Tuesday, September 05, 2006

The Offline Files, Vol. II, Chapter I

Saturday, September 2, 2006, 18:31 CDT

Well, here we go again. It was fun to hook up again with y'all earlier today, from the library and Cafe Coco, but I'm so far behind on the news and topics, I just pimped Curly, and was funnin' with y'all, mostly. Sorry to not have generated more discussion-worthy text.

The people-watching is excellent at Cafe Coco (many too-young college babes today, easy on the eyes... very few with extreme piercings and/or major tattooage, which was a bonus, IMO -- the average customer there is college aged, and looks like a cross between punk and goth, to some degree), as is the fast, free WiFi. It's located in a big, funky old early 20th century 2+ story house on Louise St., smack-dab in the middle of the medical district in midtown Nashville. It's open 24/7, closed only on Thanksgiving and Christmas. They serve soups, salads, sandwiches, pasta dishes and personal pizzas... the pastas are good, as are the sammiches I've had. They also do a mean breakfast menu ("available 90% of the time," sayeth the menu; I've only had it after a rough night, long ago, and found it much superior to the usual Waffle House fare), and have plenty of vegan-friendly selections. They also serve a variety of beers, as well as your usual coffeehouse selection of caffeine-infused beverages, muffins, cookies, and assorted other fresh dessert-type courses from local artisans.

When I worked just blocks from there, Cafe Coco used to be a favorite happy hour spot for me a a few others... but I could never sustain critical mass for it with my more conservative friends. They preferred spots like Broadway Brewhouse, which was fine by me, as well. It's just that the people-watching was much more interesting at Cafe Coco, IMO, and never as crowded. True, their beer selection wasn't comparable to Broadway Brewhouse... but the atmosphere more than made up for that.

One thing I cannot recommend: Cafe Coco's Hawaiian personal pizza (I think all they serve is the 7" pizzas). That's what I had for lunch, today. It was cheap ($4.20), and worth it, I suppose. Pretty sad li'l pizza, though. But after the one cook came through with the sauteed onions and garlic (on purpose, damn her... activist marketing types!), I had to have something... besides, one feels like a complete freeloader if one doesn't buy something other than a soft drink. I had to spend a few bucks, didn't I? Sure. I got out for $8, including tip, and that was with two Diet Cokes on top of the pizza.

I was also struck by the number of blatant NetBIOS requests received by my PC at Cafe Coco, though... it makes me sincerely hope that all my buds out there who use open networks have their shit locked down and are running a decent firewall. I mean, I cringe when I hear of people using open nets to do online banking, or to order something using a credit card, but this is even more basic than that.

Leaving Cafe Coco, I noted how quiet the streets were, today. Granted, I don't hang out most days at 22nd & State, let alone a holiday-weekend Saturday... but there were less than a dozen cars that went by while I waited for the bus. Ghost town weekend!

Bob Roberts on the (Sinclair-owned TV-58) CW? Dang! Never seed it, so I guess I'll watch, despite hack edits to fit it onto TV w/commercials... well, damn, I'm glad I saw that. That may be the scariest film I've ever seen. I have to get that on DVD. Maybe I can rent it and make an eval copy.

Monday, September 4, 2006, 05:45 CDT

I had a dream, a decided to type it in.

Terry Farrell was there, in the breakroom, and I said some goofy thing, which made her laugh. I explained the origin of the remark was a guy I knew from vocational school. She remarks that he must have made some impression. "No," I say, "he was just some stupid guy. He provided me with a lot of remarks useful for when you hit your thumb with a hammer." She though that was funny, too. She has a beautiful smile.

I apparently have a new job as some kind of security guard in a mall. I'm wearing a tie and a blue blazer, I have an ID card clipped to the lapel (no badge, no hat, no radio), and two metal thingies that are magnetic. They're small, shiny, cufflink-sized, curved... like small square sections cut out of a small globe; I know they're magnetic, because they stick to one another, and I'm playing with them in my hand, rubbing the one against the other between my thumb and forefinger. Reversing them, they repel.

I'm walking through the mall. For some reason, I know I have to go by the office every so often, and card in just so they know I'm around. On my second trip through, a guy who looks like a high school friend notes my badge number (#27). Another guy invites me to sit down and have a cup o' coffee. We sit at a table, where a lovely woman is already seated, and the guy and I engage in a conversation about my having a dream just the night before, of working security at Circuit City, watching a bunch of monitors. Guy says you'd have to really be sharp to work a job like that. I say, "Yeah, you'd have to get up early and have your coffee before going into work." The guy implied, rather crudely, and within earshot, that the lovely woman is in a sexual relationship with former Titans/Cowboys runningback Eddie George. I, more discreetly, tell him I wasn't aware that Eddie had picked a team... a double entendre -- y'know, he's not with Dallas anymore, and locally at least, there were questionable rumors about Eddie's orientation (when I awoke to type in my thoughts about the dream before they evaporate, I wonder -- wasn't Eddie George #27?).

