It is 43 degrees.
I'm in the Uxi Duxi; but not for long. I'm leaving here to go to Starbucks...
Dom is working and is evincing signs of having either read this blog or of having interpreted my absence of a couple days as being related to what happened a few days ago.
That was when Dom had set the "will return" clock thing in a messed up way and then ignored my polite taps on the window, seeking clarification.
Dom Has A Bee In His Bonnet
He was very short with me. I got to the counter and he snapped: "Want a shot? Two ninety-two!" It was enough of a contrast to his previous attempts to at least be friendly, that I know he has a bee in his bonnet.
I Continue At Starbucks
I pretty much went there every day; at least every day that a blog post appeared here was a day that I had gone to the Uxi Duxi, to do at least a shot of kratom, sometimes two.
The fact that they have wireless there and that I am ready to write as soon as I feel the ritalin-esque mental focus set in from a shot of kratom, had conspired to make me kind of a fixture there.
But, it is really only the shot of kratom and the wireless that has any appeal to me. The decor comes in a distant third, with things like the chance to chat with whomever is working in there at the time a speck on the horizon.
I can understand that kratom makes some people become chatty, myself included (but in my case it is hard to tell where the joint that I smoked on the way to the bar leaves off and where the kratom picks up).
I seen and heard at least a half dozen other customers talking their heads off.
Travis Blaine A Culture?
And it has been pretty much in the Travis Blaine style of oratorio, in that the common thread throughout their discussion was themselves.
I vicariously traveled the world and walked a mile in the shoes of a few guys who either stood there by the Uxi Duxi register and spoke or, worse, took a spot at a table from where they had to raise their voices.
Words like "I," and "me" and "my" formed the backbone of their talks.
And, as with Travis, it is when the dab or the shot of kratom hits them that they suddenly, like a clam shell springing open to reveal that it is full of flowers, become a source of never ending words. The ends of each sentence being punctuated with a crescendo meant to convey: "Wait, I'm not done yet!"
In Travis' case, it is an "a..." or an "and..." stretched out and a bit louder, meant to connect his sentences without letting anyone interrupt.
Now, it would be easy to understand the Uxi Duxi employees becoming privy to this phenomenon and having mechanisms of the "I need to get back to work" variety ready to employ.
But, there are some people who enjoy conversation, Nathaniel being one of them.
Dom seems to spend every minute when he isn't engaged with a customer staring at the screen of his phone.
I'm going to have to return to the subject of Travis Blaine, in the same manner that he would touch upon points when talking about himself in lecture form for hours, and then return to those points, as promised ("...I'm gonna get to that in a minute...").
I guess I'm discovering a whole whole Travis Blaine culture out there.
A lot of adults are into things like comic books, and maybe certain science fiction writers, and many might spend almost every waking hour "gaming" on their various devices. In Blaine's case, they are for him what they are for kids, I'm convinced.
Travis went so some prep high school which was somehow nationally ranked, and where the heads of the students were proportionally filled with basically how they were the smartest kids in the nation. If you were to mention the school, Travis would be ready to spit out some statistic, such as 88 percent of the kids from this school going on to Ivy League colleges, or something.
So, Travis has this mind like a sponge and is able to memorize and regurgitate so much of the college preparatory material that he is dubbed some kind of "genius" and determined to have a "photographic memory," and other things meant to bolster the boy, keep his parent's tuition money coming in, and probably looking for a silver lining given that he was probably a loner who exhibited some very selfish behavior.
So, this becomes the guy's identity.
Like Charlie the Tuna, Travis sits listening to Mozart and reading Great Literature, thinking that he is in his element, having graduated at the top of a very highly regarded prep school in New York, and all.
In his mind, he is still the 12 year old boy who is already studying chemistry, 3 years ahead of most kids; and chomping at the bit to show off his knowledge.
His opening chess move against me; from a game that never wound up being played out; was a puerile stunt move; a series of 3 or 4 moves designed to catch maybe a 12 year old chess player off guard.
"You've got to be kidding me," I thought to myself. I remembered that particular "trick" move.
All I could think of was, yeah, Travis probably won a lot of games against the other kids at St. Mark's Academy, using this series of moves, and probably was even called the "Bobby Fischer" of the school, and the name stuck: with himself, the name stuck. "I'm a chess genius," he might still think to this day.
