as a greater appreciation for the scientists who gave us sunblock and ibuprofen.

On the surface, it’s a refined event for those of culture and taste. At its core, it’s a fraternity party for people who are too old to lower themselves to the level of cooler dancing and kegstands.

Make no mistake, it is a grand excuse to get your buzz on. So should you make the journey to the coast in the coming years, keep in mind a few tips to help you identify and stay clear of those who may have imbibed a little too much for their, or your, own good: Wobbly gait, slurred order for a glass of Pinot with a hot dog all the way, black lips, purple teeth, red shirt stains, fetal position on the street corner, public urination, public defecation, public fornication and any form of visible bleeding.

Proposed theme for next year: See and be seen until you just can’t see anymore.