Notes from Underground
November 20th, 2003 05:27 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shiredancerSurfacing after yet another long absence...just trivia though, nothing of great import. So...
I love my daughter being in her jazz dance class, because it gets me downtown twice a week with an hour to myself while she's in class. The studio is part of a funky network of old warehouses and tin-roofed places that have been yuppie-ized as part of the downtown revitalization project, revitalization being fairly constant in my tourist-ridden town. There's a really cool coffeehouse there where I love to sit alone and get a hot chai latte or a cup of tea and read a zine -- they play good jazz and there's a big industrial-sized coffee grinder so it always smells of coffee beans (and that's one of my favorite smells in the world even though I never acquired a taste for drinking the stuff). The ambiance is great, with high ceilings and warehouse-funky walls and small tables scattered around. I usually find a corner seat and get all propped up against the wall, and alternate between whatever great slash zine I'm reading and surreptitiously checking out the clientele, or gazing absently out the big windows at the mountains. It's especially good on a gray overcast day like today.
On Tuesdays the downtown Farmer's Market is a big event, and I can browse the stalls -- alone -- and listen to the street musicians. A couple days ago I found one of my grad students there; he's kind of living on the street right now and earning extra cash playing his guitar. He burned a few homemade CDs so I bought one after he played one of his songs for me -- it wasn't bad, and he needs the bucks, and well, I can't *not* help out one of my grad students, can I?
I've not been alone nearly enough for a long time now. I miss going down to the sea by myself, or hiking in the mountains, or hanging out at little cafes. This twice-weekly dance class is good for my soul, I think. *mmmmmmmm*
I love my daughter being in her jazz dance class, because it gets me downtown twice a week with an hour to myself while she's in class. The studio is part of a funky network of old warehouses and tin-roofed places that have been yuppie-ized as part of the downtown revitalization project, revitalization being fairly constant in my tourist-ridden town. There's a really cool coffeehouse there where I love to sit alone and get a hot chai latte or a cup of tea and read a zine -- they play good jazz and there's a big industrial-sized coffee grinder so it always smells of coffee beans (and that's one of my favorite smells in the world even though I never acquired a taste for drinking the stuff). The ambiance is great, with high ceilings and warehouse-funky walls and small tables scattered around. I usually find a corner seat and get all propped up against the wall, and alternate between whatever great slash zine I'm reading and surreptitiously checking out the clientele, or gazing absently out the big windows at the mountains. It's especially good on a gray overcast day like today.
On Tuesdays the downtown Farmer's Market is a big event, and I can browse the stalls -- alone -- and listen to the street musicians. A couple days ago I found one of my grad students there; he's kind of living on the street right now and earning extra cash playing his guitar. He burned a few homemade CDs so I bought one after he played one of his songs for me -- it wasn't bad, and he needs the bucks, and well, I can't *not* help out one of my grad students, can I?
I've not been alone nearly enough for a long time now. I miss going down to the sea by myself, or hiking in the mountains, or hanging out at little cafes. This twice-weekly dance class is good for my soul, I think. *mmmmmmmm*
