the intellectual, the perverse & procrastination
Ahhhh, the past-time of blogging.
I've been so busy lately that I've neglected the one thing that helps keep me sane...writing.
I've been spending most of my nights at Starbucks along with other mocha-loving fiends reading academic articles, the New York Times and writing up college term papers way into the wee hours of the night.....well 1am, but whatever it's late to be out studying at 1am.
While at Starbucks, the one on Astor to be exact, I've gotten to know my fellow latte-drinking counterparts.
There's the smelly guy whose always there after 11 p.m. He walks around in his baggy black attire and 400 bags of what could feasibly be feces and urine judging by the way he smells.
Then there's the pervert, whom I always catch staring at me while I read. No need to look I can feel his intense gaze from the corner of my eye. Even when I try and sit behind a pole he positions his seat exactly so I'm in plain view of his lurid fantasies. The jerk even had the nerve to write me a perverted love letter, spelling out exactly what he'd do for me if I ever gave him the chance.... ugh, asshole. If you're reading this: I hate you.
There's the late-30's man, obviously unmarried and with no children since he spends all his nights glued to his laptop with whatever Venti he's decided to savor for the night. You can count on him to be there religiously, night after night, working on what seems to be the same Excel spreadsheet.
Then there's Nazi Man. Yup an actually Nazi. He's referred to himself as one. He has made blatant & outright racist comments. Insulted one man so bad there was almost a fight right there in the very vicinity. Looks around and snickers at people. Cynical man that nazi. He's sometimes there with his grandfather, but usually there alone. Bitter. With his coffee. And he's not even drinking starbucks coffee, he's drinking the outside kind of coffee with the little "We are pleased to serve you" logo on it with a picture of the Parthenon surrounded by Greek key.
And of course, the smart bum, whose usually there on Sundays but hasn't been around in a while. You can catch him strolling in on a rainy night, plastic yellow raincoat-clad and all announcing his opinionated yet astute comments on the Bush administration.
Pretty bright fellow; it's a shame he's got no home that smart bum.
Finally, there's us. Two, young, care-free twenty-somethings spending hours in our little wooden chairs leaning on little wooden round desks, sipping some way overly-priced, highly over-rated coffee and talking international politics like we really mean it. Sometimes we make fun of Paris Hilton, cuz thats always fun. And we sometimes laugh so loud, that the NYU students start giving us dirty looks, like they can't study or something. Sheesh.
Maybe they just need to laugh with us. Like the smart bum...he laughs when we laugh, makes comments on politics when he overhears a conversation on the topic, and sheds light on the fact that my friend and I just spent 3 hours at a table and still haven't written a word!
Smart guy that bum.
I've been so busy lately that I've neglected the one thing that helps keep me sane...writing.
I've been spending most of my nights at Starbucks along with other mocha-loving fiends reading academic articles, the New York Times and writing up college term papers way into the wee hours of the night.....well 1am, but whatever it's late to be out studying at 1am.
While at Starbucks, the one on Astor to be exact, I've gotten to know my fellow latte-drinking counterparts.
There's the smelly guy whose always there after 11 p.m. He walks around in his baggy black attire and 400 bags of what could feasibly be feces and urine judging by the way he smells.
Then there's the pervert, whom I always catch staring at me while I read. No need to look I can feel his intense gaze from the corner of my eye. Even when I try and sit behind a pole he positions his seat exactly so I'm in plain view of his lurid fantasies. The jerk even had the nerve to write me a perverted love letter, spelling out exactly what he'd do for me if I ever gave him the chance.... ugh, asshole. If you're reading this: I hate you.
There's the late-30's man, obviously unmarried and with no children since he spends all his nights glued to his laptop with whatever Venti he's decided to savor for the night. You can count on him to be there religiously, night after night, working on what seems to be the same Excel spreadsheet.
Then there's Nazi Man. Yup an actually Nazi. He's referred to himself as one. He has made blatant & outright racist comments. Insulted one man so bad there was almost a fight right there in the very vicinity. Looks around and snickers at people. Cynical man that nazi. He's sometimes there with his grandfather, but usually there alone. Bitter. With his coffee. And he's not even drinking starbucks coffee, he's drinking the outside kind of coffee with the little "We are pleased to serve you" logo on it with a picture of the Parthenon surrounded by Greek key.
