Studying in Public

(pro.corbis.com)

Studying in public places has kind of puzzled me during my high school/college careers. Why do it? You usually leave your house to engage in social activity, and I feel like leaving your house to do a solo activity is kind of strange. Yet people love it. I have friends who couldn't study without leaving their house. Maybe it's a mental-environment thing where there are too many distractions in your usual environment and you need a place that is not your own to clear your head. Strange.

Whenever I see people studying alone in public, I always assume that they'd rather be hanging out than studying and if a group of their friends came in they'd drop what they were doing. But that's mostly because I'm projecting my feelings on others. Or they have a crush on a barista at the Artisan.

I have been mulling this issue over in my head for the last couple years and am trying to get myself to appreciate the frame of mind that would honestly be influenced enough by their aesthetic surroundings to travel somewhere to study.

Tied to this is the issue of solo dining (there's a crappy website about it, if you're interested - here) or solo drinking. I respect the ability to walk into a place and be comfortable enough in one's skin to sit and enjoy a beer or burger all by one's lonesome. The closest I've gotten to this is taking a walk by myself. And that took two years. And I'm not talking about picking up some chicken nuggets between classes and sitting and reading a newspaper in a student union. The kind of solo dining I'm taking about is not practical but done out of sheer enjoyment of being alone.

(I'm officially rambling, now...) There's something called a 'dream team,' which I'm pretty sure happens on any large college campus. They're people who catch your eye on campus and somehow end up in all of your classes and you see them everywhere. They're just outside of your social circle and none of your friends know them, but the friends of your friends do. They hang out at all the places you do, etc. They're in your dream team (to be fair, I stole the term from a girl I know named Libby). There's a French dude on campus who is on my dream team. He's super cool looking and one time I saw him solo dining like a pro in Brady and he looked so comfortable in his surroundings that he looked like he was meant to be there, like another piece of furniture. I want to be able to do that.

links:
AAA magazine: "The Pleasures of Dining Alone"
About.com: "Dining Alone - Tips and Tricks to Get You into the Solo Dining Mood"

PANCAKES + per diem

can't find the picture i'm looking for now, of Claire at the Artisan. I'll find it later.

The Artisan coffee shop, one of my favorite places in town, is kind of struggling lately and started a great thing: staying open 24 hrs/day and serving all-you-can-eat pancakes & sausage & bottomless coffee from 11pm-6am for $8.60. Just for this week and next week (finals week). Awesome.

I inherited my Mom's body in many ways, but one of them is that we're extremely affected by caffeine. I forgot about this and got overly excited about the bottomlessness of the coffee and had two cups tonight and this is why i'm up at 2:40am instead of asleep for my 9am class tomorrow. Sigh. I am just as affected by beer, except in the other direction. (depressant vs. stimulant, thank you, two years of D.A.R.E.)

But I'm here to tell you about something interesting I learned today in my Global Perspectives class. Also, my professor is a total badass. Why? One reason: we didn't have class the last two weeks because he was in Bolivia. Cool. Another reason? Even when in Columbia, MO, he carries a copy of his passport and a $100 bill in a secret compartment in his belt, as well as carries his wallet in his front pocket to avoid pickpockets. Hilarious. This is probably only funny if you have his class, my apologies.

We talked today about planning our sojourns in countries and how to plan them out financially. In the military (mostly) they have calculations for this based on a 'per diem' rate, which is kind of a daily cost of living which takes into account lodging costs as well as meals. Here are a couple cities' per diems (per day):

St. Louis - $162
Kansas City - $145
Columbia, MO - $99
Seattle, WA (for Ailsa) - $216 (Tacoma is $167, Mexico City is $273)
Sao Paulo, Brazil - $251
Hong Kong (for my friend Caroline studying there this fall) - $361
London, UK - $336

Ouch.

The Artisan

A Jazz Poem by Dan Robinson
performed at the Cherry Street Artisan, May 4, 2007
(Italicized portions are sung; the rest is spoken.)

There’s little place I know
on Cherry Street.
It’s a place where people like to go,
where people like me like to meet.

I’m partial to this particular place.
You might even say I’m partisan.
It always brings a smile to my face.
It’s the Cherry Street Artisan.

The Cherry Street Artisan:
it’s a place that reminds you
that walls exist to hang art on,
that a stage just a foot off the floor
can consecrate a space
and create a place
where something magical happens.

Live music at lunch?
Too much of a luxury?
It makes you feel like you live
in a civilized country.

Cherry Street
is where people meet
and it’s very sweet
and you can even eat there.

They make the most amazing hummus
Better get you summus.
I like the green machine
if you know what I mean.
And I’m a big fanada
O Canada
pizza, but my favorite is
the turkey apple and brie
got to get that sandwich inside of me
at the Artisan

Students hyped up on caffeine
devouring their books
they’re flirting, they’re blogging,
they’re surfing the web
they’re planning how to change the world.

