Adventures at Starbucks

The weirdos are supposed to be at Dunkin' Donuts. The creepy old man in his blue truck who always stared at me before I bought my 4:45 a.m. iced coffee. Or the other old creepy man sitting on a chair outside the Dunkin' Donuts, slumped over, mouth hanging open and looking like he just overdosed on pills.

I expect that at the Dunk. Not at Starbucks.

Sure, you have your screenwriters, your professionals reading the New York Times, your random musicians. However, recent experiences may require that I carry a weapon or camera so as to protect myself or capture for myself some very strange moments and people. Let's go down the list.

1. I walked past a woman getting out of an orange car on my way to Starbucks to finish reading my 700-page Lyndon Johnson biography. Didn't think anything of her until I saw her reflection in the black glass of a nearby store. She had no shirt on, just a bra. I couldn't help myself so I shot a very conspicuous look back at her to find this woman, probably in her 30's, with short blond hair, in the process of putting on a dress. Right in a parking lot. At 5:30 p.m. People everywhere. To top it off, she gave me a little snarl, as if to say, "How dare you!" Hey, I'm not the one who mistook a parking lot for the fitting room at Filene's Basement. I did not deserve that look. Not at all.




2. In the corner of said Starbucks sat a mysterious woman who had unfurled several manila envelops on the table. Nothing out of of the ordinary there, until on further inspection, she reminded me of a towering figure from my past - Mrs. Tanner, the feared 12th grade English teacher at Cranston High School East. Imagine the stern headmaster in any British movie and you get a fair picture of her. This lady had the same face, same protruding chin, same cold eyes, same glasses perched at the edge of her nose and even the same hair style, except Starbucks Tanner had maroonish hair, not black like Cranston Tanner. This poor lady must have wondered why this lanky kid in a Serra Padres shirt was looking at her in abject fear.




3. A few days ago I was working on my computer, minding my own business and trying to listen to my iTunes. To my dismay, my headphones were broke. I mention this because a first date was going on right next to me and I couldn't help but hear the whole thing. I've well entered my bitter, angry man phase, so this interaction pissed me off. Having to listen to some chirpy couple exchanging annoying small talk in annoying voices really .... annoyed me. The guy regaled the woman about his job as a hypnotist. Yes, a hypnotist. And he was so gosh darn happy about it. The woman spoke in a throaty, high-pitched tone that scaled at my eardrums. They were happy and cheerful and flirty. Grumpy old Sears shot them dirty looks all afternoon. (Really, a hypnotist? He told a story how he learned of his "talents" at a summer camp when he was 12. Shut up.)




4. Another day, another couple, just not as bothersome. The woman was very beautiful, some kind of foreign. I couldn't tell though. And the guy had a British accent and he was kind of a jerk to her the whole time. They argued about something, and he was winning. I didn't get the particulars since my headphones were actually working this time. But they aren't the crux of this vignette. A hippy-looking kid with floppy brown hair and Rivers Cuomo glasses walked right up to me and asked, "Do you know how to hack into the FBI database in this Starbucks?" I said, "What?" And he repeated his question even louder. The woman next to me shot me a nervous look and I told the kid, "I have no idea." He shrugged and walked back to his friends. I told the couple next to me, "And if I did know I certainly wouldn't tell him." They smiled, but did not laugh as uproariously as I had intended. An elderly man sitting by himself in the corner then shouted to me, "Just a stupid kid. A really stupid kid." He shook his head in disgust and continued reading his book. I will be that man in about 30 years.




5. Once again, trying to read my LBJ biography and a man dressed like one of the green men at the Canucks games walked in, except his getup was blue. It's been so strange at Starbucks for me recently I didn't bat an eye and kept reading, completely ignoring his prancing around.

Strange enough for you? Some of you could be disappointed that I wasn't vomited on or thrown out by a power-hungry home plate umpire. Still, weird people need to stay away from me. Actually, all people need to stay away from me. I really want to be that cranky guy in the corner of your local Starbucks by 2040.

Kill Rabbit

Harry Angstrom is a scumbag.

If you don't know who that is, you've never read "Rabbit, Run" by John Updike. I just finished it, and it motivated me enough to vent in this forlorn space of Internet about the main character.

Never before have I detested a protagonist in a book quite like Rabbit. Let's begin with a spoiler warning -- if you plan on ever reading this book, then read no further. We're venturing into spoiler waters.

In 2011, the theme of dull suburban stasis slowly suffocating life has been duly established again and again and again. This novel was published in 1960, when the topic was still fresh. It chronicles young Mr. Angstrom, a former high school basketball star with a young son and pregnant wife. He hates his job and his marriage and one night tries to drive off in the middle of the night.

