So I am sitting in "The Governor's Cup" this afternoon, which has become my newest weekend homework haunt. It is quite the buzzing coffee shop, as privately owned coffee shops go, and has the making of great fiction, really. There is the multi-studded baristas friendly to a fault, the patron's a varied cross-cut of Americana, and everything from the warehouse-like brick walls to the many chess boards littering the tables very eccentric and bright. Sometimes it has the fuzzy feeling of a happy dream that you want to freeze so you can take time to examine and analyze it's parts and it's whole, playfully rolling in it's homely beauty.

Actually, the whole dream feeling could just be from the second-hand marijuana coming in the front door. As are all non-Starbucks coffee shops the world round, this place is infested with unkempt, unwashed, loud-mouthed, tree-humping, hemp-wearing-and-smoking greenies. But they are nice enough as long as I don't wear my "W '04" hat, in which case I might be taking up residency in the Salem hospital for an unknown period of time. However, I digress, for I could spend the next four hours describing my surroundings and fellow customers. Believe me, it would make for some page-turning reading.

So I'm sitting with my grande cappucino cradled closely to my chest, trying not to be distracted by the fascinating scenes unfolding around me (though really the whole reason I like to study there is so that I am distracted), when I notice one of the afore-mentioned hippies approaching the counter. There really wasn't much to notice about her. She was about as ordinary as U of O dropouts look. However, she had this self-conscious air, a very awkward essence to the way she walked and talked and furtively glanced about. My curiosity aroused, I was very intently listening to see what she ordered, because it never ceases to fascinate me the stereotypes, most true, that can be derived from beverage tastes. That whole line of reasoning was blown sky high however, when she very awkwardly, dare I say shamefully, ordered an "Italian soda, with cherry and coconut flavoring". There really are no stereotypes for someone ordering a cherry and coconut flavored soda. And it was such an odd drink for someone so bashfully aware. As I watched her unwashed dreads walk towards the door, I wanted to grab her arm and ask for a 15 minute biography. What exactly have you lived through that would make you have an affection for cherry and coconut Italian sodas? I spent the next 30 minutes conjecturing about what her answer would be.

It is probably that questionable use of time that would explain why I am at the office now working on homework, instead of home watching American Idol like every other sucker for staged reality put to a soundtrack. The fact that my laptop decided this afternoon it would no longer respond to depression of the "h" "I" or "backspace" keys is also a key reason, no pun intended. (You should try writing a paper without them, it presents some mind-bending challenges.)

The last four pointless paragraphs actually have a point. I have been painfully remiss in not posting recently, due to a long drought in the croplands of creativity, and the absence of a home internet connect. I've left several painfully lack-luster pieces to spearhead my blog, and that is a mistake I daily regret. I'm hoping this exceptionally large buffer of nothingness will distract from the lack-of-quality displayed below. In other words, in the absence of quality, quantity.

Let me know you're out there...