Okay, I admit it, I have some guilty pleasures. Starbuck's. I love the taste when that first sip cuddles my tongue, then slowly slides down my wet palate. I love the warmth against my hand of the soft paper cup, giving just enough to make me want to keep holding it. The aroma when I enter a Starbuck's, oh, how it engulfs my very soul with delight and desire. I want. I need. The jazz music soothes my ears, my body starts to sway and unwind, loosen up as though I had just entered a universe of sandy beaches and cool breezes off of a warm ocean shore.
The wood is rich in color, but light, not too dark, of the chairs, tables, all beckoning me to join them. They are clean and feel smooth to my touch. I want to become one with them. I imagine my home is completed with such inviting chairs and tables where friends will seat with me and we will share stories. And at Starbuck's there are always friends. Complete strangers when I enter, but soon I will know their names and where they work, what they dream. We can tell each other anything. This is not your grandson's Twitter. We can speak as much as we want, not Fascist denial of "characters." I network, get business cards and pass out mine--that's right I have had a business card for 25 years, first with the City of Seattle, then as an "Advocate for People with Disabilities"--my name, I am a person who takes part in life beyond my wheel chair--this is not you child's Face Book. No advertisements or game playing. Real people, real avenues to use their services and get to know them personally first.
Baristas are friendly and they greet me, by name after a few visits. They remember me. Someone remembers me. When I worked, they would see me coming from blocks away and have my drink ready when I arrived! I didn't pay them for this, I am not the often wealthy, upper-middle class (look that one up in a history book), customer--I rarely tipped, the coffee cost was breaking me. Four cups a day during my working years. I always expressed my appreciation though and they understood I couldn't afford both coffee and tip every visit. Though once I may have stopped a burglary. I'll rationalize my cheapness somehow. Howard Schultz loves me, I am good advertisement. Yeah, that will do.
My Socialist and radical friends hate Starbuck's--ok, I understand and they have good reasons...but I desire...I love. Is love not worth the pain of a heavy burden of self-hate for not being liberal enough? I will carry that burden for the chance to spend time in a Starbuck's and fall in love.
Friday, November 5, 2010
Starbuck's Not Your Granchild's Face Book
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Okay, I admit it, I have some guilty pleasures. Starbuck's. I love the taste when that first sip cuddles my tongue, then slowly slides down my wet palate. I love the warmth against my hand of the soft paper cup, giving just enough to make me want to keep holding it. The aroma when I enter a Starbuck's, oh, how it engulfs my very soul with delight and desire. I want. I need. The jazz music soothes my ears, my body starts to sway and unwind, loosen up as though I had just entered a universe of sandy beaches and cool breezes off of a warm ocean shore.
The wood is rich in color, but light, not too dark, of the chairs, tables, all beckoning me to join them. They are clean and feel smooth to my touch. I want to become one with them. I imagine my home is completed with such inviting chairs and tables where friends will seat with me and we will share stories. And at Starbuck's there are always friends. Complete strangers when I enter, but soon I will know their names and where they work, what they dream. We can tell each other anything. This is not your grandson's Twitter. We can speak as much as we want, not Fascist denial of "characters." I network, get business cards and pass out mine--that's right I have had a business card for 25 years, first with the City of Seattle, then as an "Advocate for People with Disabilities"--my name, I am a person who takes part in life beyond my wheel chair--this is not you child's Face Book. No advertisements or game playing. Real people, real avenues to use their services and get to know them personally first.
Baristas are friendly and they greet me, by name after a few visits. They remember me. Someone remembers me. When I worked, they would see me coming from blocks away and have my drink ready when I arrived! I didn't pay them for this, I am not the often wealthy, upper-middle class (look that one up in a history book), customer--I rarely tipped, the coffee cost was breaking me. Four cups a day during my working years. I always expressed my appreciation though and they understood I couldn't afford both coffee and tip every visit. Though once I may have stopped a burglary. I'll rationalize my cheapness somehow. Howard Schultz loves me, I am good advertisement. Yeah, that will do.
My Socialist and radical friends hate Starbuck's--ok, I understand and they have good reasons...but I desire...I love. Is love not worth the pain of a heavy burden of self-hate for not being liberal enough? I will carry that burden for the chance to spend time in a Starbuck's and fall in love.
Okay, I admit it, I have some guilty pleasures. Starbuck's. I love the taste when that first sip cuddles my tongue, then slowly slides down my wet palate. I love the warmth against my hand of the soft paper cup, giving just enough to make me want to keep holding it. The aroma when I enter a Starbuck's, oh, how it engulfs my very soul with delight and desire. I want. I need. The jazz music soothes my ears, my body starts to sway and unwind, loosen up as though I had just entered a universe of sandy beaches and cool breezes off of a warm ocean shore.
