the dragon is sleeping

It's been 20+ minutes already since I've sat down here, in what used to be the lair of the enemy. Is it still? Yes...but its power feels diminished. Starbucks, great Starbucks, has kept its 5:30 opening time, the earliest in the neighborhood, but taken down the walls, filled the moat of paid wifi use. Can you imagine when you would have had to pay $10 to do this? Can you imagine that you might have to pay $20 to do it again?

Frankly, yes.

But, for the meantime, that combination has me sitting here working on this chapter, hoping to mail it off in just a few hours so that I can...go back to sleep. And start the next one. I'm not expecting great profundity, but will open up the lines for a few observations of the whozits and whatsits of the Starbucks clientele, here at the corner of Center and Oxford Aves. in Berkeley. Mom, you'd be proud.

• 6:13am. There's been a definite pick-up in the activity level in the last 10 minutes. An interesting mix of construction workers, students (?), folks from the street, others who are harder to brand so immediately. Probably for the better.
• 6:15. I look at my latte. Kind of an uncharacteristic drink for me. Its foam and lack of a discrete surface on the top makes me think there just isn't much to photograph today. Sorry, Lalitha. I still like this pic best. :)
• 6:36. They are still, it seems, calling their drinks "tall, grande, vente". I think it's a matter of personal linguistic principle though that I will never use words other than "small", "medium", and "large". Even seeing the labels recently for two drink sizes at a donut shop, "small" and "regular" for the ice drinks, have ideology seeping through. And I know inside that so does the three-part S/M/L division but I'll wait another year or two before I admit that. 
• 7:19. We're still 45 minutes before the start of 8:00 classes, the first round of the day (and how much Berkeley High School traffic is there up here, just one block but feels like a world away) and there's a quiet rhythm to the place--music still echoing in the background, calling itself background music, and conversations here and there, the crumpling sound of the waxed pastry baggies that they give you with their $1.65 donuts and $1.95 scones and everything else. Huh. $1.65 for an old-fashioned donut, sitting there right next to the muffins and scones. Looks so out of place apart from its donut brethren.
• 7:22. Somewhere there's a blog post waiting to be written about the politics and risk-taking of the electronica-encumbered body as it pertains to...urination in cafes. Sucks to have a computer and want to keep your seat and still have to take a piss. OK, I said it.
• 9:47. Oh my god, I'm still here. Having been here for almost 4 hours, I think I just logged my 100th overheard perky "Have a great day!" It's time to get out of here.

weekend millings at strada

The last few weeks I've started carrying around an audio recorder on the weekends, to capture hourlong to-be podcast pontifications with longtime buddy Ray in the form of the new 'radio' show, Talkin' Trash with Ray & Dave (Facebook page here). Tongue firmly in cheek, which, as far as I see it, is pretty much where it should be all the time...

But carrying a recorder around with me is something that I've always meant to do anyway. We collectively spend so much time looking at and taking pictures, that it seems to me that photos end up as the default and normative media-type stand-in for our memories. Wherever you go, if you want to remember it, you should first and foremost remember to take your camera, pose for the camera, and take a picture. Maybe a video if you've got the equipment and wherewithal, and maybe a series of photos if you want to capture various aspects, different people, different angles...

But for me the sounds of a place are perhaps more evocative of the place than are the sights; for some reason, experiencing the sounds as they unfold again in time can transport me to that place in my mind, while at the same time not allowing me to affix labels so easily, to categorize, tag, and stash away in some box in the mind, as I feel I do with photos.

Sure, I'm being over-dramatic here, but I do think that audio recordings of place, phono-graphs of sorts, deserve a better place in our own everyday media practices. And, as I look around thinking about buying a handheld recorder that will hopefully be somewhat faithful to the sounds without breaking the bank or requiring tons of equipment (looking at the Zoom H1 now), I'm hopeful that, just as carrying a camera helps me to see, carrying an audio recorder around will help me to listen, to be present and attuned to where I am.

For starters, here's a 40-minute recording from a few days ago, weekend millings at Caffe Strada, one of the favorite spots here on CN. Click the link to go to the audio file:

weekend millings at strada

ode to dave's giant hamburgers

On the ride yesterday from Davis to Fairfield

I thought about stopping by Dave's again.

Yes, I was going slow...

But finally arrived. Quite possibly the best burger this side of, oh I don't know, pick your landmark. And I was saddened to learn that Dave had left us a few years back. Hope they keep it up. Thanks, Dave.

Streetstuff III

Lots of recent posts have leaned more on the word than on the image, and more on the "caffeinated" than the "nomadic". And that sentence would ring truer if there had been recent posts. Perhaps a return to the street, and foregrounding the image, would help this blog out a little bit.