No grand master level chess tournament game, out of nearly 20 million in databases, even started with one player moving the king side rook pawn out two spaces. That is a trick that you use on someone who hasn't seen it before, someone who is perhaps 9 years old and playing the 10th game of his life.
Yet, there was Travis, after having spent maybe an hour lecturing me on "Europe in 1935," spotting the chess board...
"Oh, dude, I love chess...I'm pretty good..."
No, Travis, you were pretty good when you were 12.
Then you started clouding your brain with pot smoke and became stuck in that time and era.
You pick up a guitar and tentatively play a few simple chords, sounding like a Nervana song, but with one or two of the chords not quite right, then you put it down with an air of satisfaction as if you "have still got it" on the guitar and have just given a master performance of a classic song; and then are obtuse enough to begin a lecture, with storytelling, about the various bands that you have played in...
It's hard to be interested in hearing about a band that comes recommended by only a few barely recognizable chords from a Nirvana song.
And, of course, what other band of 12 year olds did the thing where the whole band stopped at a certain point in some song and all played the CBS News theme notes?
This is the comic book reading emotional level that Travis Blaine is at.
"You would have to hear it; it was the coolest thing...out of nowhere, the CBS "ding-dong-ding," and then right back into the song!!"
So, I guess my moral is: Parents don't pump your kids heads too much full of how amazing they are at an early age, or at some point in their adult lives, should they continue to believe it, someone is going to have to tap them on the shoulder and inform them: "Hey, we aren't 12 years old any more. More is expected of us now..."
There isn't much, on the surface, to do on a 43 degree night.
A closer look reveals that I could get a lot accomplished at the apartment.
I could just do the Charlie The Tuna thing and get caught up on my studies of Spanish, Italian, Latin, Ethiopian, or read a good book. I could work on organizing a huge list of every song that I can think of that I ever played. This would be very handy to have laminated and at my side when I'm at the Lilly Pad. It might even make me stay out and play longer because I wouldn't have run out of songs (that I can think of, anyways).
27 Hours Before Food Stamp Money Comes....
It would be a shame if I weren't to get some kind of indoor activity accomplished...
I'm in the Uxi Duxi; but not for long. I'm leaving here to go to Starbucks...
That was when Dom had set the "will return" clock thing in a messed up way and then ignored my polite taps on the window, seeking clarification.
Dom Has A Bee In His Bonnet
He was very short with me. I got to the counter and he snapped: "Want a shot? Two ninety-two!" It was enough of a contrast to his previous attempts to at least be friendly, that I know he has a bee in his bonnet.
I Continue At Starbucks
I pretty much went there every day; at least every day that a blog post appeared here was a day that I had gone to the Uxi Duxi, to do at least a shot of kratom, sometimes two.
The fact that they have wireless there and that I am ready to write as soon as I feel the ritalin-esque mental focus set in from a shot of kratom, had conspired to make me kind of a fixture there.
But, it is really only the shot of kratom and the wireless that has any appeal to me. The decor comes in a distant third, with things like the chance to chat with whomever is working in there at the time a speck on the horizon.
I can understand that kratom makes some people become chatty, myself included (but in my case it is hard to tell where the joint that I smoked on the way to the bar leaves off and where the kratom picks up).
I seen and heard at least a half dozen other customers talking their heads off.
Travis Blaine A Culture?
And it has been pretty much in the Travis Blaine style of oratorio, in that the common thread throughout their discussion was themselves.
I vicariously traveled the world and walked a mile in the shoes of a few guys who either stood there by the Uxi Duxi register and spoke or, worse, took a spot at a table from where they had to raise their voices.
Words like "I," and "me" and "my" formed the backbone of their talks.
And, as with Travis, it is when the dab or the shot of kratom hits them that they suddenly, like a clam shell springing open to reveal that it is full of flowers, become a source of never ending words. The ends of each sentence being punctuated with a crescendo meant to convey: "Wait, I'm not done yet!"
In Travis' case, it is an "a..." or an "and..." stretched out and a bit louder, meant to connect his sentences without letting anyone interrupt.
Now, it would be easy to understand the Uxi Duxi employees becoming privy to this phenomenon and having mechanisms of the "I need to get back to work" variety ready to employ.
But, there are some people who enjoy conversation, Nathaniel being one of them.
Dom seems to spend every minute when he isn't engaged with a customer staring at the screen of his phone.