The wood is rich in color, but light, not too dark, of the chairs, tables, all beckoning me to join them. They are clean and feel smooth to my touch. I want to become one with them. I imagine my home is completed with such inviting chairs and tables where friends will seat with me and we will share stories. And at Starbuck's there are always friends. Complete strangers when I enter, but soon I will know their names and where they work, what they dream. We can tell each other anything. This is not your grandson's Twitter. We can speak as much as we want, not Fascist denial of "characters." I network, get business cards and pass out mine--that's right I have had a business card for 25 years, first with the City of Seattle, then as an "Advocate for People with Disabilities"--my name, I am a person who takes part in life beyond my wheel chair--this is not you child's Face Book. No advertisements or game playing. Real people, real avenues to use their services and get to know them personally first.
Baristas are friendly and they greet me, by name after a few visits. They remember me. Someone remembers me. When I worked, they would see me coming from blocks away and have my drink ready when I arrived! I didn't pay them for this, I am not the often wealthy, upper-middle class (look that one up in a history book), customer--I rarely tipped, the coffee cost was breaking me. Four cups a day during my working years. I always expressed my appreciation though and they understood I couldn't afford both coffee and tip every visit. Though once I may have stopped a burglary. I'll rationalize my cheapness somehow. Howard Schultz loves me, I am good advertisement. Yeah, that will do.
My Socialist and radical friends hate Starbuck's--ok, I understand and they have good reasons...but I desire...I love. Is love not worth the pain of a heavy burden of self-hate for not being liberal enough? I will carry that burden for the chance to spend time in a Starbuck's and fall in love.
Okay, I admit it, I have some guilty pleasures. Starbuck's. I love the taste when that first sip cuddles my tongue, then slowly slides down my wet palate. I love the warmth against my hand of the soft paper cup, giving just enough to make me want to keep holding it. The aroma when I enter a Starbuck's, oh, how it engulfs my very soul with delight and desire. I want. I need. The jazz music soothes my ears, my body starts to sway and unwind, loosen up as though I had just entered a universe of sandy beaches and cool breezes off of a warm ocean shore.
The wood is rich in color, but light, not too dark, of the chairs, tables, all beckoning me to join them. They are clean and feel smooth to my touch. I want to become one with them. I imagine my home is completed with such inviting chairs and tables where friends will seat with me and we will share stories. And at Starbuck's there are always friends. Complete strangers when I enter, but soon I will know their names and where they work, what they dream. We can tell each other anything. This is not your grandson's Twitter. We can speak as much as we want, not Fascist denial of "characters." I network, get business cards and pass out mine--that's right I have had a business card for 25 years, first with the City of Seattle, then as an "Advocate for People with Disabilities"--my name, I am a person who takes part in life beyond my wheel chair--this is not you child's Face Book. No advertisements or game playing. Real people, real avenues to use their services and get to know them personally first.
Baristas are friendly and they greet me, by name after a few visits. They remember me. Someone remembers me. When I worked, they would see me coming from blocks away and have my drink ready when I arrived! I didn't pay them for this, I am not the often wealthy, upper-middle class (look that one up in a history book), customer--I rarely tipped, the coffee cost was breaking me. Four cups a day during my working years. I always expressed my appreciation though and they understood I couldn't afford both coffee and tip every visit. Though once I may have stopped a burglary. I'll rationalize my cheapness somehow. Howard Schultz loves me, I am good advertisement. Yeah, that will do.
My Socialist and radical friends hate Starbuck's--ok, I understand and they have good reasons...but I desire...I love. Is love not worth the pain of a heavy burden of self-hate for not being liberal enough? I will carry that burden for the chance to spend time in a Starbuck's and fall in love.
Okay, I admit it, I have some guilty pleasures. Starbuck's. I love the taste when that first sip cuddles my tongue, then slowly slides down my wet palate. I love the warmth against my hand of the soft paper cup, giving just enough to make me want to keep holding it. The aroma when I enter a Starbuck's, oh, how it engulfs my very soul with delight and desire. I want. I need. The jazz music soothes my ears, my body starts to sway and unwind, loosen up as though I had just entered a universe of sandy beaches and cool breezes off of a warm ocean shore.
The wood is rich in color, but light, not too dark, of the chairs, tables, all beckoning me to join them. They are clean and feel smooth to my touch. I want to become one with them. I imagine my home is completed with such inviting chairs and tables where friends will seat with me and we will share stories. And at Starbuck's there are always friends. Complete strangers when I enter, but soon I will know their names and where they work, what they dream. We can tell each other anything. This is not your grandson's Twitter. We can speak as much as we want, not Fascist denial of "characters." I network, get business cards and pass out mine--that's right I have had a business card for 25 years, first with the City of Seattle, then as an "Advocate for People with Disabilities"--my name, I am a person who takes part in life beyond my wheel chair--this is not you child's Face Book. No advertisements or game playing. Real people, real avenues to use their services and get to know them personally first.