Artists and philosophers make coffee behind the counter
and future mathematicians sweep the floor.
There’s a huge ungainly object attached to every key
that you need to unlock the restroom door.

Who’s the boss at the Artisan?
It’s not a person. It’s a sandwich.
At the Artisan, you eat the boss.
That’s what we think of hierarchy here.
There are bearded revolutionaries at every table
plotting the overthrow of capitalism.

Don’t you know,
we’re talking about a revolution
that starts at the Artisan
Finally the tables are starting to turn
Talkin’ ’bout a revolution...

I’ll always remember
that night I walked in from the rain
and it was a jazz jam,
musicians of all ages onstage,
people smiling at every table
and I felt like I was home.
It’s that kind of place.

You’ll always find a friendly face at the Artisan.
You say, there’s Jeremy
he’ll take care of me
he’ll make me feel at home.

There’s Andrew, and Alex, and that cute girl
who always makes me laugh.
When you come and see those familiar faces,
you feel like all’s right in the world.

At the Artisan, there’s a bronze tiger
you can drape your scarf over.
There’s a clock on the wall
that always says it’s later
than you want it to be, because
when you’re here
with the people
you love to be with,
you want now
to last forever.
And my favorite time of all
is when the little chalk board says
“Poetry Jam Tonight!”

I love to see the poets step up to the mike:
Steven and Carmen
and Amy and Seth
and Shane and JaKeitha
and Korey and Beth
and Barret the gentle giant
with his tales of lost love
and yearning
and breakups done by text message.
And when I step up on the stage,
my friends are looking back at me,
and there’s no place on earth I’d rather be.

That’s right, it’s the Artisan...

Where all the poets
wear their souls on their sleeve
and make you laugh with them and make you grieve
and break your heart with beauty
then it’s time for a little break:
Alex puts on some Death Cab For Cutie,

The musicians go outside to smoke their cigarettes.
You step out with them,
the cold is delicious,
the sky is a shiver of stars.
and you suddenly realize how exciting
it is to be alive.

The other night, I came in from the cold and damp,
sat down, and the couch was already warm.
I thought, “That’s just like the Artisan.”
You can go away for a day, you can go away for a year.
They’re going to keep it warm for you.

Now it’s time to say good-bye.
I won’t cry if you won’t cry.
Good-bye to every poet—
you’re beautiful, I hope you know it

When I get down from this stage,
I’ll wipe the tear from my eye,
hug my friends,
I’ll divide tips with the musicians,
I’ll say “see you later” to the cool bass player
and Alex the light & sound man
(coolest guy around, man).
I’ll say “hasta la vista”
to the barista
and I’ll slip into the night.

Good-bye is hard to say,
wish I could stay,
but I’ll be back someday.
Good night,
Cherry
Street
Artisan.
Good night.

(link)

Belz @ The Artisan

I went to a poetry reading tonight at the Artisan of my old Worldviews teacher, Aaron Belz. It rocked my face off. Awesome and Julie were a little less enthused. I thought the three poets who went ahead of Belz were really good and some were funny and many of the poems were really beautiful.

Belz gave a discount to his students in the audience (two of whom I knew...where else did he teach? Or...Belz, if you read this: where else did you teach?) if they bought his book, and so I did. It's called The Bird Hoverer and it's on Mondo's favorite books list even though HE HASN'T READ IT.

My favorite poem of the night was the first one he read:

"Among Birds"

Having spent the better part of the morning
among birds, having heard
what they whisper
to each other as the sun comes up,

having noted how they name their offspring,
with names like Fuzz Packet and Mr. Charming,
Devily Doo and The Potato Famine Boy,

having observed, if momentarily,
as they begin to glide, their haughty eyes
and knife-like toes,
I hereby reject birds
and not only birds but
the places where they dwell, the patterns
of their lives, the very cosmic instinct
that brings them into being—in fact, the skies;

having been raised by birds and
having nursed at their impossible teats
and been subjected to their whimsical
sarcasm, also having been approached by
them on several occasions—

when my star had risen and theirs perhaps had not—

in the name of
neighborliness or good citizenship and having
politely asked them to step off,
can't you see
I'm busy, type of thing, and having quietly
informed them that I no longer belong
to their so-called tribe,
I hereby request
that they wipe the silly smirks off their faces
and find other people to circle, other places
to drop their glob-like feces, and that is all
I ask of them, not that we can't exist on the same
planet, free-thinking individuals,
in equal

if separate and clearly demarcated communities.


Poem that should have been read Mitch Hedberg-style:

"Hidden Microphones"

I am all about hidden microphones.
If you pay me a certain amount of money,
I will plant a certain number of microphones
around your home, or a friend's home.


Conclusions from the night (mostly based on the readings of the two female poets who went ahead of Belz):
- If I ever become a poet that people come to hear read my poetry I will be a lot more expressive in my voice than they were, with hand motions and rhythm in my voice.
- I think Belz's poems were ten times more funny if you had him for class.