These photos taken a week ago on a walk down from the corner of Ashby and Adeline to San Pablo and 65th, in the realm that is South Berkeley and North Oakland and a little of Emeryville too.

.. . ... . ... .  ... .  ..  ..  . .. . ... . . . . ... ..  .. .. . . .. .. . .  ... . . .  . .. ... . ..  .. . . .. .  ... . .  . . . . .. ... .. . . . ... .. . . .. . . .. . .. .. . .. . . ... . .. . ..  . .. . .. . . . .. . . .. . . .... . . .. . .. .. . .. .. . . .. . . . .. . . . . . . .. ..  .. .  .. .. . . . .. . . . .. . . .. . .. . .. . .. 

.. . ... . ... .  ... .  ..  ..  . .. . ... . . . . ... ..  .. .. . . .. .. . .  ... . . .  . .. ... . ..  .. . . .. .  ... . .  . . . . .. ... .. . . . ... .. . . .. . . .. . .. .. . .. . . ... . .. . ..  . .. . .. . . . .. . . .. . . .... . . .. . .. .. . .. .. . . .. . . . .. . . . . . . .. ..  .. .  .. .. . . . .. . . . .. . . .. . .. . .. . .. 

.. . ... . ... .  ... .  ..  ..  . .. . ... . . . . ... ..  .. .. . . .. .. . .  ... . . .  . .. ... . ..  .. . . .. .  ... . .  . . . . .. ... .. . . . ... .. . . .. . . .. . .. .. . .. . . ... . .. . ..  . .. . .. . . . .. . . .. . . .... . . .. . .. .. . .. .. . . .. . . . .. . . . . . . .. ..  .. .  .. .. . . . .. . . . .. . . .. . .. . .. . .. 

.. . ... . ... .  ... .  ..  ..  . .. . ... . . . . ... ..  .. .. . . .. .. . .  ... . . .  . .. ... . ..  .. . . .. .  ... . .  . . . . .. ... .. . . . ... .. . . .. . . .. . .. .. . .. . . ... . .. . ..  . .. . .. . . . .. . . .. . . .... . . .. . .. .. . .. .. . . .. . . . .. . . . . . . .. ..  .. .  .. .. . . . .. . . . .. . . .. . .. . .. . .. 

.. . ... . ... .  ... .  ..  ..  . .. . ... . . . . ... ..  .. .. . . .. .. . .  ... . . .  . .. ... . ..  .. . . .. .  ... . .  . . . . .. ... .. . . . ... .. . . .. . . .. . .. .. . .. . . ... . .. . ..  . .. . .. . . . .. . . .. . . .... . . .. . .. .. . .. .. . . .. . . . .. . . . . . . .. ..  .. .  .. .. . . . .. . . . .. . . .. . .. . .. . .. 

.. . ... . ... .  ... .  ..  ..  . .. . ... . . . . ... ..  .. .. . . .. .. . .  ... . . .  . .. ... . ..  .. . . .. .  ... . .  . . . . .. ... .. . . . ... .. . . .. . . .. . .. .. . .. . . ... . .. . ..  . .. . .. . . . .. . . .. . . .... . . .. . .. .. . .. .. . . .. . . . .. . . . . . . .. ..  .. .  .. .. . . . .. . . . .. . . .. . .. . .. . .. 

.. . ... . ... .  ... .  ..  ..  . .. . ... . . . . ... ..  .. .. . . .. .. . .  ... . . .  . .. ... . ..  .. . . .. .  ... . .  . . . . .. ... .. . . . ... .. . . .. . . .. . .. .. . .. . . ... . .. . ..  . .. . .. . . . .. . . .. . . .... . . .. . .. .. . .. .. . . .. . . . .. . . . . . . .. ..  .. .  .. .. . . . .. . . . .. . . .. . .. . .. . .. 

.. . ... . ... .  ... .  ..  ..  . .. . ... . . . . ... ..  .. .. . . .. .. . .  ... . . .  . .. ... . ..  .. . . .. .  ... . .  . . . . .. ... .. . . . ... .. . . .. . . .. . .. .. . .. . . ... . .. . ..  . .. . .. . . . .. . . .. . . .... . . .. . .. .. . .. .. . . .. . . . .. . . . . . . .. ..  .. .  .. .. . . . .. . . . .. . . .. . .. . .. . .. 