Baristas are friendly and they greet me, by name after a few visits. They remember me. Someone remembers me. When I worked, they would see me coming from blocks away and have my drink ready when I arrived! I didn't pay them for this, I am not the often wealthy, upper-middle class (look that one up in a history book), customer--I rarely tipped, the coffee cost was breaking me. Four cups a day during my working years. I always expressed my appreciation though and they understood I couldn't afford both coffee and tip every visit. Though once I may have stopped a burglary. I'll rationalize my cheapness somehow. Howard Schultz loves me, I am good advertisement. Yeah, that will do.
My Socialist and radical friends hate Starbuck's--ok, I understand and they have good reasons...but I desire...I love. Is love not worth the pain of a heavy burden of self-hate for not being liberal enough? I will carry that burden for the chance to spend time in a Starbuck's and fall in love.
Okay, I admit it, I have some guilty pleasures. Starbuck's. I love the taste when that first sip cuddles my tongue, then slowly slides down my wet palate. I love the warmth against my hand of the soft paper cup, giving just enough to make me want to keep holding it. The aroma when I enter a Starbuck's, oh, how it engulfs my very soul with delight and desire. I want. I need. The jazz music soothes my ears, my body starts to sway and unwind, loosen up as though I had just entered a universe of sandy beaches and cool breezes off of a warm ocean shore.
The wood is rich in color, but light, not too dark, of the chairs, tables, all beckoning me to join them. They are clean and feel smooth to my touch. I want to become one with them. I imagine my home is completed with such inviting chairs and tables where friends will seat with me and we will share stories. And at Starbuck's there are always friends. Complete strangers when I enter, but soon I will know their names and where they work, what they dream. We can tell each other anything. This is not your grandson's Twitter. We can speak as much as we want, not Fascist denial of "characters." I network, get business cards and pass out mine--that's right I have had a business card for 25 years, first with the City of Seattle, then as an "Advocate for People with Disabilities"--my name, I am a person who takes part in life beyond my wheel chair--this is not you child's Face Book. No advertisements or game playing. Real people, real avenues to use their services and get to know them personally first.
Baristas are friendly and they greet me, by name after a few visits. They remember me. Someone remembers me. When I worked, they would see me coming from blocks away and have my drink ready when I arrived! I didn't pay them for this, I am not the often wealthy, upper-middle class (look that one up in a history book), customer--I rarely tipped, the coffee cost was breaking me. Four cups a day during my working years. I always expressed my appreciation though and they understood I couldn't afford both coffee and tip every visit. Though once I may have stopped a burglary. I'll rationalize my cheapness somehow. Howard Schultz loves me, I am good advertisement. Yeah, that will do.
My Socialist and radical friends hate Starbuck's--ok, I understand and they have good reasons...but I desire...I love. Is love not worth the pain of a heavy burden of self-hate for not being liberal enough? I will carry that burden for the chance to spend time in a Starbuck's and fall in love.
Okay, I admit it, I have some guilty pleasures. Starbuck's. I love the taste when that first sip cuddles my tongue, then slowly slides down my wet palate. I love the warmth against my hand of the soft paper cup, giving just enough to make me want to keep holding it. The aroma when I enter a Starbuck's, oh, how it engulfs my very soul with delight and desire. I want. I need. The jazz music soothes my ears, my body starts to sway and unwind, loosen up as though I had just entered a universe of sandy beaches and cool breezes off of a warm ocean shore.
The wood is rich in color, but light, not too dark, of the chairs, tables, all beckoning me to join them. They are clean and feel smooth to my touch. I want to become one with them. I imagine my home is completed with such inviting chairs and tables where friends will seat with me and we will share stories. And at Starbuck's there are always friends. Complete strangers when I enter, but soon I will know their names and where they work, what they dream. We can tell each other anything. This is not your grandson's Twitter. We can speak as much as we want, not Fascist denial of "characters." I network, get business cards and pass out mine--that's right I have had a business card for 25 years, first with the City of Seattle, then as an "Advocate for People with Disabilities"--my name, I am a person who takes part in life beyond my wheel chair--this is not you child's Face Book. No advertisements or game playing. Real people, real avenues to use their services and get to know them personally first.
Baristas are friendly and they greet me, by name after a few visits. They remember me. Someone remembers me. When I worked, they would see me coming from blocks away and have my drink ready when I arrived! I didn't pay them for this, I am not the often wealthy, upper-middle class (look that one up in a history book), customer--I rarely tipped, the coffee cost was breaking me. Four cups a day during my working years. I always expressed my appreciation though and they understood I couldn't afford both coffee and tip every visit. Though once I may have stopped a burglary. I'll rationalize my cheapness somehow. Howard Schultz loves me, I am good advertisement. Yeah, that will do.
My Socialist and radical friends hate Starbuck's--ok, I understand and they have good reasons...but I desire...I love. Is love not worth the pain of a heavy burden of self-hate for not being liberal enough? I will carry that burden for the chance to spend time in a Starbuck's and fall in love.
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