El Camino Blog

That's the fact, Jack!

Wednesday, September 13, 2006

I saw her in the elevator

(At work, 4:38 pm, Wednesday, September 13, 2006)- I clinched a future lunch date at 4:05 this afternoon. Starting from this morning: I walked up a dreary, rainy September street looking, in vain, for that special woman to ask out. The harder I looked, the more deserted and alien the street seemed to get. I arrived at my building, and resolved to chill out. I got into an elevator car alone. Then, at the 2nd or 3rd floor, a spiffily-dressed brunette got on. She seemed shy, was quiet but perceptibly breathing. I was nervous before I even knew it. Absent-mindedly, after she told me that she was headed for nine(my floor), I asked her what floor she was going to. "I'm going to nine," she said pleasantly, ignoring my goof-up. Then I thought: Wait a minute, is THIS the opportunity I've been waiting for? She was looking downward. Then she looked upward and cocked her head in my direction (probably looking for a sign), and I froze. Ugh!! The rationalization thread in my brain went into warp drive-"her face is nice, but maybe sort of not quite what I'm looking for"- yes, it was that pathetic, because most guys would agree she's quite a pretty gal. While my lips became super-glued, what felt like 40 floors passed by. She half-looked-up and said, "Have a nice day", and then crossed my path to exit the elevator.
All the rest of the morning, my mind was spinning. I resolved to track down her location. I was 99% certain what half of the floor she was on, since I'd never seen her over at mine (intuition assured me that she actually did work SOMEWHERE on my floor). Around 10:30 AM, I made a "filtered water run" over to the North side of the 9th Floor. By chance, when I finished filling my sport bottle, I turned around and saw her walking past. Using stealth, I tracked her to her cube, made mental notes, then circled back toward 9th Floor South. Then, naturally, I stayed catatonically glued to my desk for the next 4 or 5 hours. At around 3:15, I stopped kicking myself for blowing it on the elevator, and made over to the corridor nearest her cubicle. I quickly saw that there was some old codger in front of her cube talking shop with her. Groan. I walked back over to her cube again at 3:46, to find she was (gasp!) away. Back AGAIN at my desk for a bit, I decided to make a "vending machine run" (the machines being in close proximity to the girl's desk) at 4:05. I got over there, and from there it's a bit fuzzy in my head. I said 'hi', or maybe said something about us having seen each other on the elevator that morning. I mumbled something about her going out with me for lunch soon. Her hand reached out to meet mine, and I haltingly grabbed on to her fingertips. She smiled graciously and said she would like to go out for lunch sometime soon. She added that she needed to finish up a work-related letter, so we parted ways fairly quickly. The sequence of events is lost to me: I was tripping over my words badly at that point. If the word-stumbling could be visually approximated, it would resemble an old Evel Knievel reel, one where Evel clears the pile of junked cars, but fails to land his bike in a smooth and stylish fashion, resulting in a multiple-quintuple man/bike somersault, and culminating in a lovely concrete barrier collision. But, hey, the girl said "yes"!