He wants to run away from his life, but he has no idea what to run toward. However, this isn't a discussion of the themes in this book. Let me just list all the douchey things this character does throughout the book.

• Sent to pick up his son, he instead takes his car south in an effort to abscond from all his responsibilities literally in the middle of the night. And he can't even do that right, getting lost in West Virginia and driving back to Pennsylvania.


• He refuses to even contact his wife or parents and instead goes to his former basketball coach. Through the coach he meets a part-time prostitute. Mindful of my own 21st century sensibilities, I tried to overlook his caveman-ish treatment of this new woman he meets. Rabbit orders her around from the first second, and this being the 50s, the woman (named Ruth) only fights back slightly


• He gets angry when he finds out she's slept with a former high school teammate of his. She's a prostitute. It comes with the territory.


• Their first night together, he orders her to clean the make-up off her face. She doesn't do it enough to his satisfaction so he wipes it off for her.


• He gets angry that she wants to use contraception.


• He befriends an Episcopal minister, Jack Eccles. His first time in the house of man of God, he slaps the man's wife on the ass. She doesn't slap him in the face. She acts surprised, almost flattered. Oh, the 50s must have been fun.


• So Rabbit has left his wife to take care of their young son. This would be embarrassing enough in 1958. But he doesn't even have the decency to run away to Florida or Minnesota. He stays right in town, living with a prostitute and cavorting around town. Intentionally or not, he rubs it in his wife's face and brings a heaping pile of shame on her and her family.


• In a rage that his prostitute girlfriend has slept with other men, he forces her to fellate him, coaxing and prodding her like a five-year-old who wants candy in a supermarket. He gets his way.


• His pregnant wife goes into labor. So our main character undergoes a revelation. He wants to be back with his wife. So he leaves Ruth in the middle of the night without a word. Oh, and she's pregnant, too.


• Just days after the birth of his infant daughter, he's still preening at the minister's wife and hitting on her.


• Again, just days after his wife has given birth, he desperately wants sex. She's not quite in the mood. He urges her to drink whiskey, saying it would help lessen her stress while in reality he just wants her drunk so she'd be more open to sex. Did I forget to mention his wife has a drinking problem?


• He's lying in bed with his wife trying to make his moves. She resists. So while she's got his back to him, he tries some sodomy. She rightfully objects. He runs away, comes back and now wants sex right after birth? After months of cheating on her and rubbing it in her face? Of course, he doesn't like a woman talking to him like this. So what does he do? He walks out in the middle of the night and doesn't come home.


• So now he's left his wife twice, and this time with a young son and an infant daughter, knowing the wife has a drinking problem. He never comes home that night, so the wife goes nutty. She has a few too many and ends up drowning the baby.


• We find Rabbit was trying to get back with Ruth that night, but could not find her. So he just farts around all night. He finds out from Eccles what's happened. So he comes back, rightfully chastened.


• If I was the wife's father, I'd fucking kill him. Instead, the family welcomes him to their home. He's heartbroken and feeling guilty. As he should. He accepts blame ...


• ... Until the actual burial. Out of nowhere, he tells the gathered mourners that it's not his fault. He wasn't there. It was an accident and he knows his wife didn't mean it. Of course the wife is the one who killed the child, but he set her on the course. Anyway, he just starts running away from the funeral into the woods by the cemetery.


• He shows up at Ruth's and tries to get back with her. She actually cusses him out real good, but even she allows an opening for them to get together if he divorces his wife. He says he will and tells her he'll go to the deli and get her a sandwich. What does he do instead? He runs away. Book ends.

I don't know if Updike wanted the reader to like Rabbit. He doesn't shy from showing how his actions affect others around him, but throughout the novel, Harry Angstrom's inner dreams and desire for freedom, for an elusive liberation, are fostered upon us. In most novels, the reader should empathize with the protagonist in some way.

Many literary critics hail this character as a fighter against the sterility of modern life. As a man of inspiration, courageous enough to chase a true, fulfilling life.

But any logical reading of this character's actions should only include the words "world-class asshole" and "piece of rodent excrement."

I really hated him. The indignant way he hoists himself upon everyone. His narcissism. He self-centered-ness. His complete, earth-consuming cowardice. I hate him so much I blogged about a book written 50 years ago. He's not fighting suburbia. Unless you're a single billionaire, you will lead a rather monotonous life. That's how it goes. You will do tomorrow what you did yesterday, for the most part. Your "new and improved" life will grow to resemble your old one, and then what happens? Run away again and start the whole process again?

And I'm supposed to root this guy on? He shamed his wife, abandoned his son and infant daughter, abandoned his new girlfriend, abandoned his wife again and played a big hand in the death of a child. A protagonist for sure. A hero, not a chance.