I'm going to have to return to the subject of Travis Blaine, in the same manner that he would touch upon points when talking about himself in lecture form for hours, and then return to those points, as promised ("...I'm gonna get to that in a minute...").
I guess I'm discovering a whole whole Travis Blaine culture out there.
A lot of adults are into things like comic books, and maybe certain science fiction writers, and many might spend almost every waking hour "gaming" on their various devices. In Blaine's case, they are for him what they are for kids, I'm convinced.
Travis went so some prep high school which was somehow nationally ranked, and where the heads of the students were proportionally filled with basically how they were the smartest kids in the nation. If you were to mention the school, Travis would be ready to spit out some statistic, such as 88 percent of the kids from this school going on to Ivy League colleges, or something.
So, Travis has this mind like a sponge and is able to memorize and regurgitate so much of the college preparatory material that he is dubbed some kind of "genius" and determined to have a "photographic memory," and other things meant to bolster the boy, keep his parent's tuition money coming in, and probably looking for a silver lining given that he was probably a loner who exhibited some very selfish behavior.
So, this becomes the guy's identity.
Like Charlie the Tuna, Travis sits listening to Mozart and reading Great Literature, thinking that he is in his element, having graduated at the top of a very highly regarded prep school in New York, and all.
In his mind, he is still the 12 year old boy who is already studying chemistry, 3 years ahead of most kids; and chomping at the bit to show off his knowledge.
His opening chess move against me; from a game that never wound up being played out; was a puerile stunt move; a series of 3 or 4 moves designed to catch maybe a 12 year old chess player off guard.
"You've got to be kidding me," I thought to myself. I remembered that particular "trick" move.
All I could think of was, yeah, Travis probably won a lot of games against the other kids at St. Mark's Academy, using this series of moves, and probably was even called the "Bobby Fischer" of the school, and the name stuck: with himself, the name stuck. "I'm a chess genius," he might still think to this day.
No grand master level chess tournament game, out of nearly 20 million in databases, even started with one player moving the king side rook pawn out two spaces. That is a trick that you use on someone who hasn't seen it before, someone who is perhaps 9 years old and playing the 10th game of his life.
Yet, there was Travis, after having spent maybe an hour lecturing me on "Europe in 1935," spotting the chess board...
"Oh, dude, I love chess...I'm pretty good..."
No, Travis, you were pretty good when you were 12.
Then you started clouding your brain with pot smoke and became stuck in that time and era.
You pick up a guitar and tentatively play a few simple chords, sounding like a Nervana song, but with one or two of the chords not quite right, then you put it down with an air of satisfaction as if you "have still got it" on the guitar and have just given a master performance of a classic song; and then are obtuse enough to begin a lecture, with storytelling, about the various bands that you have played in...
It's hard to be interested in hearing about a band that comes recommended by only a few barely recognizable chords from a Nirvana song.
And, of course, what other band of 12 year olds did the thing where the whole band stopped at a certain point in some song and all played the CBS News theme notes?
This is the comic book reading emotional level that Travis Blaine is at.
"You would have to hear it; it was the coolest thing...out of nowhere, the CBS "ding-dong-ding," and then right back into the song!!"
So, I guess my moral is: Parents don't pump your kids heads too much full of how amazing they are at an early age, or at some point in their adult lives, should they continue to believe it, someone is going to have to tap them on the shoulder and inform them: "Hey, we aren't 12 years old any more. More is expected of us now..."
There isn't much, on the surface, to do on a 43 degree night.
A closer look reveals that I could get a lot accomplished at the apartment.
I could just do the Charlie The Tuna thing and get caught up on my studies of Spanish, Italian, Latin, Ethiopian, or read a good book. I could work on organizing a huge list of every song that I can think of that I ever played. This would be very handy to have laminated and at my side when I'm at the Lilly Pad. It might even make me stay out and play longer because I wouldn't have run out of songs (that I can think of, anyways).
27 Hours Before Food Stamp Money Comes....
It would be a shame if I weren't to get some kind of indoor activity accomplished...
Well, if you're typing away for hours at the Uxi and someone notices it's a blog they'll probably either shoulder-surf the URL or find it using a search engine.
ReplyDeleteAs for the Travis "culture" I'd call it the "special snowflake" culture, kids who grew up sheltered, urged to stay inside and play video games instead of going outside and learning to interact with other kids, fishing together, fighting and coming home with a bloody nose, falling out of treehouses, etc. It's closely allied with the "tech bro" culture.