.. . ... . ... .  ... .  ..  ..  . .. . ... . . . . ... ..  .. .. . . .. .. . .  ... . . .  . .. ... . ..  .. . . .. .  ... . .  . . . . .. ... .. . . . ... .. . . .. . . .. . .. .. . .. . . ... . .. . ..  . .. . .. . . . .. . . .. . . .... . . .. . .. .. . .. .. . . .. . . . .. . . . . . . .. ..  .. .  .. .. . . . .. . . . .. . . .. . .. . .. . .. 

.. . ... . ... .  ... .  ..  ..  . .. . ... . . . . ... ..  .. .. . . .. .. . .  ... . . .  . .. ... . ..  .. . . .. .  ... . .  . . . . .. ... .. . . . ... .. . . .. . . .. . .. .. . .. . . ... . .. . ..  . .. . .. . . . .. . . .. . . .... . . .. . .. .. . .. .. . . .. . . . .. . . . . . . .. ..  .. .  .. .. . . . .. . . . .. . . .. . .. . .. . .. 

.. . ... . ... .  ... .  ..  ..  . .. . ... . . . . ... ..  .. .. . . .. .. . .  ... . . .  . .. ... . ..  .. . . .. .  ... . .  . . . . .. ... .. . . . ... .. . . .. . . .. . .. .. . .. . . ... . .. . ..  . .. . .. . . . .. . . .. . . .... . . .. . .. .. . .. .. . . .. . . . .. . . . . . . .. ..  .. .  .. .. . . . .. . . . .. . . .. . .. . .. . .. 

.. . ... . ... .  ... .  ..  ..  . .. . ... . . . . ... ..  .. .. . . .. .. . .  ... . . .  . .. ... . ..  .. . . .. .  ... . .  . . . . .. ... .. . . . ... .. . . .. . . .. . .. .. . .. . . ... . .. . ..  . .. . .. . . . .. . . .. . . .... . . .. . .. .. . .. .. . . .. . . . .. . . . . . . .. ..  .. .  .. .. . . . .. . . . .. . . .. . .. . .. . .. 

the tonewoods @ cafe azul

suffered up hwy 101 this afternoon but was amply rewarded with sunny and breezy afternoon weather, a beer sampler at the russian river brewpub, and several productive hours at spacious cafe azul to the smooth sounds of the tonewoods. now for the road back...

smooth space in strada?

Has it really been three weeks or so since the last post? Much has transpired since then, much time spent offline and much online time spent on sites like Twitter and Facebook where the turnstiles move much more quickly than here. But it's liberating to be able to write even that last sentence, which I'm guessing might tip the scales at over 140 characters. Which makes me think, ironically, of a great tweet: "Blogging on an honest-to-goodness blog like taking off one's shoes and stretching out at the end of a long day". Though I might have to remove some of the intermediary verbiage.

Today I feel like I both want and need this space (is there an English word that encompasses both 'want' and 'need'? how many songs can you think of that put these two into sequence, usually in that order--"I want you, I need you, I love you...") as a place to blow off steam as I try to trudge through 600 or so words on the article-that-is-dissertation chapter I'm working on, on the interface. For the last week or so I've been tossing around some ideas on Deleuze and Guattari's concepts of smooth and striated space, and today's one of the days when we'll see if we can make something happen with it.

Perhaps a little academic liveblogging? This is as much exercise for the fingers and the mind that it is actual writing--these words are quire devoid of content, but, then again, who actually reads this blog anyway?

• 2:42pm.

Writing Boot Camp, Day 1

11:40AM. OK, so I've sworn off Facebook for the 4-hour window of the little experiment in social pressure that is the "Kick (Your Own) Butt Writing Boot Camp", but I'm going to try to keep a blog window open to keep the writing happening and perhaps (?) work through writer's blocks that come up while sitting here. The first day is in Actual Cafe at Alcatraz and San Pablo and, true to form, I'm the only one here. Along with all the other wonderful people in the cafe, of course.

But of course that's not true...I think that there will be other people who want to kick their butts into shape a little bit and get writing as well, and what's needed is a little bit of structure. How to create that in the me-first crowdsourced, anti-hierarchical age we live in? And how can "boot camp" be anything other than a playful metaphor for consumption just like all the rest, when even the Army has now for a few years resorted to the slogan "Army of One"?

1:09PM. Not much blogging in the last few hours is, hopefully, a good thing. Over 400 words written in the past 4 hours which is also, hopefully, a good thing. 100 words/hour actually feels like a fast pace given where I've been in writing recently. The reality with reading and note-taking figured in--let alone sleeping, eating, exercise, working, and the myriad other activities and distractions that fill everyday life--is that it's slower. And to project out to the number of words required for the whole dissertation is, in a word, depressing.

Anyway, it was a good start. Thanks, Actual.