I head back out into the mall and enter a store. It looks like an upscale jewelry store, maybe, but I see or make note of no particular merchandise. Since the mall is all but empty, I assume it must be after hours, although there are people working in the store, itself. There just aren't any shoppers milling about the mall. There's an unusual access procedure. To get in the front door, I use my access card. Then, at the front of the store, there are two curved displays that form hallways, each with a revolving glass door to allow access. One curves to the left, the other to the right. The metal magnetic thingies, which I still am toying with absent-mindedly in my left hand. They provide access through the revolving door. I know I've been in here before, so I know how the access works, but this time when I go in, I must have taken the wrong path, because I only get past the revolving door. Then, a transparent tube on an arm swings down from the ceiling for a retinal scan. I look into it. One detail -- I recall I had to look at a certain dot until text vanished inside the scanner display, and I remember being concerned about the effect of the low-power laser on my vision. Anyway, I had to go back, and leave the store another way. I note decals on the floor leading into the revolving door areas, and each has the word "Collection," and each has a different name.

As I leave there, someone's set up a convention-type display booth. It's 20-30 feet long, along the outside wall of the store, I walk behind it, and pick up a University of Tennessee Vols swag ball cap from a girl working there. An ex-cow-orker comes up and asks me if there are any more. I hand her one, but hers is different. The bill looks like it's covered in terrycloth.

I find myself in an atrium/entrance, ascending stairs. Terry Farrell is there, again, and she says that no one remembers her roles outside ST:DS9. I told her I remembered her role in Becker, and she said something about another series she did for five seasons that I'd never heard of. Now, I'm going down a set of stairs, back into the atrium, and outside for a break, apparently. Other security guys are already out there, having cigarettes, joking around. We see a bus leaving the lot. One guy mentions a bunch of kids being brought in for this convention. Facebook is mentioned. I trip and fall in the lot, and a delivery van nearly runs me over, braking hard to avoid me. When I don't get up immediately, driver starts honking. I get up, and the driver circles around. I follow him across the lot, demand he get out of the van. He's a big boy! He yells, "What are you gonna do about it?" "I'm writing your plate down, and calling the cops." "Oh?" "Yeah, if your state has a reciprocal agreement, you'll get a summons." He goes to get a bat out of the van, which is now more like a hatchback. "You wanna add assult with a deadly weapon to that?" He calms down, and apologizes profusely. I wake up.

18:05 CDT

The past couple of hours, I've been archiving major portions of my CD collection to mp3, which I will then burn to various mp3 CDs. The conversion process is a time-consuming task, as I can't find my lifetime product upgrade key for Musicmatch Jukebox, so I'm using Sonic Foundry (now Sony)'s Sound Forge 5.0 to do the conversions.

I recently came across a portable CD player that I bought years ago, that will play mp3 CDs, and I have oodles of audio connectors (literally, a large boxful of said cables and adaptors). I found the appropriate cable to connect the mp3 CD player to the boombox stereo that the landlord gave me as a result of his recent move... now, all I have to do is find the AC adaptor, and I'm good. The boombox stereo from the landlord... he warned me that the CD player (a 3-disc changer) was not working very well, so I've only been using it to listen to NPR's local FM station, until now. I guess this is a project to help me get back into listening to music. With the exception of the mp3s of The Bears' first album that I recently received from my net-buddy, I've not really listened to music at all in years. It's the depression.

One piece of music I plan to look up -- on Sundays, our local AM NPR station plays a program titled "Speaking Of Faith," hosted by Krista Tippett (sp.?). The piano music that plays during the first guest's introduction brings tears to my eyes. It starts simply, a single, repeated note on the piano, in a slightly-unusual time signature.It's in 3s, or maybe 7/4 instead of straight 4s -- I'm not schooled in music, so I can't pin it down... it's a fine example of how much can be done with so little, sonically.

Coincidentally, yesterday's episode centered around a young Muslim guy, Eboo Patel, who started an interfaith outreach program, and I will link to it here when I'm online. It was very inspiring, and I'm about as agnostic a person as you might find... but this guy's outlook and approach made sense to me, and I want to share it. Click the link; it's worth a listen.
.

No comments :

Post a Comment