Monday, September 11, 2006

It could happen on Meridian Street

8:50 AM, 9/11/06, downtown Indianapolis. My daily morning journey to work includes not only my drive from the western 'burbs to downtown Indy, it also features a walk from my company's Henry Street parking garage, up to my office at 30 S. Meridian Street. In the six blocks between the garage and Monument Circle is the Warehouse District. More often than not, my path merges or collides with that of a nice young working girl. This summer, I've seen lots of them, making their way to work at any one of the office buildings on Meridian Street just north of the Warehouse District. Take this morning, for instance. I saw a pretty blonde girl appear on the right side of the street, coming out of Union Station Garage. A block later, she crossed over to the left side of Meridian, which is where I was at. We walked in tandem for about three blocks. She finally veered off to the left, into a corner building lobby. During this time, I pondered my opportunity to ask the gal out. As I've done before, I declined to do anything, thinking that she looked too unhappy. Of course, this was Monday morning, so maybe I should have cancelled out that observation. This scenario seems to happen a lot.
When I walk through the Warehouse District, I always pass by one of Indy's most popular bars, The Slippery Noodle Inn. There's a slogan on the Noodle's shingle that says, 'Dis is it'. Dis is it, indeed. If a guy wants a wide-open shot at asking a desirable, eligible single girl out, without the pressure of bar-goers or work colleagues or Wal-mart customers watching you, a stroll through the Warehouse District in the rush-hour morning puts a guy in the driver's seat. "Hi, my name's Ross, what's your name. Oh, ----, that's a pretty name. Would you wanna go out some time? Maybe lunch?” Perhaps I could get to the garage early, make the walk once, then take the shuttle back to the garage for a second pass. There are probably hundreds of single girls walking up Meridian through the District on any given workday. And the Warehouse District has color, a touch of intrigue and romance. What a great place to meet a girl. Bust a move, boy.

Tuesday, September 05, 2006

Bloomington Coffee Houses: Café et Crêpe

(Noon, Monday, September 4, 2006, Café et Crêpe, 316 E. 4th Street, Bloomington.) When I entered Café et Crêpe, romantic postwar French ballads were emanating from the PA system. Standing at the counter, I could hear a smattering of French-sounding chatter in the kitchen. I seemed to be the first customer of the day. After I rung the counter bell, a tall, rosy-cheeked, graciously-smiling barista with Heidi braids (She was evocative of a prettier Helen Hunt) appeared in front of me. She was cheerful and engaging, in an appropriately understated manner. When she asked me what I would like to order, I replied that I wasn’t sure what kind of coffee I wanted, but that I usually ordered mochas. "Okay, that sounds good. Well, hey, have you ever tried a Nutella Mocha?" I replied that I had not. "It’s very delicious." So I ordered a large Nutella. I also ordered a chicken fromage crêpe. Eventually, the owner of the French-sounding voice appeared. He introduced himself as Rashid. While we chatted, I inquired about the background music. "That’s Edith Piaf," he explained. "Very romantic, very deep. The French culture is more deep, much more romantic." Rashid added plaintively, "The French singers used to have a lot of conviction, a lot of soul. It started fading away in the 90s, and now (the music) is all about money." He finished with, "French is the language of romance, English is the language of business. That’s why English is the language of the world. I’m glad I have both (French and English languages)." Rashid ambled back toward the kitchen to check on the Crêpe, leaving me with a lump in my throat.
The scene of the restaurant was approximately this: A minimum of electric lighting, in a single 27’ x 35’ room painted chocolate brown, but with recently-installed, French-type doors windowed and open to the café deck, there was sufficient visibility to feel comfortable and airy. a substantial collection of black-and-white photographic art hung on the walls. The attempt seems to be to evoke the essence of 50’s Paris. There are common coffeehouse touches, such as a couch area, replete with a coffee table and several chess sets. Nearby sits a bookcase with some random titles, and some old science magazines. Most of the furniture consists of wooden table-and-4-chair sets. Outside, a beamed deck accomodates patrons on humble plastic furnishings.
The chicken fromage crêpe was excellent: a delicately-crafted crêpe wrapping with understated egg taste; a sweet and tangy sauce inside embellishing large, pyramid-shaped chunks of chicken. A refreshing side salad with tomatoes helped freshen the palate. I noticed as the café filled up, the barista, working the tables on her own, kept pace with no sign of strain, and was a delightful hostess with all of the customers. The place, if you let it, takes you away into bliss, but it’s a subtle, brooding charm, in stark contrast with the rambunctious Soma. I hated to go on writing about all the details of Café et Crêpe, because it was begging to be enjoyed in a more sedate manner than my typing required. Café et Crêpe is a good place to visit alone or with a friend in the daytime. To guys, I would strongly recommend Café et Crêpe as a choice spot to romance a girlfriend. 4 stars.