There are more books in the Rabbit series. The second one is "Rabbit Redux." I probably won't read it. Tough to read a series on a man of no redeeming value whatsoever. I can't even hate him as a great villain because he's not written in that manner. But in a perfect world, the series would have ended at book No. 2 -- "Rabbit, Run Over by a Car."

How the other half lives

I am on the 80-year-old man schedule.


At 4 a.m., with the sun yet to rise, I awake to prepare for the hustle and bustle of another day in the rat fast-walk. With the help of some Red Bull and intestinal fortitude (for which I am famous) I manage to keep my eyes open long enough to last until 2 p.m.


Then I get home and feel like napping the rest of the day. Perhaps, if the will arises, I will watch the beginnings of a sporting event on TV until I decide to call it a night anywhere between 9:30 and 11 p.m.

I have the same routine as my dad. He's 78.

This new life - the life of a regular, sunlight-enjoying worker bee - has been eye opening. I'm like Ryan Atwood staying in the guest house of the well-to-do Cohens. I have no idea how I got here, but I'm thankful for the opportunity. And I'm brooding about my inner-pain.

Look at all the things my release from the night prison has allowed me to do.

First, I was able to attend a Goo Goo Dolls concert. Yes, the Goo Goo Dolls are still rocking the adult alternative charts. Switchfoot even opened for them. There was a guy with a t-shirt that said, "Boobies make me smile." The crowd groaned audibly whenever one of the Goos said the following words: "Here's a new song ..." All those people enjoying themselves on a sweltering Miami evening ... and little ol' me accompanied them. On a Saturday no less!

Then on Sunday, I saw a matinee showing of Inception. I enjoyed all the thought that must have went into that film. And I saw where the ending was going to go in general terms. It was a Sunday afternoon and I was not buried in an avalanche of baseball recaps. Instead, I sat next to a large man with a keg of popcorn. The real life.

I wake up on the weekends and feel the mid-morning sun and realize I have a whole day to waste, instead of just half of one.

And then I relaxed in the sauna that is the 6 p.m. Florida heat and finished the Lisbeth Salander trilogy. I admit I was sad to say goodbye to those quirky, kinky, coffee-swilling Swedes. I felt like they were true friends and when I read the last words I teared up a little, as if I were giving a goodbye hug at an airport.

So there you have it. A honest weekend in South Florida, my first since November of 2006, before Barack Obama ruined the earth with his Islamic socialism and Asante Samuel ruined my dreams with his dropped interception. A full week of semi-normalcy.

Granted, as a result of my early early EARLY bird hours, I am currently drooling all over my Toshiba and my eyelids weigh more than Albert Haynesworth (hey-o!), but it's a price I'm willing to pay.

As long as I have my Red Bull.

My fair lady

Ask me who my favorite literary characters are and I'd be hard pressed to answer.

I have favorite fiction books, of course. 1984. The Great Gatsby. Jurassic Park. Disclosure. A Time to Kill. All Sears favorites.

But none contains a character whom I really like. Winston Smith? Nah. Ian Malcolm? Nope. Perhaps this can be attributed to the fact that you only get one book with most of these characters. You meet them, then they're gone. With TV shows, I feel like I know Jack Bauer, Omar Little, Walter White, Patty Hewes or C.J. Cregg.

After reading the Swedish thriller "The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo" I think I've found a keeper.

The over 600-page crime thriller is a worldwide bestseller. I'm not breaking any new ground, nor does the book for that matter. It resembles much of what you'd see in Criminal Minds or CSI:Wherever. Don't get me wrong, though. The book was fantastic. Gripping, intriguing, haunting, disturbing ... I finished it in a few weeks. With as much reading as I do at work, it usually takes me months to finish a book.

What sets the novel apart is the leading heroine, Lisbeth Salander. She lives off the page. I could practically see and hear her while I was reading it. She's a gothic punk super hacker who wears leather jackets, platform boots, close-cropped hair and several rings in her nose, ears and eyebrows. Of course, she also has a giant tattoo of a dragon on her shoulder blade. Having endured some unknown terrors as a child, she's extremely withdrawn and anti-social. She's very fierce and supremely intelligent, able to dig up even the most secretive person's darkest past and connect the dots to the most complicated schemes and conspiracies.

Mostly, it's her memorable attitude. You don't screw around with this one. Several people find that out in the book. She might look like a haggard puppy but if you attack her, she'll bite your head off. And she's far from a stereotype. Paired up with journalist Mickael Blomqvist, her tender side comes out. She's actually quite protective and just wants to know people she can trust.

The author, Stieg Larsson, found a goldmine here. This character lives off the page and leaves a big mark despite the fact she's disappears for huge chunks of time. The book and character are so indelible I just watched the 2 1/2 hour Swedish adaptation. Never did I think I'd be watching a movie in Swedish, but I don't regret it. The film was faithful (for the most part) and the actress fit Salander perfectly, as you can tell from the above photo.

