A New Notebook's Debut

The Corporation doesn’t work weekends. We apologize for leaving you without a dope beat to step to.

We begin this book with a rant. It is the sort of rant you imagine that Starbucks baristas have, when the shop is shuttered and they are pouring from flasks:

“We are Starbucks baristas and we ask you to:
--Not Bite the hand that feeds you
--Not ask for free Venti H20. (Why?)
--Don’t put your greasy nasty hands on the glass of our pastry case
--Speak up, don’t point to the pastry you want/we are not mind readers
--Do not give us attitude. We WILL give DECAF
--Say Thank you
--Don’t say Your welcome
--Don’t talk on your cell
--Don’t mumble
--Don’t count out the exact change
--Know what you want before you get to the counter
--Always remember to TIP.

Love Your local barista”

Of course, this being a city in which most people are guilty of at least one of that litany of complaints, someone was bound to feel bad about themselves and tell the baristas that really, you are making $12 an hour, so STFU. “Whatever! Disgruntled baristas. Its part of the customer service job scope.” See, we can imagine a parent saying to a child: this is what you have to look forward to in the new service economy of the 21^st century.

This child, being precocious, realizes that this is, in fact, what is in store for them and responds, “I love dookie so much!!! Fuck America!” Ah, children. Truth from the (dirty) mouths of babes.

Alternatively, this child could join a secret, mysterious organization. As one person asked, “What should I write about? Well I am sitting at this place looking at the people and playing a kind of spy game with my daughter.” The entry then ends. We were worried at first that perhaps this spy game had gotten out of control. But then we discovered this clue from an agent known as Kane, 4-yrs-old, which is clearly a message. “This is a map. ‘Go by the river & through the trees & then find the treasure’. I like sheep!” (Not too much, young man.)

It is possible that our conspiratorial spirit has infected the entire lake, and is even stretching into our empire, like Afghanistan. This writer is after a different kind of flower. “Hunting for dandylion wishes around the lake – such an odd juxtaposition from working in Afghanistan with my National Guard Unit. I am off to help a 4-yr-old to make a black bird nest out of dandy lions.” It is one of those oddities of language that hunting can mean something so harmless and can also mean killing the Taliban and that the same word can be importexported at will. Also, if you ever run into a dandylion, just muss his mane and run away.

Speaking of language, here’s something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue, “The aqua is purtiful. I see a woman who is jogging, who desperately needs a bra.” We sincerely hope that this runner is not the structurally unsound woman described above, “I use this book to read when I’m stretching – Great IDEA!! Thoughts today – we as people need to be honest w/each other. If you like someone give them a hug, if your sad ask for a hug and if your ticked off run a lap around Greenlake. Toodles!” Be that as it may, we as corporate entities have no need or desire to be honest with anyone, most especially ourselves.

And how can we forget that this weekend we passed a holiday, “Earth Day! LOTS of people out, talking sports, teaching their younguns how to ride a bike, running, walking, talking, loving and hating on this sunny and beautiful day—which to me is a gift.” To us, really, the true gift is this post. “I [heart] Greenlake. Where else do you see a goth drum circle competing for space with hippie knights in full armor dueling with each other?” Factually, however, we take issue with the supposition. Reed College dedicates entire residence halls to both of the groups described therein.

Toodles.