Sunday, September 03, 2006

Bloomington Coffee Houses: Soma

SOMA, 322 E. Kirkwood Ave., Bloomington, IN, 5:05pm, September 3, 2006: I’m still slightly enervated by my awful experience at the Copper Cup. Eager to put it behind me, I tramp down to the Soma on Kirkwood. Ahh, where to start? I love this place! It’s got the character, the AMBIENCE! Some cutesy mid-70s band is being piped in over the PA. Lovely. I find myself pleasantly ensconced in a dirty, scratchy, salmon-tinted 60’s “glitter-cloth” couch (don’t crash on this thing if you’re hung over, ouch). The very low ceiling hovers above, giving a snug, intimate feel to the place. A ‘disco-floor’ patterned red/purple/white/yellow linoleum floor features decades of wear. There’s a flyers-and-posters area, improbably scrunched-in opposite the couch corner, to give you a heads-up on the bands coming to town. Postcards are offered for sale, on a revolving rack. Kitschy example: “The French Way: Tales of Love and Passion! Featuring: Love’s Awakening, The New Sensation, Forbidden Fruit..” (this appears to be a vintage ad for a pulp fiction collection). A fish-tank-in-an-old-TV-set serves as the focal point for the front lounge. Soma occupies part of a basement in an old stone house at Kirkwood and Grant streets, close to the action epicenter of IU. The 3 or 4 servers behind the counter are very helpful and efficient. My double mocha was quite delicious. To justify my giddiness: It isn’t just the coffee, the kitsch, and the service. Inside and out, Soma possesses a fun, jovial atmosphere, with a lively mix of comfy regulars, chatty co-ed bunnies and their beaus, and amused alums such as myself. The student patrons, for their part, seem to fall into irreverent character before they even cross the threshold. I saw a bubbly, slightly chunky young gal playfully kick the door open to mark her arrival; patrons are swept up by the fun vibe of the place. The help have fun, too; lots of kidding and witty banter going on, the clattering of dishes, impromptu humming along with the music, and a disarming neighborliness when asked tangential questions about the place (such as “what band are you guys playing over the speakers?"). As much as folks like to come in and browse or sit down, you see a lot of apparently regular student patrons, who rush in, grab the finished beverage with fury, and rush back out on their way to another destination. They're stopping by because the coffee's really that good; these days, of course, you can pick and choose your java in a Big Ten college town. Soma hits the bull’s-eye on its product alone. Maybe I’m sounding over-the-top, but I’ve never been so taken in by a casual place. An hour passed away on the couch, and it felt like 15 minutes. I can’t get enough of it. Maybe sometime I’ll get sloshed at Nick’s and collapse into unconsciousness on the scratchy couch. 4 stars.

UPDATE: OK, I’m tragically unhip, the music WAS NOT 70’s-era, it’s ‘Belle and Sebastian’, and it’s “pretty new”, according to a mutton-chopped barkeep. D’oh!!

Save California

There's been a lot of wailing and gnashing of teeth recently in the popular press about the destruction of New Orleans, and what a substantial loss that is to our nation. Honestly, I'm more concerned about the ongoing degradation of a much bigger national treasure: The State of California. California is not merely a trendsetter for America and the world: it has affected, usually for the better, how we Americans view ourselves, has given the country an identity. Our music, our clothing fashions, our automobile trends, our housing styles, our daily lingo are propagated and evolved from life in California. McDonald's was "founded" by Ray Kroc, but the principles of the chain (and those of its imitators and competitors) were given their start in California. And, of course, where do you think most McDonald's TV advertising (the way in which we and the world have truly come to know the Golden Arches and the Big Mac) is produced? On it's own, California's economy is larger than that of all but four nations. California is everywhere in our lives, but the place is in trouble. I fear that it is gradually being turned into an overtaxed, over-regulated third-world country. Assuming for a moment that this really is the case, California's misfortunes may be a microcosm for the nation in this regard. Hopefully, my fears will turn out to be premature.

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