I write this because "The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo" is one of my favorite books now. If you're looking for a page-turner in the Dan Brown mold, but with interesting characters and without all the symbology, then you should give it a chance. (Be warned, however. It's very twisted and dark.)

You'll grow to love Lisbeth Salander just like I did.

Entertainment tonight

I have some TV/movie/book related topics to share.

1. I remember being angry when Saving Private Ryan lost the Best Picture Oscar to Shakespeare in Love. SPR is a war movie classic and the D-Day scene at the beginning is unforgettably intense. SIL seemed like a chick flick that had no business winning that Oscar. I remember my history teacher that year, Mr. Thompson, being visibly upset the morning after.

However, how could I truly know if SPR was shafted if I never saw SIL? Due to wonderful Netflix, I finally saw it. I have to say the movie pleasantly surprised me. I enjoyed Gwyneth Paltrow's performance and Dame Judi Dench got the job done in her 10 minutes of Oscar-winning screen time. Nice, enjoyable film with solid performances all around. Though the William Shakespeare character didn't quite ring true. He prances around like a horny twenty something in Melrose Place. The weight of his genius is nowhere to be found. Didn't detract that much from the movie, however.

Still, I can now say with certainly it did not deserve the Best Picture award. The verdict is in ... about ten years late. It's not just my testosterone either. History has decided this one as well. SPR is more fondly remembered and the storming the beach scene is one of the most memorable scenes to come out of any film in two decades. I wanted to make sure my first impression was correct and it was.

2. Since when did Jim Halpert become a complete moron? This past Office episode saw him fail to recognize what was clearly a Dwight prank, especially when the cake arrived. He should've known it had to be Dwight, yet he stammers.

What happened to witty, smart Jim. He's one of the only characters we're supposed to identify with. I understand they're trying to show that Michael Scott's job isn't as easy as it looks and it can be funny for Jim to have problems in his new position, but to continually have no idea how to act or react to situations is really grating on me. So much so that scenes that are supposed to be funny just end up pissing me off.

For the past few episodes, Jim will find himself in trouble with his underlings. Instead of simply stating his case, he hems and haws and makes his "aw gosh" face to the camera. I guess we're supposed to laugh. I yell at the TV.

It's clear The Office is in Tim Duncan mode. It's still good, but greatness has passed it by. It happens to every show, especially comedies. But please, stop making Jim a moron. He's supposed to be one of the smart ones.

3. Mad Men and Friday Night Lights are in a neck-and-neck battle for best show in TV right now. I started watching Season 4 online and it's safe to say FNL is not giving up its title without a fight. The past episode, titled "The Son," was perhaps the show's best. I won't spoil anything. I'll only say Zach Gilford puts on an acting clinic. Just amazing to watch. It's uncanny how FNL always hits the right emotional notes, never getting too sappy or too melodramatic. Still the most authentic show I've seen.

4. I finally caught Marley & Me. I promised myself I wouldn't cry. I can neither confirm nor deny that I did. I will allow that I got emotional. I had a dog, while not as destructive as Marley, was certainly a nuisance at times. But you still had to love him. The scene where the wife is crying and Marley is right there to comfort her., that's what dogs are about. They always seem to know, which is why they're much better than cats. Cats want to kill you for the insurance money.

Our family also buried our first dog (RIP Sparky) in the backyard just like Marley. I dug the hole and poured the dirt on the body ... something I'll never forget. So the movie hit a spot.

5. One more thing, actually. I just finished Dan Brown's "The Lost Symbol." It started almost exactly like his other books, but midway through I could not put it down. The man has his formula and I'll be damned if it doesn't work.

It's Dan Brown paint-by-numbers. Freaky, silent, deadly villain obsessed with something very archaic? Check. Old man put in jeopardy in beginning? Yes. Attractive, single, brilliant woman to be Robert Langdon's sidekick? Check. Secret societies who left us with coded messages? You bet. Characters talking like encyclopedias? Sure. Two-page chapters? Yes.

(I don't like how Brown does one of his cliff-hangers at the end of short chapter and then begins the next chapter at the same point. For example, a character sees something shocking.

Robert Langdon opened the door and what he saw made him step back in shock.

"What the hell ..." he whispered breathlessly.

Chapter ends. Next chapter then begins right there. So why the cliff-hanger? Sometimes, it's not even a new chapter. He breaks, then starts right there again in the next paragraph. The scene should change.)

Anyway, it's still a great page-turner with some neat little tidbits of history. I was thinking "That was it?" after the secret all the characters were desperately chasing/protecting was revealed. If you liked The Da Vinci Code and Angels & Demons, you'll like this one.