And of course, the smart bum, whose usually there on Sundays but hasn't been around in a while. You can catch him strolling in on a rainy night, plastic yellow raincoat-clad and all announcing his opinionated yet astute comments on the Bush administration.
Pretty bright fellow; it's a shame he's got no home that smart bum.
Finally, there's us. Two, young, care-free twenty-somethings spending hours in our little wooden chairs leaning on little wooden round desks, sipping some way overly-priced, highly over-rated coffee and talking international politics like we really mean it. Sometimes we make fun of Paris Hilton, cuz thats always fun. And we sometimes laugh so loud, that the NYU students start giving us dirty looks, like they can't study or something. Sheesh.
Maybe they just need to laugh with us. Like the smart bum...he laughs when we laugh, makes comments on politics when he overhears a conversation on the topic, and sheds light on the fact that my friend and I just spent 3 hours at a table and still haven't written a word!
Smart guy that bum.
posted by Maya at 1:29 AM
1 Comments:
Okay, me again… “Anonymous”. I hope that your term paper was as long as this blog entry; it took me like… twenty-three years to read this. I enjoyed every word, though, and I have something to say about everything.
“Ahhhh, the past-time of blogging.
I've been so busy lately that I've neglected the one thing that helps keep me sane...writing.”
…And who doesn’t enjoy a good write? It’s my passion.
“I've been spending most of my nights at Starbucks along with other mocha-loving fiends reading academic articles, the New York Times and writing up college term papers way into the wee hours of the night.....well 1am, but whatever it's late to be out studying at 1am.”
Well, I guess the first step in becoming a recovering mocha –holic is to admit that you have a problem. But, what the hell …it’s gotta be 5 o’clock somewhere? And what’s this I hear about studying at 1 a.m.!? Nope, not me; I’m chillin’ in the caboose o’ the “Dreamland Express” by that time.
“While at Starbucks, the one on Astor to be exact, I've gotten to know my fellow latte-drinking counterparts.
There's the smelly guy whose always there after 11 p.m. He walks around in his baggy black attire and 400 bags of what could feasibly be feces and urine judging by the way he smells.”
Well, doesn’t HE sound delicious? I bet you could just wrap him up and take him to go. In all seriousness though, he sounds pretty bad so, bring some perfume… some Lysol, something. Spray it around when he leaves.
“Then there's the pervert, whom I always catch staring at me while I read. No need to look I can feel his intense gaze from the corner of my eye. Even when I try and sit behind a pole he positions his seat exactly so I'm in plain view of his lurid fantasies. The jerk even had the nerve to write me a perverted love letter, spelling out exactly what he'd do for me if I ever gave him the chance.... ugh, asshole. If you're reading this: I hate you.”
Whoa, a love letter? Now that’s romantic, no? Okay, maybe not. Nevertheless, this paragraph was my favorite of the bunch; I read it thrice before I went on to the next part. You see; it’s guys like these… that give the rest of us a bad name. However, I see his dilemma. I guess you can’t blame him if he wants to catch your attention… if he wants you to know that he exists, right? I mean, if you saw a guy that you liked, wouldn’t you do something to let him know that “Ms.maya has arrived!” I’m not saying you’d give him lurid love letters and stare at him with an “intense gaze” from across the room (which probably would work better for females anyway), but you would do SOMETHING, I’m sure, that you wouldn’t normally do to catch his eye. This pervert of yours probably just doesn’t know how to express himself but, try and be careful. The streets aren’t safe after midnight… even in Manhattan. The city doesn't need ANOTHER tragedy to add on its', rather illustrious, list of the 11 o'clock news. All in all, guys are just stupid… well, at least the stupid ones are. But, you have to admit; the determination of a pervert is uncanny! It’s almost something to be admired, really. Why, if I had HALF of that kind of persistence… I’d be EVEN MORE irresistible. But, still… you, uh… seemed pretty pissed off at this dude. I hope you find comfort in the fact that not all guys (though there are few) are looking to fulfill their “lurid fantasies”; which is what I’m assuming this pervert was after. Correct me if I’m wrong. Oops, and our meeting has to be cut a bit short, I’m afraid. Old Mr. Baker is checking to see everyone’s progress reports on his new account and… let’s just say I’ve done some procrastinating of my own. Until next time.
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